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

by Lynsey M. Stewart

  ‘Because I was an idiot. I don’t know. It was all just getting too much. He hadn’t written in a while. His letters were getting shorter and less personal. He said his friends were organising a party for his birthday and when no invite came, I may have had a small breakdown. I took some bad advice. I bled my heart out to Mum one night. She told me to make him jealous, to test him to see his reaction. So I told him I’d started seeing someone else. I’d run out of sensible options and took the bloody stupid one.’

  There it was out in the open. I’d fucked it up.

  ‘What the hell? Did I just hear that right?’ Gem stood up with her hands on her hips. ‘You told him you were seeing someone else?’

  ‘Yes, OK, I’m an idiot.’

  ‘You are a fucking idiot!’ Gem shouted, alerting Kate to the conversation.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Abi forgot to mention that the reason Jamie stopped writing was because she told him she was seeing someone else!’ Gem told her.

  ‘What? That’s not true, is it?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So all that about leaving for another job was bullshit?’ Gem asked.

  ‘He left to care for his mum. The job allowed him to do that.’

  ‘I’m confused.’ Gem sat down beside me. The disappointment in her eyes was killing me. The full story exploded out of me. I’d never needed alcohol more.

  ‘I didn’t tell you everything because I was so fucking disappointed in myself that I didn’t want anyone else to be disappointed as well.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure if I’m more shocked about your letter, you not telling us about it, or the fact that you actually took advice from your mum,’ Elle said. ‘Which was crap advice, by the way.’

  ‘Shit advice,’ Gem agreed.

  ‘The worst,’ Kate added. I nodded as they pulled me in for a hug.

  ‘I’m so mad at you,’ Elle said before flicking my hair over my shoulder.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘How come you’re so calm about it all? I’ve seen you breakdown. I’ve wiped your tears. Not more than a few months ago, you told me you’d written to him. Was that the letter?’

  ‘No, the letter where I fucked up was almost two years ago. I told him to let me go, that I couldn’t go on wondering if he would ever come back and that I’d met someone else. I didn’t hear from him again after that. I sent more telling him I’d made it all up and still loved him, but he didn’t reply.’

  Elle was referring to the night I visited her in hospital after she was she attacked and stabbed during a home visit to one of her families. She was recovering, but I was a mess. The thought of losing my best friend had ignited all kinds of fucked up wobbles. I called Mum and we thrashed out shit from my childhood that I hadn’t thought about in years. I visited my father’s grave and cried—something I’d never done. And I had admitted to Elle that I’d written another letter to Jamie reiterating that there wasn’t someone else, never had been, in the hope that it would get to him but knowing full well that he wouldn’t reply. I had needed to do something. The silence and empty doormat were like a chiming bell that never let up.

  ‘You’ve created the biggest bloody mess,’ Elle said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I felt fucking stupid and low. Then, when I went to his house and he wasn’t there…’

  ‘Wait! What?’ she asked, her blue eyes wide and concerned.

  ‘I need the loo. Stop talking. I don’t want to miss anything.’ Kate stood up and ran to the toilets.

  ‘Elle, can you take Kate’s turn?’ Gem asked. ‘This is going to end up being the longest game ever recorded. If we don’t hurry up, I’ll be going home to teenagers instead of toddlers.’

  ‘Christ alive, don’t move. Hold that thought.’ Elle dropped the ball down in ten seconds and returned with a thump. ‘Continue.’

  ‘I went to his mum’s house.’

  ‘In London?’ Elle asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Elle turned to me, knocking her knees into mine. ‘You don’t tell me anything!’

  ‘It’s my go,’ I said, smirking as she buried her face in her lap.

  Gem dropped her shoulders at her crap attempt at bowling and handed me the ball. ‘I feel conscious about my arse. It’s ruining my game,’ she pouted.

  ‘Your arse is fucking amazing. That arse and your gorgeous body have carried two kids,’ I smiled as she gave me an out of nowhere hug.

  ‘You’re just saying that to get me back on side because you know I’m so fucking mad at you.’

