Second Chance Hero

by Rebecca Sherwin

  “What?” I shout, snapping at whoever is on the other end of the phone.

  “Jenna?” It’s Mum, and it’s dark outside. I must have fallen asleep, “Dinner’s nearly ready. Are you still in the shop?”

  “Yeah, sorry Mum. I got carried away baking. Could you send Jonas to the shop? I need some help getting things back to the house.”

  “Sure thing, sweetheart. He’ll be there soon.”

  I hear her calling up the stairs to Jonas as she hangs up the phone. I scramble up off the floor and rush to the kitchen to clear up and box up the cakes. I put Phillipa’s decorating kit into a pink cellophane bag and put everything I need to take home with me on the table with the flowers.

  I’m tucking the cards from the flowers in my purse when Jonas knocks on the door. I switch the lock and let him in.

  “Whoa.” He whistles, looking at the flower arrangement on the table, “Who sent you those?”

  “Ah,” I say. Truth or lie? Heck, I’m deep in enough as it is, may as well go swimming, “Kip.”

  “The man knows how to send a message. He’s called the house every hour today.”

  “Probably checking I got his delivery.”

  “Come on, Jen,” he picks up the flowers and my bag, “You grab the boxes.”

  I pick the boxes up, switch the main light off and follow him home, struggling with the three big boxes of cakes and the decorating bag hanging from my wrist. Mum has cooked a pork stir fry for everyone, with egg fried rice she got a recipe for. She hands me a bowlful as I walk into the kitchen and put my stuff on the table.

  “Those flowers are lovely.” She bends down to smell them but I’m sure she can't smell anything but the five-spice she’s put in this stir fry, “Are they from Kip?”

  I nod, avoiding eye contact, but I see her looking at me suspiciously.

  “Thanks for dinner Mum, I’ll help with the roast tomorrow.”

  ~

  “I invited the Reid’s.” Mum says, bending down to put the lamb in the oven and takes out the beef I put in when I got up this morning.

  “Why, Mum?”

  “Because they’re family, Jen.” She fondles the oven gloves in her hand as she looks at me, “We invite them for dinner every week. Before you came back to town, Deacon never used to come. It’s nice to see him again.”

  “Mum.”

  “I’m just saying.” She raises her hands defensively.

  “I’m going to get out of my running things and shower. I’ll be down in a bit.”

  I run up the stairs two at a time to the bathroom and lean over the sink, breathing heavily. I run the shower and step under, turning up the heat as hot as I can take it. This can't be happening. Why is it not possible to go a day without seeing him? I can't even go a few minutes without thinking about him and I think I’m going crazy.

  I shut the water off and hear the laughter from downstairs. People are already here. I can hear Grace’s laugh and remind myself to keep an eye on her, there’s something about her I don’t like, and I don’t trust her. I hear Phillipa’s little laugh and imagine Steve is in the middle of the living room, tickling her into a frenzy of childish energy and glee.

  I pull my towel-dried hair into a ponytail, and put on a simple blue and white striped maxi dress; I skip on wearing make-up, absolutely not wanting to make an effort for another dinner I don’t want to go to. I stop at my doorway as I’m about to go downstairs. I used to love being part of a tight community. I used to love being around my family, the Reid’s included. I can't bring myself to admit that it’s the city that has changed me. The dog eat dog world of the capital of our country has given me a tough skin and a resilient emotional barrier that doesn’t fit in Folquay. Have I become an outsider in the only place I’ve ever called home?

  “Jenna, bonita?” Dad calls up the stairs, “Mama wants some help with the potatoes.”

  “Coming,” I choke, and look around my room before I go down.

  Folquay Jenna is here somewhere. She is.

  “Have you seen the flowers Jenna got yesterday?” Mum asks Emma.

