by Nikki Moore
‘Maybe I enjoy your company.’
She snorted.
‘Or maybe it’s because I’ve always had a weakness for surly, impatient brunettes with eye-patch complexes.’
She gaped and burst into giggles. She wasn’t offended. In fact, he was really the only person who didn’t ignore the scars and patch, or look away, or fumble conversations. He had the gall to joke about it. It made her slightly uncomfortable, but it was also honest and real.
‘I was on my way back to uni on a Sunday evening in late September. My car got hit by a lorry. The driver had a heart attack at the wheel.’ She stared out at the distant skyline, describing the events of that horrific night in short, sharp sentences. She did not want to cry in public. ‘He didn’t make it, because of his heart…’ she gulped. ‘It wasn’t his fault.’
‘Wow,’ Leo stated. ‘That really sucks.’
George let out a disbelieving laugh. ‘Are you serious?’
‘It’s tragic and awful and unfair,’ he said gently. ‘But the only way I can think of to summarise it is, it sucks. I bet you’ve used some much stronger words.’
‘In the beginning,’ she shared, ‘the f-word featured a lot, but lately I’ve been going with, it blows.’
‘We’ve both been watching too many American TV shows,’ he decided, shifting closer. ‘Do you remember it? The accident?’
She took in a long, shaky breath, squaring her shoulders. ‘I have flashbacks sometimes,’ she whispered. She hadn’t admitted that to anyone but her therapist, and hadn’t wanted to burden her parents, but there was something about Leo, his easy manner and non-judgemental ways that made it easier. Perhaps it was the fact they barely knew each other, so had no emotional investment in one another that made it possible for her to share. ‘I remember the dark motorway lit only by my headlights. The rain thrashing down against my windscreen so that I had my wipers on the highest speed.’
‘Anything else?’
‘No.’ She winced. Time to go home.
‘Nothing about the crash itself?’
‘I-,’ she hesitated, ‘I can’t.’
‘But it might help.’
‘Respect my feelings, okay?’ she turned to leave.
‘Of course,’ he agreed easily. ‘So are you still at uni?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m not ready.’ She pointed to the patch again. ‘Look at me.’
His eyes ran over her face as if he didn’t see anything of concern. ‘So, what do you do?’
‘Nothing, at the moment.’ She hugged her arms across her body.
‘You know, Georgiana, if the kids I teach can have meaningful lives, then so can you. We don’t think about their disabilities as limitations, we think of them as challenges and opportunities. We don’t look at what they can’t achieve. We consider everything they can achieve. You’re no different.’
Her mouth dropped open. ‘I have to go,’ she said abruptly, feeling reprimanded. Tears were scorching the back of her eyes. ‘Bye.’ Tugging on Buttons’ lead she walked briskly towards home, not giving Leo a chance to respond.
When George saw Leo ducking into the local corner shop a few days later, she didn’t mean to stop. She definitely didn’t mean to linger until he came out, but somehow her feet wouldn’t move.
It was getting on for dinner time, and she’d just taken Buttons for a stroll on Primrose Hill. There’d not been a single trace of disappointment that Leo wasn’t there. None at all. Why would she want to see him when she’d made such an idiot of herself, running off like that, just because he’d called her on something? She’d been cross with him for the rest of the night and some of the next morning, but once she’d cooled down, she could see he had a point. She was as physically recovered as she was ever going to be. So, what was she going to do now?
It was something she’d mused over as she strolled through the park, the lamps along the paths doing a good job of lighting the way. The fresh air had felt cleansing, healthy. She’d puffed her way up and down the hill but wasn’t as tired as previous times. Her mum had been right; this was good for her. After an initial curious glance at her eye-patch and scar, most people looked away. They didn’t gawp or stare. She was feeling better getting out of the house regularly. As a teenager she’d never been the type to loll around in her room reading books or watching TV. Instead she’d been with her friends in town or at the beach or watching scary films in a large gang around someone’s house, sharing bottles of lemonade and tubes of Pringles. Her stomach growled at the thought and she wondered what Leo was buying. Just as she peered into the shop window, Buttons sniffing the door frame, he appeared, holding a blue carrier bag filled with a carton of milk and various bits she couldn’t make out.
