1. One

One

S ilence fills my ears as Art hangs up the phone. My legs wobble, and I sink down onto the sofa before they give way entirely.

"Do I know all of Sophie Ward or only half of her?

I press a clammy palm to my forehead as Art's words circle in my thoughts. He knows all of me. He's got all of me.

Heart and soul.

What happened between Theo and me happened to the old Sophie. I'm not the same person I was back then. He messed up so many things for me while we were together. No … I allowed him to mess things up because I thought he loved me. For a while, I was totally convinced. But he controlled and emotionally manipulated me, hiding behind the guise of a boyfriend with his girlfriend's best interests at heart.

"If you loved me, you'd let me. "

And I bought it for a while. The disingenuous remarks and emotional blackmail aimed at crumbling my resolve, so he could get his own way. We'd been together for ages before I saw him for who he really was. He convinced me he loved me. Maybe he did, but it wasn't the sort of love I ever wanted to experience again. But that was then, and this is now. I'm stronger, not racked with self-doubt. I've more confidence. Because of Art. His words of adoration. The way he makes me feel like a goddess, just by looking at me. It's all because of him.

I feel a pang in my chest.

Theo's not messing things up for me anymore.

I won't allow it.

I jump to my feet and grab my car keys from the coffee table.

I need to tell Art about what happened with Theo.

I need him to explain what the hell he was doing with Aisling.

I need to stop my past from fucking up my future.

And above all … I need to find him.

I rapidly press his number on speed dial, and my heart sinks further into my flip-flops as my call is redirected straight to voice mail.

He's done talking.

But I'm not.

My mobile springs to life and, with it, a feeling of hope in my chest.

"Art?"

"Sophie?"

The sound of a familiar female voice on the other end of the phone takes me back. I blink through the confusion as I realise who it is.

"Mum?"

"Oh, Sophie, thank God." She sniffs. Her voice is thick with emotion, and it's obvious she's been crying. "I need you to come quick."

"What's the matter?"

"It's Martin, love. He's been rushed to hospital. I think he's having a heart attack."

The sterile bright lights sting my eyes as I sit on the hard plastic chair in the ill-named Family Room. There's nothing family-friendly or comforting about the small white box we've been sitting in for the past three hours.

The navy-blue carpet tiles are covered with a myriad of brown stains and trodden-in marks from over the years, and the well-worn floral sofa on the opposite wall has seen better days. The battered pine coffee table is marked with mug stains and leaflets about lowering cholesterol and healthy eating.

I stare down at my hands and anxiously pick at the skin around my fingernails. My stomachs in knots from the not knowing. All we've done for the past three hours is wait, wait, and wait some more while tests are done, drugs are administered, and more tests are carried out.

I look at the round plastic clock on the wall and watch the second-hand tick by. Mum's been speaking to the consultant for twenty-six minutes, and I can't decide whether it's a good or bad sign that she's been gone so long. I'm silently praying it's good news. My nerves can't take any more waiting, and the weak vending-machine coffee isn't hitting the mark anymore.

Someone must be listening to my silent prayers as the door opens. My eyes shoot to Mum's face, desperately trying to read her expression, pre-empting what she's about to say. The rosiness has returned to her cheeks, and she looks much calmer than when we arrived. The small smile on her face gives me hope.

She nods, as if reading my mind, and sits down on the crumpled sofa opposite. "It wasn't a heart attack, thank God. He's got angina. The shortness of breath and the pain were all to do with that. He's responding well to the medication they've given him." She laughs weakly. "He's been bending their ear off about coming home. I told him he's not going anywhere until the doctors say it's okay, but you know what he's like. "

I allow myself to relax for the first time in three hours. "That's a good sign, isn't it? Is he going to be okay?"

Mum flashes a resigned smile. "The doctors said he'll have to take medication for the rest of his life to try and make sure it doesn't happen again, but that's a small price to pay. He's lucky. They said he needs to take better care of himself and take this as a warning. I told him he's on diet and exercise when he goes home. He'll be okay, love." She casts a glance around the room. "I hate these places. They always remind me of when your dad …"

I know exactly what she means. Emotion wedges in my throat at the mention of him. I swallow it down and go back to picking the skin around my fingernails. I've got to hold it together. Mum doesn't need me falling apart on her after the nightmare of a day she's had.

She heaves a sigh. "Martin's a lot more bloody stubborn than your dad ever was—pardon my French. He first had the twinges weeks ago, after mowing the lawn one afternoon. I told him to go and get it checked out, but no … he wasn't having any of it." She rolls her eyes. "Your dad never liked going to the doctor either. Men, eh?"

Men indeed.

My mobile suddenly feels as if it were burning a hole in the pocket of my shorts. I've no idea if Art's tried to contact me. My phone's on silent, and I can't get a signal in the hospital anyway. I've spent the last three hours feeling so worried about Martin and Mum, but now that the initial shock has worn off, I need Art more than ever.

"Oh my God, Sophie. Is that what I think it is?" Mum gasps.

I look up to find her staring wide-eyed at my left hand.

My engagement ring.

Shit.

This isn't exactly how I planned on telling her. I thought about inviting her and Martin round to the apartment for dinner one evening or treating them to a meal at Carluccio's. We'd have a lovely meal and a bottle of champagne to celebrate. But my stepfather's lying in a hospital bed and my fiancé's gone AWOL, so that's clearly not going to happen.

Mum hasn't taken her eyes off the diamond yet, and I'm not sure how she's going to react to the fact that I didn't tell her straightaway. And that Art and I have only been together two months.

"I, erm … meant to tell you, but today didn't seem the right time, what with everything that's happened," I say because it's partially true.

Mum's face crumples as she leaps off the sofa, flinging her arms around me. "Oh, Sophie, this is wonderful," she sobs, this time with tears of happiness.

