Noah and Me

by Beckie Stevenson

  He nods. “Does it bother you that people find it unacceptable?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “You wouldn’t comment on it if you weren’t bothered by it,” he says.

  “I would,” I counter.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I huff. “Well then, what’s the point of asking me if you’re not going to believe anything I say?”

  “You have a tell,” he says, pointing towards his eyes. “When you’re lying or evading an answer, you look a certain way.”

  “You should be working for the police,” I reply.

  “I do, sometimes.”

  “Figures,” I mumble. I don’t know why he’s getting on my nerves so much. Maybe it’s because I know he’s leading me down the garden path a bit. Why doesn’t he just come out and ask me what he really wants to know? This would all be over much sooner.

  “But you have answered every single question I’ve asked,” he states. “Well, except one.”

  “I’ve answered all of them,” I say.

  “You didn’t answer my question about why you stopped running,” he says quickly, making more notes.

  “It wasn’t a question,” I tell him. “You stated that I had stopped running. I just didn’t confirm or deny it.”

  He raises his eyebrows at me and sips on his coffee that must be freezing cold by now. “Very good,” he says. “You are correct.”

  Now he’s being patronising.

  “Earlier when I interrupted you and suggested that you were going to go ahead and be rude, you started reeling off stuff about your sex life,” he says, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Is your sex life why you think you’re here?”

  “I think it’s part of the problem, but it stems from the bigger problems.”

  “And what are the other problems?” he asks.

  I smile at him because if he thinks I’m playing silly beggars, then he can think again. “My relationship with Noah and what we had seven years ago. The accident that killed my whole family. The sexual abuse that I suffered at the hand of my brother and the fact that I haven’t been able to let go of any of it.”

  His eyes widen as he stops writing and sits up straighter. “We’re running out of time,” he tells me, glancing at the clock on the wall behind me. “I’d like to continue this again, but I’d like to try a different approach.”

  I take a deep breath and let it out loudly. “You didn’t know I had all of those problems, did you?”

  “No,” he says.

  “Noah didn’t tell you anything?”

  He shakes his head. “I just knew your name and age.”

  Yeah right. “So what do you want to try?”

  “There’s too much to talk about in an hour at a time,” he says, “and I think all of the things you’ve just mentioned are intricately linked to each other.”

  “They are,” I confirm.

  “So link them for me.”

  I nod. “How?”

  “Some of my patients get a lot out of writing stuff down. Why don’t you try it?”

  I frown at him. “You want me to write a story of my life?”

  “Would there be enough information for a story?”

  I smile at him, which sends his pen scribbling across his paper. “Probably.”

  “Then why don’t you write it down, Ariel?”

  I shake my head. “I can’t write.”

  “How do you know?”

  I shrug. “I kept a diary when I was a teenager and it wasn’t very good.”

  “Why not try just two chapters? Start at the point in your life when things started to seem a little blurry for you.”

  I’m not sure about this, but writing seems a much better idea than sitting here and putting up with his bad breath. “You’d want me to put everything in it? Warts and all?”

  He nods. “Of course. What would be the point of writing something that didn’t have it all?”

  “There are lots of parts that aren’t pretty,” I tell him. “It’s a little fucked up, to be honest.”

  “Those are my favourite sorts of stories, Ariel. Do you think you could do it?”

  I nod.

  “Interesting,” he says. “Any idea about a title?”

  “Noah and Me,” I say without thinking.

  “Pardon me?”

  I try to think of an excuse, but I can’t backpedal quickly enough. “Noah and Me,” I say again. “It’s our story.”

  He furiously writes things down on his notepad.

  “What did you write?” I ask.

  He puts his pen down and holds up his pad. I see the words ‘accident’ and ‘abuse’ and then I see ‘NOAH’ written in block capitals and double the size of the other words. He’s circled it several times too.

  “Why have you done that?” I ask.

