Then and Always

by Dani Atkins

  His grip felt oddly different; not the familiar clasp I had known since nursery school. Perhaps it was just the rough texture of the skin from his summer gardening, or was it more in the way my hand felt so small, so tightly encompassed in his own?

  I felt, rather than saw, Matt’s slow awareness of Jimmy’s gesture, but rather than a hurried retreat, Jimmy gave my hand one last squeeze and took his time before withdrawing his own. In an instinctive response, Matt drew his body closer toward mine, reclaiming both my attention and his territory, and it was only after a moment or two that I became aware that when taking back his hand, Jimmy had managed to transfer the lucky penny he had picked up outside the restaurant from his hand to mine.

  I held the coin tightly in my palm, imbuing the small copper disc with more significance than it deserved. It was typical of Jimmy to offer to share even the possibility of good fortune with me. We had, after all, shared so much for so many years. He was more like my brother than my friend: in fact, when I thought about it, his whole family were closer to me than many of my own relatives.

  Jimmy’s mother and mine had been very good friends long before Jimmy and I were even born, and when my mum had died suddenly when I was just a toddler, Jimmy’s family had reached out and drawn both Dad and me into their lives and their hearts. I realized with a shock that my dad wasn’t the only family I’d be leaving behind when I went away; it was going to be almost as tough saying goodbye to Jimmy’s parents and his younger brother.

  When the two bottles of wine Matt had ordered were delivered to the table, everyone took a glass to raise a toast.

  “To going away …”

  “To not dropping out …!”

  “To our new lives …”

  “… and old friends …”

  The last was echoed by each person around the table as glasses clinked together, catching a brilliant prism of evening sunlight.

  As the others sat joking and bantering lightheartedly, I took a second to look around the table, trying to take a mental snapshot of the moment. I knew we were all destined to make new friends at our various colleges and universities, but just now it was hard to believe that the new bonds we would forge could ever be as strong as those that threaded between the seven of us around the table.

  As my eye fell on each friend, a memory or emotion erupted in response. So many, it was almost impossible to separate them, but each recollection was another brick in the wall of our friendship, which I had to believe would remain solid no matter where we would all end up.

  When I looked at Sarah, I couldn’t help but repress a smile. In a strange way I already felt jealous of the new friends she would be making on her art course. Sarah was crazy, loyal, funny, and incredibly caring, and her friendship was one of my most treasured possessions. Whoever they were, these new friends didn’t know how lucky they were.

  And then there was Jimmy. I’d spent so much of the summer stressing over how it would feel to be apart from Matt that whenever the thought of also saying goodbye to Jimmy had intruded, I’d hastily stuffed it away to the back of my mind. I knew it was strange, but the thought of not seeing my old friend on a regular basis was just so momentous, so hard to absorb, that I couldn’t even allow myself the time to contemplate it.

  I realized with some disappointment that I wasn’t nearly as ready as I should be to let go of any of them.

  As we waited for our meals to arrive, I glanced occasionally through the window beside me and up the road to the church. The sun was just beginning its leisurely descent and the sky was bathed in diluted shades of red and gold, turning the usually drab high street into a magical abstract of colors. There were few pedestrians, but the lines of parked cars flanking both sides of the road meant that the pubs and restaurants were all doing good business that evening. From somewhere in the distance the distinctive wail of a siren could be heard.

  “Rachel, are you listening?”

  I drew my attention away from the scene outside and realized that Jimmy had been speaking.

  “Sorry, I was miles away … what were you saying?”

  His eyes flickered for a second toward Matt, who was chatting to Cathy at that moment on his other side. Jimmy didn’t look comfortable having to repeat whatever it was I had just missed.

  “I was asking if you weren’t too busy tomorrow afternoon, if you’d be able to come round to my house.”

  The oddly hesitant request wasn’t like him at all, and I found myself confused, both by his tone and by the formality of the invitation. Jimmy and I usually just pitched up at each other’s front doors without asking, no invites necessary.

