Saturdays at Noon

by Marks, Rachel

  ‘Where the hell were you? I’ve been calling you non-stop. I had to take the day off. Alfie’s freaking out.’

  Jake pushes past me into the lounge. I close the door and follow him, as yet unable to take in what he’s saying. Then it dawns on me. Alfie. School. Shit.

  ‘I’m sorry. I overslept. Is Alfie OK?’

  ‘I told him I’d forgotten you’d told me you were busy today. So I got a fist to the bollocks and a torrent of verbal abuse, but yeah, he’s at school and he’s OK.’ He lifts up the empty bottle of wine on the table. ‘No wonder you overslept.’

  ‘Fuck you, Jake. Take the Mr Perfect act elsewhere, I’m not in the mood for it today.’

  Jake drags both hands through his hair and starts pacing the room. ‘You’re not in the mood for it? I had to call the head at ten past eight and say I’d just been sick in the car on my way to work. I can’t do stuff like that. Some of us have responsibilities.’

  ‘Well done, you. You procreated and got yourself a mortgage. Big clap.’

  Jake looks like he’s about to blow, I fully expect him to, but then he stops and sits down on the sofa beside me.

  ‘What’s going on, Em?’

  I shrug. I can feel the tears rising in my throat.

  Jake places his hand on my leg. ‘Come on. There’s no way you’d let Alfie down unless it was something big.’

  I shake my head and move away. I don’t want to say the words because that’ll make it true. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘I know it’s not nothing, because if it’s nothing then you’re an idiot, and I know you’re not an idiot.’

  I bite my lip and run my hand over my head. At first, I’m shocked to feel the bare skin but then I have a vague recollection of taking a razor to it in the shower.

  ‘You don’t know anything about me.’

  Jake grabs my hand. ‘So tell me. Tell me a thing about you. Because I really want to know.’

  I pull my hand away. ‘My nan died. They called last night.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Jake shuffles along the sofa and pulls me into him.

  At first I resist, but then I bury my face in his chest, as the tears come fast and heavy. ‘She was the only family I had. I know everyone has to die some time, but I didn’t want her to. I wasn’t ready.’

  Jake doesn’t speak, just holds me tighter. His aftershave smells sweet and his arms feel comfortingly muscular through the wool of his jumper. Once my tears have run out, I sit up straight, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

  ‘You should go.’

  Jake starts to take off his shoes.

  ‘I said I think you should go.’

  He stands up and puts his shoes on the mat by the door.

  ‘Jake.’

  He sits down at the end of the sofa. ‘I’m not leaving, Em. So tell me what you need me to do and I’ll do it. You want me to get you some breakfast? A coffee? You want to talk about it? Or we can sit here and not talk at all. Whatever you need. But I’m not leaving.’

  There’s an annoying, niggling part of my brain telling me to physically drag him to the door and push him out, but I just manage to hold it at bay.

  ‘Will you just sit there, please?’

  ‘Of course. But is it OK if I give you a hug first?’

  I feel the tears blocking my throat again so I just nod and Jake puts his arm around me.

  ‘Come here.’ He lies back, moving me with him so that I am lying with my head on his chest. While we lie there in silence, he strokes my head and gradually I feel my eyes closing. For a little while, I fight it, but then I allow myself to fall asleep.

  When I wake up, Jake’s sitting at my feet, reading a book off my shelf. It’s called The Little Book of Hygge – ideas from Scandinavia to create a happier you, bought in desperation a few years ago after yet another failed relationship, as if lighting a few candles and creating a book nook was suddenly going to make me all zen.

  There are a few blissful moments before it hits me, when everything doesn’t hurt and I don’t feel sick. But then it comes at me like a train, the knowledge that my nan’s dead and I’m never going to see her again.

  Jake looks over. ‘Hey, I made you a sandwich. I know you probably don’t feel like it, but you should try and eat.’

  He goes into the kitchen and comes back with the plate of food. It’s just a cheese sandwich with a few crisps on the side, but it feels like the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. He hands it to me and I sit up and nibble on a crisp.

