An Autumn Crush

by Milly Johnson

  Steve threw himself down on the sofa next to her. Floz made a discreet exit and left them to it. She had her fingers crossed and was willing Juliet all the luck in the world.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Juliet said, modestly pulling the neck of her pyjamas closed.

  ‘Well, I wanted to come here and see you. Are you okay?’

  ‘I’ve got a bit of a tummy . . .’ – passenger – Juliet cleared her throat, ‘upset.’

  ‘Oh.’ Silence.

  Juliet daren’t breathe. This was a dream and one as delicate as a bubble. If she moved it would break and she would be back on the sofa alone with that furry throw and watching Phil Mitchell trying not to murder someone.

  ‘How was your date?’ she whispered eventually.

  ‘Not that great,’ said Steve. ‘Which is why I’m here.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  Steve turned to Juliet, his bright eyes locking onto hers.

  ‘Because I didn’t want to be there with her. I wanted to be here with you.’

  ‘Did you?’ Juliet squeaked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s only just after eight o’clock now though. What did you tell Chianti?’

  Steve cleared his throat. ‘That I’d made a mistake and we should forget about carrying on with the date.’

  ‘God, Steve, you really do have the gift of the gab.’

  ‘That’s what she said before she belted me.’ He rubbed his jaw.

  ‘That all she said?’

  ‘Yep, pretty much.’ He left out the bit about her screaming at him like a harpy and insisting on getting a taxi home rather than letting some obviously deranged ‘fucking bastard’ drive her.

  ‘Oh. Right then,’ said Juliet, not quite believing this was happening. It was a joke, of course. Any minute he would say, ‘Naw, she stood me up.’ But he didn’t. Both sat like frozen statues on the sofa, not knowing what was going to happen next.

  ‘Juliet,’ said Steve eventually. ‘I know you think I’m a knob—’

  ‘Steve, I know I said—’ she interrupted him, and he interrupted her right back.

  ‘. . . but I love you. And I know that you probably had a great time with that bloke you work for yesterday and are going to tell me to fuck off because you’re going to get married to him, but I just wanted you to know that I love you. All right?’

  She didn’t answer and he took that as a sign she daren’t tell him he was right and that she did have a great time with Piers Rumpole-Kavanagh. He sighed heavily and stood.

  ‘I’ll go. I’ve made a cock of myself. Or rather “a knob”. Yet again.’

  ‘I love you as well,’ Juliet blurted out in a very wobbly voice. ‘I don’t know how or when it happened but it did and I’ve been miserable as sin since you told me that you and Chianti were going out.’

  ‘You are fucking joking,’ said Steve, raking his hand through his hair. ‘I’m sorry for swearing. I’m in shock. Bloody hell.’ He sat back down on the sofa again before he fell, because his legs suddenly felt as shaky as Juliet’s voice.

  ‘No, I’m not joking. And you are the least knobbish person I know,’ said Juliet, loving it as Steve reached out for her hand and held it tenderly, then raised it to his lips and kissed it. He made her feel delicate. No one had ever made her feel like that before.

  ‘I can’t take this in,’ said Steve. His eyes were filling up with tears. ‘What a barmy bastard week this has been. What next?’

  ‘Steve.’ Juliet took a deep breath. In for a penny . . . She might as well tell him everything. ‘Steve, I’m pregnant. By you.’

  He was now gripping onto her fingers as if they were the only thing keeping him from falling off a cliff.

  ‘A little baby us,’ was all he said, before his tears broke out, making a large, wet and joyous exit from his blue, blue eyes.

  In her room Floz was crying too, softly. It was over, finally. An email had appeared on her screen from a man she didn’t know – a Chas Hanson. The name was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t remember why. She had opened it to read:

  Dear Floz

  I am sorry to inform you that Nick passed away on Sept 22nd.He spoke of you often and with great fondness.He passed away among friends and family and we shall all miss him.His ashes were spread on Mount Robson.

  Sincerely

  Chas Hanson

  Then she recalled that Chas was the name of the man who Nick had once told her was his oldest friend – the brother he had never had. That’s why the name was familiar.

