Page 90 of Forever Mr Black

The bloody cheek of the woman.

A sardonic laugh falls from my lips. “Is she serious? After what happened yesterday?”

Art considers me thoughtfully for a few seconds. “I’m going to meet her.”

“You what?”

“Listen to me, Sophie,” he says firmly. “I’m not going to help her sort her fucking car out, but I want to meet her face-to-face and tell her I want nothing more to do with her.”

“Really?”

“Really. What she said to you and the way she acted was totally unacceptable—not to mention, a total fucking lie. You were right. She’s trying to cause trouble, and I don’t give a shit why. All I know is that I’m not going to allow it. No more arguments over her. She’s not fucking up the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

As he presses his lips to mine, I feel relief. Total and utter relief.

Twenty-Seven

I’m on edge. Art left an hour ago to meet Aisling, and he’s still not back. I’ve busied myself, looking at winter-sun honeymoon destinations and photos of wedding dresses on the internet. Answered the latest couple of texts from Mum, giving my verdict on potential outfits. But my mind won’t settle. I’m about to text him to check he’s okay when there’s a knock on the door. And I’m not prepared for who it is.

Tara. She’s made up as heavily as ever, wearing skin-tight faded jeans and a white jumper with her platinum-blonde hair scraped into a high ponytail. But she’s nibbling her pink false thumbnail, and she looks uncharacteristically nervous.

I force a smile. “Can I help you?”

She seems awkward. “Is it okay if I come in, please, Sophie? I’d like to talk to you.”

We don’t talk; we exchange catty comments. The last time we saw one another, we parted on anything but civil terms. I’m immediately suspicious.

“Art’s not in,” I say flatly.

She shakes her head and seems worried that I’ve misunderstood. “No, no. I’ve come to speak to you.”

I can’t deny I’m intrigued to find out the reason for her abrupt change of character. Curiosity gnaws away at my initial reaction to tell her to get packing.

I step aside to let her pass. “You’d better come in then.”

Tara hovers in the hall and fiddles with the strap of her leather handbag. Now that she’s inside, she looks even more uneasy. “This won’t take long.”

I fold my arms and lean against the wall. “Okay, go on.”

“Listen, I know you and I don’t get on … but I’ve been thinking about what you and Art said when you came to the club the other night.”

“Which part?”

“About Theo. About what you told me about him.”

“Which bit?”

“About the fact that he told you he’d got help, but you didn’t believe him, and that he was dangerous and he’d suddenly reappeared and stuff.” She presses her lips together and takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself. “And when you said he raped you. I’ve been out with some right bastards in my time, and I know … well, nobody should have to go through that.”

Suddenly, we’re both on the same page. Who we are is stripped away. We’re just two women who’ve been hurt at the hands of people we loved and trusted. And we’re trying to move on.

I slide my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Tara offers me a small smile. “Most of those bastards are doing time for one thing or another now anyway. Which is where Theo should be.” Her eyes flash with determination. “I’ve been going over the stuff he’s said to me and trying to remember anything that could help you know what he’s up to or where he found out stuff about Art. His tongue gets a bit loose after he’s had a few.”

I feel hopeful. “And is there?”

She wrinkles her nose. “I’ve been racking my brains. He said a friend of his told him about the club.”

---