I Hold Your Heart

by Karen Gregory

  For one horrible moment my hand itches, like I want to punch her, but she’s already talking, saying in a rush, ‘I was so confused when you weren’t outside the room, then someone said they’d seen you in your car so I came down here and—’

  ‘Who said?’

  ‘What?’ Is that a guilty look on her face?

  ‘Who were you talking to? The mystery person who saw me in my car?’ I say.

  Her expression falters. ‘I don’t remember. I just … Are you OK? What did Bowyer want?’

  In reply, I turn on the engine. I can’t do this here. I need to think, need to plan what to say to her. But partway home I can’t help it. It bursts out. ‘Who were you with, Gemma? I can smell you,’ I shout.

  Out of the corner of my eye I see her jump, and it makes me angrier, like it’s a confirmation. I accelerate and change direction, head towards our beach. The flat’s too small for this conversation. I want her face to face, out in the light. I want to look into her eyes and get the truth.

  At the car park, I get out and stride down the cliff path, Gemma following behind, calling my name.

  The sea’s a frothing grey, wind pushing gulls about overhead, the scrubby weeds lining the cliff path bending one way, then another. I hit the sand and keep going, on up towards the cave. Gemma’s running behind, the wind taking her words. All I can hear is the echo of my name and the sea crashing. I was right; this place is a bitch now it’s winter.

  I stop in front of the cave. Turn to face her.

  She stumbles up, her hair plastered across one pasty cheek. Her make-up’s run into two lines tracking her cheeks. She looks like crap.

  ‘Aaron,’ she gasps out, and then doubles over, holding her side. I wait while she straightens. ‘Please, I don’t know what’s going on,’ she says.

  And at that my fury subsides into something cold, clinical, like all my feelings are frozen. ‘It’s very simple.’ I say it loudly, so she can hear over the sound of the sea. ‘Who were you talking to and who were you flirting with?’

  ‘What? No one. I wasn’t.’

  ‘Then where were you after your class?’

  ‘This is insane! I was looking for you,’ she’s shouting now, crying again.

  ‘Don’t get hysterical. I know, OK? I smelt it on you. Some man’s aftershave.’

  ‘What?’ She’s really sobbing now, looking completely confused. Is she lying or telling the truth? Then she says, ‘Oh my God, Aaron, I used your deodorant this morning, mine ran out. Is that what you mean?’

  I hold her eyes, searching.

  ‘I swear it’s the truth. Why don’t you trust me?’ she says.

  ‘Well, what about Higgins?’ I say.

  ‘What about him? You can’t be serious, he’s forty or something,’ she shouts.

  ‘What does that matter?’ I grab one of her wrists, and she flinches. ‘Tell me you don’t fancy him.’

  ‘Of course not, of course I don’t! Aaron, please look at me. I love you, no one else.’ She’s still yelling, tears pouring down her face.

  And suddenly the thing I thought I saw – that shadow of Cherine, her hand on that guy’s arm, her smiling into his face – lifts away and I see her again, my Gem, crying on a beach as I twist her wrist in my hand.

  I drop to the floor so fast it’s like my legs have been kicked out. And I’m crying and dry-heaving and telling her I’m sorry, and she’s got her arms around me and she’s telling me how she won’t go back to college, how we’ll be together all the time.

  How much she loves me.

  It takes a long while, but slowly the storm inside calms and I’m me again, on the beach, our beach, while the girl who holds my heart rocks me in her arms.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Gem

  ‘It’s Chrissssstmas!’ Slade blares out on Aaron’s laptop as we hang up all the paper chains I made. Everything’s all ready, except for one thing: Aaron’s present.

  The last two weeks have been weird without college. Aaron told me about how he decided to quit after that awful day on the beach, and it made sense for me to stop too. I mean, he’s been making more than enough money to support us, and like he said, it’ll give me more time to focus on my songs. I don’t really need A levels anyway to be a singer-songwriter. Besides, I’ve been so busy planning Christmas and getting the flat ready. We’re having Aaron’s dad and Jaquie round in the morning and it’s the first time they’ve come, so I’m super nervous. I was a bit surprised when Aaron said he’d invited them, but then he put his arm around my waist and pulled me in tight, saying, ‘I can’t wait to show you off.’ I like the idea of us hosting too, it’s the sort of thing serious couples do. Aaron wanted me to sort out the food so I’ve got what I hope are all the right things in. Even though I don’t really know what a ‘Christmas brunch’ is.

