by Nicola Haken
“I’m sorry,” I said truthfully. “I suppose I thought you were doing okay because you had Jared now.”
“Yeah well, that’s going nowhere. I’m pretty sure he’s screwing around on me and hey, who can blame him?”
“No! He wouldn’t do that to you. He’s a good guy. And what do you mean who could blame him?” Why was she putting herself down like that? Rachel was always so confident and sure of herself. I didn’t recognise the girl on the other end of the line. Something had happened to make her like this and I’d missed it. Christ, I’m a bad friend.
“Forget it. I’m over that too. Look I gotta go. Let me know if you ever plan on coming back in case I need to make room for you.”
“Rachel please…”
“Bye, Emily.”
The first tear escaped when I tried to reply but was met with the dial tone. She’d hung up on me. Rachel… my best friend in the whole world, the girl I grew up with and the woman I’ve shared everything with… hates me.
Consumed with guilt and sadness, I curled myself up into a tight ball on top of the bed sheets and rocked back and forth in an attempt to lull myself to sleep.
I gave up after an hour. My eyes were sore and swollen and my head felt like it was harbouring a thousand stampeding elephants. I heard Chris call me from downstairs and I considered ignoring him but knew he’d only come up to find me so I shouted back that I’d be down in a few minutes. Rolling onto my side, I picked up my phone from the bedside table and checked for missed calls. I did this several times a day despite knowing full well I’d hear any calls that came through.
It’s been a week since I last spoke to Sarah. When I first came home she’d call me every day to see how I was. Naturally I’d ask about Dexter and it made my heart hurt when she told me she hadn’t seen him. Soon the calls turned to once every few days, then once a week, and now… it’s more than a week.
It feels like they are forgetting about me. And yes, I know how egocentric that sounds given the problems they’re experiencing over there but I can’t help it. Dexter and Sarah were my only family, my only friends, my only everything for almost two months and I miss them incredibly. I still think about them all the time and I can’t help hoping they still think of me too.
Looking down at the screen of my phone again I started to think I was being ridiculous. Why didn’t I call Sarah instead? It only just hit me that maybe there was a perfectly rational reason for Sarah’s calls becoming more infrequent. Like money for instance… International calls cost a bomb and then a whole new wave of selfishness washed over me for not thinking about that sooner.
Speaking of money, I called Sarah from the airport before I boarded the plane to come home. I told her about the cheque Patricia gave me and after regaining the ability to breathe again, she told me to hold onto it. Part of me was expecting her to tell me to shred it, so I was surprised when she said it’s the least ‘that bastard’s’ family could do for Dexter. It turned out Dexter just so happened to be the reason she didn’t want to cash it yet also. She didn’t say it directly, but Dexter has stolen from her before to fuel his addiction and I knew this was the main reason behind her anxiety.
Oh, Dexter…
Possibly – definitely – naively, I didn’t truly expect to be apart from him for this long. I foolishly convinced myself my leaving him would send him flying eagerly into rehab and he’d come out a few weeks later feeling like sunshine and roses, ready and raring to fight for me. But as yet, I wasn’t worth fighting for.
And that’s destroying me.
After checking the time and noting it would be a reasonable hour in Ohio, I tapped the call button below Sarah’s name. I was being silly to think Sarah was forgetting about me. She loved me as much as I loved her and I knew it. I was just too busy feeling sorry for myself to remember most of the time.
Oh crap. In that very moment, just as Sarah’s phone started to ring in my ear, I realised I’d become the exact kind of girl everyone hates to read about.
A whiner.
“Emily, honey, I’m so glad you called,” Sarah beamed down the line. My anxiousness evaporated instantaneously. “I’m so sorry I’ve not called. You wouldn’t believe the size of the phone bill I ran up last month and… well, I kinda got cut off for a week.” You see? I was overreacting. “I hope you haven’t tried to call and been worried because you couldn’t get through?” she added. It came out like a question and then, whaddya know… I felt guilty yet again when I had to say no.
