Page 80 of Forever Mr Black

“I think it’s best that you go back to your mum.”

The crease in his brow deepens. “Don’t tell me what’s best. This whole fucking situation isn’t what’s best.”

“Art, please. Leave it.” I sound weak because I think I’m in the wrong. I hate it. And this whole fucking mess.

“Leave it? How the fuck do you expect me to leave any of this?! Get in the car. You’re fucking soaked.”

And I’m not the only one. A raindrop falls off the tip of his nose. The dark blue cotton of his shirt is turning black and sticking to his chest like a second skin. I’m soaked through to my underwear, and the material of my dress is semi-see-through.

“Get in, Sophie,” he warns, running out of patience. “You’ll catch your fucking death.”

A cold droplet of rain trickles down my back, making me shiver. I should probably give it up.

Art slams the passenger door behind me after I get in the car. He climbs behind the wheel and pulls away sharply, racing down the country lane.

I should say something, but I don’t know where to begin. She started it sounds childish.

“How’s Barbara?”

“Stunned. Upset. Disappointed. Shocked. Angry.”

Shit.

I stare out the window. I have to ask. “With me?”

“No. With Aisling. She threw her out of the house and told her to never come back.”

It was always a possibility that Barbara would react that way, but the reality feels different.

He catches my surprised reaction. “How did you expect her to react to the news that I’d fucked the therapist she’d pretty much introduced me to? Who just happens to be a family friend?”

I narrow my eyes. “Is that why you didn’t want her finding out? You’re protecting Aisling.”

“No. I was protecting Mum. I brought enough upset to her door when I went to prison. I vowed I’d never do it again.” He rakes his fingers through his wet hair andbreathes out a slow, deep breath, trying to keep calm. “Why, Sophie? Why the fuck did you have to tell her?”

Disappointment is etched across his face, and his accusatory tone stabs through my heart like a knife.

Anger and regret twist in my veins, and I hate how feeble the next words out of my mouth sound. “You don’t know what she said to me.”

“I get you don’t like Ash, and I get the reasons why. You and her are never going to be friends, but I specifically told you I didn’t want Mum finding out about what had gone on between me and her. So, what, Sophie? What did Ash say to make you tell Mum?”

Jealousy and insecurity rage inside me. For weeks, this has been building. From the first moment he told me about her. Her looks and snide comments lit the fuse and now I might have just played directly into her hands. Art doesn’t get it, and it’s about time everybody saw her for what she was. And his words are just enough to tip me over the edge.

I explode. “How dare you sit there and say that to me. You weren’t there to listen to her shit. She’s in love with you, Art. Don’t you see? She wanted to be with you back then, and she still wants to be with you now. All this bullshit about her needing your help to buy a car? It’s just an excuse to see you.”

His eyes blaze with anger, and he slams his hand against the steering wheel in frustration. “I cannot keep having this same fucking argument with you, Sophie. What did she say?”

He’s not listening.

I feel like shouting and crying. I’m trembling with rage.

Torrential rain hammers against the roof, and the windscreen wipers are going at full pelt as we hurtle down the lane.

My fingernails dig into the leather seat as we round a corner at speed, and Art changes gear.

“Tell me what she said!” he demands.

I feel sick.

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