Fix You

by Carrie Elks

  And yet, it was tinged with sadness as soon as we heard that your stepfather had died in the tragedy. I am sorrier than you can ever know. If you need a friend to talk to, or a shoulder to cry on, I am here, day or night, just call.

  You know that, right?

  I love you, my friend. I wish I could be there to hug you right now, and as soon as I meet you next, please expect for the breath to be squeezed out of you by my puny arms. I’ll be that happy to see your ugly face.

  Don’t worry about replying. I’m sure you have hundreds of emails like this from your female admirers.

  Hanna x

  From: RSLarsen@aol.com

  To: HMVincent@yahoo.co.uk

  Subject: You

  Hanna,

  Thank you for your words. At a time like this, what I crave is levity. There is so much going on here right now, not just in New York, but also in my own life, and knowing that normality still exists in the rest of the world, is somehow reassuring.

  My father told me how much you did on that day, the way you looked after Ruby, and supported Nathan, despite your own fears. So I can categorically say that when you squeeze me, I shall be clasping you back much harder. May I suggest you practice your breathing techniques in the meantime?

  I have to leave for a meeting now, but I’ll try to write again soon.

  Love,

  Richard

  An hour later, Richard made it to the makeshift conference room at the top of Maxwell Industry’s newly rented office building. The remaining members of the advisory board were standing around in clusters, talking rapidly, their eyes wide as they exchanged stories of the day their lives changed irrevocably. The majority of them hadn’t been in the office on the morning of the crash, but the shock of their near miss remained etched on their faces as they chattered, their eyes sliding over to Richard as he entered the room. They were sizing him up as a potential replacement for Leon Maxwell.

  Taking a deep breath, Richard squared his shoulders and walked to the head of the conference table, keeping his pace even and measured. He pulled the chair out, deliberately scraping it loudly across the floor, making all eyes turn his way.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, I suggest we start. We have a business to run.” As they all sat down, Richard remained standing, moving his eyes around the room. He looked at each board member in turn. Some of them appeared skeptical, others hopeful. The cannier amongst them kept their expressions blank as they glanced back at him, making it hard for him to read their features.

  “As you all know, Leon Maxwell, the owner of this company, is missing, presumed dead. In his absence, I am here representing the new owners: my stepbrother, my mother, and myself.

  “I can see there are some among you who remain unconvinced that I can step into his shoes and turn the fortunes of this company around. To those people, I say; either you are with me, or you are against me. If you don’t want to work here, I’m very happy to accept your resignation right now.”

  Richard paused, his eyes scanning the room again to see if any of them would take him up on his offer.

  They all remained silent.

  “I’m glad we’ve got that settled. Just like my stepfather, I expect you to work hard, and I demand your loyalty. Our business has suffered a huge body-blow in the past week, as has America. But the camaraderie and the determination I have seen out there on the streets has been absolutely amazing. If we can channel that same grit right here into this company, then I truly believe that we can rebuild this company brick by brick, and make it an enterprise that Leon Maxwell would justifiably be proud of.”

  Richard noticed a few heads nodding at his words. He remained stoic, not allowing himself to sigh or even show a flicker of emotion as he spoke to them. He didn’t dare demonstrate any weakness.

  “Now, I’d like you all to go out there and motivate your people. I’ll be meeting with you individually, and we’ll be making plans for the future. In the meantime, I look forward to working with each and every one of you.”

  Thanking them for their time, Richard finally allowed himself to sit down, trying to hide the trembling in his legs. They all started to clap, standing up to give him a heartfelt ovation.

  The first person to actually approach him was Joe Garfield, the chief financial officer. A close confidante of Leon’s, Joe’s face was drawn down in grief as he shook Richard’s hand, muttering the usual trite condolences as he looked him straight in the eye.

  “Thank you, sir.” Richard replied, wondering how, in the space of a few days, he had turned into a man that everybody was looking to, someone who was supposed to know how to run a multi-billion dollar business.

