Page 46 of Forever Mr Black

“For you maybe.”

He shakes his head. “Not this again.”

“Yes, this again,” I bite back.

He frowns. “We’re going home. We need to talk.”

“You’re damn fucking right we do.”

“Here you are.” Barbara appears through the conifers. “I’ve been looking for you both everywhere. Is everything okay?”

Art drags his concerned gaze from me and smiles at his mum. “Yes, fine. Thanks for this evening. It’s been wonderful. We’re going to get off. We need to get back home.”

Fifteen

The false smile I’ve worn for most of the night returns to my face as we say good-bye to Barbara. As soon as I climb into the car, it vanishes. I can’t keep the pretence up any longer—that I was completely unaffected by her being here tonight and what she said to me hasn’t rattled me at all. Aisling was dead right about one thing—pretence does eat away at you.

Art pulls the car away at speed, sending gravel flying against the bodywork. His broad shoulders are stiff with tension. He’s anticipating an argument. So am I. I stare out the window, mentally dissecting every part of my conversation with Aisling. By the time he speaks, we’re on the edge of the city.

“Why are you so pissed off? Is it because I spoke to her? Is it because I agreed to help her?” He glances at me. “What?”

His accusatory tone annoys me.

“You think I’m being unreasonable.”

“Yes.”

I shake my head. “How dare you think that.”

“What?”

I look at him. “How would you react if you were in my position?”

He frowns. “I don’t know what you mean.”

I twist round in the seat to face him. “Okay, how about I spell it out for you? How would you react if a guy I’d had sex with suddenly reappeared in my life, wanting my help, calling me up, rocking up to our engagement party?” My voice rises in anger. “Flirted with me in front of you.”

His jaw twitches with tension at the thought. He keeps his eyes on the road ahead.

“You’ve punched guys I don’t even know for less. Tell me, Art, how would you react if you were me in this situation?”

He still doesn’t answer. There’s no need. We both know he’d go mental.

“I think I’m allowed to be a little pissed off, don’t you?”

“I’m the irrational fuck, not you.”

“Is that meant to make me feel better? Because it doesn’t,” I snap. “I can’t help it where she’s concerned. Saying I don’t like her is the understatement of the century.”

“I don’t really expect you to like her. I don’t like your ex.”

My stomach twists. “So, she’s your ex, is she?”

“No, not in the way you think I mean.”

“She said you were lovers.”

“We weren’t lovers. We fucked. She’s an ex-fuck.”

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