7. Seven

Seven

A rt leads me out to the small staff car park at the back of the club and helps me into the car. He climbs in, flicks on the heater and heated seats, and cranks the temperature up. For the first time since I went to work yesterday, I find myself relaxing as I sink into the warm leather. Tiredness hits me like a wall. My body's been running on adrenaline the last few hours, and now that it's disappeared, I'm exhausted.

My eyelids grow heavy as I stare out the window, piecing together everything that's happened in the past couple of hours. It's probably best to start at the beginning.

"How did you find out what Jamie was up to? The dealing?"

"How do you know about that?"

"He told me you'd sacked him. I guessed. "

Art changes gear and shifts lanes, driving through the quiet streets at speed. I know he's trying to keep a lid on his anger for my benefit, but the stiffness in his jaw gives him away. And he doesn't even know the half of it yet.

"The girls at the club weren't keen on him. They got sick of his attitude, and Red—you met her—told me he was helping the dealers out. He'd tip them off, let them know when Big Steve or I would be in, so they could avoid the place. He was getting a cut and helping them deal. About ten minutes before you showed up, I confronted him. At first, he denied it, but as it turns out, he's not very bright. There's CCTV footage of him with the dealers, giving drugs to punters. As soon as he saw the evidence, he realised the game was up. The cops were ready and waiting for him. I gave him five minutes to collect his stuff. I had no idea you were in there. I heard a scream …" He rakes a hand through his hair and shakes his head at the memory. "I just knew it was you."

The streetlights shine through the windscreen and illuminate the swollen, blood-encrusted knuckles of his right hand. My stomach turns again. It's time to deal with the elephant in the room.

"You wouldn't have stopped, would you? You wouldn't have stopped hitting him if I hadn't made you."

Art stares straight ahead, avoiding my gaze. "Jamie's at the station. He's going to get what he deserves. You don't have to worry about him anymore."

"Unless he decides to press charges. And he might, Art. What if he does?"

"Don't worry about that. He wouldn't dare."

I'm not convinced. But there's something else we need to talk about.

"What did he say to you?"

Theo.

I push my head back into the seat and take a deep breath. "He's still the same. An emotionally manipulative bastard. He tried to guilt-trip me into agreeing to meet him by saying I was the reason he couldn't be happy with anyone else." I pause as I think about some of the more unsettling things he said. "When I asked him how he knew where I lived and about us, he said that everyone's only separated by six degrees. He said I thought I'd cut him out of my life these past three years, but we were still linked even if I didn't know it."

Art shoots me a worried look. "Okay, so he knows where we live. What else does he know?"

I've got to tell him the truth. "He knows … about you."

"Knows what about me?"

"Theo called Mum and Martin a couple of days ago. He told them you'd been to prison and tried to convince them you were bad news."

Art slams on the brakes, and the car screeches to a stop in the middle of the road. My fingernails dig into the seat, and I thank God it's the early hours and we're the only ones on about.

His eyes are black with anger. "He did fucking what?"

"They didn't believe him and told him to stop calling."

Art shoves his head back into the headrest, his jaw working as he turns over what I told him.

"I don't know how he knows where we live or how he knows about your past. He didn't let on. He seemed to get some perverse pleasure out of it all. In the end, Derek came out, and he scarpered."

Art pulls the car away with a squeal of tyres. After what feels like an eternity, he speaks, "He's trying to take me down, so he can get to you."

"He's not going to get to me. I mean, it wouldn't make any difference if we split up; it's not like I'd get back together with him."

"Fuck!" He slams a hand against the steering wheel in anger. "How does he know this stuff?"

"Like I said, I don't know."

"This changes everything." He throws me a warning look. "He's upped the ante. I can't let this slide."

"You promised me you'd leave it."

He leans an elbow against the window and drags a hand across his mouth. "Sending you a letter is one thing. Stalking you is another. "

The words hang in the air between us.

I feel sick at the thought of what Art's got planned, given what I saw tonight. "What are you going to do?"

"He'll never get close to you again. He's going to get what he deserves."

Anxiety coils tight in my stomach at the threat. This is exactly how I feared he'd react. "I don't want this. I don't want you to do anything. Promise me you won't."

We arrive outside the apartment.

He cuts the engine. "I'm not making a promise that I won't keep."

"I don't want you getting into trouble because of him."

"He needs to be stopped."

"I can't have you doing something stupid and going to prison because if it."

"He's not getting away with this, Sophie."

He's exasperating. Even the prospect of him being sent back to prison, the one place he swore he'd never return, isn't enough to make him stop. He's not listening. The blinkers are coming up again, like I saw in the club earlier. I don't know this Art. And I don't like him one bit.

"Art, I'm begging you … please. I'll go to the police and report it."

His voice rises to meet mine. "No, Sophie. I'm stopping this. Right now."