The Only Choice (The Choices Trilogy #3) (3 page)

“Oh Bethany thank heavens it’s you.” She rushes over bursting with excitement and curiosity. “These came first thing but I really don’t think it is wise to keep them in the hall my dear.” Its then I see a card stuck to one of the boxes, I recognise the script
Miss Thorne
and nothing else. Wow, that was quick. Efficient, clean and brutal, if only it was painless too.

“No Elsie, you’re right. I didn’t know they would be delivered today but don’t worry they will be gone this afternoon. I promise.” I take my key out and enter my apartment slowly welcoming the spread of numbness through my body relishing in the respite it affords from the utterly consuming pain. I can embrace this and function, at least numb there are no tears. I make my way to the kitchen and dig under the sink for some bin bags, not as elegant as the boxes but fit for purpose. I then pick up my phone noticing there are no missed calls or messages, turning it face down I leave it on the counter. It is like I can’t bear to look at the sore reminder of the consequences of my choice. I fish around in my bag for the card I know is there. I punch the number.

“Bethany are you all right?” Peter’s kind voice pierces the numbness and I have to pinch my nails hard into my palm to stop a sudden sob in my throat.

“Yes Peter I’m fine, really, thanks.” I need to stop using ‘fine’ if I’m ever going to convince anyone any different. “I was hoping you might be able to give me a hand with moving some stuff.”

“Oh sure, not a problem. I can be over in half an hour what do you need?” His voice is crackly like he’s on speakerphone.

“Strong pair of arms and a van?” I tell him.

He chuckles and says in a knowing drawl. “Right. I’ll be over in twenty.”

Perfect. It is amazing how quickly you can clear drawers and hangers if there is little to no folding involved. It’s cathartic and in just under fifteen minutes my wardrobes and cupboards’ are the clothing equivalent of Old Mother Hubbard. I am pretty much left with what I am standing in, plus a few old t-shirts and one pair of jeans, all pre Daniel, when the doorbell buzzes. I press to let Peter in and go to open my front door. I have stacked the black sacks in my hallway and wait for Peter to reach the landing. He opens his arms to me as he reaches the top step, tilting his head as I hesitate. “Come on girl you know you want to?”

I squeeze out a small smile and step into his hug which is more like a vice as he squeezes my spine to crack in several places; six hours on a train will do that to you and I actually feel better when he releases me. “So what are we doing?”

“Um Ok well, this lot,” I point to the boxes, “and the bags are all heading to the charity shop on Brompton Road. I called so they have been warned.” I let out a deep breath.

“Are you sure about this honey?” Peter’s deep voice is soft with worry.

“Was he sure when he got you to do this earlier?” I retort sadly.

“Point taken.” He nods and goes to start taking the boxes down. “Good job I brought the limo.” He mutters as he disappears with an armful. It only takes a few trips to clear the hall and surprisingly they do all fit in the car. Peter hugs me once more and again impresses that I can call him anytime. I thank him again and just as he is about the leave, a jumble of words escape me before I can rein them back.

“Look out for him Peter. I mean take care of him, please.” I smile lightly as Peter gives a sharp nod before sitting in the front of the limo and driving away.

I pick my phone out of my back pocket and dial the number I had found on Google for after-hours security firms. This may cost a little extra but I want the apartment clean today, no speakers, no cameras, not a trace of surveillance. It’s gone ten at night before the guy from the security firm leaves and my bedroom looks like I am going to need the week to make good the mess he has made. To be fair he did say he could dismantle the system one of two ways, slow and neat or quick and dirty. I collapse on my bed opting for the spring clean to start in the morning when my phone rings; having ignored it all evening I finally answer Sofia’s call.

“Hey sister.” I sigh and moan with an achy stretch of my body.

“Don’t sister me! I’ve been calling all day I was worried, don’t fucking do that to me Bets. Paul’s just about to call off the wedding I’ve been so crazy!” She huffs as I snort at her dramatics. “Oh that’s right laugh it up! You’re a stones’ throw from being bumped as Maid of Honour; just count yourself lucky you’ve already been fitted for the dress.” She warns.

“I’m sorry Sofs. Just had some stuff to sort but I’m hundred percent back now and ready for my MOH duties. Speaking of which, you haven’t change the colour scheme have you?” I enquire hesitantly, praying that my dream wasn’t a hideous premonition.

“Urr No why would you say that?”

“And you didn’t give Daniel a plus one invitation?” I need to clarify the specifics of the nightmare.

“Again no, why would I? He was your invite and it’s not likely he’d come now anyway. You’re freaking me out a little, do you mind telling me what’s going on?”

I spend the next half hour giving her the PG rated version of my weekend ending with the security guy leaving and me taking her call.

“You did what?” She screams so loud I flinch too late to pull the phone from my ear and suffer the piercing aural pain as a consequence. “I mean I am obviously devastated for you Bets but seriously you gave all those dresses to charity! Are you fucking insane! What were you thinking?” She moans with fake outrage. It is a good distracting tactic and I offer up an ever so tiny laugh.I shake my head impressed she can take my mind from heartbreak to crimes against couture, if only for a moment. “Good night Sofs.” I switch my phone off and pull my covers tight hoping for instant oblivion.

