Take My Hand

by Haken, Nicola

  After Googling local taxi companies on my phone I rang one up and asked for a wheelchair accessible car to pick us up. Too soon we were inside it and travelling into the unknown. I kept telling myself I was nineteen years old and this was what normal nineteen year olds did. And that’s what I wanted wasn’t it? To be ‘normal’. So why was I crapping myself?

  The nicest taxi driver I had ever met helped Rachel out of the car after spending our five minute long journey filling us in on Camden’s nightlife hotspots. Rachel’s eyes were wide and mischievous as she made a mental note of all the places she planned to drag me to. I swear I had never wanted to slap her so badly.

  Grateful for his friendliness and assistance with Rachel’s chair I rounded the taxi fare up a few pounds and closed the car door behind me. It seemed even taxis down here were three times the price. What gives with that? It’s ridiculous.

  “We’ll start with a pub… ease you in gently,” Rachel suggested, rubbing her hands together. “How about that one?” she asked, pointing towards a fairly small white building that was more window than brick.

  “Might as well,” I agreed seeing as it was right in front of us. Then I swallowed the nervous bile clawing its way up my throat and grudgingly followed Rachel’s lead into The Blue Apple.

  Chapter Three

  Dexter

  “I need you early again tomorrow,” Mick barked while grabbing his jacket and keys after deciding to give himself the night off, even though there were more bodies than seats surrounding us. I’d never seen the place so busy before. As usual he didn’t ask, he told.

  “Sure,” I agreed. I didn’t have another choice if I wanted to keep my job in this shithole. Fuck knows why the miserable shit employed me. He quite clearly hates my guts. I don’t take it too personally though – I’m pretty sure he hates everyone’s guts.

  “Jared!” Mick snapped, scratching at his unkempt beard. “The cellar’s a fucking disgrace. Get it sorted before I get back.” See? He’s a jackass to everyone. Jared needs his job too if he has any hope of paying off his student loans and I guess that’s why he simply nodded and didn’t cuss under his breath until Mick tottered off to the back room to do whatever it is lazy bastards with too much authority do.

  I suppose you could class Jared as my friend, seeing as he’s the only person that’s really spoken to me since I arrived in this country. Mind you, I can’t really expect anything else when I couldn’t give a monkey’s ass about talking back. But Jared’s one of those guys who doesn’t let things drop. He will quite happily talk and talk until there’s blood dripping from your ears. I eventually figured it was less painful just to answer him.

  He’s twenty-eight – four years older than me and is now working his ass off trying to pay for the pointless years of studying towards a degree in media studies. I say pointless because let’s face it, he’s working in a freakin’ pub. But then, media studies? In my book that’s a made up module designed for people who want to stretch out their party years a little longer while actually learning diddlysquat.

  It’s actually quite amusing watching him work sometimes. From what I hear his parents are loaded and it’s obvious he’d never had to work a day in his life until he was forced to get this job. He said it’s his father’s way of punishing him for fucking around with his education – dragging it out for three extra years by failing and re-taking exams, only to end up giving up completely. So now Daddy’s refusing to settle his loans and the poor little sap has got to work like the rest of us little people to pay for it.

  He’s actually got the nerve to feel put over by it too. Yet the student fees are the only thing Daddy doesn’t pay for. He still gets to live the ultimate bachelor lifestyle in his swanky apartment and his red Beemer convertible. But the bottom line is, if you look past the silver spoon in his mouth, he’s a cool enough guy.

  “Will you be okay up here on your own while I make a start on the cellar?” Jared asked, pointing to the floor as if the cellar was visible beneath our feet. Was he fucking kidding me? The place was packed.

  “You better make it quick,” I declared with what I hoped was a ‘but I’m not happy about it’ scowl.

  “Twenty minutes tops,” he assured, clapping my shoulder. “On second thoughts…” he trailed off, his tongue practically slapping against his chin. I followed his gaze towards the entrance at the other end of the bar and sure enough it was a girl capturing his short attention span. Figures.

  “You’ve got no chance.” I smirked at him, amused by the sight of him trying to smooth out his hair (which would rival any woman’s in the highlights department) with his fingers.

