Captive Hearts

by Harper Bliss

  “I need to check with my missus,” she says, to my great relief. Although I can tell she wants to go, and why should she not? It’s Friday evening. She should go out with her friends, have too much to drink, and laugh the night away. But going-out protocol is not something we have discussed at length, apart from my insistence that Joy do whatever comes natural to her.

  “You go ahead,” I say to Joy. “It’s way past my bedtime.” I give a brief chuckle to hide how uncomfortable this is making me feel.

  She gazes at me for an instant to, I imagine, try to read my face. “That’s okay. I’ll take a rain check. I’m beat, too.”

  “Aah, these youngsters,” Jeremy laments, “they don’t make them like us anymore, do they, Jus?” With that, they slip back into their energetic conversation from before, teasing each other mercilessly.

  Joy stands next to me and drapes her arm over my shoulder.

  “I really don’t mind if you go,” I say, wanting to make it perfectly clear that I’m cool with this.

  “I know,” Joy whispers in my ear, “but I’d rather spend time with you.” Next, she plants a gentle kiss on my cheek—and Tim is left smiling perplexedly at us. Perhaps with exactly the same facial expression as I had when I looked at him and Jeremy earlier.

  * * *

  On the way home, Joy’s arm linked through mine, her body leaning into me as we walk, I ask, “How old do you think Tim is?”

  “Hard to tell. He’s Asian, so he’s probably forty but looks twenty,” Joy says. “Why?”

  “Just wondering.” I can’t keep the trepidation out of my tone, though.

  “Alice McAllister, don’t tell me you think Jeremy is too old for him?” There’s a smile in her voice.

  “I don’t think anything of the sort, it was just… confrontational, I guess, for me to be introduced to another couple with a visible, significant age difference between them.”

  “How did it make you feel?” Joy leans in a bit closer.

  I try to find the right words before I speak. “Not as self-conscious as I thought it would.”

  “The strangest combinations of people fall in love, Alice. It’s what makes the world go round. As long as it makes them happy.”

  “And as long as they’re equals in the relationship,” I add.

  “What does that even mean? Equals?” Joy asks. “I stand by my words: as long as they’re both happy.”

  Just as we turn the corner to Joy’s street, her phone starts ringing. She sighs. “I bet that’s Justin wanting to nag me about not accepting his invitation.” She digs her phone out of her coat pocket and stares at the screen. “It’s Mum,” she says.

  “This late?” I say, but Joy doesn’t hear me because she’s already answering Miranda’s call.

  “Hello, Mum?” she says. “Mum, calm down. What’s going on?” Joy looks at me as though she has no idea what her mother is saying. If Miranda is that incoherent, she’s either drunk, or something terrible has happened. I’m beginning to fear the latter. Joy holds the phone away from her ear for an instant and addresses me, “See if you can find us a taxi, Alice.” Then she goes back to calming Miranda down on the phone. All sorts of thoughts immediately flit through my brain. Did Jeff have a heart attack? Did she take a nasty fall? Frantically, I look around for a taxi. The benefit of Joy’s neighbourhood is that on a Friday evening a ton of people come and go and I manage to flag one down almost immediately.

  I give the driver Miranda’s address, because that’s where I think we’re headed, then look for confirmation on Joy’s face. She nods, while listening to her mother on the phone. Joy has gone silent, which leads me to believe Miranda has quietened down.

  “Okay, Mum, listen, we’re on our way,” Joy says. “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes. I love you.”

  After Joy hangs up she looks at me, her face drained of all colour. “At her gynaecologist appointment today, they found a lump in her breast. Her doctor sent her for a mammogram and ultrasound, but they don’t know what it is for sure and now she needs a biopsy.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jeff opens the door for us, then steps out and closes it behind his back to speak to us in private. “She’s had a bit too much. She’s very upset,” he says.

  “I want to see her.” Joy’s voice is urgent. She doesn’t wait for Jeff to let her in, but pushes the door open and heads into the house.

  “Hi Alice,” Jeff says as we shuffle inside behind Joy. I haven’t seen him since that dinner party Joy trapped me into. “God, I’m glad you’re here.” Jeff has always had a dramatic streak, nevertheless, the words are a relief to hear.

