Life Without You

by S. P. West

  “And my wife, my home, my health.”

  “What was it you did?”

  “I worked for Bromley & Wells in senior management.”

  “Bright guy. You know Brad Kreiger?”

  “He was my boss.” My words come out slowly wondering where the hell Joe was going with this.

  “I helped him out when he acted like an ass a few years ago.”

  “He was the asshole who fired me.”

  “And Brad made the right move because you sir,” Joe points at me his eyes narrowing, “are a mess right about now. The drugs, the alcohol, the cheatin’--not good for that company’s reputation.” It’s as he’s listing my many failings that I snap.

  “You know what? Fuck you!” I yell, my chair scraping the floor as I stand abruptly, “who are you to judge me? I don’t have to listen to this shit.”

  “SIT DOWN!” His shout shocks me enough to make be sit down and shut up like a kid being told off by its father. Joe doesn’t move, instead he glares at me. “If you wanna walk out that door son, then go ahead, be my guest, I reckon I’ll be reading about you in the obituaries section in about a year maybe less. Or you could swallow your damn pride and accept the help I’m offerin’ you.” He looks at me expectantly knowing full well the effect his words have had. “So what’s it gonna be? Do you want to live or do you wanna die? Your choice, son, your choice.”

  In that moment, I decide that I want to live.

  SUMMER

  Brighton, England

  PRESENT DAY

  “YOU DO KNOW THAT 95% of what they write is a load of rubbish. Why do you even bother reading that crap?” I ask as I walk into the workroom attached to the back of our store. Normally, at this time on a Saturday, Frye & Sullivan would be heaving with customers itching to get their hands on one of Violet’s unique hand-made designs. Unfortunately, the gale force winds and heavy rain that make up quite a bit an English summer are in full effect.

  Extremely bad weather equals next to no customers.

  Even so, Violet is supposed to be working not leaning over the counter staring at the computer screen. Her rosebud mouth in a perfect O: her eyebrows raised into her bright pink hairline.

  “Huh?” She says, finally pulling her gaze away from the laptop screen and deigning to look at me.

  “That story you are reading is a load of tripe.”

  “How do you know what I’m looking at?” She asks defensively, “I could be working out our latest financial position. Thank you very much.”

  “I know what you reading because A) you are doing an excellent impression of a goldfish and B)” I say raising my voice on the B as she starts to protest, “there’s a mirror behind you. I can see that you’ve got tabs open for that stupid Wicked Whispers blog and Facebook,” I hiss rounding the table to see what has got her so shocked. Next to the laptop, her beloved sketch pad lies abandoned with half drawn designs for steampunk corsets. Whatever it is that she’s seen must be fascinating, as she rarely stops mid-design mode.

  On the screen in front of her is a picture of a tall, dark-haired shirtless Adonis. I ignore the headline above the photo in favor of taking a moment to drool over the chiseled abs of the blue-eyed hunk of 100% pure man meat in front of me. Tattoos grace his arms and torso; every part of him is pure muscle.

  “Is that Cade McAll?” I ask, knowing full well that it is the gorgeous, lickable rock singer. A man who has featured in quite a few of my more erotic dreams.

  “Yup,” She says popping the P.

  “So what’s he supposed to have done that’s enough to stop you from working?” I ask raising my eyebrow at her.

  Violet mockingly raises her eyebrows back at me before focusing her attention back on the screen.

  “He split up from his long-term girlfriend six months ago.”

  “I know that already--duh.” I say as I poke her in the side. She hits my arm in response.

  “Shush, Penfold. I’m trying to explain.” I hold my hands up in surrender, which earns me another pathetic excuse for hit. “So ANYWAY… he split up from his girlfriend, yeah?” I nod my head in agreement. “He goes on a complete bender. Papped falling out of clubs drunk as a skunk or with his tongue down the throat of numerous girls, blah blah blah.” She waves her hands dismissively, crinkling her nose. “Anyway it says here he got a girl pregnant.”