“I’m sorry. I just thought you’d be um, busy… or something,” I stumbled out.
“I’m never too busy for you, honey, you know that.” She spoke so reassuringly and I could tell she knew the real reason I’d not called – too busy wallowing.
“How is he?” I didn’t need to say Dexter’s name for her to know who I meant. She sighed heavily and it infected me like a yawn, causing me to sigh too.
“He’s not good,” she said on a tortured exhale. “I’ve only seen him once this past month, and even then he ran as soon as he saw me. But I looked him straight in the eyes and… he just wasn’t there.” Silent tears spilled down my cheeks and my whole body began to ache as though I’d been in a violent fight.
“I miss him,” I choked out, sniffling back the ugly mix of snot and tears mingling under my nose. Sarah didn’t answer me which immediately sparked a fire of panic in my belly. Her response has always been ‘he’ll come back’. What if this time he didn’t come back? The thought ripped through my aching heart like a razor blade. “We’re losing him aren’t we?”
“I…” Sarah trailed off, amplifying the spark in my belly to a full on inferno. “I don’t know.”
So that’s what it feels like to have a piece of you die inside?
Sarah and I tried to discuss other things but somehow ended up always falling on one word answers. She’s not heard from Martin again now he has what he wants which I suppose is a good thing, but that doesn’t mean I can stop thinking about him. That man is responsible for the way I’m feeling right now. He took Dexter away from me and I hate him for it. I can’t allow myself to entertain the idea that Dexter had a choice because if I do, if I pretend for one second that he is responsible for this crippling ache in my chest, then I might end up hating him too.
And I can’t hate Dexter. I won’t. I love him.
When I’d hung up on Sarah I made my way downstairs to see what Chris wanted.
“You’ve been crying,” he said as I walked into the kitchen where he was hovering over a hot stove. It wasn’t a question.
“I talked to Rachel.” Just thinking about her made another tear squeeze from my eye. “She hates me, Chris.” He stopped stirring whatever was in the bubbling pan, laid the spoon he was using on the counter and came over to me.
“That’s ridiculous,” he consoled, placing his hands on my trembling shoulders. “She’s your best friend.”
“I’ve been ignoring her a lot lately, and I lied to her,” I admitted shamefully.
“Lied? About what?”
“I didn’t tell her I was here – that I was back home. And when she asked when I got back I said just recently. I didn’t know you’d already told her. Thanks for the heads up on that one, bro,” I muttered scornfully.
“Well I didn’t know you weren’t gonna tell her!” he snapped back defensively. “She’s your friend. I thought she’d be worried about you. Why the hell did you lie to her?”
“I don’t know,” I confessed, shrugging. “I just didn’t want to talk to anyone I guess.”
“Oh, Emmie…” Chris sighed sympathetically and cuddled me in his arms. “She’ll come round. You’ve been friends forever. You’ll work it out.” Ugh. Why does everything need working out? Why can’t some things just not break in the first place? “You hungry?” he asked, peeling himself off me and giving me a ‘manly’ pat on the back.
“Sure,” I lied. I can’t remember the last I felt anything but worry in my belly.
“I’ve made som
e soup. Go sit down and I’ll bring some over.” Smiling gratefully, I strode into the living room to wait for my canned tomato soup. I knew that’s what was coming even though I’d not seen the tin or the contents of the pan. It’s the only soup Chris has ever eaten and his reason for that is, it’s the only soup he can guarantee he won’t find something green floating in. I swear, he’s thirty on his next birthday but he still eats like a six year old.
“Bread?” he called through at the top of his voice.
“Of course!” Who would want soup without bread? It wouldn’t be food without something to dip in it – just a thick drink. Chris came through with the soup a moment later and handed it to me with a tea-towel to protect my knees from the hot bowl. When I took it from him I noticed he’d already cut up one slice of bread and mixed it in with the steaming red soup – just the way I like it.
