Hetty: An Angel Avenue Spin-Off

by Sarah Michelle Lynch

  She makes me smile, as do the boys. They’re completely oblivious to our conversation as they try to coerce the penguins to jump and dive, not realising there’s a few inches of glass between them and the arctic creatures.

  She continues, “It is hard being married, you know? The highs are immense, the lows can be brutal. Sometimes he looks at me and I feel like a silly lovesick girl again. But he can be so infuriating. As much as he’s proud of Joe, he won’t take any credit. We both know it’s only through Warrick’s nurturing that Joe is where he is.”

  “Yeah, well that and them both needing to get out of the house to put some distance between themselves and Anna. I’d have probably taken up sewing mailbags if it meant getting away from her.”

  “Right!” Jules agrees, and we give one another a subtle high-five.

  “I know we’re not meant to talk ill of the dead but I can’t help but think that if she were here, she’d use Joe’s success somehow for her own gain, she’d behave in the entire opposite manner to how Warrick behaves. Come to think of it, they were entire opposites, weren’t they?”

  Jules wears an ugly expression. “Even dead, she still pisses me off. I hate the thought he was ever married to someone else. I despise it. I wish I didn’t, but that’s how I feel. I can’t ever change that. Once upon a time, even if it was a lifetime ago, he loved her and…” She lowers her voice, “Fucked her. It drives me crazy. He says I am the love of his life, but there have been repercussions from his old life that have intervened in ours. He still thinks he has to hide things from me and that’s because of her, because she used to make him fear opening up about his problems. One, because she was a psycho and overreacted to everything, and two, he was shit-scared she would take his kid away.”

  Charlie turns around and says, “Mummy swore.”

  He titters and Harry points his finger, “Mummy said the s-word, Mummy said the s-word. Mummy is a baddie, Mummy is a baddie.”

  “Mummy is paying for your lunch, Charles. And a toy, if you’re both good.”

  They both shut up and recommence clinging to the barriers to watch the penguins. I bet they could stand here watching them for hours. Luckily it’s a quiet day and not many people are pushing around us, trying to get a look too.

  I get a text from Joe who says he’s having some lunch. I tell him where we are and that I’ve escaped the shackles of my own worries and fears for a few moments.

  “I’ve got this friend,” she tells me, “Amy. She went to design school. She worked for a while for some big clothing chain. Do you want me to speak with her for you? She might know some good seamstresses? She might be able to put some of your designs forward for you. I mean, she’s not in that world anymore, she has her own shop now. Just a shop of bits and pieces. It’s easy for her because she can have her kids with her there. But I could–”

  “Slow down, motor mouth!”

  “Sorry, I’m just saying…”

  I touch her arm. “Yes please, I would like her to look at my stuff and take this stress away from me. Seriously, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. How these people find me online is a mystery.”

  “Always a market for unique clothes, garments nobody else has. Always.”

  “Well I’d actually be very grateful if you spoke with her for me.”

  “No problem. It’d be my pleasure.”

  * * *

  IT’S a couple of days later when I’m sat in a café on the Avenue along with Jules and her friend Amy, who hasn’t aged half as well as Jules. I’m wondering if that’s due to some sort of habit she might have…

  I bring out a couple of the dresses I’ve made. Some of the things I make are all one fabric, some I make patchwork using various materials, or maybe the bodice is plain and there’s a little appliqué to the skirt. I tend to order reams of material online. Sometimes you can pick up some bargains for pence, it’s knowing how to complement the material you’re using.

  “I love these,” Amy says, her blonde hair resembling mine, when it wasn’t blue of course.

  “You like them?”

  “I do. They’re handmade, handmade is always best. People pay a lot for this kind of stuff in those little shops on the Shambles in York, market stalls in Bath and Edinburgh. These are unique. How much are you selling your dresses for right now?”

  “Sixty,” I say, “although, I mean… I wasn’t sure how to price them, wasn’t sure at all.”

