“Yep.”
I’m surprised when she actually says no more for an entire minute.
“Any good?” she asks without taking her eyes off the road.
“Spectacular.”
Dua Lipa sings about falling in love with someone who could potentially break her heart, and I wonder if she queued it up on purpose.
“So, you had the chat?”
“Nope,” I admit. My stomach clenches as I say the word out loud.
“Scarlett,” she whispers.
Tears burn the backs of my eyes and emotion clogs my throat.
“I know. I’ve fucked up, I should never have gone there, but something happens. I mean, all he did was walk through the front door, and we were going at it, but I managed to pull it back and stop it from happening right in my entryway . . .”
Zoe makes a snorting sound, and I turn to look at her.
“Having it happen in your entryway has gotta be better than having it happen in your back passage . . . first time you go at it anyway.”
“Are you a thirteen-year-old boy?” I question.
“No. Yes. Sometimes,” she admits with a shrug. “Carry on, I want all the deets, all of them.”
“I put a stop to things. We walked from the hallway to the kitchen . . .”
“So, like, ten steps? Then what?”
“I don’t know,” I say on an exhale. “He was just there, right next to me, and it’s like, boom! We just can’t keep our hands off each other. We’d only just got our clothes back on, and we were ripping them off again. He carried me to the bedroom, threw me on the bed, and we, we . . . I don’t know what we did. It wasn’t just fucking, it was more than . . .”
“What the fuck?” Zoe says as I think the same.
There are three police cars outside our showroom. Doors open, lights flashing.
Zoe pulls to a stop, and we both climb out of the car. I grab Zoe’s hand as we move forward. Straight away I notice the front window has been smashed.
I hear an ‘excuse me’, and Zoe pulls away, I assume to explain who we are to whoever asked. All I can do is stare inside what used to be our shop and showroom. It’s been completely trashed. What hasn’t been smashed up has been sprayed over. Artwork, fabric swatches, candles, every bit of our stock, all of our samples, our desks, everything. It’s all been ruined, and over almost every surface, the word cunt has been sprayed multiple times. I know in an instant who’s behind this.
“What the . . .” Zoe says from beside me.
“It’s him. Matt. He’s been here, he did this,” I heave out through a sob. Turning to Zoe, I cover my mouth with my hand. “I’m so sorry, this is my fault. I should’ve listened to you.”
“What? No. No, Scar. This isn’t your fault. Even if it was him, this isn’t on you. I thought you said the police had him?” She’s reached for my hand as she’s been talking, and we stand side by side staring into what remains of our business.
“Miss Williams, Miss O’Brien? Can I have a word?”
I look around Zoe to see a police officer beside her. He’s tall, olive-skinned and has dark brown eyes. His thick brows are pulled down above them as he looks me up and down.
“I’m Senior Constable Mike Edmonds. I’m so sorry this has happened. Are you able to answer a couple of questions?”
I nod as I turn to face him, letting go of Zoe’s hand as I do, and wrap my arms around my middle as I attempt to stop shaking.
“Gov, you might wanna come take a look at this.” A younger uniformed officer steps from the rubble of our building and says.
“If you wouldn’t mind waiting?” Mike the cop says before following his colleague.
