Hetty: An Angel Avenue Spin-Off

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

“What’s not to like?” he says.

  I lead him back to the car and we head for The Grange, a place I usually stay, just a little way up from the village.

  After parking up, we scope it out.

  “Will they have any rooms?” he asks, and from the look of his face I can tell he’s never done this before. I expect any hotels he usually stays in have been booked by Warrick!

  “Let’s hope so.”

  We enter the reception and I spot Derek, the owner, who recognises me. “Henrietta, long time no see!”

  Smiling, I return, “Been so busy, you know how it is. We’ve been gallivanting and wondered… maybe you might have a room for the night…?”

  He holds his finger up. “Let me check.”

  While Derek checks his computer, I grip Joe’s hand and smile. He smiles back, still a little sleepy.

  “Ah, Marge had a cancellation last night. You’re in luck. The Grange Suite is available.”

  “We’ll take it,” I snap, almost snapping his hand off too!

  “Okay, it’s not ready…” He’s sucking his thumb, thinking as he peruses the screen. “But I’ve put you in, come back at four and it’s yours.”

  “Do you need a deposit?”

  He winks. “Not from a good customer.”

  “Thank you, Derek. Thanks so much.”

  He guffaws, a little shy. “No problem.”

  I catch him giving Joe a little side glance but he doesn’t say anything, or question us.

  Leaving the property, Joe says, “He seems a little fond of you.”

  “I stay here often, in the summer months.”

  “What do you do when you’re here?”

  We get back into my Citroen and I turn towards him. “I drive up to Whitby, fill my boots and then sleep it off here. A Sunday morning stroll on the beach is heaven, too.”

  “I never would’ve pictured it,” he says, pulling me towards him, reaching across the handbrake to put his arms around me. “You seem so badass, and here you are, a lovely Yorkshire rose spending her weekends by a beach nobody’s even really heard of.”

  I tug his hair gently in my hands, murmuring, “All the best people have heard of it, Joseph.”

  It takes a few moments for me to realise my breaths are laboured and heavy. This is what he does to me.

  “But it’s so quiet and quaint…” He looks bemused.

  “In therapy I was taught to like my own company. I’ve got used to it.”

  “Not too used to it, I hope?” He’s grinning devilishly.

  “Scenery’s not too shabby from where I’m sitting,” I remark, trying to seize my own grin before it breaks my face, I feel so happy.

  He cups my bottom lip with his and kisses me torturously slowly. The perpetual molten vat of lava in my lower stomach churns and I could curse that hotel for not having any rooms available right now. Joe moves his kisses to my cheeks and my neck.

  “Save it for later…” I mumble.

  “You smell divine, like honeysuckle or something.” He pulls back, searching my eyes, endlessly trying to figure me out.

  “Come on, I’m hungry, you sexy beast.”

  He belts up. “Your fault I’m a beast.”

  WE park up on the hill above Whitby, walking down towards the town along steep, cobbled streets and the 199 steps. We smell the smokehouse before we reach it.

  “The smell’s driving me wild,” he says.

  “I agree. Not sure I want my car stinking of kippers though!”

  “Look,” he says, pointing to the street the smokehouse is on, Henrietta Street, “like this place was made for you. Like this was meant to be today.”

  He seems so happy and I’m amazed how carefree we both are, just a few hours after our semi-fight earlier. His arm around me, we start walking around, taking in shops and people. The air is so fresh and clean. I’m wearing a bobble hat and scarf but Joe’s only got his fleece jacket to keep him warm and I offer up at least my scarf.

  “THANK YOU!” he says, but as we round a corner, we spot an outdoor clothing shop and he buys himself an all-weather jacket, paying for it in cash.

  “What’s your favourite food?” I ask him.

  His eyes are bright as he looks down into mine. “Curry, why?”

  “You’re about to see something real special, boy.”

  He laughs. “What am I in for?”

  “I can’t get enough of seaside donuts. If you even try to take one, I will have you down on the ground. Nobody touches my donuts.”

