Let Me Be Your Hope (Music and Letters Series Book 2)

by Lynsey M. Stewart

  ‘I’m hiding in here for a few hours. Big deal.’ He shrugged his huge fucking shoulders.

  ‘I guessed you were hiding.’ I shook my head beratingly. ‘How is your lovely wife?’

  ‘Fucked if I know. No one told me I’d need to be a mind reader when I said I do.’

  ‘Isn’t that in the vows? I promise to love, cherish and learn to read your mind so I know when the fuck to stay away,’ I laughed as we both sat staring into our beers.

  ‘What the hell am I going to do without you?’ His tone conveyed seriousness through all of the male sarcasm.

  ‘You’ve managed before.’

  I’d moved from London after graduating. The lure of a golden handshake where I secured a couple of grand in my wages before I’d even done a day’s work had totally done it for me. Before I knew it, I was getting on a train to Nottingham, saying goodbye to my mother, my home, my friends, and, essentially, my life. I’d tumbled off the train at the other end with a suitcase that contained two pairs of jeans, three t-shirts and a white dress shirt. Slipped in my pocket was a printout with directions to the flat I was renting in a neighbourhood I was afraid to walk around after dark and on the same street as many of my first-time clients.

  ‘That was different. I had things to occupy me. I was happy. I wasn’t sitting in a pub every night after work delaying going home because I was pretty fucking miserable. Who the hell am I going to sit with now?’ Mark said.

  ‘Bastard. You only need me as a distraction. Go home and face the music.’

  ‘I can’t, mate. Bea stuck the remote control down the toilet this morning and she was going ballistic. I have no idea what mood I’m walking into.’ Mark’s daughter, Bea, was a firecracker. She took after his wife.

  ‘How do you know all of this? You were in a case conference all morning.’

  ‘Texts. All fucking day. Just because she couldn’t change the TV channel to Loose Women when Bea went for a nap after lunch. Add teleportation to the long list of marriage requirements,’ Mark said, shaking his head.

  Forget warm beer. I needed cold vodka to take off the chill of the realisation that marriage really did seem to fuck with people’s heads. Mark had met his wife at uni, but they only got together two years ago after he got her knocked up quicker than you can say, ’Have you heard of these amazing things called condoms?’ His bouncing baby girl, destined for a life of being spoilt rotten, was almost a year old and already walking. In the words of Miley Cyrus, she was like a wrecking ball.

  ‘So, I can’t believe I’m saying this again. How long before you leave London?’ Mark asked.

  ‘I go back to Nottingham in two weeks. I need to finalise stuff with the flat. Set up rent, get a car, all the boring stuff. On my first day, I’m meeting with the bloke I’m taking over from. He’s going to show me the ropes. Then I’ll either stay there or come back to sort things here. Depends how things are.’

  ‘Yeah, of course. It’s a big step. Take it all a bit at a time.’

  ‘That’s the plan.’ I didn’t tell him I was counting down the days to get away. Breathing space and time were calling me to them every night when I closed my eyes to sleep and every morning when I woke up to exactly the same feelings—guilt, loss and regret. Every day. Over and over until I was numb.

  ‘How are you feeling about going back?’ Marked asked as he winked weirdly at the girl behind the bar. She folded her arms sulkily. He ignored the brush off and asked for a bag of pork scratchings. I was going to miss this tit.

  ‘I’m shitting it,’ I lied. I couldn’t have been more pleased about starting again, giving my life a second try. ‘I’m worried they’re going to take one look at my gormless face and realise I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.’

  That was the truth. I was still pinching myself at the thought that I was going to be a manager of a child protection team. I’d received the call offering me the job as I walked through a block of flats on my way to a home visit. I stopped mid stride and whooped loudly with my fists pounding the air. As I continued walking, I stopped again and felt a ripple of what the actual fuck? Similar moments had occurred at least once a day ever since.

  ‘Bullshit. You can do the job standing on your head while riding a surfboard,’ Mark laughed. ‘Seriously, though, have you thought about her? It’s likely she’s still in Nottingham.’