  “What do you know?” I ask.

  “When I came home from work,” he whispers, “she was already plastered. She was sitting on the sofa with a half-empty bottle of sherry in front of her. She told me about the lump, and the mammogram and ultrasound, and I tried to talk to her, made her some dinner, but she just kept on drinking.” He coughs. “She wasn’t exactly in an optimal state of mind to receive bad news, and well, I guess it brought back some very depressing memories.”

  Poor, poor Miranda, I think. And she didn’t have her best friend to call. I vow there and then to, whether she wants me to or not, worm my way into her life again. I need her and she needs me.

  When I enter the living room, Joy and Miranda are standing in a hug so tight it looks as though they can never break from it. Poor Joy, I think then. She has seen her father die from cancer, and now this. But, as far as I know—and I don’t know much—it could very well be benign. This is what we must focus on.

  Miranda is crying big heaving sobs on Joy’s shoulder and Jeff and I just stand there, mute spectators to this mother-daughter reunion. But they need this moment together more than anything. So I wait, shuffling my weight around awkwardly, my heart in my throat. What if it’s not benign? Miranda knows all about the long torturous road of chemo and endless doctor and hospital visits, and she also knows that, no matter how good the care—and how high the hopes—the outcome isn’t always positive. Paul didn’t survive.

  Moreover, Joy is Paul’s daughter as well, and I was the primary cause of this rift between Joy and her mother. Me, Miranda’s best friend. It’s so abysmal I find myself thinking in Joy-terms: this is so fucked-up. So bloody fucked-up. And we need to fix this right now, because Miranda needs all of us by her side. The most important thing is that she doesn’t feel alone—and how alone must she have felt the past weeks? She probably felt that Joy and I were against her.

  When they break from their hug, Miranda is wobbly on her legs, and I fear the instant she lays eyes on me.

  “Alice,” she says, her voice breaking.

  I rush over to her and take her into my arms, which I haven’t done since Paul’s death—Miranda and I never had a hugging kind of friendship. I hold her for long moments and let it all fall away, because, in the face of this, any hurtful words that have been spoken between us have no more importance. We all have a single-minded goal now, one that doesn’t involve acceptance of who’s with who, or early retirement because of a crumbling friendship. Miranda, Jeff, Joy and I only want for Miranda’s lump to not be life-threatening. And, if it is, then we want her to get better with us by her side. Nothing is more important than that.

  But then, out of nowhere—or, perhaps, catapulted from the most selfish recesses of my brain—the thought comes to me: what if she asks me to break up with Joy now? For her sake? I push the thought away and focus on Miranda and, because this is my forte, on what needs to be done. On the next step.

  “When are you seeing the doctor again?” I’ll happily clear my schedule to go with her if she lets me.

  “Tuesday,” she whimpers. “Biopsy.”

  “Okay.” She has a number of difficult days ahead, filled with insecurity. “What do you need?”

  “I need… I need for this not to be cancer.” Miranda isn’t the most stoic person I know, but the speed at which she’s falling apart doesn’t befit her personality eithe
r. But she has suffered so much already. Joy and I caused her pain. That’s why she’s coming undone.

  “We’re going to put you to bed now, okay?” It’s late. She’s drunk and over-emotional. The best thing she can do is sleep it off and look at it with fresh eyes—and renewed zeal—tomorrow.

  “I’ll take her,” Joy offers. Her cheeks are streaked with tears. She takes her mother by the arm. “I’ll be here in the morning, Mum,” she says. “I’ll stay the night.”

  “I’ll be right up,” Jeff says, and kisses her on the cheek tenderly.

  While we wait for the stumbling upstairs to subside and Joy to come down, Jeff and I sit. I feel more exhausted than I’ve felt in months, suddenly aware of the gravity of the situation. I also scold myself inwardly for even thinking about myself in Miranda’s hour of need. Perhaps I’ve changed into a selfish woman, I ponder, when Jeff asks me if I want a drink.