  Joe must have clocked the nervousness in Richard’s face, or perhaps it was the shaking of his hand as they clasped his own. Either way, the older man took pity on him.

  “If any of these fuck-ups give you trouble, come and see me. I’ll give you every bit of support I can.”

  “I’m grateful for your backing. Thank you.”

  Glancing down at the sheet of paper in front of him, Richard could see his temporary assistant had already set up individual meetings with board members. His entire day was filled, right up until 8:00 p.m. that evening. It was clear his life was no longer his own.

  To fail at this, would be to let down thousands of people, employees and customers and shareholders that were relying on him to make this company a success.

  That was not an option.

  Eight

  June 29th 2002

  “What’s this?” Josh picked up the package from her bed as Hanna continued to pack her backpack, stuffing things in as tightly as possible.

  Hanna glanced over as she watched him pull the t-shirt out of the packaging. It fell open in front of him revealing the vintage 1973 New York Dolls band tee Richard had sent her.

  “It’s a present from Richard.”

  “I don’t like the way he keeps sending you things.” Josh let it fall back onto her bed, flicking his fingers as if he was trying to remove any traces of the gift from them. “It’s weird.”

  Hanna stopped packing, leaning over to brush his cheek with her hand. “He’s just a friend, Josh.”

  “Friends don’t send friends gifts worth hundreds of pounds, Hanna. He clearly fancies you. Christ, the guy can hardly take his eyes off you.”

  Hanna choked back a laugh. “Josh, you know there’s nothing going on there. He lives thousands of miles away, and I’m with you. Have a little faith, okay?” Leaning forward, she touched her lips against his. “I’m going to be away until Sunday, let’s not leave things like this.”

  “I still don’t like it.”

  Despite her entreaties, his bad mood continued all the way to Paddington Station where he dropped her off. She gave him a quick kiss before exiting the car, feeling his irritation as he responded with a quick peck. She had barely pushed the door closed before he sped off, and she watched the car as it disappeared into the London traffic, her worry for her relationship with Josh reflected in the anxious nausea gripping her stomach.

  As soon as she was on the train, Hanna breathed a sigh of relief, deciding she would worry about their argument when she was back in London. She touched her pocket to check that Richard’s letter was still there, and pulled it out to read one more time.

  June 20th 2002

  Dear Hanna,

  Thank you for the present. After all these years, to finally receive the promised mix tape made me grin madly. When I read the track listing I laughed out loud. Starting with Wall Street Shuffle may have seemed rather obvious, but to follow it with Money for Nothing by Dire Straits was an inspired touch. Your final song, Puff Daddy’s All About the Benjamin’s is actually one of my favorites.

  Anyway, to thank you for your gift, you’ll be pleased to see that I spent a few Benjamins on a t-shirt for you. I’m not sure if you are a New York Dolls fan or not, but just seeing it made me think of you, and the night we saw The Strokes.

  Let’s do it again soon, okay?
/>   Richard

  Sitting in the backstage bar of the Glastonbury Music Festival, Hanna watched as Tom McLean crossed the room and placed five ice-cold bottles of Stella Artois on the sticky plastic table in front of them. She picked one up and leaned back on the flimsy folding chair, necking a huge gulp of beer, much to the amusement of the rest of the band.

  “So, what did you think?” Tom asked, trying to appear nonchalant as he pulled up another chair, placing it right alongside Hanna so their thighs were almost touching.

  “On the record or off?” Hanna teased. She fingered the backstage journalist pass that hung around her neck.

  Tom stared at her for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he considered her words. “Whichever I’m going to like the best.”

  “I’m kidding, you goof.” She was smiling broadly. “You were absolutely fantastic. I loved the new set. It was brilliant. You had the crowd hanging on every note.”

  “Were we better than Coldplay?” Robert, the bass guitarist, leaned forward, his chin placed on top of his palms. He looked at Hanna with clear, wide eyes.

