“You have to promise you’ll always let me love you,” he asks, still with those serious eyes, “because I’ve got all this love and I’ve had nowhere for it to go until now. And I feel insane when I can’t give away my love. I have to be able to release it, Het. I need to love you. I have to love you. I want to show the world what I see. The talent that I see in you.”
“No, Joe…”
He covers my mouth with his entire hand so I can’t speak. “I’ll put all those cracked pieces back together and when they’re ready, I’ll glue them right, mould them to be strong again. You just have to let me love you. That’s all you have to do, is let me love you.”
I take a shuddering breath. “Okay, stud.”
“Okay.”
We kiss amid the gentle waves for a while, enjoying being wrapped up naked like this, the water holding most of my weight.
“I don’t want kids,” I tell him, suddenly blurting it out.
I feel through his skin how his heart has started to pound. I know he wants children someday but I won’t be the one to give them to him.
“Nobody knows what’s round the corner, Het.”
“But I won’t ever want them. That’s just me.”
“I don’t exist without you. I just want you. I want what you want. That’s all I want.”
He gives me a look which is either genuine acceptance or a determination to change my mind. Either way, as he carries me out of the water and helps me find my clothes, I know that his reaction to my confession has made me love him even more. I can’t help how I feel though.
BACK at our hotel, we help ourselves to all sorts from the self-service buffet and head back to our table for two, some water between us. It’s dark out but the restaurant’s open-air. It’s a cool evening compared to the day so I’m wearing a full, floating maxi dress with long, raglan sleeves. I made it myself.
“You?” he asks, pointing at the dress.
I found the wacky material from some bin in some shop years ago.
“Yes, you like?”
“Amazing.”
“Thank you.”
“How did you learn to sew?”
“Oh, Liza’s mother is a dab hand. Before that my grandmother showed me a thing or two.”
“Grandmother?”
“Mum’s mum.”
“I see. Do you see her much? You’ve never mentioned her.”
I never mention any of them much. “Guilt, Joe. She feels guilt.”
“Why?” He seems perplexed.
“They all knew she treated me badly.”
“All?”
“Granny, Gramps, my aunties and uncles.”
“Aunties and uncles! I’d love to have some. I don’t have any. Jules, my mum, and dad… all only children.”
“There’s a whole field of Bernards out in West Yorkshire where I come from. They don’t want anything to do with me.”
“That’s stupid. They just don’t know you.”
I pick the black seeds out of my red watermelon, looking down as I speak. “I’m a product of rape, Joe.”
“WHAT?”
There’s a deathly silence that follows. He doesn’t believe it. I still don’t want to.
“My mum married someone and tried to pass me off as his daughter. He knew, of course. He was the only one who did know… until the divorce when he told everyone the truth about her and why she wouldn’t love him back. When the marriage didn’t work out well, she blamed me as well as him, always blaming everyone and everything. Some days I still don’t know whether to hate or pity her. She used to tell everyone that my stepfather was lousy, neglectful, left us in the lurch. The truth was she was forever in denial and that’s why he left her, I’m betting. In fact some of my correspondence with him before he died more or less had me convinced that was why the marriage broke up. She wouldn’t ask for help.”
“Whoa, whoa. Back up…” Joe rubs his hands through his hair. “She blamed you?”
“Easy target, Joe.”
“You…”
I see the truth click in his eyes. I see it and feel sick for him.
“You thought someone else did this to me. Jules and Warrick never told you…”
“She did it?”
I nod, but barely. Maybe Joe thought an old boyfriend scarred me, or a dodgy stepfather. No. Just the person who was meant to protect me from all the other bad guys. She was the one who cut me deep with her vicious words and her violence.
A frown crumples his face. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know. She’s probably out now.”
“Out?”
“Your dad got her locked up. Filed a case against her. Your dad and Jules saved me. I thought they would have said something?”
He’s shaking his head. “They keep their work very close to their chests, believe me.”
“She picked my teenage years to tell me the truth about my birth. You can ask your dad. I used to bully Liza. I used to get into all kinds of trouble. She didn’t care, you see. I…” Swallowing, I catch my breath. “I was going out drinking, smoking, dabbling. Then your dad swooped in like an angel, albeit in Nike trainers and a bad cagoule.”
Joe snickers loudly, making me smile.
“He saved my life, you have no idea. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d carried on the way I was going…”
“Het…” He takes my hands in his from across the table.
“She used to do it when I was least expecting. Jab me with her cigarette in passing, or when I was asleep, she’d get me then. I used to revel in the marks actually, because they took my mind off the mental pain. I’ve had intense therapy, I’ve challenged every therapist I’ve ever had. One of them even went on sick because of me. I still don’t have a clue who I am because sometimes getting through the day is enough of an achievement without being all like amazingly inspired and all that fucking bollocks, you know? Like the shit they all post on social media with pretty flowers round it, stupid quotes that are just stupid words.”
