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The crystal decanter tinkles against the glass as Max pours himself another large measure. “Maybe it’s the eyes. They’re grey,” he agrees before downing his drink. “But yours are more complex in colour. Sabine’s are paler.”
Despite the brandy burning my stomach, I shiver. While the memories might be uncomfortably welcome, they leave me with huge questions. It feels like an empty chasm is opening up inside me, waiting to be filled.
“How is Ben?” I ask.
“I spoke to him earlier. He’s dealing,” Max says forlornly as he looks into his empty glass. “I’m still hopeful they’ll reconnect. I think about them both a lot.”
I fold my arms around him, offering what comfort I can. “I’m sorry.”
Warmth simmers from him, replacing the chill embedded in my bones. “Come on. Let’s get some sleep.”
CHAPTERTWENTY
MAX
I waketo sunshine streaming in through the squared-off windows and the balcony beyond. At my side, Ava sleeps deeply, soft breaths pushed out of her body. Seeing her sleep deeper, for longer, is a good sign, but I wonder what plagues her dreams now that she’s remembering.
I cuddle into her to find her body warm. A lazy smile creeps onto her face, a face that’s a fascinating blend of unusual and striking and adorable. I could look at her all day, mapping the wide mouth, the shape of her pointy nose and her mercurial grey-toned eyes that torture and bewitch.
It comes as no surprise that I love her, confessing it mere hours ago. She hasn’t said it back, but that’s also unsurprising. I’m ahead of myself. Always fifty steps ahead of myself.
Without her, I’m pretty sure I’d be unable to breathe or think. She gives me purpose and clarity, drive and ambition, a catalyst that has my life returning to some kind of normality. And creatively I’ve never been more industrious, though that’s least important right now.
Leaning in, I kiss her beautiful mouth. Ava responds, a leg hitching up and over my hip as she chases after my teasing lips.
It takes me mere moments to strip her naked, glutting myself on her pussy before she swallows me into her heavenly mouth. This time, she takes me easily, greedily, my hands gripping her jaw as I came hard down her throat. Afterwards, I make love to her, gently, sweetly. I haven’t put a foot wrong since the night I pushed her too far too fast. And after last night’s horrific memory, she might not have wanted anything at all, so I’m grateful that she’s strong enough to give her body over to me. To know the difference between my touch, and that of nameless, sick fucks.
Maybe not so nameless now.
Luca
Lionheart.
Male B.
Ava types up her new memories in the kitchen while I cook us smoked haddock omelettes with a hollandaise sauce for brunch. Afterwards, we go for the long anticipated run, Logan chasing us across the heath. After a shower we decamp in the living room, Logan curled on the floor at our sides. Stretched out on the sofa, I drape an arm over Ava in front of me, her body aligning with mine. My palm spans her stomach, the knowledge that she carries me around with her in her belly, in her pussy, making me ridiculously happy.
We watchAtonement, waiting on Paula to return Ava’s call. When her mobile finally rings she looks to me for reassurance and collaboration. She knows how much I want to be involved in helping her memories return, but she doesn’t know quite how much I need them.
“Hi, Paula. I’ve got you on speaker if that’s okay. I’m with my boyfriend.”
She grins at me. It’s the first time she’s referred to me that way and a wave of possessiveness surges through my groin.
“No problem.”
I stand, going to find some paper and a pen to make notes. On Monday, a more thorough debrief will take place, but Paula has already read through Ava’s email from this morning.
“Things to think about are; one: we need detailed descriptions of male B and Lionheart; two: a surname for Luca, and anything he might have shared when you were alone; three: any information regarding where you were. Did you see any post, leaflets or newspapers lying about?; four: what was the type of phone used by the buyer as he transferred the money?; five: can you describe the building as you left to go outside to the car, and what type of car was it?; six, and most importantly, who’s the big boss who got rich off the sale?”
I scribble down each outstanding question as Ava says, “I think I have more detail on where in the north my buyer was from.”
“Good,” Paula says, her voice encouraging after Ava shares more about the buyer’s accent. “This is all really helpful, Ava. Keep the memories coming.”
We sign off, Ava staring out of the window for a long time.
“It feels like I’ve tapped a well; more and more is coming all the time,” she says biting at her lip.
I can’t fault her lack of enthusiasm. The memories must be tiring. Soul-destroying. Drugs and chemicals mixed in her blood for days blocked out much of the detail, and a psychological condition that keeps her from the rest is difficult to navigate. But together, we’ll meet whatever comes her way.