  “His ex-girlfriend?”

  “Noooohhhhoooooooo my friend.”

  “No way!”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh indeed and that’s not the worst of it.” She side eyes me, in a not so subtle attempt at gaging my interest, earning her an eye roll from me. “You’re supposed to say ‘O.M.G. Vivi what can be worse than that?’”

  “O.M.Geeeeee Vivi what can be worse than that?” I parrot, playing along by trying to act surprised.

  “Better,” she huffs, “he and his family started parading her around at his concerts like a prized pony and get this; he’s marrying her. Proposed on the stage last night and everything.”

  “The ex-girlfriend?” I’m getting seriously confused.

  “No.”

  “The club bunny that he picked up?” I’m still confused.

  “No.”

  “You’re not making sense, Vi.”

  “He’s engaged to that actress he started dating a few weeks back.”

  “What? Not the pregnant one?”

  “Noooooooho-ho-ho”

  “Someone completely different?”

  “Yep.”

  “So let me get this straight. He only split up with the ex a few months ago. Then he got another woman pregnant, now he’s engaged to someone else?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jesus, my head hurts.”

  “Anything else?”

  “The new girlfriend looks exactly like his ex--and I mean exactly. It’s all really shady as shit.”

  “So how pregnant is pregnant?” I find myself asking, trying to make sense of it all.

  “Five months.”

  “Shit, he doesn’t wait around does he?” I remember following Cade McAll’s career when I lived in the States. That boy was on his way to being a superstar. He had the whole package; looks, voice, nice personality. I can also remember that he was always being pictured with his girlfriend Helen? Hayley? Hope? Hope that’s it! Always at his side giving him support. To be honest I’m actually quite shocked. They’d always looked so in love whenever they were together. I can imagine the pain she must be feeling now. You don’t get over something like that quickly. I know that from bitter experience.

  The poor girl must be heartbroken. At least when Alex and I split up only those close to us knew; Hope had the whole world his wife find out.

  “Apparently not,” she answers with a surprising amount of distain, “it says his ex knows and is fine about it.”

  And just like that I’m angry. Angry on the behalf of girl that I don’t know. Angry for a girl, who for all intents and purposes, has been shat on from a great height by the man she loved. Angry because I know exactly what she’s feeling, “Which is a load of bollocks!” I exclaim with a bit more force than I intended. “They bloody well would say that, wouldn’t they? They can hardly say “no she’s devastated actually. She’s spent the last few weeks sobbing her heart out over the love of life moving on faster than a hooker can drop her knickers”! Or the fact that she probably now thinks he’s a small dicked twat and that she won’t ever get over it!”

  “It also says,” Violet carries on skillfully ignoring my rant, “that he’s as happy as Larry that he’s going to be a dad.”

  “Which is media code for ‘he fucked up big time and he doesn’t want to ruin his image.’”

  “I don’t know,” she answers with a shrug. “He has proposed to the girl.”

  “What’s he said?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Really?”

  “Nope. Just thanked someone who congratulated him.”

  “Seriously?”
/>   “In fact, no one has said anything really.”

  “That’s so weird.”

  “Yeah, I the whole thing is shady as fuck. You should be impressed with my awesomeness at cyber stalking.”

  “An no one has commented?”

  “Nope, none of his family have said anything publicly yet, neither has he.”

  “How can you be with someone so long then suddenly be in love with what is, essentially, a one-night stand gone wrong?”

  “You know yourself Sum, stuff like that happens.”

  The sad thing is that she’s right.

  Taking one last look at the photo of Cade I come to conclusion that he’s not that attractive anymore; pricks like him don’t do it for me, I’m afraid.

  The rain lashes against the windows, the wind howls low; life continues and changes in a blink of an eye. Poor Hope. Probably thought she was going to be the one he was going to settle down with. Just like I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with that arsehole of an ex-husband of mine.

