Hetty: An Angel Avenue Spin-Off

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

I’m missing you like crazy.xxx

  What do I reply? I feel such a fish out of water. I’ve never had this with a guy before.

  I guess I’ll reply the truth:

  I feel you, still. ♥

  Can’t wait to see you tomorrow!xxx

  Gonna crash now, stud. Wish you were here… but that’d probably kill me right now. ;-) xxx

  Night, gorgeous.xxx

  I crawl up the stairs, my limbs so weary, like concrete blocks threatening to give way beneath me. I undress, pull on the Nirvana t-shirt which stinks of him, and snuggle down in the sheets which also stink of him. The alarm’s set, so I cuddle my spare pillow and start to fall asleep, thinking of him. The dimple in his chin. Dimples in his cheeks. Wide shoulders. Tall. Lean. So many ridges on his abdomen. I’m now alert again, my brain buzzing. I had a gorgeous man in my bed last night who I trust, fancy the hell out of and really rather like.

  So I roll over and reach for my phone, typing out:

  I miss you in my bed. Night night ♥

  A text returns immediately: Sweet dreams, beautiful xxx

  Joe’s mother died last year. Apparently it was a hit and run. Jules told me in confidence she thinks it was retribution for something. Allegedly his mother was in with some bad people, her boyfriend the worst of them all. Jules was telling me not so long ago that Joe is starting to accept his mother was in charge of her own fate and made the wrong choices – but it’s got to be fucking with his mind still, right?

  Anyway, one step at a time. Not as if my history is black and white, either.

  * * *

  “AH, we’ve missed you so much,” Jan says when I arrive the next morning, feeling much refreshed and revived after a straight eleven-hour sleep.

  “What? Nobody else showed up, took over your shop and insisted on singing along to the radio all day?” I give her a sardonic grin.

  Floor chuckles as she joins us on the ‘shop floor’, carrying a tray of tea.

  Floor’s looking at me funny as soon as she catches my eye. “Hetty, you’re glowing!”

  “Am I?”

  “Are you in love?” she asks, her voice dropping so low, she sounds a bit silly.

  I try to cover my eyes.

  Jan’s straight in for the kill. “Who is this boy? Is he as tall as you, ma love?”

  “Taller, but–”

  They’re both cooing now.

  “I don’t know if he’s… I just… it’s complicated. I can’t talk about it yet.”

  Jan directs me to the chair behind the till and forces a cuppa into my hand, making it impossible for me to be rude now she’s given up her hallowed seat.

  “Dear, is he the reason why you’re wasting time with us?” Jan’s straight to the point. “Don’t get me wrong, we both love having you, I mean look at the place!”

  I transformed it from dull and dowdy to colourful and rowdy. There were a load of dodgy shirts and blouses out on the rails so the other night at home, I ripped some of the sleeves off some shirts and sewed them onto others to spruce them up. Some florals now have striped sleeves and vice versa. I tarted up some other boring items by sewing old silk scarves under the collar to add a nice touch to a shirt or jacket. I added appliqué to items stained or again, plain old boring. Many of my designer things I put in the window have already sold.

  “He’s not the reason. He’s a very, very good friend. I’m helping you guys out because I didn’t get the job I wanted and I need to occupy myself while I figure out my next move.”

  “What, job?” Floor mutters.

  “Training to be a police officer.”

  Her face wrinkles up tight. “Pretty girl like you? Honey, they don’t deserve you.”

  “My dad was a copper,” Jan says, “hated it towards the end, hated it. Mind, he started in the Seventies. Different world back then.” She chews the inside of her cheek, her eyes fixed on the world outside as she talks, authority in her tone. Then her eyes lower to mine. “You could do anything girl, look at you. Anything. If they sent you away, probably cause they knew you were gonna shake ’em up.”

  I can’t help but laugh loudly. “You’re very kind, Jan.”

  “She’s right,” Floor says abruptly, “why you want go in the police for Christ’s sakes?”

