It was while we were filling the dishwasher together that Joe and I talked.
“Are you enjoying uni?”
“I think so. Early days.”
“I loved it, best days of my life.” I really meant that, too. I was studying, I was free, I had no responsibilities and cheap beer on tap.
“So Dad says you’re going to be trying for the police very soon?”
“Yeah, January. Feeling really nervous.”
“I’m sure you’ll get in. They’d be fools. I mean, look. They let Dad in.”
I creased up at the sarcastic frown on Joe’s face. “Very true.”
We both tittered.
“So… why were you here for dinner, if you don’t mind me asking?” He gave me a curious look as he closed the door of the dishwasher, both of us finally upright after filling it full of all kinds of pots and pans from dinner.
“My foster parents are like retired now so they’re away on some massive, long-overdue cruise. Liza… she’s my foster sister and old school mate… she’s got two small kids and I didn’t want to impose. She goes to her mother-in-law’s every other year and this year is that year. So your dad asked me here. He knew I’d be alone otherwise.”
He nodded but there was a knowing look in his eye I didn’t like. I couldn’t quite interpret it.
“It’s been good to have you here,” he said, “really good. Dad would love it if you popped round more. He says you’re really good with the twins when he brings them to the community centre.”
“Little rascals…”
Our talk that day was polite chit-chat, or so it seemed. Looking back now, I realise he didn’t say that to help out his dad with two unruly kids who needed attention from outside the family occasionally – Joe said it because, really, he wanted to see me again but didn’t know how to say it. I also remember the hug and kiss he gave me at the door as Jules and Warrick begged me to stay for the night and not to go home to an empty house. (Little did they know I had a new design pinned and waiting at home, ready to be put under the needle of my sewing machine. And I was excited to be getting back to that.) Anyway, when Joe hugged me, his kiss was wet on my cheek and he definitely did try to catch a whiff of my hair. But I brushed it all off, intent on getting home, and back to my sewing.
I realise now that I completely misread him that day. I might have also misread Warrick, who largely remained out of the way. Maybe he was trying to help out his son?
I looked at him that day and saw nothing but a kid. I was looking past a guy I now know to be beautiful inside and out, or so I’m hoping.
“It smells so good,” I say to Joe, as he shuffles off his trainers in the large tiled hallway, where he gave me that first hug and kiss a few months ago.
“Joe?”
“Hmm.”
“Come here.”
He comes to me and I put my hands on his shoulders, standing on tiptoes to kiss his mouth in a chaste touch of my lips to his.
“You should have kissed me at Christmas, stud.”
A look of surprise sparkles in his eyes. “I should, I know. Anyway I’m gonna dash up and quickly change, do you want a clean t-shirt?”
“I’m fine,” I answer, my chunky, oversized grey jumper with a large roll neck covering all manner of sins beneath. I keep it on the backseat of my car for all eventualities.
I wait a couple of minutes for him to come back down but he takes a little longer than that and anyway, the dining-room door swings open and Ruby spots me.
“They’re here,” Rubes says, and in a split second, Warrick’s rounded the door and he’s in front of me. We meet at eye level as he’s the same height as me. Joe’s taller and wider than his dad, probably due to his strict diet throughout the years he played football.
“You look well,” he says, “can we get you a drink?”
I smile. “I’d like that. Just… a soft drink. I’ve got to get home–”
Warrick’s directing me to the kitchen to get a drink when Jules says, “Did I hear mention of a soft drink? Nonsense, you can stay the night. Have a drink. Rick and me both insist.”
Joe’s behind me suddenly. I know because the hairs on my forearms are static against my jumper and I feel his heat even before it touches me.
“You’ll both stay, won’t you?” Jules lasers brainwaves out of her eyes at Joe, making him unable to decline.
“If that’s not any trouble?” Joe rubs his hands up and down my forearms from behind.
“No trouble,” Jules says, watching our interaction with hawk-like interest.
“I’ll have whatever Jules is drinking, then.” I nod at Warrick.