  “He’s the centre of it. You just said so yourself.”

  I frown at him. “I didn’t tell you anything.”

  “Your title,” he says, pointing at his notepad.

  I realise that I haven’t played this very well. I’ve given him everything on a plate without making him work for it.

  “I know Noah comes here,” I eventually tell him.

  He shrugs and looks away. “Patient confidentiality.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” I say, waving my hand. “If he comes here, then it means he’s talked about me. You already know that there’s a whole world of pain hanging in between us, so you didn’t need for me to come in here and say it.”

  “I know his story and I know how he feels about you,” he says, “but he didn’t tell me about your abuse or the fact that your family was involved in a terrible accident. I’m waiting to read your story to see what he’s done and said to you and how he’s made you feel.”

  “You really want me to write it down?” I clarify.

  “Yes,” he says. “You’re not exactly the right sort of person to be sat opposite me.”

  “And why is that?” I ask, curious.

  “Because,” he says, sighing, “I think you’re evaluating me just as much as I’m evaluating you.”

  Chapter 33

  NOW

  Saturday 15th December

  I get home from work and dump my keys on the side table. “Hello?” I call out. “Rubes, you there?” I wander through the apartment, noticing the tell-tale signs that she’s been here. There’s a recently washed mug on the draining board and the red standby light is blinking on the television. “Rubes?”

  I hear banging coming from her bedroom and roll my eyes. Ruby and Owen have been at it like rabbits. Normally I wouldn’t mind, but it’s starting to affect the tiny bit of sleep that I actually get and it’s annoying me.

  I walk into the kitchen and open our integrated fridge. I pull out a cold bottle of white wine and pour myself a huge glass. Just as I put it to my lips, the doorbell rings. Who’s at my door at half-nine at night? I immediately think of Noah and pull my bobble from out of my hair.

  Swinging the door open with my free hand, I feel my smile hesitate on my face.

  “I haven’t seen you around for a while,” says Ben, stepping into my apartment. He waves a bottle of wine at me. “I got your favourite.”

  It’s been at least a week since I’ve seen him, but it feels longer. “Thanks,” I say. “I’ve just poured myself one, but I’ll grab you a glass.” I go back into the kitchen and he follows. “Was this planned?” I ask, holding the glass while he pours.

  “Yes,” he says. “Ruby said she was cooking dinner.”

  I glance back at the oven and notice a casserole dish patiently waiting for us. Why couldn’t she have told me that she’d organised a get-together? “I can’t believe we all got a Saturday night off together,” I say, taking another big sip of my wine. “Are you alright to wait here for a second while I go and change?”

  “Sure,” he says. “You mind if I sit and watch the box?”

  I shake my head and hand him the remote. “Knock yourself out.”
/>   “Is that them pair I can hear?” he asks, nodding in the direction of our bedrooms.

  I sigh. “Yup, they’re pretty much here every single night.”

  “Tell him to fuck off,” he says. “He’s got his own apartment.”

  “He’s got his own apartment?” I repeat. “As in, he lives on his own?”

  He grins at me as he jabs at the buttons. “Yes, Ariel.”

  “Then why the hell are they always here?”

  Ben shrugs and starts to zone in on the football results.

  I roll my eyes and hurry into my bedroom. I take another glug of wine and put my glass on top of the chest of drawers. I go straight into the bathroom, peel my scrubs off and dump them into the wash basket before flicking the shower on.

  As I dry myself afterwards, I can hear laughter floating through my bedroom door and more voices. Looks like Ruby and Owen have finished and decided to join Ben. I wriggle into my black lacy knickers, then put on my black bra, tight black vest top and grey sweatpants that are a little snug around my hip area. I rub my hair as quickly as I can with my towel and run my comb through it. I don’t want to miss the food, so I leave it to dry naturally.

  I grab my glass of wine and head out to find Ben and Owen laughing. “What’s going on?” I ask as I take a seat at the table with them. Ben is next to me with Owen directly opposite and Ruby next to him, looking mad.

