by Georgia Hill
“Angus, I think it’s time I took Nicola home.” I heard Jack’s voice, as if from a great distance away. He began to peel me off. As the other man demurred he added, “No, don’t worry. No honestly, it’s not out of my way at all.”
Jack took my arm in a vice-like grip and frog-marched me out of school. The winter air hit me like a sledgehammer.
“Brute,” I said, as I stood in the car park sulkily rubbing my bruised arm.
“Not the best career move you’ve ever made, Nicola,” Jack hissed as he went to open the driver’s door. Oh God, he sounded just like my Dad.
“Don’t think he minded.” Airily I waved my hand around and then clutched onto the car’s roof as I swayed. “I think he was quite enjoying it.” I started to shiver. It really was freezing out here. I vaguely wondered what had happened to my coat.
“He may have been but I don’t think his wife was,” Jack said in a terse voice.
“Spoilsport,” I said mutinously.
Jack sighed, “Get in the car, Nicky.”
“But I want to stay!” I wailed. A part of me knew I was behaving appallingly but he was being so thrillingly outraged and masterful that alcohol induced mischief drove me on.
“I still haven’t danced with you yet,” I pouted. “And there you are looking all lovely and,” I paused to hiccough, “everything.”
It was true. Grim and unsmiling, he glowered at me. His eyebrows were locked into an aggressive frown and his light eyes were colder than the December air. It was hopeless; I still loved him, even when he was like this. I sighed and beamed idiotically at him.
“Get in the car before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. Or ...”
“Or what?” I staggered slightly. Had I really had that much to drink? And then I remembered – I hadn’t eaten a thing since a quick sandwich at lunchtime.
“Or I’ll make you,” he said through gritted teeth.
“You wouldn’t dare!” My eyes widened at this far more intoxicating idea.
“Try me.” His lips twitched, almost as if he was seeing the funny side of the situation.
Almost.
Then he began to march round to my side of the car.
I got in.
The entire journey was conducted in a frozen silence, punctuated only by my subdued hiccoughs.
When we reached home I stumbled up the icy steps which led to the flat. “Whoops!” I called out gaily, as I dropped my front door key. I heard an impatient curse from below.
Jack bounded towards me taking the steps two at a time, found my key instantly, opened the door and pushed me inside.
“You’re very fit, aren’t you?” I said admiringly. “I mean fit like energetic, you know, not fit like - ” I squinted up at him. “Well, you’re that as well of course. You’re very fit.” I nodded, extremely pleased with how this sentence had turned out. “I think so anyway. Very very fit.”
“Am I really?” he murmured drily. He nodded towards the bedroom. “Get into bed and I’ll bring you some water.” He went to fill a glass and called over his shoulder, “How did you get into this state anyway?”
When I didn’t move he came back to me and propelled me in the right direction.
“Drink! Demon drink!” I pointed an accusing finger at him. “Someone should have told me there was alcohol in that wine!” I shook my head mournfully, thinking of all the lovely food on the buffet. “And couldn’t eat. Dress too tight.” Something occurred to me, “Ooh dress! Can’t undo it myself. You’ll have to take it off.”
“No!” He looked horrified. I couldn’t see why.
“Please,” I begged. “It’s digging in and it’s ever so un-fort-com-table. It’s easy, just nooks and highs. See?” I turned round wildly and bumped my back against him.
“Oh God,” I heard him utter despairingly.
Cold fingers tickled me as they worked the fastenings at the back of the dress. I could feel his laboured breathing on my bare back as he struggled to release me. I giggled and flexed my shoulders as the pressure eased. Oh the relief, I could breathe. The dress slithered down and pooled at my feet. I flopped back onto the bed, clad only in my new strapless bra and matching knickers. I closed my eyes. It was so good to be home. Then a sudden thought had me sitting up quickly, making my head spin in a revolting fashion.
“Clearing up! Who is going to do the clearing up after tonight?”
“PTA said they’d take care of it,” he said shortly and then savagely dragged my nightshirt over my head. Why was he being so horrible?
“Get into bed.”
I did and then promptly got out again. “You’re always giving me orders,” I grumbled. “Got to clean teeth.”