  ‘I’m not sure I can manage it.’

  ‘Just take it slowly. No rush. I remember when my mum died, the whole world suddenly felt the need to feed us. Every five minutes there’d be a knock at the door from a well-meaning neighbour or family friend with yet another casserole or shepherd’s pie. Why is it that when you least feel like eating everyone brings you hearty meals?’

  ‘I’m sorry you had to lose your mum so young.’

  Jake shrugs, but I can see in his face that he’s still angry about it. ‘I was lucky to have such an amazing mum in the first place, I guess.’

  ‘True, you could’ve been blessed with my joy of a mother.’

  ‘So you never really explained what happened when she came back for you? When she met that bloke, Shane, was it?’

  I lick my lips.

  ‘I’m sorry. You probably don’t feel like talking about it right now.’

  Except the strange thing is, I do.

  ‘He didn’t rape me or anything.’

  Jake nods slowly. ‘I didn’t say he did. But, you know, hypothetically, if he had, it wouldn’t make me think any less of you.’

  Despite myself, I feel my eyes filling with tears again but I blink them away.

  ‘He used to deliberately come into the bathroom when I was in the shower and just stand there looking at me with this gormless smile on his face.’ I can’t look at Jake. ‘I’d run into my room but he’d follow me and hold me down on the bed. He’d cover my mouth with one of his hands and use the other one to touch me. I’d hit him and kick him but he’d just use the weight of his body to keep me down.’

  The words feel weird in my mouth, like having a brace for the first time. I clamp my teeth together and swallow hard.

  ‘Oh, Em.’

  Jake turns his body towards me and puts his hands on my cheeks, rubbing my tears away with his thumbs. Then, very slowly, he leans forward and kisses me, just lightly at first, our lips barely touching, but then, when I kiss him back, it becomes more intense. It feels like putting my head under water, everything else around me blocked out.

  When we come up for air, he sits there looking at me, the weight of expectation hanging in the air between us. And I’m not sure what comes over me, but I suddenly want Jake as close to me as he can possibly be. I lift my T-shirt over my head and drop it on the floor. At first he looks startled, a little afraid even, but then he runs the tips of his fingers up and down my arms, making my hairs stand on end. I pull off his jumper, throw it on to the chair and copy his movement, stroking my hands over his arms and then down his chest.

  ‘Are you sure this is OK? We can stop if you don’t feel comfortable.’

  ‘It’s OK.’

  I remove my bra but, unlike all the other men I’ve ever known, Jake doesn’t grab my boobs. Instead, he runs his fingers along my shoulder blades, up my neck and then holds my face in his hands and kisses me again.

  ‘You’re so beautiful.’

  ‘Even with this?’ I point to my freshly shaved head.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  I shake my head but Jake holds my face still.

  ‘You are.’

  I slip off my joggers and knickers and then pull down his jeans and boxers. Lying naked opposite each other in the bright light of day, I’m surprised I’m not desperate to draw the curtains or go and grab the quilt from my bedroom. When he touches me, his fingers drawing lines all over my body, it’s like my nerve endings are exposed and I want to laugh and cry at the same time. Then,
suddenly, I grab his wrists.

  ‘Wait. I want to tell you something.’

  He looks concerned. ‘What is it? Have I done something wrong? Do you want me to stop?’

  ‘No, it’s not you. It’s just …’ I roll on to my back, pick my T-shirt up off the floor and lay it over me. ‘I want to tell you what I did. Why I’m in anger management.’

  Jake grabs a cushion and covers himself too, looking both anxious and intrigued about what I’m going to say. ‘OK.’

  ‘But do you promise if I tell you, you won’t think any less of me?’

  It’s a stupid thing to ask. How can he know what he’ll think of me when he has no idea what I’m going to tell him? But I’m suddenly terrified I’m about to lose him.

  ‘Of course. I promise. What is it?’ He looks confused, and I feel bad, like I’m pausing his favourite film at the best bit.

  ‘I glassed someone.’

  Jake is unable to hide the shock on his face but doesn’t say anything.