“You’re the best,” I said wholeheartedly, touched that he remembered.
“Damn right,” he replied confidently. Then, almost choking on a spoonful of soggy, tomato saturated bread, we both burst into fits of laughter.
Chapter Fifteen
~Emily~
One month later…
“They said yes!” Chris practically sang, scooping me in his arms and twirling me around when he walked into the back room of the garage. He set me back down on the floor and I brushed imaginary lint off the shoulders of his smart grey suit as I looked at him proudly. After squealing like a prom queen I finally managed to respond.
“That’s fantastic! I knew you could do it!” Chris had just got back from a meeting with the bank. A few weeks ago the owner of the garage he works at decided it was time to retire (I think he’s in his sixties but after years of cigar smoking he looks at least one-hundred and two) and because Chris has worked for him since he left school, he gave him first refusal. “I’m so proud of you!”
“Well come on, we both knew I was always heading for greatness,” he teased with a delighted grin.
“And maybe your headaches will stop now it’s all over.” Chris has always suffered with migraines but lately they’ve been so much more frequent and even more severe. Some nights I’ve actually heard him screaming with the pain while he’s throwing his guts up in the toilet. I’ve been so worried about him but I’m sure it’s the stress of getting his business plan together and worrying about whether the bank would reject his application for a loan so I’ve no doubt they’ll start easing off now.
“Hopefully,” he replied after a slight hesitation. “We should go out tonight and celebrate. Just me and you. What do you say, kiddo?”
“I say, just let me finish up these books and then hell yeah!” Chris’ boss, Ernie, agreed to let me make myself useful in the office a few weeks ago. I’m not getting paid but it doesn’t matter - the fact that it occupies my mind is more than enough reward for me. Chris used the excuse that if the bank said yes then he’d need someone to help him with the paperwork side of things, but I’m pretty sure he was just trying to get me out of the house for a few hours a day.
Either way, I’ve really been enjoying it. I’ve bought a couple of bookkeeping and accounts books which have made everything seem pretty simple so far and I’ve completely re-organised the filing system – taking the mountain of scrunched up papers shoved into every available drawer, straightening them out and alphabetising them in the actual filing cabinet. It’s given me a purpose I suppose, and some days – even if only for a few brief minutes – I almost forget that my chest hurts so badly.
“Great,” he replied, kissing the top of my head. “You mind if I go home and change into something less poncey while you finish up?”
“Go ahead,” I agreed, chuckling at how uncomfortable wearing a suit made him. “And for the record, if I wasn’t your sister, I’m pretty sure you look hot in that suit.”
“Obviously. I’d look hot rolled in shit,” he shot back, already half way to the office door. “Don’t be long,” he called over his shoulder before disappearing behind a red car suspended in the air. So far I can only refer to different cars by their colour. I guess I should work on learning the names if I’m going to be doing this for the long haul. That seems like a possibility at the minute, seeing as I haven’t heard from Rachel again which I’m taking means I’m not welcome back in London.
That was very easily about to take over my mind and I didn’t want to celebrate Chris’ success on a downer so I distracted myself by logging the invoices in date order. I was done for the day in less than half an hour and seeing as I was the last person here, I flipped off all the lights and set the alarm before rolling the shutters down and securing the padlock on my way out.
When I arrived home Chris was looking more like himself in a pair of indigo jeans and a long sleeved white jumper. He was sitting forward on the edge of the couch, concentrating on the official looking papers in front of him on the coffee table.
“Hey, Emmie.” He shuffled the papers into a neat pile and put them inside a plastic folder. Then he got to his feet and strode over to me. “Soooo, pizza and pub? Or chippy then club?” he asked with a mischievous grin.
“How about chippy then pub?” Clubs never have and never will be my thing. They’re too crowded, noisy and reek of sweat.
“Sounds like a plan. Go get yourself ready.”