He holds my hands tighter, admitting, “I wanted to be like my dad and help people. I thought I could do that by studying psychology, helping them that way. Help people like my mum, maybe. But some days, I don’t know… I look at him and see some weird things in my dad’s eyes. He’s got stories he won’t tell, eyes that see all. I don’t think I ever want to know how he became who he is. And truly, I’m coming to terms with the fact I’ll never be him. I can just be me instead.”
I smile. “Well I like you, very much, just as you are.”
He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it. “For so long I’ve watched them, you know?”
“Jules and Warrick?”
“Yeah. It was clear the first time he told me about her. He lit up just saying her name. I envied that. For so long, I felt like I’d lost my dad to someone better, something better maybe.”
“I can see how it’d feel like that.”
“I’m glad he has that comfort though now. Really glad. They might bicker like children sometimes but they were made for one another.”
“I agree!” I finish my plate of random fruits, cheeses and meats, watching him while he continues with his various pasta salads and rice.
“What I’m saying is that I might have been jealous of him a while, but it’s okay now. He gave me a blueprint to know what to look for. I think I found it.”
My whole body shudders with something like terrifying elation, every hair on my neck standing on end, then every other hair following suit.
“Joe, don’t get soppy on me.” I try to stop him saying anymore.
“I absolutely mean it. In time, you’ll know it as well.”
I grin, shaking my head. He smiles while finishing his plate and it might be that I’m playing footsie with him under the table, or it might be that he just got me to open up in ways that several therapists couldn’t over several years’ worth of therapy – and he knows it.
I’m scaring myself every day I’m with Joe. But it feels so good.
WE’VE showered and now we’re on the balcony drinking some water before we go to bed. I’m wearing a white t-shirt that barely covers my bum but our view looks out to sea and nobody will notice if my bum pokes out. Joe’s wearing a pair of crisp white Calvin Kleins.
The stars are bright out here and the air’s pungent. We’ll have cooled down following our earlier hot shower within minutes, something we seem to have done every evening we’ve been here and it’s become ritual, to cool down before we slip between the sheets.
Joe leads me to the bed by the hand and pushes my t-shirt up and off. He yanks his underpants off before lowering me to the mattress.
“It didn’t work,” he says, barely whispering.
“What?” I wrap my hands around his neck.
“The marks don’t make you ugly, they just make me love you even more because you’ve resisted what she tried to do to you… make you like her. Well, you’re not like her. You defied her.”
For the first time in my entire life, I let myself really, really cry in front of someone who isn’t a medical professional, a social worker, teacher or other – all people paid to watch me cry and listen to me blub.
I curl into a ball, in the foetal position, and Joe’s body cups mine – my whole being sheltered by his. He gets me and I get him. We don’t try and agitate one another too much, just enough to know neither of us is alone in our thinking.
When I’m done crying, he strokes my hair, as though he’s putting each and every strand in its rightful place, his fingers soft and delicate.
It strikes me that he fell in love with me without even knowing about my past and I ask him once more, “They really didn’t tell you?”
He shakes his head, lowering his mouth to my cheek to kiss my tears away.
“I love you, not your past, nor the scars you want me to hate. I love this in here…” He points to my heart, to the most delicate part of me, “…and the gentle soul inside, the untainted version you don’t want me to see… but I see her anyway. I see her when she doesn’t think I’m looking, when I’m watching you from afar, when I overhear your conversations… when you don’t think I’m listening, but I always am… because I’m observing and I’ve been waiting… I’ve been asking around after you, I’ve been trying to piece together the puzzle inside.”
I sigh. “Well, now you know everything. No more mystery.”
“Hardly. I still need to know your favourite colour.”
I smile, tucking my hand into his hair. “You haven’t guessed?”
He chuckles. “I’m gonna say blue. But I mean…”
I laugh, lifting my chin slightly. “Not just blue, but the deepest blue of the sea, not navy blue but a shade brighter maybe, perhaps… ocean blue.”
“And your favourite band? I know you listen to everything, but…”
I giggle and hide my face in his shoulder. “I’m not telling you because every time I tell you about something I like, I find like ten things relating to that around the house. Like the time I told you I liked unique coasters and ten popped up everywhere.”
“I can’t promise I won’t buy tacky merchandise of said band or all that band’s deluxe editions, the vinyl versions too… maybe the odd t-shirt, concert tickets…”
I pull my most sarcastic, unimpressed expression and he slaps a hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh. Instead he ends up laughing hard and long, his face buried beneath his forearms which are crossed over his head.
“Are we done now?” I ask after he’s cried tears of laughter.
“Yep. Done. I’m done. It’s that face, it gets me every bloody time.”
He doesn’t look or sound done, but I confess, “My favourite band’s Muse, all right. It’s a very good job it’s not Little Mix or McBusted. Your street cred would be flying right out of the window as you stand in line for their shite.”
I pin him down, looking deep into his eyes. “What’s your favourite band, Joe Jones?”
“Don’t have one. Although I do like some of the same stuff you do, like Radiohead, ELO, Elbow and Kings of Leon. I noticed you have a stock of their CDs in your car…”
I stare at him, at the aura surrounding my sexy, sweet and beautiful boyfriend. He’s shining.
