by Selena Kitt
Our eyes meet, and his widen.
To hide the awkwardness of the moment, I blurt out, ‘How about a cookie? Or a muffin?’ I can have a conversation about cakes, but I don’t know how to make normal small talk anymore.
He bends down to look in the counter at the food display and takes his time choosing something. ‘What would you recommend?’ He looks straight at me.
‘Everything’s good. Grace’s cakes are amazing,’ Lisa says.
‘I’ll take a cinnamon bun, then, please.’ He looks back at the sign Lisa put on the door. The one I’ve forgotten to remove. ‘I see you’re looking for some help. I can help you out, if you like. Just until I find something more permanent.’
‘Er…’ Again, I don’t know what to say, but a loud gushing noise coming from the kitchen saves me from answering. I know the bloody pipe’s gone and burst before I even look in there. ‘Oh, God! Lisa don’t go in the kitchen, you might slip.’ I run in.
The pipe under the sink has finally quit its hold on life. Water floods the floor, spraying out at all angles. It reminds me of a Laurel and Hardy movie, which for some bizarre reason makes me laugh. Maybe I’m hysterical. I’m finally losing it and cracking up.
I rush over to the sink and bend down, turning off the stopcock underneath as water drenches me. I sense Ben is close behind me, and I shoot up, banging into his hard chest with the back of my head. Panic instantly sets in, and in my haste to get away, I slip and fall onto the floor, landing on my back.
‘Christ, are you OK?’ He leans over me, holding out his hand to help me up.
I flinch, sliding on the floor as I scrabble to get out of his reach on my hands and heels. I scrunch up in the corner of the kitchen, knees bent, staring at him with wide eyes. My heart bangs, and my breath comes out in short pants. I’m shaking hard.
He’s too close.
Too big.
Too strong.
He takes a step back and holds his hands up in front of me, palms showing. ‘Hey, it’s all right.’ He gives me a guarded smile. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.’
I gulp for breath, struggling to inhale enough oxygen. My pulse hammers silently.
‘You’re OK.’ He takes another step back. ‘Just breathe slowly.’ His eyes are locked on mine, and he nods his head slightly. ‘Breathe with me. In, out. In, out. Can you do that for me?’ He takes a deep breath in. Then exhales. ‘Grace, breathe. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe.’
Somehow, his words register in my subconscious, reassuring me, and I copy him.
In. Out. Slowly. In. Out. In. Out.
Eventually, my breath evens out, and the panic subsides. My chest is lighter. The shaking stops. I’m soaking wet and embarrassed as hell that he’s witnessed that. Tears prick at my eyes, and I just want to die on the spot. I don’t want to be this girl.
His hands fall to his sides, and I drop my gaze to the floor.
‘Are you all right?’ he says.
Do I look all right? I want to scream, but it’s not his fault. It’s mine. It’s all my fucking fault.
‘Grace?’ He bends down so he’s resting on his haunches at my eye level. ‘Are you all right?’ He speaks slowly, purposefully.
I nod, but I can’t answer because there’s a sob lodged deep in my throat.
‘You’re soaked,’ he says softly. ‘Why don’t you go and get changed, and I can clean up here. Do you have any towels?’
I get to my feet, using the worktop to support myself so I don’t fall over again. I point to a cupboard in the corner.
He opens it, pulling out thick tea towels.
‘I…I’m sorry,’ I stammer, edging round the worktop.
He steps back to let me pass through the doorway and out into the shop.
‘What happened?’ Lisa’s jaw drops when she sees the state I’m in.
‘Pipe burst,’ is all I can manage. ‘Back soon.’ I flee through the front door, dripping water on the floor.
I rush around the back of the building and up the stairs to my flat. Locking the doors, I go through my routine, but my fingers are shaking so hard I mess it up and have to start again. From the top all the way to the bottom, I check fifteen times.
When I’m finally satisfied, I strip off my clothes and grab a towel from the bathroom to dry my hair. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Black eyeliner and mascara is streaked down my face. I look like a clown. A freakish clown.