  She couldn’t believe how interested they were in her opinion, although the little ego-boost their anticipation gave her was quite welcome. It wasn’t the first time since she’d been at the festival that a band had genuinely seemed engrossed in what she thought about them. Somehow her judgment had become sought after. She assumed it had something to do with the fact that she was interning for Music Train, and had their logo hanging from her neck everywhere she went. All the bands wanted a good write-up from the nation’s most popular music magazine.

  “Coldplay was excellent, everybody was singing along to them.” Tom physically blanched at her words, and she hurried to continue, “But you guys were something else. People weren’t just singing, they were worshipping. They were throwing themselves down as sacrifices to the gods of rock.”

  A broad grin spread across Tom’s face. He stood up, walked over to her, and pulled her into a tight embrace, his lips swooping down on hers with a loud smack. “Hanna Vincent, I fucking love you. Now make sure you call me a rock god in your review.”

  “You know that Music Train has proper writers here, right? I’m going to be lucky if they even print an indefinite article without sending it through five editors.” She wriggled in a feigned attempt to escape his grasp. Not that she minded him being overly demonstrative—she was used to it by now. He was like an overenthusiastic five-year-old, throwing himself at everybody, not just her

  “I spoke with your boss earlier and I promised them an exclusive interview, but only if you wrote it.” He winked as he pulled away from her, moving to sit back down.

  “Oh my God!” she squealed at him, trying to restrain herself from starting the whole hugging fest again. People were starting to look.

  “Oh my Rock God, if you please.”

  They stared at each other, matching smiles on their faces. It was hard to believe that only two years previously she’d been watching him play in a small pub and had no inkling he was going to become internationally famous. How things had changed.

  “Tom, sweetie!” A thin, highly-pitched voice came from across the room. Hanna watched in amusement as a tiny blonde ran over, throwing herself into Tom’s arms, wrapping her legs around his waist as she placed her lips firmly on his.

  “Is that Pinkie Jones?” Hanna asked Robert in a whispered aside.

  “Oh yeah, she’s been the bane of our existence all summer. Whenever you turn around, she’s there. She’s been hovering around us like a fly over a pile of shit.”

  “Nice simile. Especially when you compare yourselves to manure,” she replied dryly, watching as Tom sat back down on his chair, pulling Pinkie onto his lap. Hanna bit her bottom lip in an attempt to stop from giggling, causing Tom to raise his eyebrows in response.

  “Are you not singing today?” Robert drawled over at the blonde. Pinkie giggled and shook her head before burying it in the side of Tom’s head, nuzzling at his throat. Hanna noticed a flash of something just underneath the surface of his eyes. And all of a sudden she realized that Tom McLean was smitten with a Z list celebrity and runner-up in that year’s Rock Star reality show.

  Hanna tried to restrain the wide smirk that was trying to unzip its way across her lips because she knew that Tom would think she was mocking him, even though she wasn’t. In fact, a little corner of her heart was heating up fast at the sight of her friend being bowled over by a woman.

  “Pinkie, this is Hanna Vincent, one of my oldest friends.” Tom looked up and winked at Hanna.

  “You don’t look that old.” Pinkie replied, her face frowning in confusion. Hanna heard Robert start to guffaw next to her.

  “No, sweetie, she’s not an old friend, as in years, she’s old as in I’ve known her for years.”

  “I’m twenty.” Hanna decided this would be easier if she just came out with it.

  Pinkie repaid Hanna’s frank reply with a dazzling smile, and Hanna could see exactly what Tom saw in her. Her face was open and guileless, and even if she didn’t appear to have too much going on between her ears, whatever was there seemed kind and friendly.

  “Have you two known each other long?” Hanna asked, very interested in the reply. She had a feeling she was going to be able to live off this story for the next few months.

  “We met at the Rock Star wrap party. Tommy came up and told me that he’d voted for me a hundred times every week.