  Chapter 60

  The next day Steve parked the hired Merc outside his mother’s semi and wondered if it would have any wheels on it when he saw it again. Even the fact that Steve was as big as a brick shit-house wouldn’t have stopped a druggie having a go at breaking in to see if there was anything worth nicking and trading for a five-quid fix. It had been a tough enough estate when he was growing up in it, but it did have a lot of decent – if poor – families living in it. Now it looked more like a landfill-site than a housing estate. Every time he came here he felt claustrophobic from the weight of bad memories.

  But today, nothing could dampen his spirits. Juliet Miller loved him and he was going to be a daddy. He felt the uplift of joy so strongly, he was convinced he could fly if he raised his arms. His child would never have to go out in unwashed clothes with an empty stomach, and he or she would know what it was to be loved and protected.

  Juliet had wanted to come with him that morning and see his mum. She wanted them to announce together that they were having a baby. Juliet thought she knew what to expect, but she didn’t. In all the years they’d known each other, Steve hadn’t even let Guy over the threshold of his home. He loved his mother but he was ashamed of her and the state of the house. The ‘scruffy’ names he was called at school by some rotten kids still rang in his ears.

  Despite spending so much time with Juliet recently, Steve hadn’t done it at the expense of neglecting his duties to his mum. But recently she seemed to have totally given up. He suspected she didn’t even try to make it to the toilet any more or feed herself if he wasn’t there, but yet she always had access to booze.

  ‘Hello Steve,’ called Sarah Burrows, emerging from behind her scrubbed front door.

  ‘Hello, darlin’,’ returned Steve. ‘You and Denny all right?’

  ‘Yes, fine,’ said Sarah with a smile, too bright to be truly convincing. ‘I checked on your mum last night and took her some soup, but she didn’t eat much. I had to feed it to her, Steve. But not much of it went in. I tried to clean her up . . .’

  ‘Oh, Sarah. You shouldn’t feel that you have to babysit her. I might have to move back in for a bit again.’

  The thought of it filled him with dread, but over the years he’d had to do it occasionally. This time, he suspected that she wouldn’t have the strength to protest as she usually did. Juliet would understand, of that he had no doubt.

  ‘I’ve seen Artie Paget’s lad delivering booze for her,’ said Sarah. ‘I hate to tell tales but I . . .’

  Paget, Paget, Paget. That damned name again. Another generation of Pagets intent on fucking up their lives.

  ‘Thanks for telling me, love. Give young Denny my best – and thanks, Sarah. Thank you for caring.’

  The shrill dring of a cooker timer went off in the kitchen behind her. Probably to tell her that a thick, bubbling stew was ready for Denny’s lunch, thought Steve. Something to fill her boy’s stomach, made with love. His eyes filled with water as soon as Sarah’s door closed.

  His mother was wrecked on the sofa again.

  ‘Hiya, Mum,’ Steve said softly. He touched her hand and she pulled it away.

  ‘What do you want?’ she mumbled. ‘I haven’t got anything for you.’

  ‘It’s me, Mum – Steve. I’ve got some great news.’

  ‘Oh, it’s you.’ Christine Feast’s head nodded on her thin neck. He looked at her lolling back against the tatty orange sofa and the tears rolled from his eyes. That’s
the sight he remembered from every Christmas Day, his mum pissed and incapable, either with or without one of his transient stepdads in the same state. He lived on fish fingers that he’d learned to fry for himself, in between the meals he got at the Millers’ table. He swore one day he’d have kids of his own and share in the childhood he’d never had. So many times now, he’d imagined him and Juliet having those babies – and now they were. How he wanted his mum to share in his joy. She wasn’t that old. There was still time for her to get better.

  ‘Mum, you’re going to be a grandma,’ he said. ‘My girlfriend’s having a baby.’

  Mrs Feast opened her eyes but there was nothing behind them that told him she’d understood. Then she was seized by a cough that racked her emaciated body. Steve went into the scruffy kitchen to get her a glass of water. He wondered how it could have got so messy so quickly. He’d scrubbed it the last time he’d been here, even wire-wooled all the muck out of the tile grout. But he could never get rid of that rotting smell, however much bleach he used.