  My life is good now--I’m happy. It took a couple of years and travelling the world, but I’ve found some sort of peace and calm. There are still some times when I catch myself thinking about what could have been. What my baby would have looked like if he or she had lived? Would Alex and I have had another child if he hadn’t of run off with another woman?

  These thoughts used to upset me, now I barely give them a second thought. Unless something like Cade McAll’s story triggers it.

  “Fancy a tea?” Vi asks, bringing me out of my internal musing. I nod my head in silent agreement continuing to watch the maelstrom that is occurring outside.

  While Violet is absent from the workroom, I take the opportunity to have a quick look at the internet. I manage, accidentally of course, to open Violet’s Facebook page. Instantly seeing a blast from the past on the profile she was looking at.

  Dean Hamilton.

  A guy I dated last year for all of five minutes; great in bed, completely lacking in charm, wit and personality. Oh and who is also an utter tit.

  “So what about Dean?” I almost jump out of my skin as Violet comes up behind me, two cups of tea in hand and a smug smile on her face because she caught me snooping.

  “He’s a pompous, egotistical twat who thinks the whole world revolves around him.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Good in bed.” I admit begrudgingly. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Well saw him the other day and he asked how you were. We got talking and said how much he liked you…”

  “Please tell me that you’re not trying to set me up with him?”

  “He’s single, you’re single.”

  “I’m begging you.”

  “You need to get laid.”

  “I’m happy with my B.O.B.” I insist.

  “Your poor vibrator needs a rest.”

  “It does not! And for your information, I don’t need to get laid.”

  “When was the last time you had sex?”

  “Last night.”

  “With a man.”

  “Ummm.”

  “Exactly. You said yourself he’s good in bed.”

  “Nope not going there.” My body shudders at the thought of that slimy toad touching me intimately again. “Anyway, did you know that Seth is dating Deena Morrisea?” Hoping beyond hope that by offering up that tidbit of information she’ll shut the hell up for the next… ooh say month about my non-existent sex life. I get the desired result; no response just the silent treatment for the next five minutes. Although, I worry that her laptop won’t survive the onslaught of her hitting the keys so hard.

  The little devil that sits on my shoulder gets bored of being ignored and decides that the best course of action is to poke the bear, as it were.

  “You know Deena?” Violet continues to tap away at the laptop, absolutely determined not to acknowledge me. “Bleach blonde hair, big fake tits; eyelashes, nails…fake everything, really.”

  “Yes, I know her,” Violet finally answers through with a tight smile, “nice girl.” She says sarcastically. I know full well that she can’t stand Deena.

  “Seth’s taking her to Greg and Lucy’s wedding next week.” I goad, suddenly finding that my nails are the most interesting things in the room as I try to suppress a smile at her annoyed reaction. Serves her right for trying to set me up with twatboy.

  “Oh for fucks sake!” She yells slamming the laptop lid shut.

  “Pound.” I answer nonchalantly, pointing at the T.A.R.D.I.S. shaped money box that lives on a shelf on the other side of the room.

  “What?”

  “You swore. So you need to pay a pound to the drinks fund.”

  “What? No. YOU provoked me!”

  “Did not!” I lie.

  “Bloody well did too.”

  “That’ll be two pounds now.”

  “For your information ‘bloody’ is not a swear word.”

  “Three. Now cough up”

  “No. I’m not paying you any money.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it was unfair! I was provoked and if we go on like that, I’ll be bankrupt by the end of the year. I don’t see you paying anything into it when you swear!”

  “It was your idea,” I taunt, “you decided that you needed motivation to stop swearing so much. I’m simply reminding you of the rules.”

  “You’re being a bitch for me trying to set you up with Dean.” She responds angrily as she retrieves her handbag from the floor. Taking out her purse, she waves a twenty-pound note in my face before stalking over to the T.A.R.D.I.S and shoving it in the slot.