  ‘I used to work in a pub. One night, this guy wouldn’t stop sleazing over me. I went out the back for a smoke but then suddenly noticed someone walking down the alleyway. It was him. I told him to leave me alone but he wouldn’t. He kept trying to kiss me, to touch me. I did tell him to stop.’

  I suddenly feel the need to excuse what I did, to make it sound better. Was he going to rape me? I don’t know. But he shouldn’t have laid a hand on me without my permission, should he? Just because I’d let him buy me a few drinks? I didn’t ask for that.

  ‘So what did you do?’

  I feel the shame running through my veins so, as usual, I cover it with rage. ‘I smashed him round the head with a beer bottle and then cut his neck with it.’

  I can tell by the look in Jake’s eyes that he’s wondering who the hell he’s ended up in bed with, who the hell has been looking after his child. ‘Was he OK?’

  It hurts, like he’s more concerned about that arsehole than about me.

  ‘Luckily, I didn’t hit any veins. He was shaken up but no injuries a bandage couldn’t fix.’

  Jake reaches down for his boxers and I feel the disappointment deep in my stomach. ‘Why are you telling me this now?’

  Because I want you to want me despite all the shitty things I’ve done.

  ‘I don’t know. I just thought you might want to know before … well, before we, you know.’

  Jake looks at his watch and suddenly starts grabbing the rest of his clothes. ‘Shit. It’s three o’clock. I’ve got to get Alfie.’

  He dresses quickly and then puts on his shoes.

  ‘Shall I come and get him with you?’

  Jake looks me up and down. ‘No, don’t worry. It might confuse him after this morning. I’m really sorry but I’d better run or I’ll be late. I’ll see you in the morning though, yeah? If you’re feeling up to working tomorrow, that is?’

  Jake calling it ‘work’ hurts, like he still just sees me as Alfie’s nanny. ‘I’ll be fine. Sorry about today.’

  Jake gives me a brief smile, then heads for the door.

  ‘Jake, you don’t hate me, do you?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Of course not.’

  But his eyes say something very different. And I’m left feeling exposed and ashamed, and, as usual, rejected.

  * * *

  It’s 8 p.m. Jake hasn’t called. I was stupid to think he was going to be different. That revealing the real me wouldn’t scare him off like it has every other man in my life. Rapidly working my way through the third bottle of wine I bought last night, I feel sick. I know I should eat, but when I checked the fridge, all that was in there was a tub of Chinese chicken noodles – some twisted joke from the universe. I don’t want to eat Chinese without my nan. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to eat it again.

  I grab a packet of cheese-and-onion crisps and manage one or two before clipping the top and putting them back in the cupboard. I try to watch TV but my eyes just flick around the screen.

  Then the phone rings, Jakes name emblazoned on the screen. I’m not sure if I want to speak to him or not, but I can’t help wondering what he’s going to say. I take a deep breath and answer it.

  ‘Hey, it’s me. Jake.’

  ‘I know. Your name appears on the screen. It’s this newfangled contraption called a mobile phone.’

  ‘Just blame my advanced age. I’m not down with you kids.’

  I take another sip of my wine. ‘How was Alfie when you picked him up?’

  ‘He wanted you.’

  I picture Alfie’s little face and realize that I desperately want to see him too.

  ‘I’m sorry I said you shouldn’t come and pick him up,’ Jake continues.

  ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘It’s not fine. The truth is when you told me about what happened, I just felt really odd. I can’t explain it. I felt …’

  I know exactly how he felt. It’s what I feel every time I think about it.

  ‘Disgusted?’

  ‘No. No, not at all. I felt furious.’

  ‘Furious? Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. That there are men out there who think they can do exactly as they please. That I wasn’t there to protect you. That you were forced into anger management and made to feel like it was all your fault. I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through, Em.’

  A definite feeling of relief washes over me and yet it’s like a switch has been flipped inside of me, and I can’t bring myself to let him back in.

  ‘Well, thanks for calling.’

  ‘I’ve messed everything up again, haven’t I?’

  I shrug, even though he can’t see me.