  ‘You can’t be madder than me,’ I replied.

  ‘You need to talk to him. Tell him the truth.’

  ‘I will, Gem.’

  ‘Talk.’ Elle had been waiting for me to return. She totally ignored my strike, which was a complete bloody fluke. ‘Why did you go to his house?’

  ‘After you nearly died on me, I made a decision that I wasn’t going to let life pass me by. It’s too short for that, so I got on a train and knocked on his door three hours later.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘You were recovering, stressing about returning to work. Falling in love,’ I replied stretching out the word love and knocking my shoulder into hers. ‘You didn’t need it.’

  ‘What happened?’ she asked

  ‘A lovely lady answered the door. She’d moved in almost a year before and didn’t have a forwarding address.’ I remembered the words: Sorry, I have no idea where he went.

  ‘Oh shit, Abi. I should have been there with you.’

  ‘If he’d been there, I was hoping he would forgive me, rip my underwear off in one move, and fuck me against the wall. You hanging around would have dampened the mood,’ I laughed.

  My laughter hid my pain.

  The truth was that I had sat on the steps outside the house for two hours. At one point, the owner literally stepped around me to go on the school run, but not before giving me a pained smile and a pleading backward glance that said please don’t be here when I get back, my kids will be frightened.

  I tortured myself by imagining him clearing the very steps I was sitting on, bouncing up them two at a time in his trainers after a run. He never could keep still. Then my mind went to those dark places where I imagined him coming home from a night out with a beautiful woman wrapped around him after I’d stupidly pushed him to move on. I wondered if he’d fucked her on the stairs or against the door because in heated passion and frenzied desire, that was the trademark of our relationship. He could never wait.

  It had started to rain an hour in, so when I decided to walk back to the Tube station, I was grappling with a see-through blouse, cold jeans and a shattered heart. I ate a steak and beef pie, four grab-bags of crisps and a multipack of Lion Bars on the train as I headed back to Nottingham.

  As I headed back to a life of feeling empty and lost.

  ‘Take a picture of the score board,’ I shouted to Kate. ‘We can put some of the numbers on the lottery. The lottery could be my answer. If I win, I won’t have to go back to work on Monday morning.’

  Four strawberry and kiwi ciders, a vodka and two whiskey and Cokes later…

  ‘Oh fuck. What am I going to do? How can I go back there on Monday? How can I face him? Kill me. Kill me now.’

  I had been sick in the bin at the side of the bench that I was now being propped up on—Elle on one side, Gem on the other, and Kate crouching down in front of me with her hands on my knees. Alcohol had twisted into my bloodstream and had turned all the lies of earlier in the evening into full-blown truths. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. Everything I had held together was now tumbling and crashing, exposing me for what I really was. Broken. Hurt. Utterly lost and confused.

  ‘Why won’t he talk to me? I need to know everything. Where has he been? What’s he been doing with his life? I need him to crack open his ribs and offer me his heart.’

  ‘OK, dramat
ics. She’s going down Shakespeare Road, and once we get there, there’s no turning back. We need to find her a coffee—and quick.’

  Elle had been there before. She knew the pattern. The night would start with clichéd dialogue—We weren’t meant to be. It was good while it lasted—before moving to half-hearted attempts at humour—He couldn’t keep up with me. Not enough stamina—then on to self-pity—We were perfect for each other. Why did we fuck it up?—until we stopped at Shakespeare Road—We were star-crossed lovers. He was my Romeo. The course of true love never did run smooth.

  ‘I’m going to ring Ben to ask him to help carry her home,’ I heard Elle say as I fell in and out of reality. Sleep or coma, I wasn’t sure. Maybe I was dallying with both.

  Not long afterwards, I felt a strong hand under me, jerking me awake. I was being carried. I opened my eyes just enough to see a wry smile.

  ‘Ben, you bloody dick,’ I shouted, but it didn’t sound like me. The voice was being carried behind my head. ‘You’re a wonderful male specimen of maleness. You alone are restoring my faith in men,’ I slurred into his chest, my cheek rising and falling against him as he laughed. ‘You’re a jizzmonger. No, wait. You’re a cockwomble. No, you, you are a cockateer. Such a perfect example of a cockateer.’