  Once again I’m sat next to Deacon and I look around at my family in the outside dining room, tucking into my mum’s unbeatable roast dinner. Everyone has broken off into little conversations. Dad, Deacon, Steve and Bradley are talking about fishing. Jade is helping Phillipa with her dinner, bargaining with her to eat a few more mouthfuls before she can have the surprise I got her. Mum and Emma are now talking about my flowers and my heart leaps into my mouth. I haven’t said more than a few words since we sat down and now I’m wishing I’d joined in with Mum’s conversation so I could stop her bringing up the flaming flowers. Looking at the centre of the table, I realise that would have been impossible; Mum arranged the two bunches I didn’t take to my room into a delicate centrepiece for the table.

  “They are beautiful.” Emma reaches out, caressing a rose petal between her thumb and forefinger.

  “Kip bought them for her. Arranged it all the way from London.” Mum looks at me as she speaks.

  She knows! The scheming woman knows!

  Deacon drops his knife and fork and glares at me. I shrug, biting both of my lips to telepathically apologise for the lie I told. In hindsight I could have just said he bought them to congratulate me on the new shop. They say hindsight is a wonderful thing...

  “I wonder how he managed that.” Deacon says bitterly and avoids looking at me, “Must have taken a hell of a lot of effort from a desk in London.”

  I don’t know what to say. Deacon reaches under the table and places his hand gently on my thigh. I put my hand on his with the intention to discreetly slap it away but when I touch his skin, I can't bear to lose the contact I need and despise so much.

  “I think it’s sweet.” Mum says. Thanks mum, keep digging that hole. If it gets bigger I can jump in it and hide, “He knew her favourite flowers, and the colour matches the theme of her shops perfectly.”

  Kill. Me. Now.

  Chapter 9

  Deacon

  Kip. Kip bought the flowers? I can’t believe I just scored an own goal – gave him one up on me with the family. They don’t like him now, but I bet that will change now they think he bought Jenna her favourite flowers and arranged it from a hundred miles away. Nice one, Deacon.

  I don’t know what makes me put my hand on Jenna’s leg; maybe to tell her I get why she lied about it, maybe to distract her from saying something that will raise Kip on that pedestal, or maybe because I’ve been dying to touch her since I woke up with her smell all over my bed yesterday, to find her gone. I had hoped to talk everything out over coffee and breakfast. I am sorry I slept with her when she’d been drinking, but I’m not sorry we slept together and I won't pretend I am to save her relationship with her sad excuse of a boyfriend. So my hand is placed firmly on her leg, where I want it to stay all night, every night, every day. Shit.

  Jenna puts her hand on mine and after the initial zap of electric that shoots through me at the feel of her small, soft hands, I prepare for her to slap me away. But she doesn’t and now she's stroking small circles on the back of my hand with her thumb. Just that tiny touch from her, knowing she must want to touch me as much as I do her has my body purring to life, and my heart beating double time.

  I know there’s something there. That’s what the flowers were for. People do change, I am sorry, and everything I do has everything to do with her. The flowers were to show her I didn’t believe her when she told me Friday meant nothing. The look in her eyes when she said it confirmed she was lying. Confirmed that everything that happened was meant to happen, and meant as much to her as it did to me. I’m willing to admit it, to anyone who will listen. But our past is making her shut me out and I have to win her trust, and friendship back before I can find out how to get back into the warm, loving place that is Jenna’s heart.

  “Well I for one,” Bradley interrupts the commotion around Jenna’s flowers, “am desperate for a little rum and raisin.”

 
“Always thinking with your stomach, son.” Esteban laughs, “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

  “You mean apart from my mean fishing skills and the ability to drink you under the table?” Brad says with a challenging look in his eyes. Jesus. The last time my brother and Esteban tried to out drink each other it ended in them both spending the night on the floor in the garden, having fallen asleep smoking their cigars.

  “I’ll get the cakes.” Mindy stands up and Mum helps her clear the plates. Mindy eyes Jenna and I suspiciously, and then to the space where our hands are under the table. Jeez, does she have x-ray vision?

  “Did you eat all your dinner, Pip?” Jenna asks Phillipa who’s sitting at the other end of the table.

  “Yep! Can I have my surprise now please?”

