18. Mabel
I knew when to pounce and when to back off.
Right now was a major back-off moment, as Jonny's body had gone from soft and pliant to hard as steel, and I didn't mean that in any kind of sexy way. So, instead of draping myself across his chest and trying to tempt him into something he wasn't ready for, I got up and made coffee, clumsily figuring out his sleek high-tech machine while he rummaged around, getting dressed. I couldn't see him, I could tell from the slams of doors opening and closing, the clothes being flung on the bed.
A stray sock shot across the floor somewhere in my peripheral vision, then there he was, shirt and tie, combined with a pair of boxers and socks. I almost laughed at the lack of trousers. I didn't, though, because he didn't look right.
"You okay?" I asked, keeping my voice low yet my eyes on him. I couldn't fully read him, as he seemed to keep all his emotions locked up as soon as that tie tightened around his neck. I wanted to rip it off, or at least loosen it up enough that his shoulders would drop and he would smile and ask me for another hug.
I wanted to hug him again, was already imagining how it would feel, pressing my bare chest against his crisply ironed shirt. He hadn't got that one from the pile of wrinkled ones on the floor, that was for sure.
His eyes flicked briefly to my body, making me look down too. My briefs were not the best. The elastic was torn on the side, and I wondered if the hem had held at the back. I hadn't chosen my attire with any care, not expecting to end up where I had. Neither had he, and now here he was, having to deal with an almost-naked me in his kitchen first thing in the morning. No wonder he looked uncomfortable.
Shoving a cup of coffee into his hand, I grabbed my stuff from the sofa and went to the bathroom. Hair up in a ponytail, I whipped my skin into submission under hastily applied foundation, a smidge of blush, a touch of gloss, a quick lick of mascara. Slipping into the full-length skirt and cowl-neck jumper, I stood back and took in my reflection—presentable—then composed myself before returning to the living room, hoping he'd have calmed down. Perhaps donned some trousers.
"I have a conference call in ten minutes." At least he was looking at me now. "Need to prepare. I'm so sorry, I'd love to have made you some breakfast and—"
"Jonny, it's fine. I don't expect anything. I need to go anyway. Things to do today."
"I see."
"And you need trousers."
"I never wear trousers. Waste of time when people can only see the top half of me."
Property tycoon or not, Jonathan Templar was a mess. A child.
Still, he made me smile. Oh Mabel, you bloody fool.
"Jonny, listen," I said before I lost my nerve. "I can't just jump into having some kind of relationship with you when I have so much going on that I still haven't dealt with. I don't have a job. I don't have a home. I am so bloody lost in all this, and I still haven't talked to Mark."
"I understand," he said quietly. Shirt and tie or not, he'd lowered his guard, and suddenly I could read him again, loud and clear. Fear. All that fear. It shone like a dark halo around him.
"I need to sort myself out. Get my ducks in a row."
"Ducks," he muttered.
"Ducks," I repeated, taking a step closer to him. I couldn't help it, the way I was drawn to him. Even before I knew him like this, when he'd just been a regular diner at work, if he'd appeared, I'd walk his way. I couldn't explain it. Nor could I explain why I put my finger under his chin and lifted his head so he was looking at me. "I'm going to go home, make a start at getting my life back on track, not get swept up in a moment that the two of us will regret."
"No regrets," he said stubbornly. "I told you before, and I'll tell you again. I'm not something you'll have to fight for. I know what I want. What I need. You just have to be…here. I'll look after you."
"Sounds like you want to be my sugar daddy."
He let out a small giggle. Shoulders down, Jonny. Relax.
"No, Pickle, not your sugar daddy. No rent. No obligations. Just come spend time with me."
"I can't take advantage of you like that."
He moved away.
"Sorry," he muttered. "Need to take that conference call."
"I'll let myself out."
His head dropped again. Fuck.
"Can I at least kiss you goodbye?" I asked, cringing at how desperate I sounded. Out of control.
He stopped by his office door, his back to me. Those legs…
"Sorry," I continued my unhinged word vomit. "I didn't mean to upset you or be ungrateful, but men like you usually scare me, intimidate me. You don't. You're so sweet and funny and weird and different from how I thought you would be, and I don't know how to handle this."
Honesty was one thing, but I was clearly losing it.