  The need to laugh washed over Hanna again. With his street cred and her tabloid appeal, Tom and Pinkie were going to be paparazzi fodder of the highest order.

  HANNA ARRIVED BACK at Josh’s flat earlier than planned that Sunday. Rifling through her handbag, she found the front door key and let herself in, trying not to breathe in the rancid, damp air that lingered in the hallway. She swung her backpack onto her shoulder, her sandaled feet stepping onto the threadbare carpet of the stairs. She slowly walked up to the second floor, her muscles feeling leaden in reaction to the sudden exertion. Her body ached. She wanted nothing more than to jump in Josh’s admittedly tiny shower, then crawl under the covers with him for a couple of hours.

  The apartment was silent as she let herself in, and she realized that her first supposition—that he hadn’t even bothered getting up—was the correct one. His wallet and keys were still on the counter of his tiny kitchen. Pushing his bedroom door open, her eyes adjusted slowly to the gloom of the curtained room. She placed her rucksack down beside the door and walked over to his bed.

  Her legs reacted before her mind did, as if they sensed the wrongness of the moment. Hanna stopped suddenly, seeing the two of them sleeping, their naked bodies entwined beneath the draping covers of the thin white sheet. Josh’s arm was flung across the woman’s waist, his head buried in her neck as he gently breathed; his slumbering face a picture of innocence.

  Numbness enveloped her body. She recognized the woman. They’d met a few times when Hanna joined Josh and his workmates in the pub on a Friday night. He had introduced her as his boss, and the two of them had barely interacted during all the times she had seen them together. Now the connection was way too close for comfort, and Hanna closed her mouth in an attempt to quiet the cry that was trying to escape her throat.

  Fight or flight? She bit her thumbnail, her face screwed up with misery, as she tried to decide the best thing to do. Should she confront them before they had time to make up a story to cover up their indiscretions? Or should she run and leave the room with a small modicum of her dignity intact?

  Her mind was made up for her, when Josh moved languorously, lifting his arm from the woman’s waist and stretching it over his head, his eyes opening slowly and blinkingly, as they reacted to the dim light. Raising his head from the pillow, he looked over at Hanna and smiled, opening his mouth to say something before he looked down and saw the naked woman lying beside him.

  The look of horror that crossed his face was almost comical.

  “What the fuck?”

  “I
think that’s supposed to be my line.” Hanna’s voice sounded surprisingly controlled to her as she surveyed the mess that was her relationship.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Glastonbury.” He pulled the sheet up to cover their naked bodies. A bark of laughter wound its way up her larynx as she realized that he was trying to put the fault straight back onto her. And then the laughter was replaced by a sob, and she knew she had to get out of there right now.

  Reason had kicked into her brain, punching its way through the numbness, and she turned around to pick up her backpack before walking out through his bedroom door. She could hear him shouting at her, but didn’t reply, increasing her pace until she crossed the few feet to his front door.

  It was like her whole body had been hit hard. Her muscles felt tight and edgy as she ran down the stairs, barely noticing the weight of her backpack as she moved. Her heartbeat sped in response to the shock of seeing them there. She had no idea how she made it outside without falling over.

  Hanna wanted to slap the palm of her hand right across Josh Chambers’ face until she heard the satisfying thwack of his teeth hitting his inner cheek. She wanted to climb up into her mum’s lap like she was five years old again, and a simple cuddle would erase all of the hurt.

  Most of all, she needed to go home and crawl into her little single bed, pull the duvet over her head and bawl her eyes out.

  Nine

  January 9th 2003

  Richard walked over to the wall of glass that stretched across the entire south side of his office. Being on the fifteenth floor, it afforded him an impressive outlook of Lower Manhattan, and he could see all the way out to the port. The view of the office buildings, contrasting with the natural beauty of the waterway, was breath taking. It was the vista that sold the office space to him in the first place.