‘Hello you. Stalking me again?’ he grinned, stepping onto the pavement and zipping up his jacket. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Errr,’ she croaked, tongue tied.
‘Nothing much to say again?’ he teased.
Clearing her throat didn’t help, and neither did swallowing. Bloody hell, now as well as everything else she was turning into a mute. Embarrassment flooded her.
‘That’s all right; we both know I can talk for England if required.’
His light brown eyes twinkled down at her. Another feeling, far scarier than embarrassment, tightened her fingers on Buttons’ lead. Leo was cute. He really was. Not her usual type, pre-accident, but very appealing. Something was fluttering in her tummy in reaction.
She closed her eyes and gulped. Oh my god, what if he knew, and she made a fool of herself?
‘Are you all right?’ A large hand wrapped around her upper arm.
She opened her eyes to find him peering down into her face. He felt sorry for her, he was compassionate because of the amazing work he did with those children. She swept her hair forward over her patch and nodded. ‘Uh-huh.’
‘Not quite words yet this evening, but we have sound,’ he jested. ‘We’re making progress. Come on, I’ll walk you home.’
‘I’m fine,’ she managed. She didn’t know how to do this anymore. The old George (once she decided she fancied a guy) would have launched a flirt offensive, finding excuses to bump into him, making sure she looked her best at all times, talking about fun plans and including him in them, dropping hints about spending some time alone together.
Now she had zip. No play at all. Not that she was in a place to pursue anything anyway. Plus why would he want to date someone like her, when he could have his pick of normal, unscarred girls?
‘You’re talking! How about this then? If we’re heading in the same direction we’ll do it at the same time until we have to go our separate ways.’
She blushed, feeling silly. ‘Okay,’ she murmured, and turned towards home. ‘Buttons,’ she commanded, pulling him away from the wall of the shop. After sniffing it and weeing on it for about the twentieth time, the puppy gave her a slightly haughty look and deigned to start walking. George shook her head and smiled wryly, looking down the street ahead for obstacles. Leo fell into step with her, and she inhaled sharply, catching a whiff of sexy, crisp aftershave, like she had the other night. He smelled gorgeous. She took another breath. They couldn’t walk in silence for more than a minute without it being uncomfortable, and she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to cope with another round of his dry as a TV presenter style narration. She also needed to work her way up to an apology for leaving so abruptly last time. If she didn’t look at him it might be easier.
‘What did you buy?’ she asked huskily.
‘Buy?’
‘In the shop, apart from milk?’ she asked, already kicking herself. Could she have thought of a topic any less boring? Really?
‘I picked up a few things for the kids. Some glitter, glue, card, straws. Stuff we didn’t have in the resource cupboard for some reason. My Teaching Assistant and I are going to help the children make Valentine’s cards for their parents or carers.’
‘Valentine’s Day.’
Dismay filled her. It was only two weeks away.
‘Not my favourite day of the year,’ Leo frowned. ‘All those hearts and flowers everywhere. Although, it’s not that I have anything against it per se, it’s just that it’s never been high on my priority list. I was too much of a geek as a teenager to do anything interesting with girls. I studied hard at uni, then the last few years I’ve been too career-oriented. That’s why my friends–’ he stopped talking, readjusting his jacket as he strolled along.
‘What?’
‘Make fun of me,’ he finished quickly. ‘My friends say I’m a sad old case.’
‘Hardly old,’ she quipped.
He laughed, throwing back his head so his dark hair touched his collar. ‘No, just sad. Thanks a lot!’
She nodded, strangely satisfied that she’d made him laugh. For a moment she’d felt like her old self. Maybe she had some banter left after all. They turned the corner, making slow progress given that Buttons stopped at practically every wall, sniffing it and considering whether to provide it with urinary decoration or not. To be honest, it suited George fine. She could take her time to sweep her head back and forth to make sure the path was clear. It was nothing to do with enjoying Leo’s company. Absolutely nothing.