Joe steps past me and reaches into the fridge, grabbing a bottled water. He leaves me with his parents again and we all hear Charlie and Harry screech with joy when their big brother enters the living room.
There’s a lot of noise and laughing but when Jules passes me my wine, all I really feel are Warrick’s eyes on me, waiting for me to say something.
I take a sip of wine and still have the glass between my teeth when I say, “He asked me out under a pretence. It happened and now we’re here. I don’t have any agenda, I don’t know… I just…”
Warrick steps forward, saying in a hushed voice, “Have you thought that this is a much bigger deal for him than for you?”
I look directly into Warrick’s suspicious brown eyes. “Yes.”
“And you’re gonna continue anyway?”
I stare Warrick down. “He won’t take no for an answer.”
“Who does that remind me of…” Jules says in the background.
Warrick shakes his head and tuts. “Make yourself at home, Hetty.”
I try to smile. I think Jules is doing the smiling for me.
At the door to the living room I receive a hug from Ruby. Her husband Vernon’s in Warrick’s recliner chair, dozing in the sunshine coming in through the windows, oblivious to the action.
Joe’s crawling round with three toddlers riding his back.
“Charlie, Harry, hold Judy tight, don’t let her fall!”
Judy’s positioned between the two boys.
Joe pretends to be a horse and trots around the carpeted floor, making all sorts of weird noises. When he tires, he’s felled and the kids paw and attack him, demanding more rides. He has Charlie wrapped round his thigh and the other two under his arms when he comes towards me.
“Children, this is Hetty. Hetty, please free me from these children.”
“’etty! ’etty!” Judy shouts.
Harry and Charlie scrunch their noses up at me. They both very much resemble their mother in looks and in mistrust. They have the high forehead and the arched brow of Julianne, the Russian ballet dancer who never was. Harry and Charlie didn’t trust me at first and whenever they see me, they’re still reticent until they warm up. They’re wise, I give them that.
I grab Judy and kiss her cheek, throwing her up and making her squeal. This seems to convince the twin boys they can trust me, because Judy does.
As the boys attach themselves to my legs instead, I put on the voice of Optimus Prime. “Autobots, let’s go.”
When the boys energetically demand I do the voice again, I say, “Where’s Bumble Bee? Taking a wazz in the car park again?”
High intensity circuit training has put me in good stead for this.
I pretend I’m a robot with heavy feet and they all squeal. Judy’s on my back, my hands holding hers to keep her there. I jovially spin them all quickly and they squeal like hell.
“More, more!!”
“Dum, dum, dum, dum!!” I chase around the living room. “Attack! Attack! The baddies are coming!” I do the gun noises and Judy’s beside herself, chuckling so loudly that even Vernon’s nose twitches in his sleep. She must be like her dad, amused by the silliest things.
“I like Hetty!” A four year old Charlie says.
“I like Optimus better,” Harry adds.
I collapse on the carpeted floor, exhausted, and while Jud
y climbs up on my chest and curls up, the boys start playing with my blue hair.
“Why is it blue?” Harry asks, oh so eloquent.
“I dyed it.”
“What’s dyed?” Charlie asks.
“You put it on your hair like crayons or paint and it turns it a different colour.”
The boys look at one another, as if formulating a plan for Judy’s red baby hair. Or their own.
“It’s only for adults,” I warn them, “so if you put it on children, you turn into big, horrible, stinky green bogies. Urrrggghh!”
They both chuckle, grinning. They somehow don’t look put off.
“She troll!” Judy says as she nestles on my chest. The little darling’s only three, bless her.
“Dinner’s ready,” Jules shouts, “come and get it!”
We all pile into the dining room and when Joe kisses my temple at the table, hush descends upon the room. Even I shut up when I see the happy look in his eyes.
EVERYONE in the Jones house apparently retires early on Sunday evenings. Jules and Warrick walk up at nine, a couple of hours after getting the twins to bed. Joe and I stay downstairs, watching a bit of TV.