After showering, changing into my black leggings and light-brown jumper-dress and blasting off my hair with the hairdryer, we headed straight out. We planned to stay local in case we ended up having a few drinks, so we started by walking to the chippy a few streets away from the house. We ordered our food in takeaway trays so we could eat it and walk at the same time.
“Dammit,” I cursed myself when a rogue dollop of gravy rolled off the chip I was about to put in my mouth. Yeah I didn’t think that one through. Those ridiculously small plastic forks they give you aren’t nearly strong enough to get a decent grip of a gravy-saturated chip. “It’s all down my jumper!” I whined.
“Don’t worry, I’ll pick you up some bibs tomorrow,” Chris joked. “You need nappies too?”
“Piss off,” I spat, rubbing at the gravy stain with the little napkin my fork was wrapped in.
“Oooooo, get you!” he teased in his best camp accent. “Seriously you can’t even see it. Your jumper’s brown – gravy’s brown…” he tried to console when I flashed him my most serious shut-your-face-before-I-slap-it look.
We continued to walk while I sulkily stabbed at my chips – giving every single one the evil eye before tossing it in my mouth. I was grateful when we arrived at The Farmers Arms – eager to step into the warm. I didn’t bother to put on a coat, despite the March breeze, figuring we wouldn’t be walking far so I wouldn’t need it.
My golf ball sized nipples were screaming at me for being so stupid now though.
Throwing our empty polystyrene trays into the bin outside the splintered door to the pub, we stepped past the circle of smokers and headed inside. The warm air blasted my face like a hairdryer and my mood picked up immediately.
“What’d ya fancy?” Chris asked, shrugging out of his jacket and placing it over his stool.
“Just a Coke.”
“Come on, Emmie… live a little,” he said chirpily. “A pint and a vodka and Coke please,” he went on to the short, round barman. Rolling my eyes at him, I hitched myself up on to the tall stall with blue velvet padding and waited for my drink. “So, what shall we do for your birthday next week?”
Oh yeah…
“I’d forgotten about that,” I admitted.
“How do you forget about your own birthday?” he asked, shaking his head and laughing at me. The barman set our drinks out on the bar and Chris paid him before sliding mine over to me. “Well you only hit the big two zero once. We need to celebrate.” Ugh. Celebrate what? Celebrate the fact I’d lost the only man I’d ever loved, my best friend and the whole ‘new life’ I had planned? “Look,” he continued. “Either you tell me what you want to do or I’ll arrange something huge that I know y
ou’ll hate.”
“Fine,” I concurred grudgingly. “We’ll just do this again. Go for a few quiet drinks. Just me and you.”
“Maybe you should invite Rachel?” I looked up at him like he’d just told me he’d taught a rabbit to fly.
“She wouldn’t come,” I murmured, disheartened as I stared down into my glass.
“You know you need to try and sort that out right? You two go way back. You can’t leave it like this.”
“What am I supposed to do?” I snapped. It felt as though he was admonishing me – like it was all my fault.
“Talk to her,” he suggested as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
“I tried that. She doesn’t want to know. Besides, I’m not even sure I want to anymore,” I said defiantly. “I don’t even know what I’ve done that’s bad enough for the way she spoke to me.”
“Sure you do. You lied to her, Emmie.” Jesus, why was he Team Rachel all of a sudden? “Don’t look at me like that. You know I’m on your side with anything you do. But you said yourself you’ve been ignoring her texts and that you thought something was bothering her. Maybe she’s got some shit going on. Maybe she’s taking it out on you because she misses you. I dunno, people deal with shit differently. She might need you right now.”
Wow. Hello, Guilt… I wondered where you’d been hiding the past few hours.
“You’re right. I’ll call her again tomorrow.” Chris patted my shoulder and smiled proudly at me. I smiled weakly in return and then downed the rest of my drink in one gulp.
“I love you, you know,” he said sincerely, shifting on his stool and bumping his shoulder with mine. I gazed up at him with a confused expression.