"I don't know how to handle this either," he said to the door. "But if you're leaving, then at least tell me when I'll see you again."
I could hear his computer making noises. Ringing sounds. Pings.
"I'll come…by."
"That sounds like a goodbye."
Who knew? Jonny Templar had snark too. Sad snark. And I couldn't bear it. We'd taken so many steps forward over the past twenty-four hours, and now I'd taken a giant one back.
I was scared, almost as scared as him, but I couldn't leave it like this. So I walked up and wrapped my arms around him, pressed my chest to his back and nuzzled into his neck, no doubt smearing make-up on his collar. It didn't matter.
"Let me get my head on straight. Sort myself out," I murmured.
"Ducks," he said.
The ringing was driving me mad. It was probably driving him mad too, but he turned around and gently placed his hands around my face, his thumb stroking across my cheek.
"Stubble," he whispered. "I wasn't sure you had that."
"Of course I have that."
"I like it. I like this lip gloss too. You're beautiful."
"Thank you."
I stood there, lost in the moment, wondering where I'd go from here because my bravado had already left the building and I wanted to stay here for the rest of the day and have Jonny tell me how beautiful I was.
And really, it had to be a sign of how lost I was that I missed the cues, the build-up, because next thing his lips met mine in the softest of kisses, sticking a little to my gloss, which made him smile. I could feel it.
"Now I'll be able to taste you for the rest of the day."
"Seductive bastard."
He laughed and took a step back. Then he went inside his office and closed the door in my face.
I couldn't stop smiling as I took the lift down and even half-blew a kiss to the concierge…before he scurried off to bring my car up from the garage.
"You'll need the…" I began but didn't bother finishing the sentence, as I'd shoved my hand in my coat pocket and discovered that once again, Mr Templar had nabbed my keys. Make that a manipulative, seductive bastard.
But it was different this time. There was give and take, and it was nice to be taken care of for once, an unexpected feeling that made sense in my head. I wasn't deluded enough to believe I was some kind of princess in a fairy tale. The most I could expect out of this was a brief fling, swiftly followed by a broken heart. I knew the drill. In that respect, this wasn't any different from the norm. My norm.
God knows where my head was, but I rolled up outside my parents' house with no recollection of how I'd navigated the M4 all the way there. Frightening, but I was tired and weary, and the drive was blocked by the carer's car. Having to park on the street annoyed me. Well, I was annoying with myself—doing the walk of shame up the garden path at my age.
My dad met me in the doorway. "Your idiot is in the kitchen," he declared curtly.
"Okay." I brushed past him and dumped my bag on the floor. "Which idiot? The one who broke Mum's vase or the one who left the sink tap running and flooded the downstairs toilet?" Our carers were a bit like my wait staff. Sometimes in need of a little gentle guidance.
"No, you fool!" Dad half shouted. " Your idiot."
I stopped. Because. Surely not.
Heart thumping, I stomped into the kitchen, still wearing my heels. Heels made me more confident. Taller. Impossibly so. My height was a good weapon to intimidate. Not that I needed to intimidate, especially my ex-husband, who'd been sitting at our kitchen table sipping a cup of tea but had the decency to scrabble to his feet when I burst through the door. He even held out his hands in defence.
Okay, scratch that. I needed to intimidate. Big time.
I also needed the fuck calm down, in case I went for him and punched him in the face.
For the record, I did not have a violent bone in my body. But in my head, I was throwing punches. Hard ones.
"Mabs," he said in a voice that was a little wobbly. Good.
"Don't Mabs me," I snarled.
"Sit, I'm making you tea," he said, moving gingerly over towards the kettle. "I'm not here to start a war, nor am I here to wave bloody white flags between you and Mark. He doesn't even know I'm here."
"Where does he think you are then?"
"In bed, getting my beauty sleep."
"Oh, Finny."
So easily swayed, me. Weak and stupid. I slumped into a chair and sat there, deflated, all the morning's feelings tumbling around inside me. Happiness and sparkles mixed with doom and despair. And now I had to deal with Finley, the man I'd met outside a club in Soho, me barely eighteen and stupidly na?ve. Him, the most handsomely rugged man I'd ever met, a country boy, full of innocent charm. He'd taken me home to his place, and I'd never really left. We'd married. Fought. Cheated. Hurt. So much hurt. Yet my stupid head decided I was relieved to see him. Because despite the violent end to our marriage, he still made me feel. Not love. Not fear. Just a familiarity I craved, having someone who knew me as well as he did just sit there and let me breathe.
