Page 39 of Resisting Mr Black

Lucy slips out of the bedroom and I place the glass of wine on the bedside table and lie down. I pick up my mobile. Fifteen calls and five text messages from Art. Iopen the messages and skim them; they’re all of a similar flavour, asking where I am, if I’m okay, begging me to speak to him.

I type a reply:

I’m safe. I just need some time by myself to think

I send the text, switch off my phone, and settle down to sleep, alone in bed. Not exactly the way I anticipated the night would end.

I pad down the stairs at six thirty the next morning to the sound of raised voices coming from the kitchen. As I reach the hallway, the arguing stops as Lucy and Mark notice my presence, pausing mid-argument. Both have got faces like thunder. I hover uneasily at the foot of the stairs not quite knowing what to do.

Mark throws Lucy an irritated look then strides into the hall. “Morning, Sophie. Lucy said you were upset last night; hope you’re feeling better.” He stops to inspect his reflection in the hall mirror and straightens his navy tie.

“Morning,” I reply as Lucy slowly follows him into the hall, dressed in a pale pink fluffy dressing gown. Her eyes and the tip of her nose are red from crying.

She gives me a watery smile. “Did you sleep well?”

There’s a definite tension in the air as Mark steps away from the mirror and stoops down to pick up his shiny brown leather briefcase.

“Um, yes I did,” I reply awkwardly, glancing at my reflection in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs. My hair is sticking up this way and that from being slept on damp and, with no make-up on, I look pale. “I think yesterdays events wore me out.”

Mark ruffles a hand through his mop of sandy blonde hair. “Do you want a lift? I could drop you halfway home?”

He’s worked in the city for years and I still have no real idea of what it is he actually does.

“No thanks, there’s no need. I’ll call an Uber.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and switch it back on, bracing myself for an onslaught of further texts and missed calls from the previous evening, but none arrive. I stare at the screen and try to work out how I feel about the fact Art’s clearly given up.

“You need to go and sort out your man trouble.” Lucy forces a smile.

I shove the phone back into my pocket. “I don’t think I can be arsed.”

“Hmmm, I know the feeling,” she says, casting daggers in Mark’s direction.

He doesn’t respond and with one last look in the mirror, opens the front door. “Are you sure you don’t want a lift?

“No, it’s fine, really.”

He frowns and looks distracted as he peers down the front path. “This man of yours… what does he look like?”

“Tall, dark, handsome.”

“VERY handsome,” Lucy interjects.

“What car does he drive?”

I frown at the sudden questioning. “A grey Aston Martin, why?”

He nods at something through the front door and steps back slightly allowing me to look. “I don’t think you’ll need the Uber.”

Parked up on the opposite side of the road is an instantly recognisable grey car. The man himself leans against the driver’s door. Dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, his arms are folded, and he’s scowling in our direction.

My heart does a backflip and I can’t work out whether I’m pleased to see him or not. He’s come for me. “How the bloody hell does he know where I am?”

“Oh my god, he’s tracked you down,” Lucy squawks, immediately brightening up. “Mind you, he looks pissed off.”

Part of me wants to close the door on him but the look in his eyes tells me he’s in no mood for games. I don’t want to cause trouble at Lucy and Mark’s, especially when they’re obviously going through a rough patch.

“I’d better go,” I say. “He won’t leave until I do.”

Lucy is practically buzzing with excitement as I walk down the front path with Mark. Mark throws Art an uncertain look as he beeps open his BMW and opens the door. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

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