He raised his eyebrows, looked heavenwards as if seeking spiritual guidance and swore under his breath. Eventually he helped me back into bed and pulled the cold duvet round me. I shivered.
“Cold?” he asked maliciously. “Serves you right.” He sat on the edge of the bed, his weight making the mattress sink. I inhaled deeply; I could smell his spicy aftershave. I reached up and lovingly touched the lines that responsibility had prematurely aged upon his face. Then my hand flopped bonelessly down onto the bedclothes.
“Oh Nicky,” he sighed. “What am I going to do about you?”
I ignored the question. “You didn’t dance with me once tonight,” I complained but I hadn’t the energy to pout any longer. It was so lovely to be in bed and I was enjoying the sensation of cool sheets against my aching body.
“You didn’t seem to be missing me.” The response was withering.
“I kissed you!” I said indignantly.
He laughed shortly. “Under duress.”
Really I thought crossly, sober people ought to use simpler words when dealing with a drunk. I frowned as I racked my brain trying to remember what the word meant.
“You can kiss me now,” I whispered coyly. “That wouldn’t be under-the-dress.” I reached up again and this time playfully undid the cravat. That was much better; I could see his neck now. I traced a finger across his strong throat. Jack put his own hand on
mine and held it there. I could feel his pulse beating erratically against my palm.
He seemed to be struggling with himself. With some kind of dilemma. Eventually he smiled tightly, “It’s complicated.”
“I understand.” I nodded, not understanding at all. It seemed perfectly simple to me, so I said it: “I love you.”
There was a hollow silence and then he gave me a sideways look. He took his hand away and mine fell once more to the bed.
“You’re drunk.”
“I love you,” I repeated.
“You don’t know what you’re saying Nicky, you’re drunk. And tired.” His voice was drum skin tight.
“Tired as a newt, drunk as a skunk,” I giggled sleepily, my eyes closing. “But I still love you.” I grimaced and added pathetically, “My head’s going round and round and round.”
Jack exhaled throatily. “Go to sleep, Nicky.” He pushed the hair from my face tenderly and then his hand paused, “There’s some water there. Drink it and go to sleep.” He kissed the top of my head. “Go to sleep,” he whispered.
I think I was asleep before he left the bedroom.
Chapter Eleven
I raised my head blearily. From a long way off there came a terrible ringing. It went on and on, echoing around my poor befuddled brain. I tried to open my eyes and gave up. My head flopped back onto the pillow. Oh God, I promised myself, I would never, ever drink again. Ever.
The ringing continued. I sighed and gave up. I crawled over to the ‘phone and as I picked up the receiver I heard Bev, in an indignant tone say, “About time! I was just about to put the ‘phone down!”
I grunted.
“Nicky are you OK? Are you ill?” Her voice sharpened in concern.
“Poisoned,” I managed, through dry lips.
“Poisoned?” she screeched.
I flinched and held the ‘phone away from the banging in my head. I was beginni
ng to feel very, very sick.
“Alcohol poisoning,” I whimpered.
“Aah,” said Bev, with a laugh. “Ring me back later then, hon.”
I surfaced at the shockingly late hour of three p.m. Dad would have a fit if he knew. A pint of water and several aspirins later and I was almost ready to face the world again. But then, memories from last night began to come flickering back. As I slowly pieced the events together and I realised what I had done I groaned and held my head in shame.
Oh God.
How was I going to face them all again? And more importantly, how could I ever face Jack again? I cringed and my face reddened in humiliation. Had I really told him that I loved him? Forcing myself to concentrate really hard I counted in my head, through the conversation.
Three times!
Oh God.
“So, just to summarise then. You got completely trolleyed, danced all night with a bloke who you think likes you but you don’t like, refused to kiss the bloke you actually like a lot and then flirted outrageously with a governor? Is that right then? Bev’s voice, with its hint of Jamaica, crackled down the line.
“No, it’s worse than that,” I said in a small voice. “Angus Fairweather is the Chair of Governors.”
“Mmmm. Safe to say it wasn’t your finest hour then, Nicky.”
“Oh Bev, what am I going to do?” I wailed miserably.
“Well girl, suppose you get round there and apologise.”