  “You’re undercutting yourself. Jules tells me your orders are through the roof, well now we know why.”

  I love Hull. I love it. You only need to know a few people to have access to a wide network of other people who can help you out.

  “If I were you, I’d stop sales immediately and start re-branding. Unless of course you want to take these into stores and ask if they want to stock them on your behalf… Then again, brands like yours do start online, build a following that way and migrate to stores when the demand is feverish.”

  “I really don’t have a clue what I’m doing!” I laugh loudly, nervously. “I just like making this stuff.”

  Amy looks me up and down, at my Metallica t-shirt and ripped black jeans. “And yet you don’t have this style yourself? Don’t tell me you’re not savvy. You know you are. You know this is what women want. Girly, unique looks for spring and summer.”

  “I don’t know…”

  Jules looks at Amy knowingly. I know these two have known each other for centuries so they’ve probably got a girl code all of their own.

  “What would you do, if you were me?” I ask her.

  She’s still examining my stitch work and turning the garment I brought with me round and about when she twists her lips and finally decides, “Take your pick of these empty units down here on the Avenues and open up shop. Put your stuff inside it. Make it your own. Employ a couple of people. Get a workroom upstairs.”

  “But I just gave all my money–” to charity. I stop myself saying that, though. Maybe they’ll think I’ve given all my money to materials.

  Amy arcs an eyebrow so high I feel it will definitely fly off her forehead. She purses her lips and says out of the corner of her mouth, “Footballers have dosh though, right? And you already have validity. You’re already selling.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know if I can do this! What about accountancy? What about… how do I trade? Do I need a permit… will people turn their noses up at a label-less unknown… this has always just been a hobby of mine!”

  Amy’s nodding, as if she’s been right here where I am now. “From one creative to another, you think you’ll have time to do this as a hobby in your spare time, but you won’t. And you’ll lose the ability to find time to do the one thing that keeps you sane. Life… it’s gonna take over eventually. Like your man. He’s gonna want to take you on this journey with him. We all know that. So either you make this your job now, or you throw it onto the backburner.”

  I swallow, but the tangled ball in my throat remains.

  “That’s my advice, chick. Take it or leave it.”

  Amy stands and Jules stands with her. They kiss and squeeze each other hard in a hug.

  “Let’s not keep leaving it so long,” Jules says.

  Amy squeezes her hand. “Easier said than done.”

  They have one more hug before Amy walks out of the door to get her car and drive back over the bridge.

  Jules sits opposite me and asks, “Want another drink?”

  “Yes, I think I need it.”

  “Great, because I still have some time.”

  Jules hops up and orders at the counter.

  I’m handling one of my dresses (the teal one with hand-stitched Spanish embroidery on the collar and skirt), when a girl who’s about to leave the coffee shop comes over.

  “Hey, that’s pretty. Where did you get it?” she remarks.

  I’m about to say I can’t remember when Jules butts in and says, “She makes them. She’s opening a store here soon. They’ll be everywhere eventually.�
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  “Oh my god, amazing. Is this one for sale? Is it a size ten?”

  I’m trying to smile but I want to smack Jules in the jaw. “It’s a ten, but it’s a hundred quid.”

  “Oh…” Her face falls, and I see her mentally counting in her head. “Would you take eighty? I can go and get it for you now, if you can wait…”

  “She’ll wait,” Jules interjects, “see, we’re having another drink here.”

  “Oh my god, I’m so excited! This is an original design of yours, right?”

  I try to keep calm, but Jules is fucking me up with this. “I made it from scratch. Designed, sewed, the works.”

  “And she’s going out with Joe Jones.”

  “OH MY GOD!” The girl almost screams. “He is so fit, but so lucky. You’re really talented. Let me go and… I’ll be back.”

  She hurries out of the door in a whirl of excitement.

  When Jules sits herself back down, I mutter, “Bitch.”