‘So, ah, are you looking forward to Valentine’s Day?’ Leo asked.
‘No,’ she said flatly. She was dreading it. How was she going to feel this year when no cards landed on her mat, when since the age of thirteen she’d always received a handful to clutch to her chest and squeal over with her friends? One of them, every single year, had always been from Eric, a next door neighbour one year above her in school, who’d always had a soft spot for her. At one point she’d feared that her mum was going to form a plot with Eric’s mum to marry them off, but Stella had never pushed it, apparently getting that George didn’t think of Eric in that way. He was sweet though, and she’d always enjoyed catching up with him.
‘Why?’
She rolled her eyes. Well, her left eye. ‘Really?’
‘I get it. You’ve got so many guys lined up with offers that you don’t want to pick one and traumatise the rest of them. That’s very generous of you. You’ve got a big heart, Georgiana.’
Snorting laughter through her nose, not even caring how undignified it was, she nodded. ‘Yes, that’s what it is. I’ve decided to let the men of Great Britain off the hook this year. No more drunken messes in A&E as they drown their sorrows. It’ll save the NHS a fortune.’
‘Well done. I like your style.’ They turned a corner, a pitter-patter of rain starting to fall on them, the drizzle highlighted under the street lights. ‘Even if it is costing you a day of romance,’ he remarked.
‘I don’t even know what real romance is,’ she said, wrinkling her nose as her face and hair dampened with the rain. Trust her not to wear a hoody today. ‘I mean, is it really giving someone flowers and going for a fancy dinner once a year because it’s expected?’
‘I don’t know.’ He turned his collar up. ‘I suppose you find out when you’re really in love.’
‘Have you ever been in love?’ she fired off, not liking the thought of him and other girls. Woah, where did that come from?
‘No,’ he said decisively.
‘Not ever? How are you so sure?’
‘Simple. Because I’ve never felt strongly enough about someone that I’d rather be with them instead of at work with the children. The pull has never been strong enough. The job, other than my family and friends, is the most important thing in my life. Actually, it’s not a job, it’s more of a vocation. It would have to take someone really special to compete with that. Does that sound selfish?’
‘No. It sounds honest. You love those kids. And it’s not selfish to know how you feel so clearly. I just hope that one day you find that special girl, and she helps you realise it’s not a competition, it’s a balance. It’s not one thing or the other. Your love life and career can co-exist.’ She thought about her parent’s solid, happy marriage. ‘As long as she respects its importance to you and you respect her aspirations in return.’
‘Maybe.’ He looked thoughtful, pushing his lower lip out. Shrugging, he nudged her shoulder with his, ‘So what are you really doing on Valentine’s Day?’
George chewed the inside of her mouth. Perhaps stay in all day and watch the most unromantic films possible. Either all the Die Hard movies back to back, or the Fast and Furious series. Ice-cream could be on tap and she would pretend it wasn’t happening. The thought of going out and being surrounded by soft-eyed couples, and bunches of roses, and heart- shaped signs and chocolate display stands really didn’t appeal.
‘Still in there?’ Leo prompted, nudging her shoulder with his again, but harder than last time.
Unfortunately the nudge caught her by surprise and she stumbled, letting out a small yelp.
‘Shit, sorry!’ Grabbing her to stop her falling over, his strong arms wrapped around her upper body. She moaned and he let go immediately. ‘Sorry. Again.’ He backed away, hands up, staring intently at a passing car. Its windows were down despite the rain and the mellow notes of Passenger’s Let Her Go drifted out.
‘It’s okay,’ she wheezed, stunned at how unbelievably good it had felt to be held by him, made safe in his warmth, against his firm body. She hadn’t wanted him to let go.
They came to her front wall and Buttons pawed at the gate.
‘This is me.’
‘I know,’ Leo reached out and swept her hair away from her face. ‘You should wear your hair back more. Anyway, I should say goodnight. The rain’s getting heavier.’
