Noah and Me

by Beckie Stevenson

  “I thought as much,” he says, pulling my nightie up my body.

  “Hey!” I shout. “I’m not wearing a bra!”

  “It’s alright,” he grunts, yanking the nightie over my head. “I’ve seen it all before.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want you to see it now,” I protest, trying to push his hands away.

  “Ariel,” he huffs, “of all the things you should be ashamed of, your body is the least of them.”

  “I don’t care,” I say through gritted teeth.

  “And anyway, you answered your door to me when you were practically naked the other day.”

  Shit, he’s right. I’d forgotten about that. I stop trying to fight him and let him dress me. He swiftly fastens a bra around my breasts while avoiding my eyes, and pulls on a long-sleeved top, my body warmer and my socks, all without speaking. When he grabs my skinny jeans, he tries to stretch the waist, glancing awkwardly at my legs. He rolls the legs up and then shoves them over my feet. He manages the shins fine but struggles as he gets to my knee. “Have you put weight on?” he asks, wriggling the jeans up my thighs. “These seem a little snug.”

  I giggle and slap at his hand. “No, cheeky. They’re skinny jeans, Noah. They’re supposed to be snug.” I lift my bum up off the bed and yank the jeans right up to my waist. “There you go,” I say. “Easy, really.”

  He gets up off the bed, pulling me with him, and pushes me into the bathroom. “Go and brush your teeth.”

  “Why? Does my breath smell?”

  “Yes.”

  “What of?” I ask, grabbing my toothpaste and handing it to him. “I brushed them when I showered.”

  “Bacon,” he says, trailing toothpaste over the bristles. He pushes the brush towards my mouth. “Open wide.”

  I open my mouth, just enough for him to get my toothbrush in. He comes to stand behind me and brushes my teeth as if he were brushing his own—the whole two minutes and everything.

  “Now spit,” he says.

  I hold my hair out of the way and lean over the sink, letting the foam fall out of my mouth. “If you were playing nice, this could have been erotic,” I joke.

  He grabs my wide-toothed comb and starts to pull it through my hair, completely ignoring my comment. He’s not so gentle with this bit as he yanks from the middle and keeps snagging on the knots at the end. “Ouch,” I say. “You’re hurting me.”

  He freezes and locks eyes with me in the mirror. He pushes the comb to my chest and shakes his head. “You do this bit.”

  I don’t know what’s just popped into his head, but I grab the comb and start to brush my own hair while he watches me.

  “Do you need to wee before we go?” he asks, nodding towards the toilet.

  “Yes,” I say, shooing him out of the bathroom. I plonk myself down onto the seat and wonder how I’m going to get out of going. There’s a tiny part of me that wants to go now that he’s put the thought there, but the bigger part is too scared. I think going back to the village and seeing their graves and that church will just make it hurt a whole lot more.

  “Are you done?” he asks, knocking on the door.

  “No,” I tell him.

  He barges back in through the door when I’m washing my hands. “You’ll need these,” he says. “Forecast says snow.” He pulls a hat onto my head and wraps a scarf around my neck. “I’ve grabbed your snow coat already.”

  “I have work tomorrow,” I tell him. “I’m not going if it’s going to snow. We might get stuck up there.”

  “It only said a couple of centimetres,” he tells me. “We won’t be stuck up there, and we could always walk back if we were.”

  “Walk?” I repeat, following him out of the room.

  He nods and pulls a backpack onto his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m not going,” I say, putting my hands on my hips.

  “I’ve just got you ready,” he huffs. “Don’t be a pain in the arse.”

  “I told you I wasn’t going,” I say. I really don’t want to go now.

  “You’re acting like a child,” he says, tying his coat around his waist. “So you’ll get treated like a child.”

  “What?”

  He grabs my arm and bends down, hooking his arm behind my knee. He pulls me into a fireman’s lift and slaps my bum. “Now behave.”

  All the blood rushes down to my head as I hang over his shoulder. “Put me down, Noah!”

