27. Twenty-Seven

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."

The friends Theo had when I knew him weren't the type who would go somewhere like Savage or have even heard of it. Footy and the pub were their main interests. Tara sighs. "But apart from that, I can't think he's told me anything that would be useful. Listen, I'd better go. I guess I just wanted you to know that … well, no hard feelings, I suppose."

I smile. I can't believe I'm about to say the next words. "Thanks, Tara, for coming round and trying to help."

She opens the front door and steps onto the landing. "If I think of anything, I'll let you know."

"Thank you. Anything you remember could be helpful."

"See you, Sophie." She goes to walk off and then stops in her tracks, remembering something. "Oh yeah, that was it. I know you said you didn't believe him when he said he'd got help, but he mentioned going to therapy. Been going quite a while by the sounds of it. Sees her every week. So, I think he has been honest about that."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "Well, that makes a change."

"Yeah, well, I'll see you around." Tara goes to leave when a thought sparks in my head.

"Wait!"

She looks at me like I've gone mad.

"When you said Theo was seeing a therapist, you said ‘her'".

Tara frowns. "Yeah, that's right. He talked about it one of the nights after he had a few."

It can't be.

"Did he ever mention her name?"

Tara looks off into the distance, thinking. "Not sure. I'm not very good with names. I think he did because I remember thinking at the time that it sounded unusual."

It's got to be worth a shot .

"Aisling?" I mutter. "Aisling Lonergan?"

Her eyes widen in recognition. "Yeah, that's it. Do you know her?"

She's the link. Aisling's the poisonous connection between Theo, me, and Art. Theo's opened up to her. Told her about me and him. God knows what she's said to him to make him turn back up in my life. In return, she's armed Theo with information about Art's past.

I feel sick. "Yes. Yes, I do."

I need to tell Art.

Art! He's with her now, oblivious to her evil scheming.

Panic rises in my chest as I mumble a thank-you to Tara and rush back into the living room. Grabbing my mobile, I hit Art's number on speed dial.

"Fuck!" I cry as it switches to voice mail.

I can barely think straight, mentally willing his pre-recorded message to hurry the fuck up. "Art, it's me. You need to call me as soon as you get this message. It's Aisling. She's the one who told Theo about you. She's his therapist; he's been seeing her for ages. Call me. And be careful. If she's gone to these lengths, I wouldn't put anything past her."

Now what?

Maybe I should go after him. But I don't know where he arranged to meet her.

There's a knock on the door, and I hurry to answer. Hopefully, Tara's remembered another nugget of information that will help us piece together exactly what the hell has been happening.

I open the door. There's no one there.

Confused, I step out onto the landing, glancing around to make sure I've not imagined it. And freeze.

Theo appears round the corner from where he was hiding. I'm like a rabbit caught in headlights. The last time he was this close to me …

Bile swirls in my stomach, and I swallow it down. I can't dwell on that. He's dressed in black, and there's a wild look in his eyes, which fires up my brain and tells my body to move quickly .

My gut's telling me he's not here to talk this time.

The next five seconds pass in slow motion. I go to dash back inside the apartment, but he's far too quick. I barely make it back inside before he's on me. The heavy weight of his body forces me into the wall. Panic sears through me, and I open my mouth to scream, but he clamps his hand over my mouth, silencing me.

I'm transported back to every other time he's done this to me. I close my eyes to try and quiet the feeling of dread threatening to consume me. Of what he's going to do next.

Calm down, Soph.

His mouth presses against my right ear. The reek of stale lager on his breath makes my stomach turn. "You need to keep quiet. Are you listening?"

If you freak out, he's won.

I nod.

"You've driven me to this. It's your fault. If you'd agreed to meet me in the first place, I wouldn't have needed to do this." His grip tightens around my mouth. "Now, I'm going to take my hand away, and you need to keep quiet because if you don't …" Cold, hard metal presses into my throat. He's got a fucking knife. "Do you understand?"

He's insane. All I can do is nod.

Theo removes his hand from my mouth very slowly, like he doesn't quite trust me.

I gulp down a lungful of air to quell my fear. His hand might be gone, but he's still pressed against me.

Hot, acrid breath hits my cheek. "Now, what I want to do is drag you into the bedroom and fuck you in his bed."

I squeeze my eyes shut and chew the inside of my cheek to stop my ready tears from falling.

I won't let him see how he scares me. He's not controlling me this time.

"But not yet. First, we're going for a little ride," he rasps into my ear.

My relief's short-lived at the mention of him taking me somewhere.

I force my voice to remain even. "Where are we going? "

"None of your fucking business. Now, you need to walk out of this place with me like everything's fine. Because if you don't, if you kick off or try to run …" He presses the blade against the base of my throat, warning me. One slip, and I'm gone. "Do you understand?"

I'm scared to nod in case the blade pierces my throat.

"Say, Yes, Theo."

I can hear the evil smile in his voice, proof of the sadistic kick he's getting out of controlling me. Like he always did.

I fucking hate him.

"Yes, Theo."

"Good girl."

He shifts off me, allowing me to breathe easily for the first time. He roughly puts an arm around my waist and pulls me to his hip. "Just like old times," he sneers.

I'm frogmarched downstairs. His clammy grip around my waist remaining vice-like.

Where's he taking me?

Is Art okay?

Breathe. Stay calm. Think of a way to escape.

I dare not scream or try to run because of what he's threatened to do. The unhinged look in his eye tells me he's not bluffing. But I can't just go along with this. I need to try something. As we round the final landing and carry on down the last staircase to the lobby, I conjure up a plan. I'll attract the attention of the concierge; I'm not sure how, but I will. Then, he'll know something's amiss.

But as we reach the bottom of the staircase, my hopes are instantly dashed.

The concierge is distracted, talking on the telephone and looking down at the desk as we walk on by. I doubt he's even noticed us leave.

Shit!

There's no one outside on the street either. No passing stranger who I can at least try to flash my eyes at and get their attention. I'm steered around the corner to a white transit van parked on the side street .

Theo yanks open the sliding door, grips the back of my head, and pushes me forward. "Get in."

I step up into the van and duck my head to avoid hitting it on the rusty roof.

His lips curl at the sight of me hunched over in the back of the van. "Sit down."

The door slams behind me, and I'm in darkness. I more or less collapse onto the floor of the van and shuffle backwards on my bum to lean against one of the sides. There's more slamming, and then Theo climbs into the driver's seat, and we pull away.

I close my eyes, trying to count the number of left and right turns the van takes to make sense of where we're going. But after a while, I lose track. The longer we drive, the more the thought of Art finding me rapidly dwindles. Eventually, the van stops, and the door slides open.