“I can’t. He’s gone skiing.” I gave a sigh and a lump of self-pity lodged itself somewhere in my chest.
“What, Angus Fairweather?” Bev sounded confused. “I thought you said he was in his seventies?”
“No, Jack.”
Wistfully I looked at the drizzly rain falling onto the winter landscape outside. A robin hopped about on the railings which guarded the small balcony at the top of the steps. He cocked his head and looked bright-eyed at the empty seed feeder. He flew off in disgust. Obviously he’d heard about my behaviour last night too.
“Aah. You like him don’t you, hon?” Bev’s voice softened a fraction.
“It’s worse than that.” I whispered, afraid to admit to myself what I’d really done.
“Oh Nicky – you’ve not gone and fallen for him have you? Heart like soft play dough, I always said so.”
I took a deep breath. “I told him too.”
“You told him? What did he say?” I could tell Bev was hugely amused.
“He didn’t believe me,” I said mournfully. “He thought I was drunk.”
“Well, he was right about one thing, hon.” Bev laughed then paused. “Wait a sec – was this when you were both in the bedroom? And you were in bed? Did he try anything on?” Her voice was getting shriller by the minute.
“Don’t think he would have suited my teddy bear nightshirt. Not his style. Oh I see what you mean.” I shook some sense into my head as I heard her laugh again. “No he was the perfect gentleman. Always has been. It’s almost as if he really likes me but there’s something holding him back.” I sighed again, gustily.
“It’s all such a mess, Bev!”
“Is he married?”
“No.”
“Gay?”
I thought back to the image of Jack in his skimpy white towel, emerging from the wet room. “Don’t think so,” I said carefully.
“Well,” Bev stopped and then added, “Maybe he’s just not that into you?”
“Not helpful, Bev.” I said bitterly. The same doubts were beginning to crowd into my alcohol soaked brain.
“Well, at least you’ve got a break from each other. How long has he gone skiing for?”
“I don’t know.” I’d been mystified when I’d found the message earlier. “The note said he was going early this morning. I didn’t know anything about it until today. He didn’t say anything.” I searched my hazy memories of last night, “Well, I don’t think he did. He left a present as well.” I looked at the small, beautifully wrapped parcel thoughtfully.
My heart began to thump.
“A present? Well, open it, child!” Bev always got excited about presents, even when they were not for her. Her voice was getting louder by the minute and my hangover was finding it painful to bear.
To mollify her, I cradled the phone between ear and shoulder and ripped open the tasteful gold paper.
“Oh Bev,” I breathed, as I stared at the gift. My eyes began to fill.
“What is it then?” she demanded impatiently. “Is it diamonds? Jewellery?”
I fingered the metal star in my hand. “Not exactly,” I murmured. “It’s a badge.”
“A badge? Well, that solves the reason why he didn’t make a pass at you, hon. The man’s obviously insane.”
“No, you don’t understand. It’s a deputy’s badge.” I smiled a little. It was star shaped like the ones Audie Murphy wore in those old black and white westerns. The ones Mum watched in the afternoons when she was putting off doing the ironing. Jack must have had it made especially; it wasn’t any old badge bought in a toyshop. As I turned it over in my hand I could feel its weight and it had ‘Nicola Hathaway, Deputy’ engraved on the front. Tears welled once more in my eyes and I sniffed feebly.
“Oh Lordy Nicky.” Bev sounded genuinely concerned. “You sure have got yourself into a mess, if a badge can get to you like that, girl.” She paused and seemed to be weighing up something in her mind. “Look, what are you doing for Christmas?”
“Andy and Inez are arriving on Christmas Eve, so I’ll be with the family I suppose.” I swallowed the threatening tears in an effort to think practically.
“What about New Year?”
“No plans. Staying sober and wearing a nun’s habit,” I said gloomily.
“Well, I always said you’d got too many dirty habits, and one of them is falling for the wrong men, child.” Bev cackled evilly, obviously back on form, any sympathy gone.
“Not funny.”
“Mmmm. Remember Elliot?”
I thought of my last disastrous relationship with a computer graphics designer called Elliot. He had been tall and blonde, with expensive specs and a liking for cocaine. I shuddered. “Don’t remind me.”