  ‘Great! Drunken contradictions,’ he said as his eyes followed Elle walking at the side of him carrying my shoes.

  That look. He was so in love. I knew that look. I had been on the receiving end of that look. My Jamie. My Dawson. What the fuck was I going to do?

  I pressed my hand against his cheek and shivered at how cold it was.

  ‘Promise me something.’

  ‘Anything,’ he smiled.

  ‘Don’t take me home sober. I don’t want to think about him, and when I’m sober, I only think of him.’

  ‘I’m definitely not taking you home sober, Abi, because if I waited for that, we would still be here this time tomorrow night,’ he laughed softly. I was happy that the gorgeous sound of his laugh was the last thing I heard before I fell asleep, dreaming of Jamie and the good times.

  I woke from my dream with a jolt, and for a second, I was still in a good place—my legs wrapped around him as he carried me to his bedroom to make love to me. I was still hearing his declarations of love, still believing his promises of loving me forever, still planning our future together—until it hit me again with the force of a punch to the stomach. He hadn’t kept his promises. I would never be his again, and that was so hard to accept. The pain was all consuming, but I couldn’t do anything else except settle into the sobs.

  Elle was closing the curtains as I made a weak assessment of my whereabouts.

  ‘Did Ben carry me home?’ I asked her.

  ‘Yes, all the way. He’s knackered,’ she laughed.

  ‘You are so getting spooned tonight.’

  I felt her tiny shoulders move up and down as she laughed. I welcomed the comfort of her arms, but I dreaded Monday morning when I would have to face Jamie again.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Jamie

  Now.

  Deep breaths. Smile. Take in the air and face it, you bloody wanktosser.

  I pulled the key out of my pocket and turned it achingly slowly. I was preparing myself, psyching myself up. It was getting on for nine and she would wonder where I had been, knowing I wouldn’t still be at work at this late time. I’d sat in the café where I used to meet Abi and her friends after work. I’d nursed a coffee for an hour and then pushed egg and chips around my plate for two. My heart was hammering in my chest, but I fought the urge to run.

  Quiet. Nothing. No indication that anything was different. The sofa was now sitting in front of the window. The table and chairs were settling into place in the corner of the room, but there were flowers and another set of keys on the counter top, taunting me with their presence.

  ‘Hi.’

  I turned and caught her eyes. They were once bright and sparkling, but now they were dull and lifeless. Pain tore through them. Hurt was stamped across them. How had she changed so quickly?

  ‘Hey. You got the keys then?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’ She smiled tightly and rose up on her toes.

  ‘Settled in?’

  ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’

  Yes. She was here.

  Her auburn hair hung in a ponytail and she didn’t have a scrap of make up on her face. She looked tired and drawn. She hid her body under a large t-shirt and grey jogging bottoms. I’d forgotten the last time I saw her dressed up, even just wearing a pair of bloody jeans. The heels and jewellery were packed away long before she had agreed to come here.

  ‘What do you want to do? It’s your first night in Nottingham.’

  ‘I’m just gonna go to bed.’

  ‘It’s only nine. I could order a takeaway or we could go out to eat, somewhere close? I know a great little place—’

  ‘I’m tired, Jamie,’ she said, interrupting my attempt to make things normal. ‘I don’t want to go out. Don’t push me,’ she snapped. ‘Just because I’m here, doesn’t mean I’m magically OK.’

  Nothing had changed. We were in a different city, different flat, opposite mind frames, but everything was the same.

  ‘We’ve got to try. I made a promise.’ I whispered the words I thought she expected to hear as she breezed past me and left me standing alone in the kitchen.

  On Sunday evening, I pulled on my shorts and t-shirt, laced up my trainers and made the excuse that I was going out for a run. The truth was that I was sitting on top of the green electrical box at the end of the road. I didn’t even break a sweat. As people passed, I pretended to wipe my forehead with the back of my hand and took a swig of water, deep breathing like an idiot just so they wouldn’t think I was some weirdo loitering in the neighbourhood. The last thing I needed was a peeping Tom tag.