  That girl is adorable, much like her aunt. Her brown eyes gleam, and her dark curls fall to her shoulders. She’s how I remember Jenna was as a child. Cheeky and full of character.

  “In that case,” Jenna strokes her hand up my forearm before her touch is gone and she stands up, taking a small white box and pink bag with her.

  “You won't like rum and raisin,” she shakes her head, “So I made you some strawberry cakes.”

  Jenna sits down next to Phillipa where Mindy was sitting, and I sit back with my beer and watch as she sets an icing bag, some sugar balls and some rice paper stickers out on the table. She leans over and shows Phillipa how to hold the bag properly, before handing a cake to Jade to decorate and gets one out for herself. I watch her create an intricate flower design with her icing.

  “Esteban, remember that house we used to see from the boat when we used to go fishing?”

  “Yeah I remember.”

  “Jenna and I saw it one day, when we were up on the cliffs walking. I saw it again today too, it’s still standing strong.”

  Esteban starts talking about how he’s surprised it hasn’t had any problems, with the eroding of cliffs, and climate change. Or something. I’m not listening, I’m looking at Jenna and she’s looking at me. She remembers.

  “I know.” I say, hoping it’s the right time to agree with what he says, “I fell in love that day.”

  Jenna drops a handful of the sugar balls and they scatter across the table. I sit back in my chair, satisfied that I got the reaction I wanted out of it. Last night didn’t mean anything? Yeah, right.

  “Yeah, I think I fell in love with that house.”

  “There’s one left,” Jenna turns to me, nervously, “want to practice your skills, Deac?”

  Esteban looks at me wide-eyed and the others stop their conversation. I know I’m supposed to do the manly thing and laugh in the face of decorating cupcakes, but I can't.

  “Yeah, okay,” I stand up and make my way round to Mum’s empty seat next to Jenna.

  She hands me a cake and turns back to her decorating picking the icing balls up one by one, and placing them on her cake. I grab the icing bag and squeeze; icing squirts out quicker than I thought and hits the white tablecloth.

  “Uncle Deacon!” Phillipa laughs and points as Mum and Mindy get back to the table with Jenna’s cakes, some bowls and the tub of vanilla ice cream.

  “What happened to my tablecloth?” Mindy asks handing out the bowls.

  “Deacon did it,” Jenna laughs, flicking her hair behind her shoulder.

  There it is, the sparkle that has been absent since Jenna got back to town. Her eyes sparkle, her smile is big and her laugh genuine. Be it at my expense or not, this Jenna shows promise.

  We’re still round the table and it’s dark. Phillipa is on Jenna’s lap, seconds away from sleep and everyone else is talking quietly over coffee. I turn my gaze back to Jenna, as I have done every thirty seconds all afternoon and well into the evening. Her lips are pressed to the top of Phillipa's head, one arm round her shoulders and the other stroking her hair. And she’s singing to her, so quietly I can't tell what it is but something jerks inside me and I let myself imagine what she’d be like with her own. Would she cradle them in a rocking chair and sing them to sleep? Or whisper stories about a prince and princess with their happy ending?

  “Jade?” She whispers across the table to where her sister is snuggled up to her husband, talking about decorating their bedroom, “She can stay here. She’s exhausted, bless her. She can have my bed tonight.”

  “Are you sure, Jen?”

  Jenna nods, shifting Phillipa to prepare to stand up with her. She’s fast asleep now, comforted and relaxed by Jenna’s song.

  I stand up and hold my arms out.

  “Here, I’ll take her up. You get the bed ready for her.”

  She smiles at me, a tight-lipped, appreciative smile and passes her to me gently. Phillipa stirs but snuggles into my neck and I follow Jenna through the house and up the stairs; the table is silent and everyone is watching us.