  I’m not sure if I should stay. If this were to have happened before Joy and I got together, I would have surely stayed in the guest room, but now, even that feels wrong. I don’t know if Miranda wants me to spend the night in her house.

  “Sure, I’ll have one. Scotch, please.” I’m still wearing my coat and I shrug it off me.

  “No ice,” Jeff says. “No ice for Alice.” I wonder what he’s had to endure the past few weeks. If he’s really the only person Miranda has told, then, I guess, quite a lot.

  “She’s going to be all right,” he says, with his usual Jeff optimism. “I just know it.”

  “Look, Jeff,” I start. “I’m sorry for everything, for how I’ve hurt Miranda. I never meant to hurt her.” It’s my turn to feel tears well up, but I’ve always been very skilled at keeping them at bay.

  He sighs. “Do I think it’s an easy situation?” he asks rhetorically. “No, I do not. But, do I think the whole thing has been blown way out of proportion?” He continues his questionnaire with himself. “Oh yes, I do. In her head, Miranda has turned you and Joy’s relationship into all sorts of things it’s not.” He shakes his head and stares into his glass. “And I kept telling her that it’s only love, it’s not a conspiracy, or a plot against her, but, well, she didn’t want to hear it.”

  While I do feel slightly mortified to be talking about this with Jeff, I’m also touched. “I appreciate you saying that.”

  “That’s not to say I wasn’t shocked when she told me.” He gives one of his loud chuckles—because Jeff is not the kind of guy who chuckles discreetly. “Honestly, I was here when Miranda called you in Portugal to ask if Joy could come over for a few days, and I believe my exact words to Joy were: ‘Enjoy the little time you have at the house, because I’m positive Alice is going to boot you out within the next twenty-four hours.’”

  Despite myself, I have to laugh at that. And I’m glad for the comic relief it brings. “God, I wanted to. When she first arrived, I wanted her to be gone so much. She was just too much. The way she carried on, so reckless and not taking my feelings into consideration. But, well, she quickly won me over…” While I’m not sure I should be saying these things to Jeff, the sheer relief of simply talking about Joy with another person without being scolded for it, feels so unabashedly good, I can’t stop myself. “But you can trust in the fact that I am most shocked of all about how things turned out. The word ‘unexpected’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.” Talking to Jeff makes me realise once more how much I’ve missed my best friend.

  “She’s asleep.” Joy must have descended the stairs so quietly, we didn’t hear her come in. “I gave her a sleeping pill. So she should at least have a good night’s kip.”

  “Are you okay?” Jeff asks. It’s obvious Joy is still on the verge of tears.

  “I can’t lose her as well.” There’s a crack in her voice.

  I push myself out of the sofa and hurry towards her. I take Joy in my arms and don’t feel the least bit apprehensive about Jeff witnessing our display of affection.

  “You, er, are both welcome to stay,” he says.

  “That’s very nice of you,” I reply, while still hugging Joy, my face protruding over her shoulder as I look at him. “But I’m not sure Miranda would be comfortable with that. My house is so close, anyway. I’ll be here first thing in the morning.”

  Joy pushes herself away from me. “I need you here tonight, Alice. Please.”

  How can I possibly refuse her? It doesn’t sit entirely right with me to stay without Miranda’s explicit permission, because having us both stay over under her roof is still an entirely different thing to process than us being together in my house or at Joy’s flat. Or perhaps it’s just like that in my head.

  “Mum doesn’t even have to know. She’ll sleep late. Just, please, stay.”

  “Okay.” I nod. “I guess I can stay in the guest room.”

  Joy looks at me incredulously. She still has her own room in Miranda’s house. But I have to draw the line somewhere, not just for Miranda’s sake, but for my own as well.

  “Let me get that sorted for you.” Jeff finishes his Scotch and gets up. “I’ll get you some fresh sheets and towels.”

  “Thank you.” I can see he’s keen to leave the room.

  As soon as we hear him climb the stairs, Joy says, “There’s no way we’re sleeping in separate bedrooms. Not tonight.”

  “Joy, honey, I understand how you feel, but we need to show at least a modicum of respect for your mother’s wishes. It just… doesn’t feel right.”