“Well, look. About New Year. If you can put up with an overexcited male.”
“Leon isn’t that bad,” I interrupted, referring to Bev’s husband.
“I didn’t mean the old man,” she scolded. “I meant Darius! If you can put up with an overexcited two year old whose favourite new word is ‘tosser’ why don’t you come down for New Year? It’ll be quiet, hon. Just the family.”
As Bev’s family consisted of three brothers and two sisters, plus her mum and assorted aunts, I didn’t think it would be all that quiet. But perhaps a change of scene was just what I needed? I made my decision instantly.
“You’re on, Bev. I’ll drive down on the thirtieth.”
“Right see you then, love. And, Nicky - keep out of trouble until then, you hear?”
I put the ‘phone down and read the note again. I traced over Jack’s hastily scrawled words with my finger. He had nice handwriting, with long upper and lower loops. Could do with practising his joins though. The content wasn’t very illuminating:
‘Nicky,
I’ve taken up Colin and Jenny’s offer to share a chalet in Verbier. Not sure when I’ll be back – can you keep an eye on things?
I know we did ‘Secret Santa’ at school but I wanted to give you something from me. Don’t open it until Christmas Day.
Enjoy your break,
Jack.’
Abrupt and to the point. Not even a ‘love from’ or even a
‘Dear Nicky’. I sighed once again as I turned the deputy’s badge over in my hand. Had I blown it? Had I really told him I loved him – and no less than three times?
From the radio I could hear a plaintive voice singing about being lonely at Christmas. I switched it off with violence.
Thanks a lot I thought bitterly, just rub it in why don’t you? I put my achin
g head in my hands, curled into the sofa and sobbed pathetically. I clutched Jack’s present to me. As I wept, my tears fell on the gold wrapping paper, marking little sodden splodges.
A box of tissues and a pot of tea later and I’d calmed down a little. If I can solve a problem I will and there was one thing I could do to begin to make amends. Reaching for the ‘phone again I dialled the local florist.
“Yes, thank you. I’d like to send some flowers to a Mr. and Mrs. Angus Fairweather. Yes please, something seasonal. The address is …”
On the rare occasion I slept in the flat over the next few weeks, it felt odd to lie there, knowing the empty vastness that was next door. I became aware of night sounds and of the scratching of mice up in the attics of the old building. Once or twice I’d been sorely tempted to sneak through to the main part of the house and have a good snoop around. Once to my shame, I’d even got as far as sliding the bolt back on my side of the adjoining door. I didn’t know whether to be frustrated or relieved when I found it was bolted on Jack’s side. Then, illogically, I got cross. How on earth was I supposed to keep an eye on things, as requested, when I couldn’t even get into the property?
In the end the Christmas break turned out to be fairly good fun, after all. I’d deliberately kept myself busy. As I hadn’t done anything towards Christmas until we’d broken up, this was easy. And while it wasn’t quite like Oxford Street on Christmas Eve, last minute present shopping on a late night Wednesday in Hereford was atmospheric. My parents were ecstatic to have both of their children at home for the holiday and Mum rushed
around fussing over Andy with a never-ending beaming smile on her face. And when Joyce joined us, with several bottles of her homemade and lethal carrot wine, we actually had a really good time. My resolution not to drink ever again was severely tested.
Christmas Day came and went in its usual whirl of discarded wrapping paper and drizzly weather and then it was time to drive down to London to visit Bev.
It was good to get away. Her large family welcomed me as one of their own and I enjoyed going along with them to their alarmingly lively church services. Bev and I managed to have a heart to heart about my predicament, over a large box of Christmas chocolates, during which she repeated her opinion of Jack Thorpe. It fell on deaf ears. She tried desperately to pair me up with her favourite brother Toby, but tall, lean and gorgeous though he was, it was to no avail. Darius however, having just learned to walk independently, kept me entranced. Collapsed on the sofa, at the end of a particularly exhausting session of chasing him around the sitting room and much to Bev’s amusement, I vowed never to have children. And then I immediately thought what beautiful children Jack and I could have. The daydream kept me going all the way back along the M40.