Her happiness does little to dislodge the feeling of guilt that's taken hold of me for not getting round to telling her.

"He only proposed a few days ago. I wanted to tell you properly."

Mum clasps her hands around mine and sits down on the chair beside me. "It doesn't matter, love. Wait until I tell Martin." She wipes the tears from her cheeks with a hand and gives me a watery smile. "It'll make his day. It's certainly made mine. What a lovely bit of good news. And what a beautiful ring. Look at the size of that rock." She squeezes my hand and sniffs. "So, tell me all about it. How did he propose? I bet it was really special."

"Well, actually, we were in Ibiza …"

She raises her eyebrows in surprise. "Ibiza? When did you go to Ibiza? Honestly, you never tell me anything these days."

"It was an impromptu trip," I explain, feeling guilty.

There's no way I can tell her the truth as to why I was there. Because I'd walked out on Art after discovering he went to prison after killing a guy through dangerous driving. Which was exactly what had happened to Dad. That, as well as the Lucy and Mark fiasco.

"Anyway, he hired a yacht and took me to a private island, and, well, he popped the question. "

"A yacht and an island," Mum says wistfully. "How marvellous. Oh, I'm so pleased. I know you and Art haven't been together that long, but if he makes you happy, then I'm happy, love. Have you set a date yet?"

I pick a piece of imaginary fluff off my jumper. Set a date? There might not even be a wedding after today. "Erm … no, not yet."

"Is everything all right?" she asks, studying my reaction. "You seem a bit … glum. If someone like Art had proposed to me, I'd be cartwheeling down the street."

"I'm fine."

"You don't look it, love. What's the matter?"

"Art found out that I hadn't been totally honest with him about something. We had a massive argument about it just before you called."

"Oh, love." Mum pats my hand reassuringly. "What about?"

I stare at the dirty carpet tiles and avoid her gaze. "Theo."

"You mean, how he … was with you?"

And the rest. No one knows what Theo did to me. Not Mum, not Lucy. They both hate his guts enough. All I want to do is forget about him. If they knew, they'd be bound to drag it up. Not in an unkind way, in an out of the goodness of their hearts, thinking they were doing the right thing way. But I don't want to talk about him or what he did. Then. Now. Never.

I carry on looking at the floor and feel incredibly awkward. "Yes," I lie. Because ironically, that's the bit I did tell Art about.

"I'm sure he'll understand. He's a good man, not like that cruel bastard."

Art is a good man. I stare down at the ring on my finger. I love him, and I know he loves me. But is it enough? Is love enough for us to survive all the shit being thrown at us?

"I wasn't going to tell you this, but now that you've mentioned him"—Mum gives me a sideways glance— "he called. Theo."

I freeze. "What do you mean?"

"Last night. He called us up, right out of the blue. We'd just sat down for tea."

He sent me a letter, and now, he phoned up my parents .

I do my best to keep the panic out of my voice. "What did he say?"

Mums sighs and angrily shakes her head. "Oh, he's just the same. Acted as though nothing had ever happened. He said he'd called to see how we were … can you believe it? He couldn't stand Martin and me when you two were together. He was too worried we'd talk some bloody sense into you, so you'd realise what a wrong 'un he really was. You'll never guess what he had the nerve to say."

I don't think I want to know.

"He came out with more of his lies again, but this time, he was talking about Art, telling me he was bad news and that we should be worried about you seeing him. He said he'd been to prison and all sorts."

I'm sure my heart stops beating. "Prison?"

"Can you believe it?!" Mum cries incredulously. "I mean, the cheek of the man."

No, I really can't believe it. I can't believe any of this is happening at all. A few days ago, I was in a blissful, loved-up state, and now, my world's falling apart at the seams. "What did you say?"

"What do you think? I told him to sling his bloody hook," Mum scoffs. "I told him it was about time that he stopped with his lies and grew up. Then, I told him to never call us again and slammed the phone down."

I breathe a sigh of relief that Mum didn't believe him. He's done enough damage for her to never believe a word that comes out of his mouth ever again. The last thing I need is her finding out about Art's past. I know she and Martin are positively enamoured with him, but that might be a bit of a stretch, even for them. At some point, I know I'll have to tell them. I couldn't bear them finding out by accident. But now's not the time.

My mind's spinning. "You probably won't hear from him again," I say dismissively, hoping to God I'm right.

"Goodness knows what he thought he was playing at. He's never been quite right if you ask me," Mum says darkly. "I never understood what you saw in him. "

For a moment, I think about telling her about the letter but decide against it. She worries at the best of times, but the letter and the telephone call might tip her over the edge. Especially after the stress of today.

"I mean, fancy saying something like that about Art. He's a successful businessman. A true gentleman," she carries on.

"I wouldn't worry about it. It's probably his idea of a sick joke." I try my best to sound calm when, inside, I'm anything but.

All that crap he wrote in the letter about wanting me to be happy, and then he tries to stir up trouble. He's not changed a bit. He's still the same manipulative liar he always was.

She pats my hand. "You go home. Sort out what you need to with Art."

I frown. "I can't leave you here on your own, Mum."

"I'll be fine, love. Martin's okay. I'll be leaving soon anyway because he'll need to get some rest. Thank you for being here for me."

"It doesn't feel right, leaving you here."

"Go on. You've got your own problems to deal with. Go back home and put things right with Art."

I stare down at the ring and twist it round on my finger. I've got to find him first. "He left. I don't know where he's gone."

"Men are simple creatures. He's upset. Think where he'd go. For Martin, that's up in the loft with his trains. For your dad, it was his shed." She smiles fondly at the memory. "Ask yourself, where's Art's special place?"

And suddenly, I know exactly where he'll be.