  He chuckles and shuffles his bag onto his other arm. Then he walks out of my apartment, making my head bounce up and down on his back. As he steps onto each step, he playfully taps my bum.

  “Noah, is that you?” a female voice asks from the bottom of the staircase.

  “Yes,” he says.

  “What are you doing?” she shrieks, sounding shocked.

  “I’m taking Ariel away for a night of passion.”

  That’s news to me. I try to turn my head to see who it is, but he’s too wide and she’s standing in completely the wrong place.

  “I’m sorry about the delay in the rent,” she says. “I switched my current account and the fuckers fucked up my standing orders and direct debits.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says quickly. “It’s sorted now.”

  “Where are you going?” she asks.

  Nosey cow.

  “To the spa resort in the Moors,” Noah replies instantly.

  What’s he playing at?

  “Erm, very nice,” she says, sounding a little shocked. “I’ve heard they do an excellent sea bass dish in the restaurant.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he replies curtly. “Have a nice evening, Candy.”

  Candy?

  “Yeah, erm, you too,” she says.

  When he strides past her, I lift my head to look up at her and give her a stupid wave. She flips me the bird. Bitch.

  “Oi, oi!” calls a male voice. “What’s going on here then?”

  “My brain is slowly drowning in my own blood,” I huff. “Noah, please put me down.”

  “No, you might run.” He slaps my bum again but harder this time. “Any of you boys fancy tapping this ass?” Noah joking about ass-tapping is the last thing I thought I’d hear. I giggle.

  Ben whacks my bum. “Have a nice afternoon.”

  “Fuck you,” I huff.

  Owen decides not to touch me. Wise choice. “You two should hook up. The sexual chemistry that fizzles between you makes me feel really awkward,” he says.

  “Shut up,” Noah and I say at the same time.

  Noah laughs and starts to walk down the stairs to the underground car park. He doesn’t put me down until he’s bundled me into his bright white car. After he leans over and fastens my seatbelt, he slams my door then locks it with his key fob as he walks to his side.

  “That was a little unnecessary,” I say when he climbs in next to me.

  “I disagree,” he says, pushing a button that starts the engine.

  “I see you’ve kept to your Land Rover,” I say. “You can take the boy out of the Moors, but you can’t take the Moors out of the boy.”

  “Sort of,” he says, driving smoothly through the car park. “This is a Range Rover. The Evoque model.”

  The engine of the car purrs at me. “Is that supposed to impress me?”

  He laughs and rubs at his jaw. “Not at all. I just don’t want you offending either vehicle by getting them mixed up.”

  “You’re strange,” I say, sinking down into my heated leather seat.

  We don’t speak the entire time he drives us out of the city and into the Moors. By the time we get to the winding country lanes, the cold mist has already started to descend over the roads. It’s only just after lunch, but when you’re high up here in the middle of nowhere, it starts to feel like the middle of the night, even in the middle of the afternoon.

  “Shall we go straight to the graveyard?” he asks as we enter the village.

  Might as well get it out of the way. “Sure,” I sigh.

  He
follows the road all the way down into the small dip in the middle of the village where the church and the splattering of shops surround it. “Don’t we need flowers or something?” I ask.

  “I already have them,” he says, pulling his Range Rover up carefully at the kerb. “I got them first thing this morning. They’re in their own water and it’s cold in the boot, so we’re good.”

  I nod, thinking about how thoughtful he is, and climb out of the car. Glancing back at the shiny black interior of the car, I decide that I actually really like it. Especially the fact that it’s warmed my bum. Noah goes around the back and opens the boot, pulling out a pair of scissors, a bucket, a hand towel, a bottle of water and two big bunches of flowers. “We have to cut the stems,” he tells me, “and I like to give the stone a wipe down.”

  I’ve never seen the gravestone. I ordered it and paid for it, but I left before it was erected. “Okay. Just do what you normally do and I’ll follow.” I start to wring my hands together.