  I have to take a moment to think about that. For months after I left uni I was refreshing their application page non-stop, waiting for Humberside Police to finally be taking new applications. Working for Warrick was a thing I was doing while I waited to be able to apply, and then to get ready should I be accepted for interview and assessment. It seems now that all my waiting has been for nothing. Sure I could still try other forces but I want to stay here. My heart’s here.

  “A couple of years ago after finishing uni, I decided it’s what I wanted to do. I can’t remember now my precise reasoning, only that I had a degree in social care, but I didn’t really fancy going into that anymore. So I wanted to do the police.”

  Jan clucks her tongue as if she’s an authority on this, too. “You did wise, girl. I heard the only people who become social workers are people who’ve been surrounded by ’em all their lives, you know? Them who’ve been battered about or abused or whatever. You don’t wanna be hanging round with the like. Vicious cycle if you ask me.”

  I’m stunned by what she’s saying but I keep it to myself. She’s a simple woman who obviously wouldn’t imagine that I’m a battered old piece of junk myself.

  A customer enters the shop, rounding the window display to finger a pair of vintage Levis which used to fit me.

  “How much?” she says, in a gobby manner.

  I’ve lost the ability to speak but thankfully Floor’s there to help.

  “Right, well Hetty. We got a new lot in last night, lots of bags to go through. You still don’t mind taking some home to wash?” Jan’s bringing me back to reality.

  “Of course not.”

  “Good-o.”

  And the day gets underway.

  I don’t say anything to Jan and I don’t hate her for saying what she said, but her words have me feeling sick as we start working on the new delivery in the back. Should I just accept my lot and be a social worker, after all? Is that my future?

  No, it can’t be.

  I know myself. I want a physical job as well as a mentally taxing one.

  But now my mind is filling up with so much doubt and confusion.

  I thought I could come and do this job easily, just turn up and act like a nobody, not have anyone probe me for too much information about my past. God knows the police wanted to know every, single detail about my family history before they even agreed to interview me. That was hard enough.

  But maybe a career in social work is my destiny, and I’m putting off the inevitable.

  Or maybe I’m just young… and my life’s calling hasn’t presented itself to me yet.

  I leave the charity shop at just gone one o’clock. Jan and Floor are there full-time but they have a few part-timers, of which I’m just one.

  I’ve already decided I can’t go back. It’s stupid. I can’t work with a woman so ignorant or in a job so beneath me. Even if I am helping to raise money for charity, this isn’t me.

  I’ll keep doing the culture stuff and let them know I can work whenever, but Jan really put the blinkers on me today, her words haunting me all day so I couldn’t see past them.

  I’m carrying a few bag loads of shit but I’ll wash and spruce it all up, drop it round the back before opening tomorrow with an apology note attached.

  My feet carry me towards Warrick’s community centre which is hidden just around the corner of a side street. I bump into him in the entrance.

  “Hey,” he says, looking bright and cheery. Must mean Jules is around then, too.

  God he reminds me of Joe but my boy’s much younger, taller, broader and he’s got a different spirit, as well. Warrick seems old sometimes and is such a worrier. Joe’s so young in attitude… so him.

  He searches my face, then lo
oks down at what I’m carrying.

  Jules joins us, wearing leggings and a workout vest. She teaches dance here twice a week.

  “What’re you up to Hetty?” Jules asks, looking down at my bags.

  “Helping someone out. Listen–” I look between them, trying to figure out what to say.

  He looks at me, impassive. “I haven’t filled your job yet. It’s still yours if you–”

  “YES!”

  “Sure,” Warrick says, as if he isn’t surprised.

  “Rick, the lights went out in the dance studio… again,” Jules says.

  “On it.” He gives me a look. “See you Monday then, Hetty.”

  “Okay.” I think…

  He and Jules share a knowing look but after the morning I’ve had, I’m not about to complain about working for a man who’s not judgemental in the least.

  As I walk home, I remember…

  I’m sort of dating the boss’s son.

  And I just did something I never do.

  I went begging for help.