  “I’m not asking you to fuck me, Alice. Just… hold me and be there when I wake up.”

  “Just put yourself in Miranda’s shoes. What if she wakes up in the middle of the night and goes to check on you and finds me in your bed?”

  “Alice, you’re overthinking this. First of all, there’s no way she’s going to wake up in the middle of the night after taking that pill. And second, we’ll both sleep in the guest room, and she would never check there—nor would she check my room, for that matter. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll set my alarm for six, so we’re both up and about by the time anyone else wakes up.”

  This is the first time I can clearly feel the duality of wanting to be there for Miranda as a friend and wanting the same thing for Joy but as her partner. No matter which option I choose, I’ll be going against my instincts. I can’t win. So, in the end, of course I choose to sleep with Joy. If just to erase that forlorn look on her face—tonight of all nights.

  “Okay.” I pull her to me again. “I love you,” I whisper in her ear when I embrace her, because I do.

  * * *

  “I remember when you stayed here after Dad died,” Joy says when we’re both tucked under the covers. I’m wearing one of Miranda’s nightgowns. I was hardly going to crawl into bed with Joy naked. She offered me one of the tank tops she sleeps in, but it just looked too ridiculous. “You did everything for us. You cooked. You made me sandwiches when I knew the school lunch was going to be horrible, which was most of the time.”

  I must have stayed in this room for three weeks, because I didn’t want to leave Miranda alone with all her grief. A few months later, long after I’d gone back to my own house, I suggested she sell the house and start making memories in a new place—unfettered by the memory of all the years she’d spent in that house with Paul—but she wouldn’t have any of that. Instead, not even six months later, Jeff moved in. The way Miranda rushed into that, clearly driven by grief, I never thought it would last.

  “You were so fussy. You brought home a piece of paper with the school menu, showed it to me, and said, ‘I don’t like that, and that, and that.’”

  “You’re a good person, Alice, that’s all I’m trying to say.” She scoots a little closer. “I’ve always remembered that about you.”

  “It’s what friends do.”

  “You miss Mum too, don’t you?” she whispers, as though it’s too hard a question to say out loud.

  “I do,” I confess, trying to not convey with my tone of voice exactly how much.

  “
I’m so scared, Alice.” Joy’s voice grows even softer. “I’d give anything to not have to go through that again.”

  “I know, sweetheart, I know.” I cradle her more snugly in the crook of my shoulder. “But no matter what happens, you won’t be alone. I’m here.” In the back of my mind, I can’t help but wonder, though, what or who exactly she’d give up for Miranda not to have cancer.

  * * *

  The next morning, Joy’s alarm rouses us at six o’clock. With all the night activity that’s been crammed into my schedule, my sleeping pattern has changed of late and I’m still tired when I open my eyes. Joy, however, seems wide awake.

  “Did you get some sleep?” I ask.

  “No, not really,” she says. “Every time I started drifting off and let my mind go, I could only think of one thing: Mum coming down the stairs after Dad died. The look on her face. She didn’t even have to say anything, because I knew. I somehow felt it. And even though we knew it was inevitable, and it could happen at any time, it was still so devastating. And nothing at all could console me. Not even the thought that at least now he wouldn’t be in pain anymore. It was just so utterly awful.”

  “I know, honey, I know.”

  “I guess that’s when I decided that I was just going to enjoy my life and not care what anyone thought of me, you know? In memory of Dad. It felt like something I had to do for him. It was also very much how he lived. You know what kind of a loud-mouthed bordering-on-arrogant man he was. He just didn’t care. When he died, all I wanted was to become more like him. I think I succeeded.”

  “You are a brave, honest, good-hearted woman, Joy. I know Paul would be so immensely proud of you.”

  “What would he think of us, though? What if he were still alive, Alice? What would he have to say about us sharing a bed in his house?”

  Good question. Paul has been dead for so long, it seems like a waste of time to even consider his possible opinion. But it’s a good moral-compass thinking exercise. “You knew him best,” I say, because I really have no clue what he would have thought of me being with Joy this way.