  We hadn’t stepped out of the door all weekend. I was slowly suffocating under the pressure of pleasant small talk, tense exchanges, dodging the big issues and walking on shards of glass that represented everything about us. I needed some air. I needed to put space between us, which was fucking idiotic because she had only been there two days.

  I pulled out my phone and pushed the earbuds into both ears. I had a playlist; the soundtrack of my life that had I titled Spitfire so it wouldn’t create any awkward questions or comments but still had personal meaning.

  Abi Sinclair. My spitfire. My green-eyed, perfect spitfire.

  After the shortest run on record, I made my way back to the flat. As soon as I opened the door, I smelled burning so strong it made my eyes water. I immediately saw two pieces of toast under the grill with what looked like charcoal layered across the top on what I assumed was once an attempt at making cheese on toast. I pulled it out and slung it into the sink, dousing it with water to create a deafening sizzle.

  ‘Clara!’ I shouted through to the living room. I stood in the hallway and shouted down to the bedroom and bathroom. Silence. The house was still and I could feel my spine tense up. I found her sitting on the bed in the dark, her back resting against the wall. A laptop on her knee was lighting up her face and she was chewing her nails nervously.

  ‘You know, there’s a website that tells you the date and time of when you’re going to die,’ she said, not looking up at me.

  ‘What are you doing? You left toast under the grill. The place could have fucking burnt down.’ I re-evaluated my tone as I spoke. I wanted to scream and shout, but I understood from her body language that I needed to be softer and less direct.

  ‘Do you think I should type my name in? I wonder what it would say.’

  ‘What are you doing? Turn it off.’ I tried to close the laptop but she pulled it away from me and started typing. ‘Clara, don’t do that. That’s not going to help, is it?’

  ‘I’m interested to know,’ she said, still typing. ‘I wonder if it would confirm that I’ve already died. Or maybe it will just say it’s too late.’

  ‘Go on then. Tell me. Let�
�s sit and look at when we’re going to die, shall we, because won’t that improve the mood?’ She looked up at me and started to laugh. It started small a first, like she was remembering something that had happened earlier and was about to tell me before she realised it was the kind of thing where you had to be there and to re-tell it would cause only a mild smile.

  ‘What are you talking about? How can a website tell you when you’re going to die?’ She continued laughing. ‘It’s a load of bollocks, Jamie. You’re so gullible sometimes. So trusting.’

  ‘Clara, is everything OK? Are you feeling good or do we need to—’

  ‘I’m fine. You’re the one taking this too seriously. I was having a laugh. No one knows when you’re going to die. It’s not like you get a choice in the matter, is it?’

  I nodded my head and left her in the room, still uneasy with the conversation. The smell of burning stung my eyes as I flung open the windows wondering how the smoke alarms didn’t go off. The unease I had about the move was starting to spread. The promise of a fresh start was not as fresh as I had planned. In fact, it was well past its best before date.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Abi

  Now.

  When did I swallow the ball of wool that was now lodged in my windpipe and tangled around my vocal cords? I was fairly certain today would be the day my life was going to end. I was about to kick the proverbial bucket before dropping down on my knees before him.

  His name was already on the door, replacing Colin’s before he’d even left the building.

  Jamie Dawson: Team Manager.

  That stupid plastic label made it all seem real, or maybe it was the thought of spending the next couple of hours locked in an office together whilst we discussed and dissected my cases in supervision.

  Three knocks.

  ‘Come in.’

  I pushed the door open slowly and took him in. He looked like a perfect imitation of a Hugo Boss ad campaign. His three-piece suit beautifully clung to the contours of his body. I smiled briefly as I thought of the perfection underneath, but I also felt insanely jealous that his body was created and honed by eating bacon and egg sandwiches for breakfast, meatball subs for lunch and takeout for dinner washed down in between with sugary tea and eight packets of crisps.