  HATRED COILS AROUND my being even as I’m finally back indoors, safe inside my two-up two-down. I’m a statistic. I’m a stereotype. I’m nothing special. I’m not unique. I’m one of a million abused kids across the world left abandoned, with a family history so torrid nobody wants to admit that these things happen in real life. The impulse to do something stupid is making my fingertips itchy. Cutting myself would be too easy though, she’d like that. I’ve always been good at finding ways of harming myself that nobody knows about, like agitating the pain inside, because nobody finds out then, do they?

  I dump all the charity shop clothes I told Jan I would wash and spruce up for tomorrow. Leaving the house, I grab my car keys and jump straight into my vehicle.

  I feel like if I do this, I’ll actually find some release, some escape from the words on a loop inside my head.

  I drive fast to the Ennerdale Leisure Centre. I know he’ll be there. He is every Friday afternoon. We used to visit together.

  I park up, slam the door and chase to the entrance.

  I show the receptionist my tonic card and tell her telepathically that yes, I am going to work out in jeans and t-shirt (I haven’t brought my gym bag).

  I race up the stairs and peer through the glass windows preceding the cardio room.

  My eyes find him quickly. He’s there on the treadmill, running at a pace, headphones in, sweat flying off him. This will be so easy. Just a quickie. I’ll wait in the changing rooms, then pull him to one side – wham, bam. And the hate will be compounded and the hopes I had to better myself will be squashed and there will be no expectation and I can retake the easy option and be the me everyone else says and thinks I am.

  I’m about to turn back down the stairs to grab a drink while I wait when two thick arms snake around my waist from behind, his hands tightening on my stomach, his lips at my throat. He takes a deep breath of my hair and groans, “Spying on me, Etta?”

  My heart catapults out of my chest and flies back inside my ribcage again, wounding me. I lose my breath and a warmth of love washes over me. I lean back into him and slide my fingers through his.

  Every hair on my body is standing on end. I feel hot and shivery at the same time.

  “Joe…”

  “Missing me so much you’re spying on me?”

  “It was a lucky guess you’d be here…” I swallow my guilt and giggle when he teases his fingertips beneath the waistband of my jeans. Truth be told, I didn’t know Joe uses this gym as well.

  “I don’t have to work out. I could come back to yours and work on you.”

  I want to say yes. My body’s screaming yes, but my heart and my soul are wrecked. I realise I am in no state to be fucking the man I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with. A man I nearly almost cheated on because of my own reckless self-hate.

  I pull him down the stairs before Nate spots us. I don’t think he has – or would have seen me anyway. All I’ve seen is the back of him pounding the treadmill and he has a come-down cycle to go through yet.

  Safely in the corridor downstairs, I can’t help clock how amazingly thick and muscular Joe’s calves are. He’s amazing.

  I’m taken by passion for a moment as I lift on tiptoes almost, my hands resting lightly on his throat. I kiss him in a way he didn’t allow me to kiss him the other night. I need to savour the plumpness of his lips, the warmth of his tongue, the taste of his flesh. I devour him in the same way he likes to devour me. He pulls me tight to him and when someone walks by, clearing their throat, Joe pulls back and smiles so bright, I’m dazzled.

  “I needed that,” I tell him, licking my lips, still tasting him.

  Thankfully, he’ll never know how true my words are.

  I leave him gobsmacked when I walk away, a smile in my eyes, a finger between my teeth. Unfortunately the shorts he’s wearing leave little to the imagination.

  “Joseph,” I warn, pointing to his groin.

  I push on the door of the leisure centre and leave behind the potential love of my life, blue balls and all.

  In my car, I sit and put my head on the steering wheel. I can’t stop laughing, thinking about the way I just kissed him and what effect it had.

  My phone pings with a text from him:

  I cannot believe you…

  I reply: See you tonight, stud. xx

  I start the car and Calvin Harris and John Newman blast out from the radio with ‘Blame’. I turn it up loud, crack a window and start singing.

  HAVING spent all afternoon sorting out the charity shop clothes Jan gave me to clean and see to, I’m now knackered and of two minds; pleased I ran into Joe earlier, but still sad about Jan’s words. I’m sure she’ll never know the pain she’s causing me. How could she ever know? People see only what they want to.