"I…" he started but then stopped and sat down opposite me, pushing a cup towards me. Tea. I didn't drink tea. Not that Finley would remember; Mark certainly never did. He brought me cups of tea as gestures of kindness I was supposed to be grateful for when all I wanted was to hurl them back at him. Maybe he'd known me, for a short time in my youth, but he didn't know me anymore. Not in the way he once had.
"I need you to know," Finley began again, "that nothing we did last weekend was done to hurt you."
"Bullshit," I spat. "And oh, congratulations, by the way. Thrilled for you both." My sarcasm was, for once, perfectly on point.
"I know you're hurt."
"Hurt? Finny, I'm embarrassed AF. Humiliated to the bone. Hurt doesn't even start to describe it."
"I'm sorry."
I said nothing, but he'd clearly got the vibe in the room because he squirmed uncomfortably and took a sip of his tea. It must have been cold by now. Good.
"Mabs—"
I huffed. He went on.
"You're the kind of person who will never jump unless you're pushed."
"And where the hell am I supposed to jump?" The anger was intense. It always was with Finley and me. All that stuff about having forgiven and forgotten? It was nothing of the sort. It was still boiling in that cauldron inside of me, and if I didn't get out of here soon, I would explode.
I clenched my fists, talked myself down in my head because familiarity wasn't always good. It made me lose all my inhibitions, and I needed to compose myself back into what everyone expected me to be. Calm. Composed. Kind. Elegant. Always.
"You need to jump. And I'm here to push you."
"Finny, stop talking like a twat."
"You and I have been part of each other's lives for over twenty years. We might've divorced, but we never truly separated. We just keep tangling each other up in this ridiculous web of work shite and friendships, and I can't just stand by and let it consume you. You deserve better than this. You deserve more than to live the rest of your life in Mark's shadow, catering to his every whim and simply existing to make him happy."
"I don't do that."
"You do. Every minute of the day. It's wonderful for him, but that's my job now. And your job—"
"Fuck you."
"No, Mabs. You need to listen." He grabbed my hands. I hated touching him. Hated that he touched me. Hated him . Shivers danced down my back, my body recoiling, yet I grasped his fingers, held on tight.
"You were my first love, Mabs. Doesn't matter that you hate me, I will always, fucking always have your back. Whatever happens, don't lose my number, because I will pick up and sort out whatever trouble you're in."
He was doing the thing I did love about him, when he lost his cool and went all fiery, protective, passionate. Controlling. But I wasn't that little twink anymore, and he wasn't the idiot he'd once been. My idiot.
"You'll turn up with a shovel and help me bury the body."
"I will."
"We always said that."
"My promise still stands. We're not married anymore. But we need to… both jump off this dysfunctional, shitty roller coaster we're on. It's toxic."
"Your metaphors are on fire today, Finny."
"Trying to talk like a city boy."
"You've actually become a bit of a city boy."
"And you're still a lost twink from bloody Newbury. I haven't been back here in, what, eighteen years."
"Dad must've been thrilled to see you."
"At least he recognised me. Threatened to call the police, then offered me a cup of tea."
"Sounds like Dad."
"He's a nice man. How's your mum?"
"Same. Good days. Bad days. Doesn't recognise either of us anymore. Sometimes she smiles. Muscle movement. Other days, she won't even open her eyes."
"It must be hard."
"It's life."
"It is."
We sat in silence for a while, letting the emotions settle. We were surprisingly good, being just the two of us in a room with nobody else here to buffer. No interference. No work talk to shift the conversation to safer ground.
We had freaking mountains of scores to settle; there was no safe ground here.
"Mabel, I didn't want you at the wedding, and I know you understand why. It became so stupid in the end that Mark went along with it because it was the right fucking thing to do, and I'm not here to apologise or try to smooth that over."
"Got it," I said. "You're here to push me off a cliff."
"Exactly."
My mind was swirling, but in a way, I'd known this was coming. "We divorced. I didn't see you for years. Then I did, and here we are. Still fighting."