  “Sure, I can do that. I was intending to come round to see your mum and dad again before I left, anyway.”

  “Actually, they won’t be home tomorrow.” Again, that odd, uncertain tone. “No one will, just me. I … er … I just wanted to have a quiet word with you. Is that okay?”

  Was it the red glow from the sun, or was he actually blushing?

  He seemed anxious for an answer, so I quickly reassured him. “Yes, that’s fine. I’ll see you around two o’clock?”

  He nodded then and sighed, as though some dreaded task had been accomplished, which only served to heighten my curiosity. I guessed I would have to wait until the next day to find out what was on his mind.

  The waiters arrived with the laden plates and began to set them in front of us. Straightening up in his seat, Matt removed his right arm from where it had been resting around my waist, pausing to plant a firm kiss unexpectedly on my lips.

  “Pleeeease … people are trying to eat round here!” groaned Sarah.

  I grinned back at Matt and held my face very still while he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. It was an insignificant gesture, but later I would wonder what might have happened to us all if he hadn’t been leaning so close and seen the car.

  “What the hell …!” he cried.

  I spun around to follow his gaze, my mouth dropping in amazement, as I saw a small red car, with all four wheels off the tarmac, catapult into view over the crest of the hill. Moments later a second car appeared, driving almost as fast and only slightly less recklessly, its flashing blue lights and discordant siren shattering the peace of the summer evening. In horror I saw a small van emerge from a side street, its driver having to stand on his brakes to avoid losing the best part of its front end as the red car hurtled past. The red car grazed the sides of several parked vehicles, showering the pursuing police car in a cloud of red-hot sparks.

  The shrieking scream of rubber from the braking van alerted the rest of the group to the oncoming danger, but Matt was way ahead of us and shot to his feet.

  “He’s lost it! He’s out of control. That car’s going to crash! Get away from the window! NOW!”

  I felt Matt’s tight grip on my shoulder as he got to his feet, screaming out his warning. The panic became infectious as people around us also began to shout. Distractedly I noticed the waiter dropping two of our plates of food on the floor before retreating hastily away from our table.

  Well, that’s made a horrible mess, I found myself thinking stupidly.

  It wasn’t as though I couldn’t see what was happening, or that I hadn’t fully understood my boyfriend’s cry of warning. It was just that everything had suddenly and strangely slipped into slow motion. There seemed to be no immediate rush; there was plenty of time to get away from the table. No need to have dropped two perfectly good dinners in the process.

  Around me was a blur of movement. I saw Jimmy and Sarah get out of their seats and run over to where Phil was standing, screaming for the rest of us to move. Matt’s hand remained pressed in the hollow of my shoulder as I felt him half drag me from my chair. With his other hand he propelled Cathy, who was standing beside him, away from the table.

  The chaotic scramble of flung-back chairs and knocked-over wineglasses could only have taken a second or two, but in that time I did something really dumb: I turned to look back through the window at the ap
proaching car. It straddled the center line of the road, heading straight toward the bend—and the front of the restaurant—with no sign of slowing down.

  That was the moment that Matt lost his grip on my shoulder. Horrified, I turned back from the window, and saw that he and Cathy were already some distance away. I stumbled forward to follow them, but Matt’s chair had been knocked over and was now wedged firmly against the pillar beside me. My exit was blocked.

  I pushed at the fallen chair frantically, succeeding only in wedging it further between the edge of the table and the pillar.

  “Rachel!” screamed Sarah at the top of her lungs. “Get out of the way!”

  I pushed and kicked at the chair with every ounce of strength I had, fear and adrenaline coursing through me, until the sounds of the restaurant diminished and all I could hear was the roar of the blood in my ears.

  In desperation I looked up to Matt, who began to move toward me until, unbelievably, Cathy grabbed his arm and held him back.

  “No, Matt, no! There’s no time! You’ll be killed.”