  He had to ask. I’d thought about nothing else. She dominated every thought, every decision, every minute. ‘I’ve never stopped,’ I replied without wasting a second to think about it. ‘I can only say that to you.’ And that was the most honest statement I’d made in years.

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Maybe that’s why I took the job,’ I replied, the alcohol now encouraging complete honesty.

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Is that all you’ve got for me?’ I rested my fingers on either side of my head as I felt the stirrings of pain. Migraines had plagued me since my teenage years; stress and anxiety encouraged them, and I had to wonder what the fuck I was doing taking a job in social work management.

  ‘Are you sure you’re doing this for the right reasons?’

  ‘What are the right reasons?’ I quizzed.

  ‘I don’t know. Career development? A new start after a shitty year?’

  ‘Those reasons are certainly up there,’ I replied, rubbing my hand across the top of my head. ‘I can’t stay here. I don’t want to wake up in ten years’ time and feel like everything has passed me by before I’ve even lived. I just need to let go, be challenged again, have a different focus. I can’t do pain anymore. Or sadness, sorrow or regrets. It’s eating me alive.’ I clocked a slight unease in the corner of his eyes, so I changed direction. ‘Basically, I don’t want to end up as fucking miserable as you.’

  Mark knew. He understood the tone. He got the meaning, and because of that, we laughed loudly without restraint and ordered another beer.

  Chapter Three

  abi

  Now.

  ‘I need to get drunk,’ I announced as we walked into town dressed to impress and in the frame of mind to forget. Dreams had been plaguing me every night.

  Dreams about him.

  Jamie Dawson.

  My lost love.

  It was as if they were trying to tell me something but I didn’t know what. Snippets of information, memories and conversations that I hadn’t thought about for months replayed repeatedly when I finally closed my eyes and tried to sleep. Stripy socks came flooding back first. I’d bought a pair that reminded me of him; they lived under my pillow. His nervous habits that I’d studied more than I’d studied for my social work law exam followed swiftly behind…

  Then came reminders of notes he used to leave on my desk.

  ‘You look beautiful when you concentrate.’

  ‘I may have a hard-on after hearing you tell Steve to go fuck himself when he didn’t agree with your initial assessment this morning.’

  ‘Can I make you mine?’

  ‘You’ve ruined me for anyone else.’

  He’d hide them under the stapler on my desk. It was the first thing I’d check when I arrived at work every morning. The disappointment was unbearable on the days I hadn’t found one, but that pain was nothing compared to the heavy, tearing disappointment I would feel later on down the line.

  Gem, Kate and Elle joined me in my mission to forget. I’d met Kate through work, and Gem was a friend of Elle’s from school. They were diamonds—sparkling and harder than anything that would be thrown their way. Gem was separated from her husband and open to finding love, or a good fuck, whichever came first. Kate was quietly on the look out, and Elle was loved up; but if she didn’t get off the phone from Ben in the next minute, I was going to throw it onto the tramlines.

  ‘No phones allowed,’ I shouted. Elle was standing with her finger in her ear desperately trying to hear Ben over the noise of the Saturday night crowds.

  She waved at me in annoyance.

  ‘Leave her alone. It’s sweet. I can only wi
sh for that kind of love. Never had it, but I’d like to give it a try,’ Kate said as Elle strode over drunk on love instead of cocktails.

  ‘We need alcohol.’ I pointed my finger to the bar. The lights were dim inside but the music was loud and just what I needed to take me away for a few hours. We had already danced three songs away when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Abi! What a nice surprise. Fancy seeing you here.’ I continued swaying my hips when I realised it was Rob—harmless, nice enough Rob—a colleague but also a one-night stand that had turned into two. How I repeated the first mistake, I’ll never know.

  ‘Well, fancy that. What a turn up for the books. Are you stalking me?’ He put his hands on my hips to try to contain my dancing. I twirled in his hands and pushed myself into his groin. It didn’t take much to get him going.