  Mrs Feast leaned forward and started retching.

  ‘Here, Mum, there’s some water.’

  She let him lift the glass to her lips. Her fingers closed around his as she drank; they were so cold despite the furnace of heat in the room. Then she started gasping for breath and clawing at Steve’s shirt and desperately attempting to pull air into her lungs. And Steve didn’t even hesitate to ring an ambulance. At last the authorities might be able to do something for her where he had failed.

  Chapter 61

  There was a big difference in the Juliet Miller of Friday night, pre-Steve visit, and Saturday morning post-Steve leaving. In between her bouts of queasiness, Juliet was wrapped up in a light and airy bubble of luuurve. She emerged from her bedroom stretching and floating like someone out of a Rock Hudson and Doris Day film.

  ‘Good morning, Floz. You can stop worrying about me now for I am in seventh heaven,’ said Juliet, seeing her flat-mate unloading the dishwasher in the kitchen.

  ‘Morning,’ replied Floz, busily flitting around the kitchen making coffee and slotting bread in the toaster so Juliet wouldn’t see how rough she looked. Her head was banging as well. Brandy might have knocked her out, but it charged a price for the privilege. ‘Are you both okay?’

  ‘Steve’s gone to his mum’s to check on her. He wouldn’t let me go with him. I know she’s an alcoholic and I can imagine the state she’s in, but still . . . she’ll be my baby’s grandma. I should meet her after all these years.’

  ‘Have you never seen her?’ asked Floz.

  ‘Never,’ replied Juliet.

  ‘Poor Steve,’ said Floz. ‘What made his mum end up like that?’

  ‘He never talked about it,’ said Juliet, appreciating then that Steve had never played the ‘poor me’ card, which he could have if he’d been a true attention-seeker. ‘Guy once told me that she came from a family of alcoholics herself. I expect she just followed what she knew. Some people don’t fight hard enough, do they? They just accept the path of least resistance.’

  Floz nodded. A picture of her ex-husband Chris crossed the front of her mind. They had so much pressure on them when they were married. Did he sleep better in a police cell with his stomach full of strong lager than he ever had sober with responsibilities? Was alcohol really a maligned saviour?

  ‘When he gets back, we’re breaking the news to my mum and dad. I can’t imagine what they’ll think. There’s quite a lot for them to take in.’ Juliet reached for her bottle of Gaviscon and gulped it from the bottle-neck. She’d never had heartburn before. What a bloody awful side-effect of pregnancy that was.

  ‘They’ll be thrilled,’ said Floz, turning to the fridge, giving Juliet little chance to see the heavy puffiness around her eyes.

  Juliet dissolved into giggles. ‘Me and Steve Feast! Having a baby? Jesus, I didn’t see that one coming. I’m meeting Coco for lunch to tell him the good news. Fancy coming?’

  ‘Thanks, but no. I’m spending the day writing Father’s Day cards,’ replied Floz.

  ‘That’s appropriate,’ laughed Juliet and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Chapter 62

  Steve sat by his mam’s bed. In a hospital nightie, she looked cleaner than he could ever remember seeing her. She was unconscious and because of that he could take her hand without her moving it away.

  He thought she’d never liked him. He couldn’t ever remember her saying she loved him or giving him a kiss. Or holding his hand, and he’d so wanted her to take him by the hand and lead him to school like all the other kids’ mams did.

  He stroked her rough knuckles and curled her fingers round his own, pretending that she was holding him back. He knew it was pathetic to try and draw some love from her, as if she had any within her to give him.

  ‘Mam, I’m going to be a dad,’ said Steve again, hoping she could hear him this time. ‘You’re going to be a nana. I bet you’ll like that, won’t you? I bet that makes you well again and gives you something to want to live for.’