  I heard that all right, and part of my brain, the part that wasn’t focused on trying to not let the rest of me get killed, absorbed what Cathy had just done. If she thought I was going to let that pass, she was very much mistaken.

  But then another noise rose from the street behind me: the screech of brakes. I glanced behind me one last time and saw the car was braking, but much too late. The speeding vehicle grew increasingly larger in the window, so close now that I could make out the terrified face of its young driver, his eyes wide in terror as the inevitable approached.

  I never saw him coming. He must have moved at incredible speed to get to me. One moment I was trapped in the tiny space between the fallen chair and the window, and the next two strong arms appeared from across the table and fastened onto my own like a vise.

  How he found the strength I never knew, but Jimmy literally hauled me from my trapped position, over the top of the table. I caught the look on his face as he dragged me across the surface, mindless of the scattering bottles and glasses as I plowed through them. His eyes were filled with indescribable fear and the tendons of his neck stood out like cables with the effort he was using to pull me toward him.

  I grabbed on to him, trying to help, my feet scrabbling frantically over the cloth to propel me forward. From behind us I heard a loud thump as the car left the road and mounted the pavement.

  Jimmy threw me. That’s the only way to describe what he did. One minute I was half across the table and the next I was lifted up and thrown like a rag doll, slithering down to the floor some feet away. But that act of impossible strength and bravery had taken up the last precious milliseconds between the car leaving the road and crashing into the restaurant.

  Jimmy was still standing directly in the path of danger when the window exploded behind him.

  THE FIRST THING I felt was the heat. Something heavy pinned my legs, trapping them under a weight of pain that burned like fire. And there seemed to be water everywhere, thick, salty water running freely down from my forehead, over my cheeks, into my eyes and mouth. I tried to cry out, but no sound came. There was nothing left in my lungs but smoke-filled vapor. Someone was screaming behind me, someone else was crying. I tried to turn my head but I couldn’t see properly with the sticky wetness blocking my vision. Tentatively I raised one hand to my head and attempted to rub my eyes. My hand came away covered in a slick red gauntlet of blood. All around me was a mountain of debris, so thick and dense I couldn’t see beyond it to where the crying and screaming people were. The car—half in, half out of the shattered window—was also blocking my view; it was impossible to see what was left of the mangled vehicle, as the air was thick with a dense fog of smoke from the engine and disintegrated masonry from the front wall. I felt the shroud of glass over and under me and knew I must be lying among the remains of the window.

  From behind me I heard voices shouting frantically as masonry and rubble shuddered and shifted and I realized that people were trying to reach us. Us. Not just me; of course not just me. Jimmy had been there when the car came through the window. Jimmy, who had left his position of safety and had come back to save me.

  Ignoring the way the blood flowed even faster when I turned my head, I managed to lift my neck an inch or two off the glass to look for him. The haze of dust and smoke was still too thick, but I thought I could just make out a shape some feet away to one side. Broken masonry blocks and a long twisted piece of metal were lying at a strangely skewed angle on top of a long white board. As my vision began to clear, I realized that it wasn’t a board at all; it was what was left of our table. And the reason why it wasn’t lying flat against the floor, but was canted at that strange angle, was that something, or someone, was beneath it.

  Mindless of anything else, I flung out my arm, raking it in a desperate arc toward the crushed table and what I knew must be beneath it. At first I felt nothing, and then the very tips of my fingers brushed, just for a moment, against something soft.

  “Jimmy!” I croaked hoarsely. “Jimmy, is that you, can you hear me?” No reply. “Jimmy.” I started to cry, the tears cutting small rivulets through the dirt and blood on my face. “Jimmy, oh no, Jimmy. Say something …”

  The dust and debris had begun to settle a little and I could just make out what it was I had been able to reach. Jimmy’s forearm protruded at a strange angle from beneath what was left of the table. That was all I could see of him, just his forearm. The arm still looked strong and tanned, as it had a few moments before, when it had somehow found the strength to pull me away from danger. Only now it wasn’t moving. Long before the ambulances reached us, I realized that it would never be moving again.