  He chuckles and pushes me towards the donut vendor. “Go forth and plunder, I’m off to buy something from that shop there,” he points, and I see a jewellery shop is his destination.

  While I’m getting my donuts I ask for two takeaway teas as well and before my donuts are even done, he’s back by my side, holding my hand.

  We take a bench by the small quay and I give him an enquiring look. “Whatcha bought then?”

  “Nah, later,” he says, “eat your donuts, love.”

  “Eh, less of the love or else I’ll be smashing these round your bonce.”

  He laughs. “Nah you won’t, you can’t. They’ll come off worse and there’ll be no destroying the precious donuts.”

  He sips his tea and I watch with fascination as his dark eyes gaze out onto the clear but freezing day.

  “Have you never drank, then, at all?” I ask, while tackling the heavily sugared donuts which are searing through the ridiculously thin paper bag I’m holding. They are so hot and so gorgeous!

  “Nope,” he says.

  “Not even a little try.”

  “Nope.”

  “So if we had a bit of dinner later and I had a bottle and asked if you wanted half a glass, you wouldn’t partake? Not even while you’re with me and I’m desi driver.”

  Something sets in his features, something hard, and he keeps his eyes ahead, not looking at me.

  “I’ve seen things, Het. Bad shit. Dad doesn’t know the half. He couldn’t take it, believe me.”

  “Is that why you won’t grieve for her?”

  He turns his head super fast and glowers. “What?”

  “Just what Warrick said, that’s all.”

  “When did he say that?”

  “Must’ve been a few months ago now, last year maybe.”

  “Shit.”

  “Here, have a donut.”

  He grimaces. “I’m not taking a pity donut.”

  “This donut is given with ulterior motive, not pity. And I don’t give donuts to just anybody, all right? So you’d better–”

  “O, bloody, kay!” He laughs. “Fine, I’ll have the fucking donut.”

  He practically necks it in one, fell swoop. “Good… fucking… donuts!” he says between chews.

  “Here, take another. I need to save room for later anyway!”

  He sniggers. “Oh yeah?”

  “OH. YEAH!”

  A silent interlude follows as I eat the rest of my catch. He noisily slurps his tea from a polystyrene cup and I watch a seagull swarming, its beady eyes on my hands and what they’ve got in them. Unlucky for the bastard seagull, I know how to eat donuts better than it knows how to swoop.

  “Your dad’s…” I start to speak, not sure where I’m going with this.

  “My dad, yeah,” he replies, as if knowing what I mean.

  “Overprotective?”

  “Much too much.”

  I nod. “It’s understandable. He thinks that by wrapping you up in cotton wool, he’s counteracting the damage done. It’s what people do with me.”

  “No undoing the damage, Het.”

  “I know baby.”

  He puts his arm around me and I snuggle into his shoulder.

  “We’re going to have the best fucking day,” I tell him.

  He turns and looks right into my eyes. “You and Jules, you could have been sisters.”

  “I dearly wish we were.”

  “Your spirit’s a lot like hers, it’s what makes me love you.”
>
  He grins that lopsided grin, with so much dimple action going on, I am about to lose my mind.

  “But I bet Jules isn’t like dirty, is she? You know, like low-down dirty.”

  “Just how dirty are we talking here?”

  “Once I know you better, oh I’ll bring out the dirt, baby.”

  “Cannot wait!” he bellows, and the maleness and the hilarity in his voice touches me in places I never thought a man would ever touch me, so deep in my heart I feel light-headed.

  He finishes his tea, tosses all our trash in a nearby bin, and holds out his hand for me as we head off to the next food vendor on our culinary day out.

  “THIS is so good,” I moan, now we’re finally in our room for the night. I’m in the bath beneath a mountain of bubbles and he’s drying off after a shower.

  “I’m gonna watch TV and warm the bed,” he says from behind me.

  “You don’t exist. Only bubbles and warm water. Who was that talking? I’m dreaming… ahhhh this is so good.”

  He chuckles. “You weirdo.”