  I couldn’t deny the woman in question was hot. But it was obvious immediately she wasn’t Jared’s type – AKA the type that’ll drop their panties for a wink and a Diet Coke. For starters she was pushing a girl in a wheelchair. That on its own should tell him she’s compassionate enough to have brain cells underneath those fiery locks of hers, and I know from experience smart girls don’t drop their pants on a whim. They need a little more carefully crafted coaxing. You have to put extra effort into your flattery skills and you need to make sure you never, ever, stare at their tits when you’re talking.

  I could also tell she was the nervous kind – she didn’t look comfortable being here at all. Her eyes rarely left the ground, only looking up to try and navigate her friend’s wheelchair through the compact crowd. Then if someone looked at her, she’d blush – a dusting of pale pink smattering across her cheeks. If Jared was successful in his attempts to lure her, it would definitely only be because she was either too nice or nervous to turn him down.

  “Whatever, mate. Looks like she’s struggling with that chair. I’m gonna go and rescue her.” His face lit up like he was genuinely pleased there was a disabled person for him to use as part of his master plan to show what a nice guy he was. Sometimes he was douchebag to the point of hilarity and I couldn’t seem to stop my eyes flitting between the customers demanding my attention, and the girl who was about to shoot Jared down in flames.

  Fifteen minutes passed and Jared was still over there. Meanwhile I was sweating my balls off trying to serve a thousand and one different people at once. It was the friend in the chair who looked to be doing most of the talking (I could hear her grating laugh across the room) and when Jared looked away I saw her give the flame-haired cutie an encouraging clap on the shoulder. Encouraging her to what though?

  “Today preferably,” a smart-assed little shit groaned while waving his hand in front of my face. I pried my eyes away from Jared and the girls and mouthed a reluctant ‘sorry’ before getting the prick his beer.

  Seconds later I caught Jared’s eye and so I cocked my head and set my face into a firm scowl which I intended to read ‘if you value your balls get your ass back here NOW’. He saluted me and sauntered leisurely back over to the bar sporting a beaming grin like a fourteen year old boy who’d just copped his first feel of a tit.

  “What the fuck, dude? It’s manic in here,” I blasted. Although he was stood right by me, he was still staring at the housed-in bench-seats where his challenge sat. “JARED!” Yeah that got his attention… and that of half the pub.

  “Sorry, mate.” He so wasn’t. “I’m deffo in with that chick. She doesn’t even know it yet but I’m telling you, if her friend’s got anything to do with it, it’s a done deal.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. In the meantime start doing what you’re paid to do and quit putting it all on me,” I snapped. I’d gotten myself into such a shitty mood and I had a feeling closing time was gonna drag like a cancer diagnosis.

  The crowd started to die down after a half-hour or so. Turned out some rock band I’d never heard of were playing nearby and it seemed our place was in a prime location for pre-head-banging drinks. Throwing a dishcloth over my shoulder, I’d just set about clearing the empties from the walnut bar when Jared squealed like a cheerleader on crack behind me.

  “She’s comin’ over! Play it cool, mate
. Play it cooool.”

  “Why do I need to play it anything? She’s your screw, dude.” Not hearing a word I said, Jared rubbed his hands down his pants before straightening himself up and propping himself up against the bar, posing like some kind of underwear model.

  The cute redhead approached the bar with her head down and I wondered if she’d purposely let her loose curls fall into her face to hide how nervous she was.

  “Same again?” Jared asked her. He sounded weird. I assumed it was his flirting voice but he sounded fucking Italian or something.

  “Um, I’ll have a vodka and Diet Coke, and Rachel will take a pint of your cheapest lager please,” she mumbled without making eye-contact. Why do girls only ever drink the Diet shit? She didn’t need it – I’d seen more meat on a chicken wing. As for Wheelie Girl, the loud-mouth and full sleeves fitted her order of lager perfectly.