  We stare one another out before we both crack up laughing, tears rolling down our cheeks.

  “Looks like I’m opening a fucking shop then, doesn’t it?”

  “Seems like fate’s telling you something for sure, my friend,” Jules agrees, “or at least, some force is at work here, demanding you do this. I don’t think you have any choice.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

  I take the chocolate flake off the top of my white mocha and swirl it around the cream floating on top.

  The girl does indeed return with the money and I part with another of the dresses I love, a baby I started from scratch as I sat with magazines spread around me in my front room, months and months ago now, taking bits and pieces of ideas from various places.

  “You can really sew, you know? I could tell from the way Amy studied it, she didn’t know half the stitches you use.”

  “Liza’s… I mean… my foster mum, she used to be sewing uniforms for the chip shop all the time. I asked her to show me. She got me hooked. I was secretly buying loads of magazines after that, testing out patterns. It’s a hobby.”

  “And that’s what most careers start out from… a hobby… a hobby someone got really good at. Like Joe and football.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “Henrietta, listen to me. This is why me and Warrick do what we do. We do it to make sure the new generations are in the best possible position to shine. Don’t you dare let me down now…”

  “I was going to say, if you’d let me…” I give her a look. “I am not done with the idea of making a difference in this world.”

  “Didn’t you see that girl’s face then, huh? You made her day. Hell, you made my day when I got my very own Hetty Bernard design.”

  “Ugh,” I cringe, “that cannot be my designer name. I’ll have to work on that shit.”

  She laughs in that snorting, haughty manner of hers.

  “I think this is your trajectory now, don’t you?” she asks, her top lip covered in cream which she’s yet to wipe off. I’m cruel and say nothing.

  “I guess life moves quick and we, with it. Since me and Joe got together, everything’s changed. I don’t think I’ve drawn breath you know, ever since he told me he loved me. I keep thinking he’ll turn round one day and say he’s found a better offer.”

  “Not to diss my stepson, Hetty… but he was kinda a slag before he fell for you.”

  I laugh. “That was a big diss and you know it, miss.”

  I think back to how much I secretly wanted a significant someone in my life, and for how long I’d secretly yearned for that too – how much pain I was in wanting it and not knowing or trusting that I could have everything I wanted, if I just leaned in. Somehow it all fell into my lap with a man I wouldn’t have gone after, nor imagined to be so mature for his age. It just happened, in the best possible way.

  Jules grabs my last dress, checking the size and holding it up to her. It’s a black thing, with ruffles and sequins, so I can see why she might like it.

  “Bit young for me, but maybe I’d wear it on holiday. How much?” she asks.

  “For you…?” I grin. “I want a double roast this weekend. Beef and turkey. Let’s just say, I wanna see Joe’s face when you serve it up.”

  She chuckles. “Done.”

  She stands up to leave, leaning down to kiss the side of my head. She drank her drink quickly, or maybe I’m being slow. I’m still in shock. My last dress just sold. How is this happening? I don’t get it! I have no fucking stock left.

  I guess now I’m fuelled by sugar, I better get back to my job.

  WHEN Joe arrives home from training it’s dinnertime but there’s nothing on the table and I don’t think I’ll even be eating tonight. He stomps up the stairs and finds me in the sewing room.

  “Best day ever,” he says.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  I’m pinning again. All I do is pin.

  Pin. Pin. Pin.

  “How was your day?”

  “Weird.”

  He takes the stool behind my sewing station. “Weird, how?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He leaves it there a moment, until pointing at my rail. “It’s empty.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  “You’re wearing the jeans I can’t take my eyes off.”

  “Well take your eyes off you must, or I’ll probably go out of business as quickly as I got into business.”

  “Someone’s got to eat.”

  “I ate at lunch. I met with Jules and a designer friend of hers.”

  “Oh… that explains it.”

  “Don’t be a silly tart, Joe.”