  “There, I’ve got some fucking credit now, hooker.” She stomps out the room in a huff.

  Laughing I turn back to the workbench and open the laptop.

  I have a quick look through my incredibly full inbox searching for the one email that I started to read this morning from Del updating me on our Bay area branch.

  Yep, we’re international! I still pinch myself every day to prove that it’s not a dream.

  When Vi suggested the shop a couple of years ago I saw it as a distraction from the hell my life had become.

  I--no--we had no idea how popular it would be. Our shop has even been mentioned in Vogue for Christ sake. How did it happen? Who knows? Once we started getting noticed we had so much demand from the States that the dream of opening a store in North America became a reality.

  So a year ago I got Lyssa and Del on board for ideas and, well, they jumped at the chance of running the US branch. In what, I like to believe, was a serendipitous move the store next to the Ginger Cat Café became available. Dax and Sergei helped us and the rest is history. We have people flocking to the store from all over the West Coast. We’re even in talks to open a store in New York!

  We couldn’t have done it without the others, I’m so glad they decided to take a chance on our dream. Together the four of us make an awesome team and because I trust Del and Lyssa with my life, I don’t have to head back to San Francisco unless I have to. It’s not the case that I don’t want to, it’s more a case that I don’t want to bump into my ex. Which is silly when you think about it as the chances would be next to nothing.

  I don’t want to take that risk; I’m in good place now. It took me a long time to pick myself up and piece my fractured heart back together but I did it. I suppose I should thank Alex; If we hadn’t have split up then I wouldn’t have seen the world or have a successful business that I run with my best friends. There are times though that I catch myself wondering what my life would be like if it hadn’t all gone to hell. I imagine that we’d be quietly living with our kids. Alex still working a Wells & Bromley, me part–time at the café.

  It’s no use yearning for something that’s gone forever. I’ve learnt the hard way that you can’t look back; you can only ever look forward.

  I know that Lyssa still sees Alex. She never mentions him unless I ask, which isn’t often I’ll admit. I do know that after I left the
U.S. he admitted to having a problem with drink and drugs. Lyssa tells me he cleaned himself up and is in a much better place now. I’m genuinely pleased for him.

  She’s never mentioned whether or not he’s involved with someone or if he’s remarried. I don’t want to dwell on it; otherwise, I’ll have to admit that I still think of him from time to time.

  It’s as though Alex pops into my head 24/7 like he did when we first split. No, I’m over definitely him. We were together a long time it’s only natural that part of me still cares for him. It’s the tiniest, most insignificant part of me possible that still cares; think in terms of one of my nose hairs.

  Just as I open Del’s report, Violet comes flouncing back in the room shoving some sort of flyer under my nose.

  “Do you want to go?” She asks without preamble.

  She’s still pissed at me.

  “I don’t know yet without looking.” My response churlish as I snatch the leaflet from her hands, annoyed at having it thrust up my nose. I take a few seconds to read the gist of what the bright pink flyer says then hand it back to her.

  “No.”

  “It’ll be fun.”

  “Take someone else.”

  “I could, but I don’t want to.”

  “No.”

  “You owe me.”

  “And how do you figure that one out?”

  “Mentioning that bitch’s name in front of me. You know how I feel about her.”

  “What? Deena? “

  “Yes, her.” She sniffs; her pink curls tumble over her shoulder as she turns her face away from me in an obvious sign of annoyance.

  “So her dating Seth has nothing to do with it?”

  “Hmmmmm,” Violet lets out a non-committal noise as she takes a sudden interest in the state of her nails.

  “I know you like him.”

  “Of course I like him. He’s your brother,” she answers still not looking at me.

  “When are you going to tell him you’re in love with him?”

  “I am not in love with him.” Her voice is far too calm which is Violet’s unconscious way of saying ‘you’ve hit the nail on the head. Now shut up and piss off’.

  “Yes you are,” I sing playfully.