"I will always fight for you. With you. Against you. And it is toxic, Mabs. You can see that, can't you? It has to stop. I need to be married to Mark and live my life. And you need to be living a life that makes you happy instead of being Mark's emotional punch bag."
I blew out air, rolled my eyes—my normal reaction to being gut-punched with truths. I'd had too many of those lately, and I was truly sick and tired of them. Truths. I almost wanted to laugh because my whole life was a bunch of fucking lies.
"If it makes you feel better, he didn't tell Ben either," Finley said.
"Bet that went down well," I muttered, and it did make me feel a little better. Mark was closer to Ben than anyone.
"Hugo wasn't happy with me. Tabitha threatened to resign. She had a dress picked out, time off booked. I know we both fucked around with this, but—"
I help up my hand to stop him. "Your day. Your decision."
"Yup."
"So what happens now?"
"Well. Mark is too chicken to do anything. He's put you down as long-term sick, and HR is breathing down his neck for paperwork. Normally, I'd tell him to sort it out, but…well. It's you."
"I'm not coming back."
"I won't let you. If you go anywhere near that place, I'll have security throw you out."
"Finny—"
"You're better than this. So much better than this. And I know your life is up in the air right now, which is why there's no better time than this. You're not meant to be some waiter, Mabs. You have so much. So many wonderful skills. You need to jump. And you know me, I've looked into things and have ideas. I can tell you exactly what I think you should do, but…"
"That's not your decision. Not your place."
"Not anymore. Don't blow this chance. Grab it. Go live, without Mark. Without me. No safety net. Just fucking jump, Mabel."
"And you? Are you going to jump?"
"I already have. Because I'm going to be on the other side, holding Mark together without you. He's never lived like a grown-up without you holding his hand. It's a big step for him too. But it's time. I have to learn to do this too. Properly. Be Mark's husband instead of Mabel's fucked-up, toxic piece-of-shit ex."
"You are toxic."
"Toxic AF."
"At least we agree on something."
"Yes. And it's terrifying. It really is, Mabel, but you can do this. You can go out there and finally let someone else in. Someone who will love you and lift you up and just…"
"You still love me."
"Of course I do. I always will."
"Bastard."
"Which is why you have to let me go too. Cut the strings. Cut the guilt for good."
"I cut the guilt years ago, babe."
"Of course you did. That's why the two of us are still here, stewing in our usual toxic soup. I felt like I was going to throw up, driving out here. The guilt is real, and it needs to stop."
"Being idiots needs to stop," my dad cut in, shuffling into the room in his slippers. "I lost my tablet. I bet one of you is sitting on it."
"It's in the hallway," I said. "I saw it when I came in."
Dad grunted and shuffled back the way he'd come, muttering, "You two are still the same. And don't look at me like that. One day, you'll be shuffling around in your slippers, looking for your tablet, just like your old man. Calling people names…idiots." Dad slammed the kitchen door behind him.
"He's right," Finley said. "And we'll both be fine with that."
"Agree." I swallowed down a mouthful of tea. It was time we put an end to this. "Thank you," I managed to get out.
"For what?"
"Doing this for Mark."
"Not just for Mark, but you should be proud, for finally standing up for yourself. He's still going on about you assaulting him with a carafe."
"I missed."
"I'm glad you did. Because I love him and really want him around."
"Even though you don't want me around."
"You know it."
"I do."
"Mark said you've got a stalker."
"I don't."
"You smiled when you said that. Liar. Snagged yourself a rich dude."
"I haven't snagged shit, Finny. Jonny's a nice guy. We're friends."
"You shagged him yet?"
I looked around the room for something to throw at him. "It's not…like that."
"Then make it like that. You like this guy, I can tell."
"Shut it."
"You've gone all red, Mabs."
"Seriously…" I picked up the cup.
"I'm going to go. I reckon you should leave it a few days, then talk to Mark." He stood up. Pushed the chair back in under the table. "I'm going to sit with your mum for a bit before I go. She was always kind to me. I owe her a lot."
I nodded, watched him walk out into the hallway before he turned around and pinned me with his eyes the way only Finley Christensen could.
"Don't come back. Don't you dare."
I hated him for telling me what to do, even though he was absolutely right. I wasn't going back. No way.