  He’s used to my comebacks now and he doesn’t pay them any heed anymore. Shame that.

  “Put it all down and come and give me a kiss,” he demands.

  I throw him a pouty look, then give up. He’s too cute not to give into.

  I sit across his thighs and kiss his mouth. He grasps my bum and hips in his hands and hugs his arms around me. He let me cut his hair before his first big match and now it’s all shaved, apart from a nice crop on top which is lovely and thick with curls, and glossy too, since he started thieving my shampoos.

  I suddenly experience an awful feeling that something isn’t right, even as he starts kissing me. Clearly his intent is to take me to bed, but I can’t shift this awful, awful feeling. It’s like I’ve forgotten something major… or something.

  “Stop, wait.”

  I try to remember what it is I’ve forgotten, or lost, but I can’t remember.

  When he lifts me into his arms and carries me next door to bed, I tell myself it’s nothing.

  Joe has my t-shirt and bra off in seconds, his lips everywhere. He flicks his tongue against my nipples and I nearly scream with pleasure. Maybe I’m pent-up and just need this. Maybe all my aggression is coming to the surface.

  “Love your body,” he murmurs as he’s kissing me, his mouth edging closer and closer to the waistband of my jeans.

  “I have so many dresses to pin and sew together.”

  “Fuck the dresses, I’m throbbing so hard for you.”

  He drags my jeans down and is licking between my legs before I’ve even realised what’s happening. Warm and surrounded by his arms, I lie back, resting my hands above my head as he makes love to me. Smoothing my feet down his back, I sigh and moan, juddering when he makes me come.

  He lifts his top over his head and shoves down his shorts. They’re still halfway down his legs and he’s still wearing tall socks when he slots between my legs and pushes inside me.

  I let myself go, my eyes closed as he moves slowly and kisses my mouth. He grabs my hands in his and squeezes his fingers around mine as he overtakes me.

  He gets the angle just right and I pant.

  “Right there, right there, Joe.”

  He keeps going, for as long as he can. I know he’s horny all the time because of all his exertions at work. Sometimes he’ll love me for longer than this, but r
ight now we need a quick release. When he knows I’m coming, his moves get a bit sloppier and more ragged because he can’t control himself. I pin him to me and milk around him until he comes.

  When he’s breathing hoarsely in my ear and slumped on top of me, it’s now I remember. I’m on my pill break but my period’s still not come. It should have come already. When he rolls off me I run straight to the toilet and look down. Normally sex makes my period come if it hasn’t already. I will something to happen. I’m supposed to start a new pack tomorrow but my period hasn’t come in the break and it always, always, comes!

  I close the bathroom door and try to calm myself down.

  Okay, if this is happening, he cannot know.

  If this is what I think it is… I know what I have to do.

  I know already.

  I sit on the toilet once more and try to bear down but there’s only the leftovers of Joe’s semen coming out of me.

  “You all right?” he asks.

  “Just a bit of bowel trouble.”

  “Oh… no.”

  “Sex can do that, you know?”

  “No I didn’t know. I’d rather not know actually!!” He laughs.

  “What do you want for tea? I’ll go out while you have a shower, if you want.”

  “I can’t eat crap, remember?”

  “Yeah I know. I didn’t mean a takeaway necessarily.” Well, I did. I mean I’m always up for a takeaway.

  I flush the loo and emerge from the bathroom. He grabs my wrist and tugs me into his arms, his body encasing mine.

  “I wouldn’t mind some chicken and salad,” he says.

  “What sort of chicken?”

  “Oooh, well if you get some wings we could marinate them, or we could grill some breasts.”

  “I’ll see what I can find, shall I?”

  I already know I’m driving the mile and a half to the big supermarket to get him a cooked chicken and a pregnancy test.

  IT’S late at night when he’s finally asleep. Over dinner he wanted me to open up about the sewing business and to talk about his training but I was too spaced out. Anyway now he’s asleep I can get on with the job at hand.