Page 128 of Into the Dark
“Steph! Get your fucking arse down here! Now!” Freddy roars behind me, making me jump.
I blink in surprise at Jake, who gives me a little shrug. He looks tense, though, as he watches Freddy by the staircase, opening my bottled water.
“Beer in a fucking glass? You ’avin a laugh?” Freddy snorts in disgust as Jake pours his beer into a tall glass.
Jake lifts both glasses and comes to stand beside me, handing me my water first before lifting his glass to his mouth. “Actually realized it tastes better from a glass.” He shrugs.
“Hmph,” Freddy grumbles, clearly unconvinced. “Well, I don’t drink that piss water anymore, so I wouldn’t know.” When Freddy flicks his eyes impatiently over my shoulder toward the stairs I brace myself in preparation for him to yell again. Thankfully, I hear the distinct sound of someone in heels coming down them, and so I relax.
Jake comes to stand next to me, hand resting on the back of my neck.
“’Bout fucking time,” Freddy says, shooting a dark glare over my shoulder.
“Calm down, will you? Bloody hell, I’m here now,” comes the distinctly nonplussed feminine reply.
When I turn to get my first look at Freddy’s twenty-three-year-old girlfriend the first thing I feel is underdressed. She’s dressed in a tight red jumpsuit with a plunging neckline almost to her belly button, hair straight and slick and almost to her back, fully made-up (the eyelashes have to be fake) and a long, thin rope of gold hanging from her throat. She struts toward us like a model down a catwalk, her six-inch heels not impeding her in the slightest. She’s utterly stunning. She turns her attention on me first, looking me all the way up and down, and then onto Jake, giving him a flirty, red-lipped smile.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the one and only Jake Lawrence,” she drawls. “Where have you been? Thought you were dead.” She runs a hand down his arm as she passes.
Dead? My stomach lurches as I look at Jake.
He’s smiling a little but looks uncomfortable. “Nah, just busy,” he says. “This is my girlfriend, Alex.” He gestures to me.
At this, Steph turns to look at me again. She has large brown, almost doe-like eyes that make her look sweet. Innocent almost. She lifts her hand in a small wave. “Girlfriend. Well, hello, Alex. Nice to meet you. We’ve all been hearin’ loads about you around here.”
This causes Jake to tense slightly. I’m not sure how I feel about it, but I smile anyway. As she passes, she stops and plants a leisurely kiss on Freddy’s cheek, which garners no response from him whatsoever, so focused he is on the large bowl of water he’s just put on to boil.
“Hey, grumpy,” she says to him, voice low and flirty.
I take the opportunity to study them side by side. They make a more handsome-looking couple than I imagined. She’s tall and slim with a soft golden tan. He stands by her side taller and slightly muscular, but with a distinguished rich older man look about him. I assumed Steph would be with him for superficial reasons, maybe even for those glamorous ones Jake mentioned Gemma having. But seeing them now, it wouldn’t be hard to imagine the attraction is genuine.
“Nearly ready?” she asks as she pours herself a glass of the wine that’s open near the cooker. “I’m bloody starving.” To look into the pot she leans over the stove in a way that makes her look every inch the lithe dancer.
“So you’re actually gonna eat something tonight then?” Freddy raises an eyebrow at her.
“Course I am.” She tuts. “I love your spaghetti.”
“You’re wearing the earrings,” Freddy says, sounding pleased about something finally.
“Yeah. Do you like them on me?” She pulls her hair back and twists her head so the gold earrings glint in the bright kitchen light. Even from here they look expensive.
“Yeah, they look nice,” he says before looking back into the pot.
Steph rolls her eyes, and I look briefly at Jake, who offers me a small, awkward smile. As he turns his head more I notice the stain of Steph’s lipstick on the side of his cheek, and so I bring my hand up to smudge it away with my thumb. He covers my hand and wipes the rest of it away himself, looking a little sheepish as he drains the rest of his beer.
There are a few minutes of uncomfortable silence before Freddy tells us all to go sit at the dinner table.
Easy. That’s how I’d describe the atmosphere for the duration of dinner. Steph is attentive and friendly, but often distracted by her phone. Jake is quiet. Too quiet. I can’t decide if it’s because he’s just tense about us being here or if it’s because Freddy talks a lot. He chats animatedly about Champneys—where he and Steph went to at the weekend—and about an upcoming trip to Antigua they have planned, and then about the house when I compliment it. It has a pool too. On the basement level next to his office and garage. Then he asks me questions. Lots of questions. This makes Jake even more tense, and I suppose I understand why. Because Freddy already knows too much about me.
First it’s questions about my job: if I enjoy it and what I’d be doing if I weren’t a doctor—at which point I realize I don’t have any answer whatsoever. When the chat moves to my family, Jake finally gets involved, rather cleverly turning it around on himself. He says he met my parents a few nights ago and that they hated him. I tell him this isn’t true and that I have it on good authority Mum thought he was polite and good-looking, which makes Freddy laugh loudly. Steph almost spits out her wine through her nose as she balks in disbelief. Jake’s response is to feign an arrogant face and say he knew my mum would fancy him.
Jake then steers the chat to the club—which causes Steph to get more involved. She’s been numerous times, apparently, which annoys me. Does Jake have a table for her there? Does he greet her personally? Christ, what a petty, jealous harpy I’ve become. Freddy says he’s proud of him, which makes Jake looks uncomfortable. He mumbles a thank-you and says how grateful he is for Freddy’s help “to get it off the ground.” Freddy just waves it away and says the club was “all you, son,” affection bright in his eyes. I can’t help but think of the conversation in Jake’s bathroom on Sunday morning.
He trusts me. I’m like a son to him. It’s going to help me destroy him.
How on earth is he coping with this? Under the table I reach for Jake’s hand and squeeze it tight.
As the plates are being cleared away by Freddy and—not without complaint—Steph, I turn to Jake to find him emptying his glass of his sixth bottle of beer. Drunk is how he’s chosen to get through tonight. I can’t blame him in the slightest.