“I spotted your CD collection under your bed at home…”
He tuts. “Oh yeah, how’d you know they’re mine?”
“Well I doubt anyone would ask to store anything in that pit of yours…”
I get my bottom slapped for my mouth and a nip on my breast, too.
“Mr Classical and Jazz and Everything In Between.”
“What can I say? I like everything good.”
“Me too,” I agree, sliding my arms around his shoulders and tucking myself into his arms, even closer.
“Favourite food?” he asks me. I already know his is curry.
“Hmmm… really difficult.” I play with his chest hair while I think about it. “If I’m being honest, like really honest, then probably a proper Sunday roast.”
“Which meat?”
I stroke my chin. “Turkey… no, beef… no! Turkey and beef!”
“Greedy.”
“Oh shush, you can get both at the pub carvery.”
He chuckles. “They must always see you coming.”
“Well they don’t have to worry about that now, do they? Jules has been keeping me topped up in roast dinners the past couple of months.”
“Aye. She’s good like that. Although she doesn’t do beef and turkey together.”
“Shame that.” I stroke my chin, as if thinking of ways we can get her to start doing a double roast.
“Favourite place?” he asks, his voice dropping to a whisper.
I lift into his arms, looking right down into his eyes. “Close your arms and legs around me.”
He does just that.
“Right here, surrounded by you.”
“Favourite author?” he asks, his aura dazzling me now.
“I don’t read enough to have a favourite author, how about you?”
“Shakespeare,” he says.
“Figures.”
He appears sad at my comment, but I see the joker beneath. “Figures, how?”
“Oh you’re soppy and you know it. Like that father of yours. Brooding and soulful, full of lamentations and oh woe is me’s and all that…”
“…and she says she doesn’t read.”
“Shuddup,” I accuse, pinning him down, my fingers through his fingers, above his head. I don’t pull the death grip on him, though. Not Joe Jones. I save the death grip for pricks and stupid cunts.
“Favourite sex position?” he asks, with a completely straight face.
“You did not just ask me that.”
“Did. And I demand an answer.”
“Why?”
“Might make the difference tonight, that’s all… only if you tell me though…”
I purse my lips and even though I know the precise answer, I want to toy with him anyway.
“Joe Jones, if you show me yours, I’ll tell you mine.”
“You’re on.”
I’m lifted up onto my knees and as he positions himself right beneath me, I smile down into his eyes.
“You’re a big, fat cheater.”
“I did warn ya, Het. Cleverer and taller. And observant.”
I lower onto him and he shuts up straight away. He crosses his legs beneath me and I wrap mine around his back. We lock together, his arms around me as he begins suckling my breasts… kissing my neck…
I sweep over him, running my hands up and over his shoulders, kissing and hugging him.
“Love ya, Het.”
All I hear are the sounds of the ocean, our breathing and the beating of my heart. This might even be my favourite song, but a girl’s got to have some secrets…
ME AND WARRICK are in the stands, watching Joe play on a brisk but doable Tuesday night.
“How many cold evenings have you spent watching him like this?” I ask with a smirk
.
“Not enough. I could watch him for hours. Couldn’t you?”
I catch a sidelong look at Warrick, who seems content and proud of his son.
I want to say that I do watch Joe for hours while he’s asleep and I’m laid awake, trying to decide upon a course of action for my own future – but I don’t admit that. I won’t admit it! Even to my boyfriend.
“He’s pretty darn good.”
The moment we got back off holiday, we found out Joe had been promoted from reserves to the first eleven. Someone dropped off the team due to an injury or something.
“Thought anymore about the police?” he asks casually.
It’s all I’ve thought about. “I don’t know if I could handle another rejection.”
“But if you do get rejected again, maybe that’d be the real cut-off point. You know?”
I sigh. “On the one hand something’s telling me it’s not meant to be, on the other yeah, I do feel like I have unfinished business with that. I did spend two years preparing myself.”
“You’re young. You have time,” he advises, “there are so many things you can do, it doesn’t have to be that. But we’ll be here for you if you… You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, if I fail again.” I feel my nose wrinkling at just the thought of getting another rejection letter. It makes me feel sick the more I think about it.
“You know that’s not what I meant,” he says, with an edge of aggravation to his tone.
We watch the game and after a while, I comment, “He looks so freaking happy.”
“I know…”
I look sideways again and catch Warrick looking far off with his thoughts. When Joe scores, even then he’s subdued, his eyes glassy.
I click my fingers right in front of his eyes. “Earth to Warrick, calling Warrick!”
He snaps out of it to hear cheers from the crowd. He realises a goal has been scored but lacklustre clapping follows. Joe jogs over to our side of the field, holding his fist up.
“GET IN MY SON!!” I yell, fist pumping him, standing up off my seat.
Joe’s so happy to see me celebrating him but as he glances at his dad and back to me, I shrug. Warrick’s clapping but he’s still partway somewhere else in his mind.
Hetty: An Angel Avenue Spin-Off Page 13