“I bought you a gift…” he says out of the blue. “Didn’t give you it yesterday. I was waiting for the right time.”
He slides his hand into the pocket of his joggers and pulls out a black velvet bag.
“Open it,” he says, handing it to me.
I pull out a solid silver necklace with a tarnished and battered heart pendant.
“It’s yours,” he says, helping me put it on.
I look down and study the pendant, fascinated by the handcrafted piece of jewellery. It feels a lot weightier than it actually is, as if there’s more to it, hidden meaning.
“My heart’s yours,” he clarifies.
I hold his hand and feel my heart cracking for him. “You’re just nineteen. How do you know?”
“How do any of us know anything?” he asks me, but I don’t have an answer. “We have to learn to listen to our hearts, as broken as they might be. Our hearts tell us everything we need to know, even if we don’t want to hear it.”
I shift onto his lap and hold his face in my hands. “Thank you.”
“I love you.”
“I know you do.”
Wrapping my arms around him, I let him kiss me. It’s been a great day, with food, wine and family games. I saw a more relaxed side to Warrick today and a wise edge to Jules that demonstrates to me why Warrick’s now able to live the life he does. She’s his rock. He’s hers.
“Let’s go to bed,” I suggest, and we switch off the telly, taking the stairs up to the top floor where Joe’s room is, nestled in the attic. He turns on a dull lamp and the pitch-black room comes to life.
There’s a big bed pushed up under the slanted roof but that’s the last thing I see before he hoists me up into his arms and lays me gently on the bed beneath his body.
THE DOOR CREAKING rouses me and I look up from where I’m lying on Joe’s chest, catching a glimpse across the room.
“Are you decent?” Jules whispers.
“Yes,” I whisper back.
As the door fully opens, light pours into the room and I see her dressed in a grey pinafore, a pale pink blouse underneath, nude tights and cute ballet pumps.
“Rocking some threads there, miss,” I joke.
She tiptoes in, seeing Joe’s still asleep, and places two cups of tea on top of his black, wooden desk. In fact everything in this room is black. I wonder if it was a teenage phase of his…? I’m even wearing a black t-shirt he gave me last night to sleep in. It’s got no other detail. Just black.
“I’m going to work,” she whispers. “Warrick’s taken the misters to nursery, he’s expecting you at ten. Don’t be late.” She winks, backing out of the room slowly. “Sugared tea on the left,” she whispers again, “and, oh…”
She points at a huge cabinet at the other side of the room, raising her eyebrows repeatedly. I have no idea what the madwoman’s on about.
“See ya,” she says with a smile, touching the door closed once more.
I rise from bed and pad over the thick grey carpet to where tea awaits me. Sipping it, I’m instantly revived. Joe must have been tired as he’s not stirring and he didn’t wake me in the night for nookie, either.
I go to the cabinet Jules was pointing at before she left and just as I’m walking there, I hear the front door downstairs slam shut and her car start outside. It seems we have the house to ourselves.
I lift the latch hook closing the cabinet and almost leap away when the doors swing unexpectedly towards me, revealing a cabinet full of football trophies beneath.
There are hundreds.
There’s even a framed article at the back of the metal cluster, and squinting, I just about see his image and the headline, ‘Youth Team Player Set For Big Career’.
I chew my lip and shut the cabinet, looking over my shoulder to find him still asleep. I know he doesn’t have any classes or lectures until this afternoon but he’s not up and it’s past eight!
I take a pill from my handbag and after swallowing it and draining the rest of my cup, I decide to wake him in the best way I know.
Lifting the t-shirt off over my head, I slide back into bed naked.
Crawling up towards him, I smooth my hands over his chest and he makes an, “uh” noise, as if slowly waking. Edging the covers down his body, I reveal his hips and leave kisses against the indentations dividing muscle there. His penis starts to harden and I feel his hand on my shoulder.
“Everyone gone?” he musters.
“All alone, just us,” I sing.