  This will also be the first Christmas Day I’ve been away from my parents and Michael, but there’s too much to do to spend much time thinking about it. Especially in this weather, Shiney gets muddy paw-prints everywhere; Aaron’s always forgetting to towel her off in the lobby, and I don’t want to be a nag about it, so I go over the floors of the flat with a cloth on my hands and knees most days. I sometimes take her out in the evening, or go with Aaron, it all depends.

  And now here we are, on Christmas Eve. I never brought up the job thing again and so I’ve had to get creative about Aaron’s main present. I’m feeling a bit nervous about it. I don’t know why I’ve found it so hard. I run through it all in my head one last time in bed, and I think about all the other Christmas Eves I couldn’t sleep, waiting for Santa to come.

  I’m up first on Christmas morning. I shower and do my hair and make-up. Then I get the gingerbread biscuits out. I bought them rather than made them, but I got some of those coloured-icing pen things to decorate them with, and if I shove the packets in the bin no one needs to know I didn’t actually bake the biscuits. I should’ve done it yesterday.

  I glance at the closed door. I want this all to be perfect. I’ve bought proper coffee, the same brand as the one we have in the cafe, some Pringles and a pack of dips, and a plate shaped like a Christmas tree for the biscuits. I tried to check with Aaron if it was the sort of thing he had in mind, but he’s been a bit distracted with this investment thing he’s doing. He keeps saying it’s all fine and that he trusts me.

  Trust. It seems that word comes up all the time with us. I wish that Cherine girl hadn’t been such a bitch to him. Then he wouldn’t get so upset about things. But I’m not going to think about that today. I squeeze a wobbly line of icing on to a gingerbread man, then hear Aaron call out from the bedroom.

  I speed up. The icing looks a bit rubbish, but I can’t leave half of them done and half not. Then Aaron calls out again. I put the icing down and go into the bedroom. Aaron’s sitting back in bed, arms behind his head, watching the TV.

  ‘Happy Christmas!’ he says.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ I kiss him and then snuggle up to his shoulder, one eye on the clock, which is already reading nine.

  After a moment, Aaron says, ‘Look under the bed.’

  I reach down and pull out a parcel wrapped in layers of tissue paper, tied with a bow. I sit on the bed to unwrap it. Inside is a set of underwear, beautifully delicate and lacy.

  ‘Oh, wow … it’s gorgeous,’ I say, but some doubt creeps into my voice.

  ‘Don’t you like it?’

  ‘Yes I do, it’s lovely, thank you,’ I say and kiss him.

  ‘Try it on.’

  ‘In a minute – I need to clear up before your dad gets here,’ I say.

  ‘Wow, you know how to turn a guy on,’ he jokes. Well, it’s more or less a joke, but there’s this thing I’ve noticed sometimes recently, where he’s joking, but not in the way he used to. I can’t put it into words and I know he’d be hurt if I say anything, so I gather up the flimsy lace and go into the bathroom.

  It’s too small. The bra cups barely cover anything and they bite uncomfortably into me. And the
knickers are worse … For a moment tears come into my eyes. I know I’ve been eating a bit more, but … I check the label. They’re a size eight. I’ve never been that size. It’s such a boy mistake to make that I nearly laugh.

  Aaron calls from the other room, ‘What are you doing in there?’

  ‘Umm … it doesn’t quite fit,’ I say.

  ‘Let me see, I bet it’s gorgeous,’ he says.

  ‘Not really …’

  Then the door rattles. ‘Come on, I’m sure it’s fine,’ he says.

  Reluctantly I open the door. Aaron stands there, looking me up and down. For a second I think I see disappointment, and I feel heat rushing up to my face. Then he says, ‘It fits fine. Very sexy,’ and moves towards me. I don’t feel sexy. I slip to one side.

  ‘I have to get the stuff ready for your dad and Jaquie,’ I say, by way of apology, and go back to the bedroom to get dressed.