  “Don’t be nervous,” he whispers, wrapping a thick grey scarf around his neck. I can’t help but notice what the dark grey does to the colour of his eyes and how it makes them look that little bit brighter in this murky afternoon. “Just think of it like you have an open telephone line to them. Talk to them. Say what you would say if God granted you thirty seconds each. Tell them just the important bits.”

  I don’t think I’ll be able to do that, but I don’t tell him that. I’m hoping he’ll leave me alone when we’re there and I can just pretend that I did what he told me to. “Okay.”

  He pushes open the wrought iron gate that screeches at us from overuse and age and starts down the path. He heads east. I feel myself frowning at his back. I know I haven’t been here for a while, but I’m sure their plot was over on the west side.

  “Noah, I don’t think—”

  He veers off the path and starts to walk over the uneven ground. I follow him. I hate that some parts are sunken in more than others. It makes me wonder why that is. Noah stops right in front of me and lowers his head. I sense this isn’t the right time for me to speak, so I peek my head around his back and feel my mouth drop open when I see what he’s staring at.

  In Loving Memory of

  TOBIAS NOAH CARTER

  FIONA RACHAEL CARTER

  JENNIFER ANNE CARTER

  ROSIE FIONA CARTER

  ETHAN WILLIAM CARTER

  ARTHUR DAVID CARTER

  Tragically taken on 22nd December 1997

  Loving Parents and Brothers and Sisters of NOAH SAMUEL CARTER

  Loving Daughter, Son-in-Law and Grandchildren of ARTHUR TOBY BAILEY

  LOVED AND REMEMBERED ALWAYS

  Sleep tight x x x

  “The day I buried my family…” I begin, but I have to stop. What must he have been thinking when he came over to me that day?

  “It was the tenth anniversary,” he whispers. “I’d dug the graves for the day and then came over here to visit them. I ended up staying quite late, and when I finally got up to go, I noticed you over there.” He nods towards the other side of the cemetery. “I’d heard the weird noises you were making too. Thought it was an injured animal at first.”

  “Noah, I’m so sorry,” I say. “I’ve been really, really selfish.”

  He shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “It still hurts,” he says, placing a hand over his chest, but I know he doesn’t mean his scar. “It just doesn’t hurt as much as it did then.”

  I nod. I think I can finally say that I understand that. All the things he told me seven years ago were true. “I’m sorry,” I say again, but this time I turn him to face me and throw my arms around his neck, hugging him as tightly as I can. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, gripping him even tighter. I can’t get enough of him. I want to hug away his pain. I want to hug away our pain. Why have I acted like a complete moron? Why didn’t I just tell him everything when I had the chance? Why have I allowed seven wasted years to pass between us? “That first Christmas, where were you?”

  “In the hospital,” he says into my neck, putting his arms around me. “They’d told me about my family the night before. I woke up on Christmas morning in indescribable pain with the realisation that, at twelve years old, I had no family and no house. I had Grandad, of course, but it just wasn’t the same.”

  No, I don’t imagine it was. Plus, his Grandad would have been grieving for his other grandchildren and his own child too.

  “He dug this,” he says. “No man should ever have to dig a grave for his daughter, her husband and his four grandchildren. It just wasn’t right.”

  I shake my head and let my hands drop to his. He entwines his fingers through mine, but he doesn’t raise his head. “Where’s your Grandad’s grave?”

  “Over in the new section,” he tells me. “I thought about adding him here, but I didn’t want to disturb them. Plus, I found a letter that he wrote and he explicitly told me to put him somewhere else.”

  I give him a small smile. “I’ll leave you for a moment,” I tell him, pulling away from him. “I’ll go over and see my guys.”

  He sniffs, but when he pulls away, his face his dry. “Okay. I always come on their actual anniversary, but I can’t come here without seeing them at all.”

  “I understand,” I tell him.