  2

  DECEMBER 2013

  Five Years Later …

  The wedding invitation was propped up on the mantelpiece, almost hidden by a small bundle of bills and fast-food delivery circulars. I suppose I was trying to bury it. Perhaps I’d thought that by not seeing it, I could claim to have accidentally forgotten about it and somehow missed the date. As if that was ever going to happen. Of course I’d replied with an acceptance card when the invitation had arrived a few months earlier, but that had been easy, when the thought of going back to Great Bishopsford had seemed so far ahead in the future that I didn’t need to really think about it. But now, with the date only two days away, as I stood in my tiny flat with an open overnight suitcase before me, I didn’t know why I’d ever felt that I would be strong enough to do this. To go back.

  Abandoning my packing for a moment, I retrieved the small embossed card from the mantelpiece. Mr. and Mrs. Sam Johnson request the pleasure of your company at the marriage of their daughter Sarah to David … I ran my finger lightly over the raised scrolled names and knew then, as I had always known, that I had to go; that I couldn’t make some pathetic excuse and not be at the wedding of my best friend just because it was taking place in my old hometown. And was it really the town I was scared of, or the memories that I knew were waiting for me there? Memories I’d schooled myself to bury deep and never allow to surface.

  Still clutching the thick cream-colored invitation, I raised my head to look at my reflection in the mirror above the mantelpiece. In my eyes I saw the truth: returning to the town was only half the problem. My greatest fear was how I would cope with seeing everyone all together in one place again for the first time in years. Well, almost everyone. A haunted look fell over my face and that seemed appropriate, for I knew it wasn’t a reunion with the living that was going to be so hard to deal with.

  I packed my bag mindlessly, not really concerned about what I took. The trip was only for three days, and then I’d be back in my own flat, able to lose myself once again in the anonymity of a big city. To many, I’m sure, it might sound peculiar but I’d actually come to relish living where “everybody didn’t know your name.” The only items I took more care in packing were my outfit for the hen-night dinner and the deep burgundy velvet dress I had b
ought to wear for the wedding itself. Thank God Sarah had eventually given in and accepted my refusal to be her bridesmaid.

  “But you have to,” she had pleaded, and for a second it could have been the old school-days Sarah, imploring me to join her in some crackpot scheme or caper she had cooked up. Only this time I had held fast in my refusal. I’d felt bad, of course. But then, I’d known what she was going to ask me even before the words had left her lips.

  It wasn’t often that she visited me in London, even though we kept in touch every few weeks by phone. Her job in the North kept her busy, and of course her boyfriend, Dave—fiancé, I mentally corrected—lived there too and quite rightly occupied most of her free time. I’d suspected what was coming when she had invited herself down for the weekend. Saying no hadn’t been as difficult as I’d imagined when I’d had sufficient time to rehearse it.

  “Oh, Rachel, please think again,” she had implored, and she’d sounded so crestfallen that I had actually felt myself wavering. “There’s no one else in the world I want as a bridesmaid except you, please say you’ll do it.” And when I’d shaken my head, not quite trusting myself to speak in case she heard the chink of doubt in my resolve, she had inadvertently asked the one question that allowed me to abdicate from the role. “But why won’t you say yes?”

  And it was then that I’d taken the coward’s way out, answering her question by lifting away from my face the heavy swath of hair I wore in a side parting to reveal the silver forked-lightning scar that ran from my forehead to my cheek. She’d pursed her lips and sighed, and in that moment I knew she had conceded defeat.

  “Ah, so she’s pulling the old disfigured-face card again, is she?”

  I’d smiled in response. Everyone else I knew pussyfooted around the issue, but Sarah was the only one who had the courage never to dress up her words in anything less transparent than the truth.