And that’s exactly what I am.
A freak.
Chapter Eight
Ben
Whoever did that to her, I want to kill him. I want him to know the same kind of pain she’s going through. What Mia went through. He doesn’t deserve to walk the earth. He’s an animal.
I’m so angry I can’t think straight, but anger doesn’t solve anything. It only destroys you in the end. Anger’s what got me into this crap in the first place, so I do what I told Grace to do and take deep breaths, because if I don’t follow my own advice, then I’m a hypocrite.
I rub a hand over the back of my neck and let out a laugh, but there’s no humour in it.
A hypocrite.
Yeah, that’s exactly what I am.
Lisa appears in the doorway, her forehead crinkled with concern. ‘Is everything OK? Grace was pretty soaked.’
I drop my hand and turn around, reading her face for a second. It tells me she doesn’t know about the panic attacks. Maybe Grace has kept it well hidden from her.
‘Yeah. It’s just a bit of a mess.’ I bend down and examine the pipes underneath the sink. ‘Should be easy to fix, though.’
Lisa leans on the doorway. She’s studying me, too. ‘She was trying to get a plumber out with no luck. The thing is, we obviously need water for the coffee and stuff.’
‘I can clean up and then get some supplies and tools. I don’t think it will take long to get it sorted out.’
‘Wow, that’s great!’ She beams at me and glances back over her shoulder as the door opens. ‘Another customer.’ She walks off and leaves me to it.
I mop up the walls and the floor methodically, and when the kitchen is clean and dry, I make a note of the pipe work, washers, and connectors I need and go back to Lisa at the counter. ‘So, I’m going to get some supplies. I’ll be back in a bit.’
‘Brilliant. Thanks a lot.’ She wipes her hands on a tea towel and slings it over her shoulder.
I walk to the DIY centre and think about what I just witnessed. Grace doesn’t deserve this. No one does. Seeing her as a crumpled heap on the floor, broken, defeated, scared to death; I just have this urge to protect her. To help her get past this. And if I’ve learnt anything in the last five years, I know she can find a way to heal.
I want to be the one to help her do it.
Chapter Nine
Grace
I feel as if I’m about to collapse. As if my bones have turned to sand and I’m going to disintegrate from the inside out. I steady myself on the sink in front of the mirror as I finish reapplying my mask. I’m delaying going back to the shop in the hope he’s already left. I don’t want to see him again. Not after he witnessed me like that. He’ll think I’m absolutely mental.
My hand shakes as I apply my mascara, and I get a big blob of it on my eyelid.
‘Fuck!’ I scream at the mirror. ‘You useless bitch!’ My voice is raw and scratchy, and the tears come again.
Not again. Do not cry!
I dig my nails into my palms until they hurt. The pain distracts me long enough to stop the tears from falling, and I rub the makeup off my face roughly and start all over again.
It’s probably an hour later when I get out of the flat. What kind of a boss am I, leaving Lisa in the lurch for so long? But I can’t help it. I can’t fall apart at work. I’ve managed to avoid her seeing me in the full throes of a panic attack so far. She only knew me after it happened. I’ve never told her, and I don’t want her to ask questions. So I need to be calm and composed as I go back in.
; Walking round the side of the building to the shop, I clench and unclench my fists. As I push open the door, I conjure up my brightest smile.
‘Hi,’ I say to Lisa.
‘Well, you look better than you did when you left. You were a drowned rat.’ She laughs.
I laugh, too, because it’s probably what she expects. The fake laughter—yeah, I can do that, too. ‘I know. Can you believe it?’ I glance around, looking for Ben. ‘Er…has he gone?’
‘Yes.’
Thank God for that.
I walk to the kitchen to survey the damage and find it’s spotless.
Lisa follows close behind me. ‘He’s coming back, though.’
‘What?’ My voice screeches in my ears.
Her eyes widen a fraction at the noise. An elderly woman in the corner sipping hot chocolate and doing a crossword glances in our direction.
‘What’s up?’ Lisa frowns.