  ‘Come and sit with me. Let’s catch up,’ he said as he pulled me towards him and tried to kiss my lips. I pulled back. Kissing was far too intimate. Kissing meant passion. Kissing meant feelings. Kissing was reserved for the man who held my heart but who I hadn’t heard from in almost two years. ‘How are you?’ Rob asked as we fell into a booth after I let him buy me a drink.

  ‘Not small talk, Rob. We can do better than that, can’t we?’ I smiled and continued as he took my hand. ‘What you really want to know is if I will go home with you tonight and repeat our one-night stand for the third time.’ I took a sip of alcohol. ‘Can you guarantee me an orgasm? If I remember rightly, you could only manage that with your fingers and not your cock, and tonight I need a cockateer.’

  ‘Fuck, Abi. Are you always this intimidating? Tone it down a notch,’ he said, shaking his head in exasperation.

  ‘Are you always this whiney? Lighten up or I’ll set my sights on someone else.’ Total lie. I was done with one-night stands and the inevitable emptiness the following morning.

  ‘Kiss me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Kiss me. Show me we can be more than a quick fuck.’ He smiled, but his tone was serious. ‘You can’t, can you? Have you ever thought that I want more?’

  ‘Rob!’

  ‘I don’t know what it is with you. I thought we had a good time. You hold yourself back. I never really scratched the surface. No kissing, no touching your neck, no romance. God forbid I should ask for a date.’ Shit. He had figured me out in the few short hours we had spent together. ‘Whoever it was, he was a dick. The sooner you understand that, the better. Maybe then we might have something more than just sex.’

  He got up, took his drink, and disappeared into the crowds. His words didn’t sit well with me. I suddenly felt sober. Being sober and miserable in a club was pretty crap. I couldn’t see the girls and the thought of breaking my way through the crowd to find them was enough to make me leave.

  The light in the living room confused me as I kicked the door shut with my foot. I wasn’t used to anyone being home, so I jumped when I saw Ben sitting at the table in front of his MacBook.

  ‘New toy; just tinkering.’ Ben was a computer software engineer who loved his gadgets. ‘You don’t mind me being here, do you? I can go.’

  ‘No, it’s fine.’

  ‘I hate to tell you this, but I think you’ve forgotten Elle.’

  After getting some water and sliding two ice cubes into the glass, a crap attempt at trying to stop a hangover in the morning, I smiled and pulled up a chair. ‘She’s still out with Gem and Kate. I sent her a text to tell her I didn’t feel well. She’s probably already on her way.’

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘Not really.’ I put my head on the table ‘Can I ask you something?’ I mumbled under my hair before sitting up.

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘You get nervous around me,’ I said as I pointed to his fidgeting hands. ‘Is that the reaction everyone gets? Do you find me intimidating?’

  ‘Erm…well.’

  I wanted to smack him on the back of the head to encourage him to be truthful, but I could already see it in his tone and mannerisms. ‘Anyone would think I’d made a pass at you with all the flapping you’re doing.’

  ‘Now, that would cause me to flap.’

  ‘You don’t need to worry. You’re far too handsome to be attractive anyway,’ I said as I reached under my top and unclipped my bra, letting the girls free.

  He raised his eyebrows at me. ‘There’s a back handed compliment if ever I heard one.’

  ‘You are!’ I laughed. ‘I like my men a bit more asymmetrical.’

  ‘Remember the night we met?’ he said, smiling in disbelief.

  How could I forget? Elle had been stabbed during a home visit that had gone seriously wrong. Ben was in the middle of writing a Dear John letter outside her hospital room and I may have told him to grow some balls, or something similarly ranty.

  ‘You don’t have to say any more. Intimidating.’ I said, pointing to myself. ‘No wonder I’m hopelessly single.’

  ‘Listen, you’ve always been honest with me, so let me do the same.’

  ‘This sounds serious,’ I sighed.

  ‘Elle’s told me a bit about Jamie. It sounds like you have him up on the fourth plinth of Trafalgar Square.’ He was getting dangerously close to the truth. ‘Don’t cut yourself off from trying another relationship. Take him off the plinth and give someone else a try.’

  ‘It’s far easier to take someone home, let them bang it in, and then leave them to it for the rest of their lives,’ I replied.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like something more?’