  I walk away from him, successfully holding back my own tears, and head around the side of the church. I see their headstone before I get anywhere near it. It’s about three times the size of the others that are in rows around it. I’m careful about where I tread as I move closer. I take a deep breath and watch the mist float off when I expel it. I can’t believe I’m actually here.

  “Hey,” I say, kneeling down at the stone. I notice some artificial flowers and wonder who put them there. “I miss you all,” I tell them. I place my hand on top of the stone and read their names. “I miss you all so much,” I stammer. A huge lump has wedged itself into my throat. “And I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for driving the car that night.” Every time I dream about the crash, I see my mum’s eyes as she stared back at me in the rear view mirror. I know she probably didn’t think it was a good idea that I drove, but she said didn’t say so, probably to make me feel better. “And I’m sorry for not talking to you, Mum. I’m more sorry about that than anything.” I hold up my wrist and show her the bracelet. “I loved my present, by the way. I wear it every single day and I never take it off. If I have to remove it for work, then I tuck it into a special pocket that I’ve stitched into every single one of my uniforms.”

  I know my mum would love that I’ve done that. She’d love that I’ve stitched a hidden pocket, but more than anything, she would love that I care about something enough to do it in the first place.

  “I’m sorry for how I’ve behaved,” I tell them. “I know I should be ashamed of myself, and I am…especially now. I know that’s not how you brought me up. I’m sorry.”

  Tears trickle down my face for the first time since seeing Noah again. I rub my face because I know crying won’t do any good. It won’t fix all the problems and it won’t bring them back.

  “I love you all so much,” I say. “I hope you’re not having too much fun up there without me.” I try to smile at my joke, but I realise I don’t mean it. “Actually, I hope you’re having way more fun up there than I am down here. I hope you’re playing with the clouds and throwing cloud balls at each other or something.”

  I hear rustling behind me as Noah approaches. I quickly wipe my face, lean down to kiss their headstone and stand up.

  “Here,” he says, handing me a bunch of flowers. “You have to cut the stems and then they go in the little pots.”

  “Thank you,” I say, taking the scissors from him. “Who brings these artificial ones?”

  He frowns and leans over to inspect them. “They’re not normally here. Someone has cleaned the stone too.”

  I stop chopping the stems and look up at him as shiver runs down my spine.

  He shrugs. “I don’t
know. I’ve just never seen flowers on the grave before.”

  Someone has visited the grave recently that doesn’t normally visit it? I quickly chop the ends of the stems and shove them through the tiny holes on the cover of the pots. “We have to go,” I say, gathering the papers and stems into my hands. I spin around, looking for a bin, but see that it’s all the way near the gate. The back of my neck starts to sweat as my eyes scan the cemetery. It can’t be, I think, as I start to walk away.

  “Ariel,” Noah calls, running to catch up with me. “What’s got you spooked?”

  “We have to leave,” I rush. “Please take me home.”

  He nods and pulls my elbow. “I will, but what’s the rush?”

  “I think it’s Michael,” I say. “I think he’s been here.”

  Noah stops. “He’s not out yet, Ariel. I checked.”

  Chapter 23

  THEN

  Florida

  “Would you rather be blind or deaf?” he asks, chuckling at me as I roll my eyes at him.

  “Do we have to do this again?” I ask, sipping my freezing cold white wine. I didn’t think I’d like wine but Noah seems big into sitting on the balcony with a bottle to share, so that’s what we’re doing.

  “We’re getting to know each other,” he says. “I told you, we don’t really know all the crappy, boring bits about us.”

  “I don’t want to know them either,” I huff.

  “Answer it,” he says, throwing some peanuts into his mouth.

  “Deaf.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I was deaf, I would still be able to see the beautiful things the world has to offer. Plus, I could always learn sign language.”

  He nods. “Good answer. I think I agree.” He grins at me and slurps some wine. “Your turn.”

  I eat some crisps while I think about my question. “Would you rather have your knob chopped off or your tongue?”

  “Bloody hell, Ariel,” he says. “Can’t you ask one normal question?”

  I shrug. “Answer it.”