  ‘You’re taking it off?’ This time he’s definitely disappointed.

  ‘Um, no … just …’ I grab my dress and put it on over the top. The effect is pretty, erm, busty, but I haven’t got time to worry because Aaron’s dad said he’d be here at ten and I have to finish the biscuits. While Aaron’s getting showered and dressed, I lob the rest of the icing on and put the crappier ones at the bottom of the Christmas tree plate, then set out the dips and Pringles in bowls, next to a couple of candles. It all looks pretty cool on the table.

  ‘What do you think?’ I say, as Aaron enters the living room.

  He looks at the table. ‘Is this everything?’

  ‘Yeah, why?’

  The buzzer goes. Shit. I’m a total mess from running about.

  ‘Oh my God, I look like a state,’ I say to Aaron as the buzzer rings again. He glances at me, and then says, ‘Well, no time now,’ which isn’t totally the reassurance I wanted. I run into the bathroom and put on some lipstick.

  Aaron’s dad and Jaquie are already in the living room when I come in.

  ‘Gemma.’ Aaron’s dad comes and gives me a kiss on the cheek, standing a bit too close for my liking and getting an eyeful of my boobs while he’s at it. I step to one side and smile. Jaquie gives me a broad smile back and a little wave.

  ‘The paper chains are very sweet,’ she says.

  I see Aaron clench his jaw. Then he says, ‘Drinks?’ and looks at me.

  ‘I’ve got some coffee? It’s the proper stuff,’ I say, a hint of pride in my voice.

  ‘Sounds lovely,’ Jaquie says. Maybe she’s not so bad. Then she laughs. ‘It’ll go with the little biscuits, I suppose.’ Aaron’s dad looks amused.

  I take it back, her being nice. I go into the kitchen and Aaron follows.

  ‘Aren’t you cooking anything?’ he says.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well that’s what Christmas brunch is, isn’t it? My mum used to do these eggs with a sauce, and salmon and stuff.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t know,’ I mutter, fiddling with the bag of coffee next to the brand-new pot. The next minute, it splits, and beans go flying out all over the floor. I try not to swear.

  ‘Gem, why have you bought beans?’ Aaron says as I push it all into a pile with one hand.

  ‘It’s what we used in the cafe – Dora always used to say it was the best …’ I trail off because I’ve suddenly remembered that you need to grind the beans first and of course we don’t have a grinder here. There was one built into the machine at the cafe … How could I have forgotten something that simple?

  ‘Can I help?’ Aaron’s dad and Jaquie are standing in the doorway.

  ‘She’s bought coffee beans for a cafetière,’ Aaron says, and all three of them laugh.

  I can feel my face flushing. I open my mouth to defend myself, to explain it’s not that I didn’t know, but Aaron’s dad is already saying, ‘We’ll just have instant.’

  I make the coffee and we go back into the living room. Aaron’s dad takes a Pringle and Jaquie nibbles on the edge of one of the biscuits before examining the icing and popping it back down.

  Aaron frowns.

  ‘Does anyone want some dip?’ I say, in slight desperation.

  ‘Oh, are the Pringles for the dips?’ Jaquie says, her eyebrows high in surprise. I swallow hard. I don’t think when Aaron said he wanted to ‘show me off’ this was exactly what he had in mind.

  Somehow we make it through an hour. Aaron’s dad spends most of the time on his phone, showing us pictures of a second-hand Audi TT. ‘It’s a twelve-reg,’ he says. ‘Pretty tidy for 10k.’

  ‘Well, I guess nothing says mid-life crisis better than a TT,’ Aaron says. I glance at his dad, but he just smiles. It’s like nothing Aaron does bothers him one bit. I make what I hope are the right admiring noises even though I know nothing about cars.

  Eventually Aaron’s Dad and Jaquie go. When the door closes, I stare at the dining-room table, the Christmas plate with its sad-looking gingerbread men and the half-drunk cups of coffee. The dips and Pringles almost untouched.

  Aaron comes to stand next to me.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. To my horror, tears are welling up. I wanted this all to be perfect. To show how I could do Christmas. To make Aaron proud. I thought I’d bought the right things. But now I feel small and the underwear is hurting me and I feel like …

  I want Mum.

