Jemma’s blood froze. ‘No. I mean… Yes, she did mention him, obviously she would—’
‘I heard, Jemma!’ Ryan glared at her. ‘Every word.’
Jemma’s mouth ran dry. Silence hung heavily between them for an agonising second. ‘It didn’t mean anything!’ she cried hopelessly, moving towards him.
Ryan stepped back, his thunderous gaze rooting her to the spot. ‘Right.’ He locked eyes full of contempt hard on hers. ‘You created a fucking child together and it didn’t mean anything?’
Jemma took another stumbling step forward. ‘Ryan, please, let me explain.’
‘Explain?’ He laughed incredulously.
‘I made a mistake.’ Jemma ran her tongue over her parched lips. ‘A terrible mistake. One I’ll—’ She stopped, letting out a yelp of shock, as he slammed his fist hard into the door frame.
‘Ryan!’ She flew towards him.
‘Don’t.’ His chest heaving, he warned her off. ‘When were you going to tell me, Jemma?’ He wiped his bloodied hand across his mouth. ‘Not when he was born, clearly; you were hoping I was gullible enough to accept him as mine. When he was ten? After I’d given a speech at his fucking wedding? When?’
‘I was going to tell you,’ Jemma lied. ‘I wanted to.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Ryan sneered scornfully. ‘When was that then? After you’d made the “terrible mistake” of shagging my mate? Or when you realised you were pregnant with his child?’
She dropped her gaze. ‘I… don’t know,’ she whispered, wrapping her arms about herself. She felt so cold. So cold and lonely and ugly inside. She’d thought this was her way of having everything. The family she’d so badly craved. A beautiful little house they could live happily ever after in. Instead, she had nothing. Dirty secrets swept under the carpet, that was all.
‘I get that you wanted to keep the baby.’ Ryan spoke after a minute, his voice choked. ‘But this? The deceit? The lies? Why? What did I do that was so wrong?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Jemma murmured uselessly. Ryan didn’t move to hold her as the tears cascaded down her face. He would have done once. Would have always been there for her, but she hadn’t wanted him, couldn’t bear him near her, his pain and his grief only exacerbating hers. ‘When did you know?’ she asked him, swallowing back the knot of guilt expanding in her throat.
He glanced away. ‘About the affair? A while,’ he said with a disconsolate shrug. ‘It might have been an idea to delete the texts he sent you every five minutes, you know?’
She could feel his humiliation, the heat from his eyes as he looked back at her.
‘Did you want to be with him?’
She shook her head.
‘Right, so you were heartbroken at his funeral because…?’
Confused, she squinted at him. ‘He died, Ryan, horribly.’
‘Yeah.’ Ryan shrugged again, indifferent, and turned towards the stairs. ‘And as far as I’m concerned, the bastard deserved all he got.’
Jemma’s head snapped up. ‘Ryan?’ She followed him, dread pooling in her stomach. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked as he thundered down the stairs. ‘Ryan! What are you saying?’
He didn’t answer, didn’t look back.
‘It was an accident!’ she shouted, over the slam of the front door. ‘He fell!’
Thirty-Nine
Kimberley
Kim was walking back through the playing fields behind the gym towards the main road. Her mind on Cassie, wondering how she was managing to remain so together after all that had gone on; she didn’t take much notice of the man walking behind her, until he started whistling. It was a bit of an odd melody for this time of year.
Rain was beginning to spit down, and a chill ran through her as he whistled on, ‘Auld Lang Syne’ echoing mournfully across the open ground. Scanning the field, only to realise she was alone apart from him, she glanced back and her heart stopped dead. She stared hard at him, and slowly her heart started pumping again. He was the same height, the same colouring, wearing a similar leather jacket to the one she’d last seen Josh in, but it wasn’t him. She was imagining things, ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and her guilty conscience conjuring up his ghost.
His hands thrust deep in his jacket pockets, the man stared back at her. Kim was about to say something, anything to break the ice, but there was something about the intent way he was looking at her, his face hard and expressionless.
Acutely aware of what she was wearing – leggings and a cropped sports top, the tracksuit top she’d been about to put on