“Ah, good.”
I start lapping him into my mouth and he groans, his legs shifting, his body waking properly.
When he’s fully hard, I suck harder.
“Fuck me, Etta.”
I wrap my hand around his balls and suck him back, licking and grazing my teeth against him.
“I’m com– Het… gonna…”
I let him come in my mouth and after I get a taste and decide it’s gross, I snatch the t-shirt I discarded earlier and spit into it, also using it to wipe my mouth.
He laughs as he watches me do it. “Not good, Het?”
“You try it.”
“I’m okay, babes. But someone’s not done, are they?”
He lays me on my back and I stretch out, lolling my arms over the end of the bed, his arms wrapping around my legs and hips.
“Het?”
“What, ya big lug?”
“Love ya, Het.”
He puts his tongue where I need it and I wish every morning could be like this.
JOE’S putting on the washer in the kitchen as I’m serving up breakfast. We’re both washed but I’m barely dressed and I need to change at home before I go to work. Placing his breakfast down on the small kitchen table, he hungrily eyes the food and sits.
“It’s only bacon and eggs,” I tell him, amused as he makes dramatic noises.
“Made by my woman.”
We quickly finish up because he knows I have to get going.
“I’m gonna grab my gym stuff. Could you drop me halfway? I’ll walk the rest.”
“Sure, lover.”
He kisses me and dashes away, up the stairs to grab his gym stuff.
I have a lot of questions for him but I fear I’ll have to save them for another time.
It’s not five minutes after that we’re securing the property and driving towards Hull. Jules and Warrick live in the nearby village Cottingham, said to be the UK’s biggest village, or something.
“Hey, I’ve got tickets for loads of culture things. I bought them randomly last year. I’ve got one going spare for The Hypocrite tomorrow night.”
“Sorry, I can’t, but I know Jules is dying to get her hands on a ticket. Take her.”
“I’ll ask Warrick, get him to mention it to her. You never know he might have surprise tickets…”
I’m w
ondering what he’s doing tomorrow when he fills me in… “I play university football tomorrow evening. I also still play for North Ferriby now and again. But I just… I chose university, so that’s my focus now.”
“Did Hull offer you a contract?”
I look across and see his fingers pressed hard between his bare legs. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay…”
“Drop it, Het,” he tells me, an angry edge to his tone.
I already dropped it! I shake my head because I don’t understand him. I’m asking perfectly legitimate questions. There’s literally nobody else on Earth I would allow to talk to me like this, but because it’s Joe, all I am going to do is stay quiet.
We stop at a set of traffic lights and it’s way earlier than he was due to step out, but his belt’s off and he quickly kisses my cheek.
“Yours tonight?” he asks quickly.
“I guess.”
He jumps out and I tear off.
I need to know more about Joe’s football. Jules has bloody well put a bee in my bonnet.
I get to work, dressed in my casuals, just a nametag on my shirt singling me out as a member of staff. I tap on Warrick’s door even though he’s on his phone. He’s in his customary jeans and jumper, a white t-shirt poking up from underneath. When he sees me he beckons me in. After he’s done, he asks, “Everything okay? Sleep well?”
“Well, I did sleep well as it happens… in that coffin he calls his bedroom.”
He sniggers, his chest crunching inwards with laughter. “Yeah…”
I sit at the other side of his desk. “So what do you want me to do today?”
“I need new timetables drawing up and a few other things, I’ve written it all down, it’s back on your old desk.”
I didn’t want to assume he’d give me back my old office so I’ve got my desk shit back in the car, still boxed up, ready should I need it. Seems I will.
“Why didn’t he sign for Hull?” I blurt out.
Warrick sighs, flicking a non-existent crumb off his navy v-neck. “I honestly do not know. Have you seen him play, yet?”
“No. Should I?”
“Yes, you should.” I wink at Warrick and he dramatically exclaims, “I know that thinking face, that face is dangerous!”
Hetty: An Angel Avenue Spin-Off Page 10
