Beneath This Man (This Man 2)

He shakes his head and lets it fall slightly, but he doesn’t face me. I need to see his face. He walks out of the bedroom and I collapse to the floor and cry. I feel helpless and incomplete. All of this pain because I wanted to have the final say, all of this because I insisted on going out and proving a point. The only point I’ve proved is that I’m at a loss without him.

I drag myself up and across the room, collapsing onto the bed and finding my way to the place that smells the most of him. It’s a meager substitute for the real thing. Only he can make this better, make all of this go away. And worst of all, I know where he has gone, who will be there and what he’ll be doing. What am I supposed to do? I’m a mess, my face feels swollen and stingy with tears and my head hurts from too many disturbing thoughts. Will he crack open a bottle of vodka? I know that if he does, I won’t be seeing him anytime soon – not when he’s like that. I would rather not have him at all than have the hollow beast that is Jesse with a few bottles of vodka inside him. I never want to see that man again.

I sit up on the bed, suddenly remembering something. He’s not here, and I am…and I’m alone. I jump up and run into the bathroom, flinging open the cosmetics unit and staring at the masses of bottles, boxes and tubes. Starting my search, I shift the contents of the unit to the side, my shaking hands doing me no favours in executing the operation without knocking bottles over. A frustrated yell slips from my mouth, and in a temper, I sweep my hand through all of the shelves, knocking bottles flying all over the bathroom floor.

What am I thinking? He’s not stupid enough to hide them in such an obvious place. I leave the bathroom and run into the wardrobe, shoving my hands into every pocket of his suit jackets, inside and out, tipping his shoes upside down and searching through piles of neatly folded t-shirts. Nothing, but I’m not giving up. My pills are mysteriously disappearing and they have been since I met this man, and the first time was only a few days after I relented to his advances. What’s he playing at? He can’t want to get me pregnant, surely? If he does, he may very well get his way too. I can’t believe this.

I drop myself to the floor of the wardrobe, wiping my still streaming tears away. Is he trying to trap me? I proceed to hunt through his jean pockets, tossing them all over the wardrobe in a frenzy when I find nothing. The gold satin gift bag slips out as I yank a suit jacket down from a hanger, the contents spilling onto the floor.

Condoms.

We don’t need those.

He is trying to get me pregnant. Fucking hell!

I scramble up and fly down the stairs into his office, pulling out every drawer, sifting through rows of books and even looking behind the sodding pictures on the walls. Still nothing.

I fly around the penthouse like a madwoman, searching every drawer, cupboard, anywhere he could possibly hide them, but an hour later, still no pills. But I’ve made a massive mess. I halt when I hear my phone ringing in the distance and I track the sound until it cuts off and I’m stood in the massive open space, looking around desperately.

‘Fuck!’ I curse to myself, but then the text message tone starts bleeping and I follow it to the armchair where I found Jesse sitting earlier. I grope down the side and find my phone. The missed call is from my Mum. Oh God, has Dan been on to her already? I really cannot be talking to her now, a really uncharitable thought, but I don’t even know where I am myself to be able to tell her. My heart sinks when I see the text is from John.

He’s fine, but you should probably come.

My heart lifts a little at the first part of the message, and then sinks just as quickly. I should probably go? Is John playing tug of war with Jesse and a bottle of vodka? I fly up the stairs and run into the bathroom to scrub my face and attempt to generally sort myself out. It’s no good, I look like I’ve been wailing and no amount of make-up or washing will sort my glazed eyes out. After retrieving my keys, I make a hasty run for my car, ignoring Clive as he calls after me.

Chapter 30

The drive to The Manor is a blur of visions and memories. Visions of Jesse staggering and slurring, and memories of finding him unconscious on the terrace, all unwelcome, but a repeat performance highly likely. I can’t go through that again. I can’t watch him do that to himself again – not because of me. I might not be able to control his unreasonableness, but I can prevent him from slowly killing himself.

I’m not surprised when I pull up to the gates and they open immediately. John must be looking out for me. My descent up the driveway is fast and frantic in my desperation to get to him and stop the inevitable. I find The Manor’s door open and run through the entrance hall, ignoring the noise coming from the bar and restaurant. The summer room has been returned to its former relaxing space of sofas and chairs scattered across the vast area, members gathered, chatting and drinking. Silence falls, all conversation halting, when I run through. I’m sure if I paid attention, there would be many vicious, scowling faces pointed straight at me, but I don’t have the time or inclination to stop and soak up the resentment. I don’t need to look. I can feel it heavy in the air.

As I approach the door to Jesse’s office, I hear a thundering crack that makes me jump. What the f**k was that? I hold the door handle and look behind me, but find the corridor empty. I turn the handle of the door and push it open.

‘Ava!’ Big John’s loud rumble travels down the corridor, halting my progression, but I can’t see him. ‘Fucking, mother f**ker! Ava, wait!’ He appears, moving faster than I would think possible for such a mountain of a man, his glasses in place as he hurdles towards me like a steam train. ‘Jesus, woman, don’t go in there!’