Page 123 of Into the Dark

“You know we still have ten minutes if you wanted to call Jin now,” I suggest as I spoon a scoop of vanilla Ben and Jerry’s into my mouth.

“After,” he says with a shake of his head. “Anyway, I’m sure I’ll feel a lot more apologetic after seeing a French movie about an exploited teenager who turns to prostitution.”

“Oh, good point.” I nod before leading the way to screen four.

The film is dark and depressing and does nothing to transport me off to a better place. But it does stop me from checking my phone. Nick and I have an unwritten rule about looking at our phones in the cinema: they must be out of sight at all times. It’s part of the reason I suggested coming here.

We emerge into the still blinding sunlight, depressed and lost in our own pensive thoughts, and Nick offers to buy me lunch. He steers us south down Haymarket Street, where he tells me there’s a Spaghetti House he likes. I’m not particularly hungry, but I decide that since Jake still hasn’t been in contact I’ll let Nick distract me for another hour or so before heading home to panic myself into a mini breakdown.

While we dissect the merits of the film, I peck with disinterest at my caprese salad, and he devours a heaped plate of steaming spaghetti carbonara. As he’s shoveling a loaded forkful into his mouth his phone rings, and when he pulls it out of his pocket to inspect the caller ID he practically jumps up from the table.

“It’s him,” he says, a hopeful but fearful note in his voice.

I give him an encouraging smile, and he disappears away from me toward the entrance to talk in private.

My phone is still dreadfully silent, and so I pick it up and flick to his name, letting my finger hover over it, but ultimately I decide against calling him. Directly under his name in my phone I see something else and move my finger so it’s hovering over another call I’m not sure I should make. I’m reminded of a scene from the film near the last act, a tearful reunion between the main character and her father as they both broke down in admissions of love and guilt, and I feel something pull at me.

Should I leave it a few days? A few months? Should I leave it altogether? Christ, I don’t know enough about this situation to know what’s right. It’s not my business, I know that. He’ll be angry, I know that too, but surely if he’s this emotional about it then he still cares. Somewhere deep down he still cares.

Nick paces back and forth outside, still deep in conversation with Jin. When he stops, smiles, and then closes his eyes happily, I feel my heart lighten.

Without another thought, I hit the dial button on Jake’s mother’s number.

As I turn the car into the driveway my body inflates with joy, my mouth releasing a small, audible moan of relief. His car is parked at the top of the driveway, and so I crunch up the gravel slowly to park my Mini behind his Audi. After retrieving my bag of laundry from the trunk, I practically run to the front door. The house is eerily quiet, but the shoes I saw him put on this morning are by the door, so I know he’s definitely here.

“Jake?” I call out, only to be met with silence. Perhaps he’s in the garden? It’s still warm outside and the sun hasn’t completely disappeared yet.

The living room is empty and quiet as I pass, the TV off and the blinds drawn, so I keep moving through to the kitchen. Hooking the bag of laundry over the back of the dining chair, I cross to the back door, unlocking it first before sticking my head outside. I suppose the locked door already told me he isn’t likely to be out here.

A tense chill spreads outward, wrapping its cold, spindly fingers around my spine and gripping hard. I’m about to head upstairs to check there when something draws me into the living room. Taking the two steps down, I move further into the room and turn my attention toward the sofa, which is only visible once fully inside.

I let out a soft breath as a smile of delight spreads across my mouth. He’s fast asleep. Lying stretched out on his back, a throw cushion hugged tightly to his chest and his other arm above his head, he has his face turned inward to the back of the sofa. Between his feet, Fred lies in a tightly coiled ball of sleeping tortoiseshell fur. They look adorable. I want to grab my phone and take a picture, but I don’t want to move an inch and disturb him. Relief and love and desire course through my veins like warm milk.

I move toward him as quietly as I can and kneel down by the sofa, reaching out a hand to brush back the long lengths of sandy brown hair from his forehead. His brow is creased and his mouth posed in its usual sleep pout, hidden partially by the hair covering his top lip. I rest my head on my hands and watch him for a few long seconds. His skin is unmarred and healthy, the pink-golden flesh showing absolutely no signs of any damage. His knuckles as they clutch at the blue cushion have the only marks on him. My eyes drift back up to his face, stopping at the open neck of his shirt, which shows off the section of thick, tattooed muscle and smooth neck. I gaze at the long, straight nose and the full, plump pink of his lips, sighing with longing at the thick cast of jet-black eyelashes that rest against his golden cheek.

I take a long, deep exhale and shake my head.

“I love you so much, Jake Lawrence,” I say softly. He doesn’t stir. Not a bit. “I hope our baby looks like you,” I add inaudibly. When he still doesn’t stir, I decide to go on. “I hope they’re brave and fearless and strong like you are. I hope they have all the things that made me fall in love with you.” I move my hand down to rest it over my stomach and close my eyes. “But I’m so bloody scared, Jake.” I’m afraid in the normal way expectant women are afraid—of not being a good mother, of something happening to the baby that I can’t prevent or control.

But I’m also afraid in ways expectant women should never have to be.

I’m afraid that all these plans of his, of ours, will be subverted. I’m afraid of being left alone with a baby who, without Jake to love them, will wither. That they’ll become too much like me. I’m scared that our child will feel incomplete without his love like I used to.

And most confusing to me is this deep, terrifying fear I won’t be able to love anything as much as I love him.

But I’ve seen how he is with Caleb. How much he loves him while also loving me. It’s a different measure of love. Or perhaps “measure” is the wrong word. I’m not sure there is any measure to love—not really. When a child is born, so is a different and new kind of love. One I don’t yet understand. Something Jake does understand and will have to help me with.

I need him. I need him so much it scares me.

Finally, Jake shifts, turning his body around so his head is turned in my direction. This time when I touch my hand to his cheek, he jerks awake, eyes springing open in alarm. He blinks a few times, clearing the sleepy daze from them before they soften and he smiles at me.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Where were you?”

“I went to see my brother. I thought you would have called.” I don’t I say I was worried. He knows this already.

“Phone died,” he says with a sigh. “Think the battery is fucked.”

I nod and skirt my eyes down to the foot of the sofa. “You do realize that one of the most dangerous men in London currently has a small, furry cat sleeping soundly at his feet? Have you any idea what this would do for your reputation?”