‘Oh, um, nothing. It’s just that I feel a bit embarrassed for leaving him to clear up.’ The lie rolls off my tongue easily. I’m getting used to lying. ‘Why’s he coming back?’
‘He’s gone to get some stuff to fix the pipe with. You have to get him to work here. I know you said he was hot, but he’s seriously hot.’
‘I didn’t say he was hot. You did,’ I point out, but it falls on deaf ears.
‘Did you check out those muscles? And the bed head? Nice eyes, too.’ Her eyebrows waggle suggestively.
I try to think of something to say, but I can’t because she’s right. He is gorgeous. But I’m not interested in that. I never will be interested in a man like that.
Not now.
She takes my silence for agreement and carries on. ‘He’s pretty handy, too, so he can fix things if stuff goes wrong. And you need the help.’ She elbows me with excitement then glances at her watch. ‘Sorry to gossip and run, but I need to leave now if I’m going to make my scan appointment. Is that OK?’
I slap a hand to my forehead. ‘Crap, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot.’ I make ushering movements to her. ‘Go. I’ll be fine.’
She takes off her apron and hands it to me. ‘OK, I’ll see you tomorrow, then. And give him the job.’ She pokes my arm.
I stick my tongue out and walk behind the counter to tidy up what’s left of the cake display, trying to get my mind off having to see him again. I think about his gaze on mine as he told me to breathe. I think about how soothing his voice was. And for some strange reason, it makes me feel calmer again.
I’m serving two young mums with coffee when he returns. I know it’s him before I even look over, because there seems to be a big presence filling the empty space. When I finish up, I look over at him, and his dark eyes are on me.
He looks thoughtful. Probably thinking what a weirdo I am.
‘Hi.’ He smiles. It’s warm and friendly. Not a trace of disgust, which puzzles me.
I fake a smile and nod to the supplies he’s holding. ‘You didn’t have to do that. You should probably be resting anyway, after your accident.’
‘It’s no problem.’ He shrugs. ‘It won’t take me long to fix.’
I don’t realize I haven’t spoken, and I’m still staring until he carries on talking.
‘Shall I go in and make a start, then?’
‘Huh? Oh…yes. Thanks.’
‘OK, then.’ And he heads into the kitchen.
After a few minutes, I pace up and down behind the counter, rubbing my sweaty palms down my apron. I need to apologize for what he saw, and I mentally rehearse what to say. I mean, what do you say to someone when they’ve seen you looking like a freak?
I head towards the kitchen. Stop. Go back to the counter and resume pacing. Luckily, the two mums are engrossed in a lively conversation about baby puke and nappies and don’t notice my strange behaviour, and no one else is in the shop.
Eventually, I muster up the courage to walk to the doorway. He’s bent under the sink. His T-shirt stretches taut over the muscles on his back, and I wonder why I’m even noticing that. It should make me scared to be in this confined space with him, as it did before, but I’m not. It should make me want to run out the door and never come back, but strangely, it doesn’t.
‘Look…’ I start, and bite my lip.
His head turns, but he doesn’t get up. ‘Oh, hey. I didn’t know you were there.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I blurt out before I can change my mind. ‘About what happened earlier, I’m sorry.’
He drops his spanner to the floor and sits on the tiles. He doesn’t say anything for a second. Just regards me with kindness in his eyes.
I bite my lip again.
‘You have nothing to be sorry about,’ he says. ‘You had a panic attack, that’s all.’ It’s as if his look lasts an eternity, but it’s probably only a few seconds before I tear my gaze away from his.
‘You know, deep breathing really helps when you have one. Just try to concentrate on slow, deep breaths, or maybe start counting slowly in time with the breath. I know it’s hard to do at first, but it works.’
I lean my head on the doorway. ‘Yeah. It’s not always easy to remember that when you’re in the middle of one.’
‘It also helps to focus on one particular thing to ground yourself.’
‘Ground myself?’
He stands up and leans against the worktop. ‘Yeah. Try and find an object or something to concentrate on while you’re having a panic attack that lets you know you’re safe.’