  ‘I should never have left you on your own,’ he continues. ‘I should’ve taken you with me. You were so brave to tell me everything you did.’

  I feel like I’m going to start crying and I’m determined not to. ‘Honestly, Jake, it’s fine.’

  I hear him let out a long breath. ‘I really care about you. I think perhaps it shocked me to realize how much. Will you come and stay here tonight? No funny business. Just so you’ve got some company.’

  ‘It’s OK. I’ll probably just fall asleep in front of some trash TV.’

  ‘I thought you might say that. That you’re fine, even though you’re not.’

  There’s a knock on my door, at first a gentle tap, but then more insistent.

  ‘Look, there’s someone at the door. I’ll see you in the morning, OK?’

  ‘OK, see you soon.’

  I put the phone down. When I open the door, there’s an overweight man standing there, reading from a notepad.

  ‘Emily Davies?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There’s a taxi waiting downstairs for you.’

  ‘I didn’t book a taxi.’

  ‘Yeah, he said you’d say that. It’s from Jake, apparently, to take you to Leckhampton Road. You happy with that?’

  I picture Jake’s face, wondering how I’m going to take his surprise. He’s interfering, but oddly I find I don’t mind as much as I would have expected to. Perhaps it’s because the thought of spending the night by myself is too much to bear. Or maybe it’s just nice to have someone who cares enough to force the issue.

  ‘Give me two seconds.’

  As I throw some clothes and my washbag into a rucksack, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Jake.

  I hope you don’t think I’m being too pushy. I just really don’t want you to be alone tonight x

  I text back.

  This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven, you know? x

  * * *

  On the day of the funeral, I try on six outfits, rejecting each one and throwing them on to my bed one after the other. Nothing feels right. I wish I hadn’t shaved my head again. I imagine Nan looking down and tutting at me. Just that image is enough to push me over the edge and I sit on my bed in my underwear and sob. There’s a knock on my door and I quickly pull on a hoody, wipe my eyes and go to answer it.

  It’s Jake, wit
h a bunch of flowers in his hand. ‘As I was walking up to your door, I suddenly thought it might not be the done thing, bringing someone flowers on the day of their loved one’s funeral, but I hope you like them.’

  He holds them out and I take them from him. ‘They’re beautiful, thank you. But you didn’t have to drive them all the way here on your lunch break. Have you got time for a quick coffee?’

  Jake walks past me into the flat and starts taking off his shoes. ‘I took the afternoon off. What are they going to do, sack me? Good luck finding someone else willing to take on my classes.’

  ‘You took the afternoon off to come with me?’

  It still feels strange, having a man do something thoughtful for me. In the back of my mind, there’s a niggling voice that says: What’s the catch?

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Thank you. But you didn’t have to. I would’ve been OK going on my own.’

  ‘I know. But I didn’t want you to.’

  We stand there for a moment and I’m not sure if I should give him a hug, but instead I go through to the kitchen, Jake following behind, and I put the kettle on. Since the whole ‘nearly having sex’ thing, it’s been quite awkward between Jake and me. He’s been very sweet, checking that I’m OK about Nan, but he hasn’t mentioned what happened (although there’ve been a few times I thought he was about to) and there’s no way I’m going to be the one to bring it up. So I’ve just reverted to being Alfie’s nanny, except now when I’m near Jake, it’s like I can physically feel the tension, like our skin is coated with static electricity, and I have to force myself not to touch him.

  I rummage around on the top of the boiler unit for something to put the flowers in and manage to find my only vase. Well, it’s actually a giant beer mug I got from a charity shop, but it’ll do the job. I’ve never had much use for a vase. I fill it with water, tear the paper off the bouquet and begin arranging the flowers. When I glance up, Jake’s staring at me and I feel his eyes wander down to my bare legs, then back to my face.

  And I’m not sure whether it’s the look in his eyes, the murky shadow of our mortality or the fact he turned up on my doorstep when I most needed him without me having to ask, but something comes over me and I march towards him and kiss him. At first he stands there motionless, but then he kisses me back and starts running his hands under my hoody, first up to my shoulders and then down until he reaches the base of my back.