  Ben is still laughing, but he turns to me and starts to splutter. “We’re on about what Ruby’s face was like when she saw that wine stain on her rug.”

  I try not to laugh, but it just bursts out of me.

  “I don’t know what you’re laughing at,” she says, turning to face me. “You should have seen your face when you realised I wasn’t alone at the door.”

  I laugh and shrug. “It’s alright. He’d seen it all before.”

  Ben and Owen stare at me.

  “And anyway,” I say, “it was a really vile rug.”

  Ruby gasps. “My parents paid a lot of money for that rug!”

  “It looked like a bear had puked on the floor and then fell down and died,” I say. “I hated that rug.”

  “It cost four thousand pounds,” she tells us.

  Owen frowns. “They paid four grand for a shitty fur rug?”

  “It was fake fur,” I say. “Ruby doesn’t like real fur.”

  “Fake fur!” shrieks Owen. “Four grand on a fake fur rug! What the hell do they do for a living?”

  “Nothing,” says Ruby. “They were given a load of money when my aunt died and they thought it would be a nice thing to get me.”

  “What was wrong with a sodding engraved watch?” asks Ben.

  I grin and nudge him with my arm. “Leave her alone, her rug just died.”

  “That’s it!” says Ruby, getting up from the table. “I’m not serving my casserole now.”

  Owen gets up and follows her into the kitchen. I can see him whispering in her hear as she giggles at him. I roll my eyes. “Since when did those two become so serious?” I ask.

  Ben sighs and starts to chew on a plain bread roll. “He’s not normally like this,” he tells me. “He’s got it bad.”

  “Yeah,” I say, “Ruby kind of does that to guys. They all fall head over heels in love with her and when they fall, it’s fast and hard.”

  Ben raises his eyebrows at me. “And she doesn’t do the same?”

  I watch her dancing in the kitchen with Owen and shrug. “Not normally.”

  “Interesting,” says Ben. He gets his knife and splits the rest of the roll in half before slapping some butter in it. “Very interesting.”

  “Do you know what sort of casserole it is?” I ask.

  Ben shrugs. “She mentioned something about sausage, but I wasn’t sure if that was an innuendo.”

  I laugh and clink my glass against his. “You make me laugh,” I tell him.

  He smiles, but then his face suddenly goes serious. “You know I like you, don’t you, Ariel?”

  I take a deep breath and put my glass back onto the table. I grab the bottle and fill my glass to the top. “Yes,” I say without looking back up at him, “but I like you too.” If he’s asking why I haven’t slept with him, then that’s his answer. I like him too much as a friend to jeopardise it by having meaningless sex with him.

  He nods and flicks a piece of his black hair back that’s flopped down onto his forehead. “Do you think men ever grow up?”

  That’s a curveball. “No,” I say honestly. I think about the multiple conversations I’ve had with men of all different ages and shake my head. “They definitely don’t.”

  He chuckles. “I’m inclined to agree with you.”

  I want to ask him what weird thoughts are flying through his head, but I’m interrupted by a knock on the door.

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell him as I get up from my seat. I think about Ben’s weird comments as I walk through the living room. I’m thinking about being open and honest with him as I pull the door open and then all my thoughts seem to slither right out of my head and into a puddle on the floor.

  “Hi,” says Noah, smiling at me. “I just thought I’d come and ask how last night went.”

  “Shhh,” I whisper. “I don’t want them knowing.”

  “Them?” he says, sticking his head around the door. “Oh,” he says when his eyes find Ben, “what’re you doing here?”

  “Sausage casserole,” Ben says, picking up his wine glass, “and wine.”

  Noah nods at him and steps back into the hallway. “I didn’t realise you had company,” he says, refusing to meet my eyes. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  “Is Ben allowed to talk to me now?” I ask, remembering how bitter he was towards me when we first met.