Like your eyes?
I blush as the thought pops into my brain. I haven’t been able to get those eyes out of my head. I want him to stop looking at me, but at the same time, I don’t want him to stop. ‘OK, I’ll try that.’
‘Have you tried meditating before?’
‘No.’ I look at him then, even though I’m trying so hard not to.
‘Well, that’s good for panic attacks, too.’
‘So what do I need to do exactly?’ I can’t believe I’m talking with him about this. I haven’t spoken to anyone before, but I want to know what he knows. I want to know how to get better.
‘I can show you if you like.’
‘No!’ It comes out louder than I intend. ‘No,’ I say again, softly this time. ‘Can you just explain it to me?’
He smiles. ‘Sure. Just find a comfortable position, either sitting or lying down. Then just breathe in and out deeply. Close your eyes and just focus on the breath. You can repeat a word or a mantra if you feel too fidgety, or do the counting like I said.’
‘What sort of a word?’
‘Anything that makes you feel calm.’ His gaze drifts up to the ceiling as he thinks. ‘Like, “breathe” or “relax” or “I am fine”.’
‘OK. How long should I do it for?’
His gaze is back on me now. ‘I’d start off with around three minutes a day if you can manage it, then try and increase it. People who meditate daily are a lot more relaxed and able to handle the stresses of life easier. And, of course, if you’re in the middle of an attack, try and ground yourself with something and do the same breathing.’
‘Thanks.’
‘No problem.’ He pulls a piece of paper out of his front pocket and reaches for a pen on the worktop. ‘If you have another attack and you want to talk, just phone me, OK?’ He scribbles down his number and hands over the piece of paper.
I look at the piece of paper, and before I know what I’m doing, I take it and stuff it in the pocket of my trousers. ‘Thanks.’
‘Honestly, please call if I can help. Maybe I can talk you through it. Any time, it doesn’t matter.’
As he smiles and his eyes light up, crinkling around the edges, my whole body floods with warmth, and the tension in my shoulders releases its grip. Some kind of strange connection that I can’t explain is passing between us, and I find myself smiling back.
This time it’s definitely not fake.
Chapter Ten
Ben
It’s a start. I can see her relaxing slightly as I talk
. If only I’d known all this before. In time to save Mia. But if everything that’s happened can help Grace, then maybe it won’t have all been for nothing.
She slips out to serve another customer, and I finish the pipe work. I turn the stopcock back on and methodically check for leaks. It’s all good.
As I walk into the shop, she’s turning the open sign on the door to closed, but she doesn’t lock the door to stop more customers coming in. There’s just us here, and I don’t want to crowd her or make her nervous, so I stay where I am as she hovers by the door.
‘The leak’s cured,’ I say.
‘Thanks so much. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.’
The way she says it makes me realize she’s not just talking about the plumbing emergency, and I want to go to her, slip my arms around her and just hold her tight. Smooth out the creases on her forehead and ease away the pain. I shuffle on my feet to stop myself moving.
‘So, what do I owe you?’ she says.
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing? I have to pay you for your time and the materials.’
I shrug. ‘You could give me the job instead.’
She bites her lip again, and a torrent of emotions plays out across her face.
‘Do you have any experience in a coffee shop?’ she asks.
I’ve got tons of experience serving tea, coffee, and food, but not in a trendy coffee shop in a nice town. A prison kitchen’s a million miles away from that.
She takes a seat at a table next to the door, and I look for a chair I can use that’s not too close to her. I settle for one a little way in front of the counter, put my tools and stuff on the floor, and lean back.
‘I served coffee when I was studying for my counselling and psychology degrees.’ It’s not a total lie. ‘The place wasn’t as nice as this, but it won’t take me long to pick it up.’ I glance at the coffee machines. ‘I’m a quick learner.’
‘Where did you study?’
‘Overseas. Australia.’ Now that is a big, fucking whopper, but if she knew I’d got Open University distance learning degrees when I was inside, she’d never see me again. I feel guilty as hell about the crap spewing from my mouth.