  He shuts me inside the bathroom and I’m left with my thoughts. We ate lunch at Trenchers today and must have been there for a good two hours. We both had some of the best seafood platters in Great Britain and we took our time enjoying ourselves. Over lunch he asked me if I would try again for the police and after I explained why I didn’t get in, I said that I didn’t think so right now, but never say never.

  We sat in peace and quiet in tearooms and pubs. We played pool and I won best of five, arguing I have years of practice on him. We walked around the quay holding hands, he won me a stuffed toy in the amusement arcade and I lost a few quid trying to get some stupid key ring out of the two-pence machine. I’ve always loved the Gothic and it’s one of the reasons I love Whitby.

  “Het, I’m eating all the booty, you’d better get out here…”

  “That ass had better be ready for a spanking if there’s nothing left for me.”

  I hear him snicker.

  We’ve basically got trashy food to survive on tonight and a cooked breakfast in the morning to look forward to.

  I don’t want to leave this watery paradise but I can tell he’s impatient for me to be with him and I want him, too. So I begrudgingly unplug and lift myself out, pouring my limbs straight into a hotel robe. Swiping my hand across the steamed-up mirror in front of the vanity unit, I take a look at my reflection. I’m flushed and make-up free. I’ve got a couple of pimples on my chin and one on my jaw. I definitely look like I’ve been getting banged this week. And how. He says he loves me au naturel so I decide to refrain from putting any make-up on, not even a bit of gloss or mascara. I shaved in the bath last night and my legs are still smooth. I think I’m ready for him. Releasing my dry hair from the band I had it tied up in, I shake it out so it frames my face. I don’t know why I’m nervous and delaying the inevitable, except…

  We’ve had such a wonderful day, now I’m apprehensive about being with him because it always seems to make him bleed emotionally after we’ve been together. I’m frightened after the day’s frivolities that this is going to get very real. I’m scared he’s too deep a man for me, that I’m too idiotic for him…

  I’m just scared.

  But there’s no time like the present to take the bull by the horns. I need to have his arms around me whatever the consequences.

  I enter the room without any ceremony, going round making sure all the curtains are shut, that no gaps will reveal our bestiality this night.

  I can’t help but peer through the curtains, though. The starlit sky is flickering in the North Sea below and it feels like we’re on the edge of the world, snug in our hideaway, safe from the outside world. Unlike the calm sea out there, my inner turmoil has a tempest brewing inside me. I still have a choice right now – love this man and risk all, or let him free, save him getting hurt? The longer I let this continue, the harder it’ll be to end it. And I’ll fuck this up, I know I will. It’s who I am. Why will it be any different with Joe?

  I close the curtains, tight shut, and turn to look at him. He’s waiting, lying on his side, an inviting smile aimed at me. He pats the bed beside me, waiting patiently.

  I cannot deny him. That smile. Those dimples. His long, wavy hair is draped across the pillow, like he’s some tribal leader awaiting his prize.

  On the way I untie my robe and let it fall to the floor behind me. He opens the covers as I near and I slide inside, his hands reaching out, pulling me into him.

  We slot together, side by side, my leg over his hip, his thigh pushed against the warmth between my legs.

  “Etta,” he sighs, “tell me why you were sad yesterday.”

  He’s got such lust in his eyes, he’s caught me off guard with this disparate topic. I try to kiss him but he shakes his head slightly.

  “Tell me…”

  I stare into his brown depths, trying to save myself from drowning in them, but there’s no escaping when they’re this deep and earnest.

  “Don’t make me, Joe,” I ask softly, pleading with my eyes.

  He turns and grabs his phone, playing a song on his Spotify app. I recognise it as a tune by Rag‘n’Bone Man called ‘Love You Any Less’.

  After the song finishes, I’m still absorbing the words.

  “It doesn’t matter what you say or do, I couldn’t love you any less. Do you believe me?”

  I shake my head. No.

  “Why?”

  “Because…”

  “Het, tell me. Help me understand.”

  I frown. “We’ve only been together a few days!”