  “Sure thing, sugar. Ice?” Freakin’ sugar? I could see I was gonna have to give Jared some lessons. Surely this shit hadn’t worked for him before? In that moment I decided Jared had to have been a virgin. The redhead nodded briefly without ever making eye-contact. And this was the ‘done deal?’ Seriously?

  “Comin’ right u-”

  “I thought I said sort the bleedin’ cellar out!” Mick blared, interrupting Jared’s efforts to get laid tonight. “Take over,” he ordered, turning to me. Cursing under his breath, Jared grudgingly handed me the empty glass in his hands.

  “Be right back,” he said to his prize, throwing her a smile so sickeningly desperate it could’ve curdled milk. When I turned to serve her I noticed Wheelie Girl had joined us. She looked me up and down like I had shit seeping from my pores, so I did the same to her. Jesus, I thought I was an unsociable person. This chick made Adolf Hitler look like Mother freakin’ Teresa.

  “Vodka Coke and a lager right?” I asked. Our eyes met for the briefest of seconds while she nodded. This girl was definitely a Tootsie. Her friend? Well she was a whole new breed I hadn’t ever come across before. Maybe a Snickers – completely fucking nuts.

  “You’re American?” Wheelie girl asked, looking either surprised or disgusted. I didn’t get her deal at all.

  “Only on Mondays.”

  “Today’s Tuesday.”

  “Guess you caught me.” I hurried with their order. I wasn’t one for idle chitchat, especially not with someone that looked like they were waiting for me to turn around so they could stab me repeatedly. “Five-fifty please.” Snickers reached up and handed me a ten-pound note across the bar she couldn’t even see across. I gathered her change as quickly as humanly possible, forced a smile in place as I passed it back and prayed they’d fuck off back to their table.

  No such luck.

  “I’m Rachel, this is Emily.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I lied. What the hell was taking Jared so long?

  “You not got a name?” This girl was becoming extremely annoying extremely quickly.

  “Yes thanks.” Okay so I was being a dick. But I could rarely be assed talking to people I actually knew let alone strangers.

  “Whatever,” she shrugged. Good. She’d got the message. “I’m nipping to the bathroom, Ho.”

  Ho?

  ‘Ho’ pulled a face and grabbed onto her arm, but Snickers just laughed and wheeled away from her. She caught my eye again and smiled anxiously, shaking her fiery curls back around her face. Yep, that was definitely a hiding mechanism. She needn’t bother - I wasn’t planning to make her feel awkward with conversation. Instead I plucked the dishcloth from my shoulder and wiped down the bar.

  “Get more drinks in!” Snickers turned her head and yelled as she reached the ladies room. Christ she had a mouth on her.

  “Same again?” I asked dutifully. I might’ve said I wasn’t planning to talk but if drinks were involved, it was my job.

  “Actually could you skip the vodka?” she said, stealing an inconspicuous glance towards the ladies room under the veil of her hair. “But don’t tell Rachel,” she added – like it was any of my freakin’ business. I figured Snickers was a pushy bitch and I bet it was all her idea to come tonight because I was certain it wasn’t Emily’s. Hold up… Did I just call her Emily? Like I actually knew her? What’s that all about?

  “No problem,” I said with what felt like a genuine smile. Huh. I never smile. Smiling just isn’t my thing.

  “So where abouts in America are you from?” she asked faintly – so quiet I could barely hear her. I think she was as reluctant to make idle chatter with strangers as I was, but she was making the effort so I decided I would too.

  “Ohio.”

  “Oh! Like Glee?” she beamed, braving full-on eye contact with me for more than a split second.

  “Um, if you say so. Can’t say I’ve ever watched it.”

  “Oh.” She looked down again, circling the rim of her still-full glass with the tip of her finger. It was hard to see through the hair concealing her cheek but I was pretty sure she was blushing. Now she seemed not only nervous but embarrassed too. Shit, was I being a dick again? I didn’t think I was, but then again it comes so naturally to me I barely notice it anymore.

  “So you’re one of them Gleeks I take it?” I asked in a softer tone as I attempted to make her feel less uncomfortable in my presence. Though I couldn’t quite figure out why I gave a shit. And before you start, I’m not a closet Glee fan. I know what a Gleek is because I read about it on Facebook.