  While running a bath, I get a text from Joe: I’ll be there in five. Just about to get off the bus.

  I smile. He’s still saving up for the car he wants.

  I’m in the bath. Door’s open.

  Dashing down I leave the door unlocked and run back up the stairs, climbing in beneath all the bubbles.

  I’m trying to relax but it’s not really working. I can’t get rid of this bubbling feeling of disgust deep in the pit of my stomach.

  Moments later the door opens downstairs and I hear, “Just me, Etta.”

  “Okay, Joe,” I shout down.

  I listen out for his movements. He tosses his shoes in the entrance hall before walking through to the kitchen where the rustling of bags tells me he’s going to fulfil his promise to cook dinner. After the squeaky fridge door goes a couple of times, I hear footsteps on the stairs.

  “Permission to enter?” he asks.

  “Granted.”

  He knocks the door open with his foot and towers above me, his face breaking into a monumental grin the moment he sees me. Covered by bubbles, he’s only smiling at seeing my face, and I’m smiling at seeing his.

  “Bad day?” he asks, surveying the scene, and when he hands me a cool glass of white wine, it’s like he knew before he even got here. “Just that Jules only locks herself in the bathroom this early in the evening when she’s had a crap day.”

  He takes a seat on the closed toilet lid, his hands together, watching as I throw back some of the wine. Putting the glass on the side, I sit up a little straighter and his eyes veer to my breasts the moment they peek out.

  Then his eyes are back on mine and concerned, a concern I don’t appreciate. I wanted this evening to be perfect and carefree – like our stupid-hot kiss earlier – but still, all I can think about are Jan’s words.

  “What’s wrong?” he presses. “I’m not complaining, but… at the gym, you did seem a teeny bit odd.”

  I take another slurp of wine.

  “Something happened,” I begin, chewing and chewing and chewing my tongue. Something inside me wants to tell him what I was going to do today. Something else is screaming at me to protect him – keep him innocent, ignoran
t. I stop chewing my tongue and add cagily, “At the charity shop. Nothing bad. Nobody was hurt. I just can’t talk about it right now. I don’t want to.”

  “What happened…?” He sounds more than concerned now.

  I look up into his eyes, willing him to be cool about this. “Someone said something to me, something unkind, but the problem is they didn’t realise the thing they were saying directly related to me and so… I can’t… well, I don’t want to tell them that what they said hurt me.”

  “That’s why you’ve gone and got your job back with Dad?”

  I blow out a big breath, eyebrows raised.

  He holds his hands up. “Hey, he casually told me.”

  I stare at the tiled wall at the bottom of the bath where my feet are, seemingly miles away from my head. How can feet that far away from my brain still be responsive? It amazes me sometimes to think about how amazing our bodies are, yet how incompetent the mind is at healing itself. Why can’t I let the past go and live my life? (Because the abuse is my life, maybe?)

  “What can I do?” he asks in a pleading voice, behind which is disappointment, as though he’d hoped to turn up, be jumped on and… everything would be perfect.

  “Be here,” I mumble, turning my face away so he can’t see it.

  He stands and moves towards me, leaning down to plant a kiss on my forehead. “Then I’ll be here.”

  I nod, while hiding my smile and my tears and everything.

  “I want to kiss the living daylights out of you, but I also want food, and I bet so do you.”

  I take a humongous deep breath and look sideways into his enquiring brown eyes. “What are you making us?”

  His eyes go gooey as he reaches a hand out, stroking my tears away, tears I wish would disappear among the ocean of other tears I’ve cried over the years. Joe strokes the arch of my eyebrow and mumbles, “Burgers and chips, all homemade. This special coleslaw I like, American-style. Wine, for you, of course. And mint Vienetta for pudding.”

  I couldn’t want him anymore right now but I’m feeling at my most vulnerable and I usually (I mean always), do stupid things when I feel like this. “Just kiss me, Joe.”