  I stop at the threshold of the room, before taking a step into the past. This room hasn’t changed. Jenna is leaning over, switching on the fairy lights around her closet door as I step in and realise I always watched her when she did that; I feel like I’m fifteen all over again. Jenna stands up and points to the bed, the sheets folded back. I kneel on the floor and place Phillipa's sleeping form into the bed. She rolls onto her side and snuggles into the pillow, breathing deeply. Jenna pulls the covers over her and our finger brush, so gently I’m not sure if I imagined it; but her breath catches and I know I didn’t. She takes a deep breath and straightens and I follow, catching a glimpse of the cork notice board hanging next to her dresser. It’s full of memories; memories we made as children, as teenagers, as adults. And the three cards I wrote in the florist’s yesterday have been added to the collection of concert and festival tickets, photos and caravan holiday passes.

  “You kept them.” I whisper, nodding not just to the cards, but everything that reminds me of everything Jenna and I had.

  “Of course I kept them.” She sighs, and I know we’re on the same wavelength, “Everything on that board is everything my life was.”

  Was? She points to the small child sleeping peacefully in her bed and I lead her out of the bedroom. I stop on the landing while she pulls the door shut and sit on the top stair. She hesitates, but joins me.

  “Did you say he sent them because you wish he did, or I didn’t?” I say.

  “Neither.” She sighs, “I’m no good at lying-“

  “I remember.” I interrupt.

  “I didn’t know who I was supposed to say sent them, but considering how guilty I feel, the truth wasn’t an option.”

  “I get it. I just had to ask.”

  I put my hand on her knee covered by the striped dress. She puts her hand on top of mine, just like at the table earlier.

  “Deacon,” she starts “I -”

  I watch her mouth, waiting for something, anything to come from those beautiful lips. But we’re interrupted by something vibrating on the carpet.

  “What the hell?” I ask looking around me.

  Jenna pulls up the bottom of her dress, revealing her white underwear that looks like a pair of little shorts, and pulls her phone out of the waistband. I can tell by the look on her face that it’s Kip. Why does he have to interrupt at the worst or best times?

  “Hi,” she answers standing up and stepping past me on her way down the stairs, and I catch a glimpse of the bottom of her back as her dress falls back into place. She has a tattoo, “I was just putting Phillipa to bed. I’ve had a really busy day.”

  I feel the guilt radiating off her as I follow her down the stairs and into the garden where she disappears into the darkness at the back, making her way to the bench we used to jump off, pretending to be Superman.

  ~

  I wake up late and manage to catch the back of Jenna stepping into her house as I run past. I tell myself I’m not out on this run, knowing I’ve got an entire gym at my house, to see her. But the truth is, I’ve started driving my truck down here every day since the first day I bumped into her, dressed in tight workout
trousers and some sort of maze sports top, to see her.

  It’s Monday and I should be at the office waiting for the boys to check in. A text on my phone as I’m running back up the beach to my car informs me that the boys are indeed there waiting for this week’s assignments; I rush back to the truck and head straight to the yard.

  “Look like you had a rough weekend.” Sam, one of the sites’ managers laughs.

  “Family stuff.” I reach round for the back of my neck and shrug, dismissing his comment.

  What he meant to say was ‘Deacon you look like shit’ which my truthful response should have been ‘That’s because I can't sleep. And I can't sleep because my sheets smell of the girl I want to be lying in my bed with me. And she’s not in there because her arsehole boyfriend keeps getting in the way’.

  But I settle for handing him an invoice for some small jobs that only need one man on them and head to the office for coffee. I sit at my desk staring between the easel on the opposite side of the room, and the pot of pencils a few inches from my twitching hands. The idea’s been circling around my head since Saturday, which is why I haven’t been in the office this weekend. I know if I start this project, I’ll get carried away with it, and if I get carried away with it and it’s rejected it’ll be a waste of time I could be spending on actual paid work. Fuck it.

  I open the laptop on my desk and hit up Google. ‘For Goodness Cake’. Wow.

  I stand up, grab the pencils and plan to abuse the easel for the most part of my morning, before my meeting this afternoon.

  I sit back, immensely proud of my work in such a short amount of time and look at my watch; it’s gone lunch time. I pull my phone out of my back pocket, deleting a missed call from Kate and find Brad in my phone book. He answers after a few rings.

  “Hey bro’, what’s up?”

  “Drinks tonight at The Duck. You in?”