  “Yeah. Guess I am,” she admitted with a soft giggle. Yep, she was definitely a Tootsie, which was my cue to leave well alone.

  “Wouldn’t kill you guys to clean those toilets every once in a while. I swear I just wheeled over a lump of actual shit in there.” Good, Snickers was back. I could leave.

  “I’ll get right on it,” I said. I had no intentions of doing so of course – Mick hired a cleaner for the gross stuff - but it sounded like the perfect excuse. Feeling a bizarre ache in my chest, another involuntary smile invaded my face when I looked to Emily, so I immediately wiped it off and practically ran to the other end of the bar.

  What the fuck was that? Maybe I’m getting the flu.

  Chapter Four

  Emily

  “Guess we won’t be ticking number one off after all,” Rachel said with a disapproving shake of the head when we arrived back at the flat.

  “Why? I drank didn’t I?”

  “But the list clearly states ‘get wasted’. You’re still functioning like a normal human being therefore you have not followed the list on this occasion.”

  Maybe I don’t want to follow the bloody list!

  “But at least we’re a step closer to number eighteen.” Right – all the sex. Yeah, I don’t think so.

  “It’s one date, Rach,” I argued. I can’t believe she talked me into going out with Jared. Don’t get me wrong he’s a nice enough guy, and pretty hot if you’re into the surfer look, but I know already we have nothing in common. He’s confident. I’m not. He’s a talker. I’m not. He’s obviously comfortable in life, and surprise surprise – I’m not. Plus he’s got to be in his mid-twenties at least. He must be settled by now. What would he see in a nineteen year old with no experience in anything?

  “But one date will lead to a second, and a second will lead to a third. AKA the acceptable length of time to indulge in all the sex without coming across as a total slut bag.” I rolled my eyes at her. “Promise me you’ll try? I know it’s all new to you but isn’t this what you wanted? Why we’re down here?”

  I sighed in defeat. She was right. I’m a shy and nervous person by nature. I am useless in social situations but that’s because I’ve never been allowed to put myself in them before. I do want to change that. That is why we are here.

  “I’m not having sex with him,” I declared. Rachel pouted and put on her most convincing disappointed face. “But I promise to talk to him. See how it goes.” And I will. In that very moment I decided that was my plan. I’m going to force myself to talk to everyone I meet – make conv
ersation, exchange useless information… discuss the weather. Like everything else in life, the more you practise the better you get right? If I’m honest I can’t say I particularly want new friends - I’m happy with just Rachel and my brother Chris to talk to - but I’m certain I need new friends if I want the ‘normal’ Uni life I’ve been dreaming about.

  Besides, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have more than ten Facebook friends. Believe me it’s even worse than it sounds – apart from Rachel and Chris, four of them are distant Aunties I’ve never even met, one is my mum and the other three are from the Library Lovers group at my old school. If we had Glee clubs in this country, the Library Lovers would be in it. They were the outcasts, the nerds – the ones with spots and glasses… and yep, they felt sorry enough for me to add me to their friend lists.

  Bloody hell I really do need friends.

  “Right well I’m gonna call Chris and then head to bed,” I mumbled through a yawn. I think the alcohol was having some kind of delayed reaction because I suddenly felt like three tonnes of crap.

  “K, Ho. Say hi for me.” I nodded and turned to my bedroom. “Oh and don’t forget to tell him I still think he’s all shades of sexy!” she called after me. Ugh. I literally shuddered.

  “He’s my brother! That’s just… eww.”

  I heard Rachel laugh as I opened the door to my tiny bedroom and flopped myself backwards onto the bed. When I reached down to the floor to grab my mobile from my bag I banged my head on the wall. How was everything so much smaller yet so much more expensive down south? Rachel’s parents are helping out with the extortionate rent on this place but I know I’ll have to start paying my own way soon. My mum refused, presumably in the hope that would shatter my chances of actually succeeding in life.

  Find a job is Number 9 on the New Life list and as soon as I’ve honed my social skills, I’ll crack on with that.