  The realisation makes the first tears spill over.

  Aaron puts his hands around me. ‘You silly thing,’ he says. ‘Who gives one about my dad? This was all perfect because you tried your hardest.’

  But it doesn’t make me feel better because I know he’s disappointed in me.

  Slowly, I clear up. We watch a couple of films, eat our Christmas dinner – a Tesco Christmas ready meal for two, because neither of us have a clue how to cook a turkey from scratch – have sex. But the sense of failure is still there, like nothing I do is right. I mess it all up.

  Later, I remember Aaron’s Christmas present. The song I’ve been working on the last couple of weeks, the one about him completing me, about how beautiful our lives will be because we’re together.

  ‘Aaron?’ I say.

  He’s half asleep on the sofa. ‘Yeah?’ He mumbles.

  I stand up, ready to get out my guitar, but then I stop.

  It’s like the words are sealed up inside me and they don’t want to come out.

  ‘Never mind,’ I say. ‘It’s nothing important.’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Aaron

  Why is she so mopey? Ever since Christmas she’s got quieter and quieter. It’s like living with a mouse. Sometimes I don’t even want to have sex with her any more. She never wears the underwear I got her, all she does is clean, and try to cook and clean some more. And the place still looks like shit most of the time.

  One day, I’m out shopping, looking at a new smart TV. I’ve been getting a good upturn from the new app – BungeeMayhem – in the last couple of weeks, and they just upped my credit card limit, but I need to develop more apps, find out more about investing and shares. I go out to cafes some of the days, just so I can concentrate. Gem never wants to come anyway. If she’s not going to bother wearing the stuff I get her, then I’ll spend some of my hard-earned cash on myself. Maybe a new car …

  ‘Aaron!’ I turn, and there’s Selina from college. God, I forgot how fit she was. We end up going for a coffee, and she’s as smart and funny as I remember. She fills me in on all the gossip from college. Binners has a girlfriend, if you can believe it.

  When the coffee’s finished, she gives me a kiss on the cheek and a long hug. She smells amazing, and I can feel the lines of her body, she gets in so close. We swap numbers and I can’t help watching her legs as she walks off.

  At home, Gem’s standing over the sink, scrubbing some potatoes. Her hair’s pulled back into a greasy ponytail and she has a few spots. She never bothers putting make-up on for me any more. A flash of Selina’s lips go through my mind as Gem kisses me, especially when she pulls back with a frown.


  ‘What?’ I say, and it’s hardly my fault if it comes out a little harsh. She jumps, as if I’ve scared her, but it doesn’t make me worried, or sorry. I want to laugh. She looks like a flabby little rabbit.

  ‘Nothing,’ she says.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Gem

  January is cold, February worse. I know it because we only have the heating on in the mornings and evenings. Aaron’s reasoning is I can wear a jumper anyway if I’m lazing about the flat while he goes out to work. He works all the time now, in cafes. And the other day, I could have sworn he smelt like perfume. He keeps his phone on him all the time too and whoever’s texting him, he won’t say.

  Another day, when I’m putting some of his clothes in the washing machine, I find a hair on his jumper. It’s long and blonde and definitely not mine. I can’t find the words to ask him about it. Instead, I stand in front of the washing machine, holding the hair up to the light, trying to convince myself it’s brown. When Aaron comes in to grab a drink, I stuff it in my pocket. I don’t know why I can’t throw it away.

  I stop sleeping. I wasn’t really before, when Aaron used to call and text at all hours. But this is different. Now I’d give anything for him to wake me up in the middle of the night for sex, or to talk, or whatever.

  In my heart, I know there’s something wrong.

  I start to talk to Shiney, when Aaron’s out. Just for someone to chat to. She rests her soft nose up against my face and on the days I cry, she tries to lick my tears. ‘Where is he?’ I whisper. ‘Is he with someone else?’ The thought of Aaron with another girl fills my head. The same images run through my mind, like sea sucking at sand under my feet, until I don’t know anything any more.

  He comes in one evening, face flushed and eyes sparkling from the cold.