I SURPRISED MYSELF
this week. I still feel numb and I’m not sleeping so well, waking with the same bloody nightmare but I have kept busy. I managed to repair the damage to the walls the security guy made and buy a basic working wardrobe of clothes. Today is Saturday I have a lunch arranged with Sofia, her mum Vivienne and her Aunt Marie which is a much needed distraction. Vivienne has booked a corner table at the Windows restaurant on the twenty eighth floor of the Hilton on the corner of Hyde Park. The clear sky means there is an uninterrupted one eighty degree view of West London and a perfect view of Daniels apartment building opposite the park. So, despite the stunning view I only have eyes for the light and airy interior. The restaurant is surrounded by floor to ceiling glass and there is a slightly raised mezzanine which means that everyone seated will have some view over the city. The cocktail bar next to the restaurant, Sofia explains is very lively at the weekend and has the most spectacular view as the sun sets and London lights up. I don’t need to go to the cocktail bar for that. I have witnessed that spectacle on many occasions, mostly with Daniels arms wrapped around my waist.

I take a sip of the chilled pink champagne and gaze again around the room, trying to quell the rising sadness and search for another distraction. There is an impressive piece of artwork in the shape of an intertwined piece of ribbon made from rippling steel. It stretches the length of the centre of the room and hangs above the tables, reflecting the light on every bend and curve of the shiny material. There is loud laughter from a large group of people on the end table, perhaps fifteen family members celebrating. I find I can happily tune out from the memories of that view and from our own tables conversation. That is until Marie asks me outright why I don’t just settle down with Marco. It wasn’t just the pungent smell of the ham hock and pea volute that has me stuffing a napkin in my mouth to prevent the sudden rush of vomit. Luckily Sofia intercedes on my behalf.

“Ew gross Aunt Marie and just as likely as
me
hooking up with Marco.” With a disgruntled look on her face she pushes her plate far away as if the idea has put a stop to her appetite as well as mine. Vivienne tactfully changes the subject.

“I think we will need another fitting for you Bets you look like you’ve lost some weight.” Her sweet smile and intent kind eyes causes my nose to prickle sharply and I sniff back the instant onset of tears. I quickly reach for my water to give my body something to do other than cry. Sofia gasps, as if seeing me for the first time.

“Shit!” Sofia’s mouth drops open.

“Sofia language.” Embarrassed, Vivienne reprimands her daughter.

“Sorry Mama but God I didn’t even notice. Bets are you eating at all at the moment? The dress is going to hang off you like a stick in a sack and that is
not
how it is supposed to look.” She grumbles and I don’t know whether she is more concerned for me or the dress. “Are you ok? Maybe come and stay with us for a while, Mama can feed you back up?” She holds my hand and threads her fingers through and I know she’s not so worried about the dress.

“I’m good, really, just been off my food a little. A persistent stomach bug but it’s still four weeks to go and I’m sure I can pack on the pounds in no time.” I grab another bread roll and see both the women relax.

“Maybe just have a fitting a few days before the big day just in case. Sofia is right, the dress really does need to be fitted.” Vivienne offers and Sofia agrees with an enthusiastic nod. I make a break for the ladies just as coffee and petit fours are being served with homemade marshmallow that looks amazing. Sofia is quick to follow. She grabs my elbow and manoeuvres me to sit on the silk covered high backed chair in the powder room, drawing her own chair directly in front of me. Her fixed intense chocolate eyes laced with query and concern. Shit!

“So it’s really over?” Her direct approach is expected but shocking all the same like a sucker punch to my chest and I can’t help my involuntary grasp to my heart at the sudden unbearable pain. I manage to nod but her gaze is unrelenting and I know she needs more. “What about the contract? I thought the rolling thing meant you always had six months to sort this shit out?”

“Well I guess I didn’t read the fine print because he sure as shit invoked the six month break clause. Besides what am I realistically going to do . . . sue him?” I drop my head in my hands with the futility of such a thing. “I think I made a terrible mistake pushing like that. He asked me to trust him and I couldn’t.” I squeeze my eyes and fight with everything to hold myself together but everything feels wrong when he is not in my life, everything is ugly and painful. “What if he really needs this to ease his pain and I couldn’t support him? What if she really needs his help to save her marriage? I can’t imagine wanting something so bad, well I can, and just maybe you
would
do anything, absolutely anything . . . Even ask an ex for his . . .” I clasp my hands to my mouth to physically try and hold the sobs quiet but my shoulders judder as my body loses its battle to contain my sorrow.

“Sweetheart, don’t, please don’t cry Bets and I’m sorry to say this but would you just listen to yourself for a moment and then shut the fuck up.” Her words are so softly spoken, kind and gentle but my head snaps up because they are harsh and hateful. “No sweetheart, I don’t mean shut up I don’t want to listen to your pain because I can see you’re truly broken Bets. I can and it kills me. What I mean is you can’t go on believing that kind of bullshit. There are at most two things happening here and both are the result of a jealous ex. One she is in love with him, anyone could see that at New Year and that she sick enough to try something like this speaks volumes for her mental state and desperation. You’re probably right about the fertility thing and her original pregnancy from what you learned from Mr Wilson. But without proof you will just come across as mean and insensitive and that just isn’t you Bets. You don’t have a mean bone in your body.” She takes my hand, threads her fingers and grips really tight and then lets go to hand me a much needed tissue.

“I sort of do for her.” I sniff.

“Well it’s justified, believe me. The second thing is she’s fucking with Daniel’s guilt and he, for whatever reason, is happy to play along. He clearly has some serious issues with his Father and Sister’s death which is understandable and then to have his own baby’s death heaped on top of that. You can’t blame him for trying to get some peace, however tenuously it is proffered.” She again cups my hands that are now clasped tightly in my lap, wringing the tissue to shreds.