  “Yes,” he says, and I see the corner of his mouth twitch. “Have an enjoyable evening, Ariel.”

  “Okay,” I say as he walks away. My eyes watch him and the way his body moves underneath his navy blue suit. He looks as handsome as ever. “Noah, wait,” I call. I walk towards him, even though I’m basically wearing my nightclothes and have bare feet. “It’s not what it looked like.” I don’t want him walking away thinking he caught me having some sort of romantic meal with Ben. I’m not playing games with him anymore.

  Noah stops and turns around. “And what do you think I thought it looked like?”

  “You thought it looked like a cosy night in,” I say.

  He smirks. “You’re right, I did. But then I remembered your stupid rule.”

  What’s he on about? Why is he bringing that up again? “Don’t,” I say, stepping closer to him. “Don’t play games anymore, Noah…please.”

  He takes a deep breath and pinches the skin in between his eyes. “I’m not.”

  He has a few days worth of stubble on his face that I’m desperate to touch. I’ve never felt his stubble before. Before I do something stupid, I cross my arms and lean back against the wall. “So you never married her then?”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  “So when I saw you?”

  “I was telling her I couldn’t go ahead with it. I came out of the church to look for her before she got there. I didn’t exactly want to jilt her at the altar.”

  I nod. “Why?”

  “It’s not very nice, and I—”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. The ends of my hair are still a little wet as they slap against my arms. “Why didn’t you marry her?”

  “I didn’t love her enough to commit myself to her for the rest of my life,” he says simply. “I don’t believe you should marry anyone unless you love them more than life itself.”

  I remember what he’d once said about her and feel myself breathe a sigh of relief. He still has values. I really liked that about him then, and I like it now. “Did you tell her that?”

  “I didn’t.”

  I feel myself frown. Why is he being evasive all of a sudden? “Well then, what did you say?”

  “I told her the truth,” he sighs. �
��I told her that I was in love with you and not her.”

  My stomach jerks as if he’s just kicked it. “You never actually told me that you loved me,” I whisper.

  He leans back against the wall and lets his head drop back too. “You didn’t tell me either, Ariel.”

  “I know and I’m sorry,” I say. “You know that.”

  He nods. “I think I’m beginning to understand.”

  I smile at him. “So what have you told Dr. Georgio about me?”

  He shrugs. “Not much. I used to see him when I was younger—after the fire—and I’ve seen him a couple of times over the last seven years, but I’ve been seeing him again since you arrived.”

  I thought as much. “So you haven’t told him about my life?”

  “No, he just knows that you’re the girl I’ve never been able to forget.”

  Oh my God. He’s never been able to forget me?

  “Ariel?” interrupts Owen. “Ruby says you need to get your skinny little arse in here before your tea goes cold.” He nods at Noah. “What you doing?”

  I turn to face Owen without bothering to shut my mouth that’s hanging wide open and catch Noah looking at me with an expression that I’ve never seen before.

  “Ariel?” Owen calls again.

  “Yeah,” I mumble. “Tell her I’m coming in a minute.”

  Owen frowns and disappears back into the apartment without saying anything. I turn towards Noah again and feel my heart hammering in my chest. When I finally let myself look deep into his eyes, I can see the years of hurt still floating around in them. Maybe my confession answered his questions, but it didn’t take away any of the pain. How am I ever going to convince this wonderful man that I’m sorry?

  “I hope you have a nice evening,” he says. “I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

  “No, wait,” I say, grabbing onto his arm as he starts to walk away. “Would you like to have tea with us?”

  “Sausage casserole?” he asks.

  “It’s the best,” I say. “And there’s wine.”

  “So I hear,” he says.

  “So you’ll stay?”

  “Sure,” he says, pulling his burgundy tie loose. “I’m starving.”

  I smile at him, then lead him into the apartment and through to the dining room. “Noah is joining us,” I announce.