  ‘Listen, I haven’t had sex for three months. No one-night stands, no relationships. Nothing. I’m stuck now. The man I want doesn’t want me. Celibacy may be my only hope of staying sane.’ I took a breath in an attempt to sound calm and less madwoman breaks down in her kitchen. It didn’t work. ‘Forgive me if I don’t take on board your advice, which, by the way, is pretty shit, totally naïve, and lacking in details.’

  Don’t take this out on Ben. Don’t take this out on Ben.

  He looked at me like he wanted to bolt out the door. ‘Shit, sorry, I shouldn’t have—’ His eyes flew to Elle as she came rolling in. I heard an audible sigh.

  ‘My two favourite people!’ she slurred. Her arms were in the air but soon dropped when she saw the faces in front of her. ‘What is it?’ I looked at Ben and pleaded for him to drop it. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said as I felt a sharp sting of embarrassment and tried hard to rectify the mess I was causing. ‘I’ve had a crap night and it’s only added to my crap week, month and year.’

  ‘I know you’ve been hurt. You’re as intimidating as fuck, but that’s your defence mechanism.’

  ‘Don’t, Ben. Don’t try to analyse me. You don’t know the full story.’ I stalked past a shocked Elle and slammed my bedroom door in protest. Seconds later, I heard a small knock.

  ‘Let me in.’

  ‘That was childish, I know. I’ll apologise,’ I said as I opened the door.

  ‘Good. But first, I’m here to talk,’ Elle replied as we collapsed onto the bed. ‘What brought all that on?’

  ‘I saw Rob. He may have mumbled something about me being intimidating and wanting to take me on a date. I talked to Ben about it, and, what was the term he used to describe me? Oh yeah, intimidating as fuck.’

  ‘Rob, hey? Nice-guy Rob. I can’t see it myself. He’s not the one,’ she replied, totally ignoring me.

  ‘Fucking hell. No one’s the one!’ I sat up and sprang to my feet. ‘I found the one, but he’s not the one. I haven’t heard from him in two years. There’s never going to be anyone else. No one compares to him.’

  ‘You don’t give anyone a chance. You have one night and it’s over.’

  ‘I was trying to hurt him. I wanted to sleep with as many men as I could to fucking hurt him, but all I’m doing is hurting myself. I could fuck the entire staff list and he wouldn’t know. He’s not here to know.’ Elle pulled me back down to the bed and slung her arm across my shoulders. ‘I’ve got a pa
ir of socks under my pillow and they aren’t even his.’

  ‘What?’ she asked as I sat up and crawled up the bed to pull out the stripy socks I slept with every night.

  ‘Oh God. That’s special,’ she smiled.

  ‘Isn’t it? I was just telling your boyfriend I haven’t had sex for three months. I’ve gone from fucking anyone that walks to being celibate. Isn’t my life great?’ I shrugged and faced the truth. ‘I need to let him go, don’t I?’

  Elle nodded and pulled the socks out of my hand before pulling me in for a hug.

  Chapter Four

  Jamie

  Now.

  Packing up my life to transfer it one hundred and twenty-seven miles north was no small task. I had enough clothes to last me for the next fifty years and a bright sock collection I didn’t even know I’d built up. Clearing out the wardrobe was the worst job because I knew what lay at the back of it collecting dust but otherwise pristine.

  Letters.

  All twenty-nine. I had memorised every one of them. Letters I had cried and laughed over. Letters signed with an infinity symbol entwined with our initials at either end, promising an everlasting connection.

  One letter that broke us apart irrevocably.

  I reached into the space, pushing aside a heavy bunch of clothes and grabbing the letters from their hiding place at the back. For a second, I thought about shredding them, but I knew I couldn’t do that. They were a record of our love. A love lost in so many ways that I couldn’t keep track.

  In the first few letters, I poured out my deep regret at leaving, which became an all too familiar theme.

  I had always kept them in order, tied together with a thin piece of leather I’d found in Mum’s sewing box. Whenever I caught the smell, I was rushed back to them. Whenever I closed my eyes, I could see her handwriting.