Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 198235 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 991(@200wpm)___ 793(@250wpm)___ 661(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 198235 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 991(@200wpm)___ 793(@250wpm)___ 661(@300wpm)
‘I really need to go.’ I hate myself for leaving him like this. I go to turn, fully expecting to be held back, but he releases my hand and I’m walking away, shocked and actually quite worried.
‘Baby, please. I’ll do anything. Please, don’t leave me.’ His pleading voice halts me dead in my tracks, pain slicing through me. I’m still so mad with him. ‘Let me at least drive you. I don’t want you on the train. Just ten minutes, that’s all I’m asking for.’
‘It’ll be quicker on the tube.’ I say quietly amid the roaring crowds. I turn to face him.
‘But I want to take you.’
‘We won’t make it in time with the…’ I halt when it occurs to me that with Jesse driving, I probably will make it. He is clearly thinking the same because his eyebrow is slightly raised.
I can’t tell him where I’m going. He’ll have a seizure. I quickly wrack my tired brain and come up with only one option. I’ll ask him to drop me off around the corner from the doctor. There are some residential properties close by. He won’t know any different.
I sigh ‘Where’s your car?’
The relief that washes over his face is obvious, and it emphasises my guilt. Why I’m feeling guilty is beyond me, though. I watch him slowly lift his arm and take my hand gently, then slowly lead me back towards a hotel and into the car park. The valet produces the keys from his cabin and hands them to Jesse, and he releases me only when we get to the car so I can get in.
Pulling out onto Piccadilly, he drives with consideration for the other road users and shifts gears gently, too. His driving style is matching his mood; subdued.
‘Where am I going?’ he asks as he turns the music system on and XX, Islands filters through the speakers. Even the music is passive and soft.
I scan my brain for a road name around the surgery, and only one comes to mind. ‘Luxemburg Gardens. Hammersmith.’ I say, looking out of the window.
‘Okay,’ he answers quietly. I know he’s looking at me. I should turn and challenge him, prompt him to explain himself better, but my despondency is getting the better of me. He’d better not mistake it for submission. I’m not surrendering on this. I just need to get myself to the doctor, minus one Jesse, and get my awful situation remedied.
* * *
He pulls into Luxemburg Gardens and drives slowly down the tree lined street. ‘Here will do.’ I indicate to the left, and he pulls over. Now I pray that he doesn’t hang about. ‘Thank you,’ I open the door.
‘You’re welcome.’ he murmurs. I know if I turn and look at him, I’ll see cogs whirling at a million miles per hour and a concerned frown set in place on his handsome head, so I don’t. I step out of the car. ‘Will you have dinner with me tonight?’ he asks urgently, like he knows his chance is slipping.
I take a deep breath and turn back towards the car. ‘You just asked for ten minutes, and I gave them to you. You said nothing.’ I leave a despairing face of hurt and make my way across the road, but suddenly come to an abrupt halt when it occurs to me that I have no client’s house in which to disappear. I need to back-track at least half a mile, and I can’t do that with Jesse sat at the kerb in his car. I pull my bag open and feign searching for something while mentally praying for him to leave. I listen out for the roar, or possible purr, of the DBS and after what seems like forever, it finally reaches my ears. It’s a purr. I look over my shoulder and watch his car disappear down the tree lined street before I head back the way we came and over to Brook Green. I feel nauseous, but I put it down to nerves. I’m not sure how I’m going to approach this. After my numerous visits to our family doctor, seeking replacement pills and the lectures I received from her each time, I’m facing a grilling and an even sterner talk on carelessness. She’ll think I’m a glutton for punishment. I think I probably am.
I check myself in and pick up a magazine from the waiting room table, then spend twenty minutes pretending to read it. I’m fidgeting and pulling at my clothes to try and cool myself down. I really do feel sick, my nauseous state only worsened when, like an omen, I come across an article expressing the arguments for and against termination. A despairing laugh falls from my lips.
‘Something funny?’
I freeze in my waiting room chair as Jesses familiar brogue washes over me, then I snap the magazine shut. ‘You followed me?’ I ask, completely stunned as I turn to face him.