  “It feels like a lifetime, to me.”

  I throw myself into his arms and hide my face in his shoulder. “Just cuddle me, Joe. Cuddle me tight.”

  “I am doing,” he responds, kissing my shoulder, “but I’m not letting this drop. You’re safe in my arms, aren’t you?”

  My heart swells as I pull back to look at him. “Of course I’m safe.”

  “And you trust me?”

  “Yes, I trust you.”

  “Then talk to me, that’s all I am asking.”

  I argue with myself internally until finally giving up, because from the look of him, he’s not putting down this chew toy anytime soon.

  “A woman…” I start, but as I turn my head, my eyes go to the door. Exit seems a better option right now.

  Could I leave? Send Warrick to collect Joe in the morning?

  “A woman?” he persists.

  “I worked with, in the–”

  “Charity shop?” he guesses.

  I nod.

  “Go on…”

  I swallow the razors in my throat. “On Friday morning they were sort of grilling me about why I’d shown up to help them out.”

  “And what did you say?”

  He’s infuriating! Naked and asking me about this now!

  “I said I didn’t get in the police, pure and simple.”

  He’s searching my eyes like he can read my soul, like he’s hunting for the truth. I can tell when I glance at him, he doesn’t believe me.

  “What else?” he asks.

  I huff. “Nothing.”

  “Henrietta!” His tone is commanding.

  I bite my inner cheek. “I mentioned… I said… I said, well… I said I studied social care at university but had decided not to go into that field.”

  “And?”

  He’ll keep pursuing this, won’t he?

  “One of the women, not Floor, the other… she said…” I catch his eye and see a seething anger brewing inside him. “She said that only people who’ve been around social workers all their lives go into social work, people who are broken. She intimated that anyway.”

  He frowns. “Is that everything that transpired? You didn’t put her in her place?”

  “Understandably I was taken aback. People look at me and don’t know, Joe.”

  He pulls me so close, I can feel his heart pounding against my breast.

  “Thank
you for telling me.”

  I raise my eyebrows. Is that all he wanted to know? Is that it?

  “Are we done interrogating Hetty now?”

  “We’re done,” he says, and his hands pull on my buttocks greedily, yanking me even closer.

  His erection brushes my tummy and I feel my cheeks instantly flare.

  “Joe…”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t want to be a victim.”

  He stares at my lips. “Neither do I, gorgeous.”

  “I don’t want to be part of some vicious cycle.”

  “Nor I.” He’s still staring at my mouth.

  It actually hurts to hold back now and I can’t stop myself from saying, “I love you.”

  “I love you!” he exclaims, shaking with relief.

  It’s madness and it makes no sense and it’s too soon and he’s too young. I don’t even know how we’re here but I’m so in love already. In love with this feeling and him and how it feels when we’re together.

  He swoops in and kisses me like nobody’s ever kissed me, with true hunger and reverence. He holds me so close, my leg’s almost wrapped right over his back.

  I throw back my head and he moves onto my throat, kissing me so that I’m no longer thinking, no longer worrying. I’m pulsing again from his kiss alone, his length so needed between the gently contracting walls of my sex.

  One of his hands slides up from my waist to my breast, squeezing my nipple before he plants his mouth around me. I whimper and tug his hair in response, my toes digging into his buttocks, trying to edge him closer to slipping inside me.

  The tip of his sex brushes my entrance and I hiss, needing him, demanding him. I must be incredibly wet.

  “You’re so hot for me,” he whispers against my breast as he brushes his stubble across the sublimely sensitive flesh of my nipple.

  “You’re beautiful and endowed, a winning combination.” I’m kneading his shoulders, desperate for him.

  “You need teasing. Like our first night. You were coming when I was barely touching you. I know you, Etta. You need my passion. You need me tending to you.”

  “Yes, Joe…”

  He shifts down the bed, head between my thighs, a dirty grin on his face.

  “Hmmm,” he moans, before licking me once.

  I shriek, covering my face. How could this one little thing be so good?