  He knew when the baby arrived that he would shower it with cuddles and take it to school and give it memories of a parent with big loving hands who held it tightly because it was important. They say you didn’t miss what you never had, but Steve Feast would have argued against that, because he had a gnawing ache in him for the warmth he had missed. He’d slept with loads of women hoping to find affection, even for a little while. And he had – but it wouldn’t have compared to having his mam walk him to school one morning with his hand inside hers.

  But Juliet Miller was different. With her he could almost forget the coldness of his past. Her feelings for him were honest and he loved the way her arms were possessive of him, even in sleep. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, make her his wife, give his baby a name and a home.

  Steve held his mum’s limp hand, then with a sudden burst of consciousness she pulled it away. Then her chest buckled and machines started bleeping and nurses flooded in from all directions and he was once again pushed away from her.

  Steve phoned Guy at four. He didn’t ring Juliet because he didn’t want her in a hospital in her condition, around death. He wanted to look after Juliet, not for her to have to look after him.

  By the time Guy arrived at the hospital, Mrs Feast had gone. She would never see her grandchildren, she would never get well again. Steve sobbed on his shoulder, as Guy had sobbed on his once, wanting to turn the clock back and take someone’s pain away, heal them, make them happy when they had no inclination to do it for themselves.

  Chapter 63

  Dear Chas

  I’m awfully sorry to trouble you. When I was emailing Nick he said he would arrange for his sister to send me a photo of him. I have some of him as a little boy but, long story, I didn’t keep the ones of him as a man. Do you think, when it’s sensitive to do so, that you could ask her for me? I think so much about him, it would help me grieve and I do need to grieve.

  Very kindest regards

  Floz Cherrydale

  Floz

  I will see what I can do for you.I live in Calgary but I’m going over to Okanagan at the start of the New Year and will bring it up.I will do my best to get some sent to you.Not to worry about troubling me.

  I’m taking my boat out the first weekend in October and spending the day trolling and remembering Nick.He showed me how to fish for salmon a couple of years back.I’ll go catch some for him.

  Chas

  Chapter 64

  Perry and Grainne were absolutely delighted about the baby news, though a little shocked to hear that Steve was the father and that he and their daughter had been conducting a ‘secret romance’, which Juliet had decided to call it instead of a ‘shag-fest’. It was a confusing time though, with such lovely news to celebrate in the middle of such sadness for Steve.

  On the Monday night, Juliet awoke to find Steve sitting on the corner of her bed looking at an old picture of his mum as a much younger woman. She was posing for the camer
a in an overgrown garden with her boy. Steve was holding his hand up to be taken; Mrs Feast’s hands were clasped in front of her.

  ‘Hey,’ said Juliet, her arms closing around him from the back. ‘Get some sleep.’

  ‘I should have done more to help her,’ sniffed Steve. ‘I should have forced her into a rehab place.’

  ‘She wouldn’t have gone, love. If you couldn’t make her, no one could.’

  ‘Please don’t come to the funeral with me tomorrow,’ whispered Steve. ‘I’ve told Guy I just want to say goodbye to her by myself.’

  ‘I bloody am coming,’ said Juliet. ‘As if I’d let you go through that on your own.’

  ‘It’ll be miserable.’

  ‘It’s a funeral. I’m not expecting clowns.’

  An unexpected well of laughter bubbled up inside Steve and he gave up the fight. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t have to thank me,’ tutted Juliet, kissing his stubbly cheek.

  ‘You’ve given me hope,’ said Steve tenderly. ‘You’re giving me everything I wanted in life. I just wish Guy could be as lucky.’

  Juliet nodded into his shoulder. If only her brother – and lovely Floz – could find what she and Steve had with someone too, she really would be the happiest woman in the world.

  Chapter 65

  After the funeral Steve drove around to his mother’s house. He didn’t want to go in, he just wanted to look at it for one last time. He didn’t know why – only that it felt right now to show Juliet what he’d come from, what he’d escaped from and where she and their baby would never end up. As he parked his car, he could barely believe his eyes at the sight of Sarah’s fence smashed in, bike tyre-grooves over her lawn. Her hanging baskets had been ripped off and upturned and Sarah was sweeping up the soil, pausing to wipe tears away with the heel of her hand.