‘I guess,’ she said gruffly, looking down as Buttons circled her, wrapping the lead round her legs.
‘Buttons, bad idea,’ Leo said, crouching down at George’s feet and encouraging the puppy to run back around the other way to free her. For a moment her fingers itched to smooth his shaggy hair, to learn the shape of his head, and her hand rose in the air.
‘So will I see you again?’ Leo asked, stroking Buttons, who arched and wriggled with delight under his touch. ‘It seems like you could do with a friend.’
Her hand dropped. She was a complete dreamer. Why would he want her as anything else than a friend?
He stood up, and she turned away to face the house, so he couldn’t see her expression.
‘Sure,’ she said over her shoulder, ‘I’ll see you around.’
‘Georgiana?’
‘Yes?’ she replied, voice small.
‘It’s a nice name,’ he said awkwardly, like he’d changed what he was about to say.
‘I’ve always wanted something more modern, rather than a name out of a Jane Austen novel. Mum’s an English teacher,’ she expanded. ‘I usually go by George.’
‘No, I don’t like George for you. Too boyish. I’ll call you by your full name.’
‘Okay,’ she said, shyly. ‘Night.’
‘Can I have your phone number?’ he asked. ‘There’s something I’d like to send you.’
She tramped down the swell of hope in her chest. He wanted to be friends. She guessed it couldn’t hurt to have a friend in London, and it would please her parents. It wasn’t as if she was giving him a front door key and inviting him to use it whenever he wanted. To sneak into her bedroom, and crawl under the covers with her and– No. That was never going to happen.
She handed over her mobile so he could save his number into it, ringing himself to get her number. ‘Done,’ he said, sounding satisfied and tucking the phone into her coat pocket. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
‘Okay, bye.’ She stood on the pavement for a long time after he’d left, in spite of the droplets now pouring from the sky, staring blankly at the space he’d occupied.
She didn’t know what the hell she was doing. She could get really badly hurt. But did it matter, when being around him felt so good?
After that evening, he sent her a message every day, sometimes two. The first was a film recommendation for The Shawshank Redemption, whi
ch she dubiously followed. She messaged him mid-afternoon straight after watching it, totally forgetting he would be in class. In her excitement she reeled the message straight off, not even agonising about whether to put a kiss at the end of it or not.
Leo, thanks so much for introducing me to such a brilliant film. It made me cry! Who’d think a story set mainly in a prison could prove that hope does spring eternal? :) :) G x
Glad you liked it, I’ll send you more. I’m generally right about these things. Lol. L :)
Sometimes his messages were jokes, dirty or clean, and sometimes he sent an inspirational quote to brighten her day. Some messages contained a random question.
If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be and why?
If money was no object, what would you do with your life?
When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up? Did that ever change? Why?
What’s the best thing that a friend has ever done for you?
The messages made her laugh, or think, and she didn’t mind answering the questions. It was somehow easier over the phone rather than face to face. Her scars didn’t matter, they just chatted and had fun and she looked forward to her phone pinging with incoming messages. His questions brought back happy memories of life before the accident.
When messages weren’t from him she was disappointed, but she caught up with other people, slowly getting up to speed with their news and renewing friendships, starting to talk about when they might pay each other visits. For the first time in months, when her uni tutor emailed to ask how she was doing, she answered his email, telling him she was doing okay and missed uni. He sent a response asking her to consider coming back, that they could think of a way to cover what she’d missed. She didn’t reply. In fairness she was closer to uni now that she was in London, but it was still too big a thing for her to contemplate.
One evening Leo asked a question that was too big to answer in a message, so she called him.
How did you end up moving to London? L x
‘Uncle John, my Mum’s older brother, called from Hong Kong one night,’ she explained, sinking back against her pillows after asking him how his day had been. ‘His son, my eldest cousin Matt, offered us the use of this house. It was the one he bought with his late wife, Helen. The lodgers moved out and he was going to rent it out again but thought of us.’
