by Fox Brison
I’d yet to inform Natalie of this fact.
Yes we were ‘dating’ and yes I had discussed a vague future with her, a future with added benefits of one sort or another. But that was all it was, vague, until we knew what true impact her injury would have on her career. I didn’t know if Natalie had a plan B never mind the tenuous grip I had on understanding her plan A. After the results of the MRI in Newcastle she was permitted light training, something that pleased her no end. To try and be supportive, I offered to keep her company on her early morning runs and provide a bit of encouragement in the gym. I hadn’t done any real exercise since my hockey days at uni were cut short through tendonitis, and the first few days were torture; if anything I was being more of a hindrance than a help, but after a week or so I actually started to enjoy it. I owned far more energy and as Natalie was usually a few feet in front of me, the view wasn’t bad either. It was nice spending time with her, laughing and joking, puffing and panting.
The motivational kisses were an added bonus.
I’d read, and written, about feeling like you were home when you were with someone you cared deeply for, but I never really understood the concept.
Until now.
I hadn’t seen Natalie for a few days since she’d gone to attend a meeting in London with her team manager for an update on her recovery. I’d called her flat a few times, but ended up speaking to her answer machine and flat mate more than Natalie herself.
I missed her.
We’d gone from occasional friends to occasional snoggers in less time than it took Elvis to sing about fools rushing in. And it scared me a little. Natalie Jeffries was invading my soul and I was powerless to stop her.
And, quite frankly, I didn’t want to.
“Hey, Sara,” I plopped my feet up on the coffee table and wriggled my toes. My mobile phone was on loudspeaker whilst it charged and I wrapped both hands around a mug of chamomile tea. I was a little short of breath having just returned from a run. I didn’t want to undo the good work I’d started with Natalie and not be able to keep up when she came back from her southern sojourn. Looking at the two milk bottles masquerading as legs poking from the bottom of my khaki shorts, I wrinkled my nose. I need to shave them before I was mistaken for a mountain gorilla, and maybe start using some of the moisturiser that added a natural tan to the skin.
Next to Natalie I looked like an albino.
“Hey stranger, how are you feeling?” There was a reservation in the timbre of Sara’s usually tinkling tones, and I frowned. Okay, maybe she was little annoyed we hadn’t spoken since I was castaway on Hobthrush.
“I’m good. Hey, brilliant timing though,” I had a sudden and what I thought, impressively intelligent, brainwave, “I wanted to ask you, Andy and Natalie over to supper. To thank you for your rescue operation.” There was silence on the other end of the line, totally unexpected silence; normally Sara jumped at the chance of someone else cooking and she loved my lasagne. I could almost hear the wheels turning.
I didn’t like the direction they’d spun.
“Sara, is there something wrong?” I despised myself for second-guessing her actions, but I couldn’t help it. There had been something in her eyes that day we’d had lunch, but I’d been preoccupied with my family on a swashbuckling gallop in my time machine of a mind so it hadn’t clicked. It did now. Oh yes, it certainly registered now. “Look, forget it. I’m going back to Durham for a few days,” I wasn’t I was making an excuse so she wouldn’t hear me cry, “I need to check some references in the archives. Maybe when I come back we can catch up. Or not. Whatever.”
“Wait, Skye, hang on.” There was definite tension in her voice. “You don’t understand-”
“No, Sara, you hang on,” I interrupted, wishing I could see her face. She was an open book to me and I would be able to evaluate better what her problem was with me and Natalie spending time together, rather than immediately springing to the defensive by becoming offensive. I knew it was to do with me and Natalie because nothing else had changed in my life other than that. “If you don’t approve of me seeing Natalie then say so, don’t prevaricate.” I was furious, but it was tempered by disappointment. Sara was judging me just like everyone else in my life, and from the way she was acting, obviously found me unworthy, unclean. Maybe I should ring a bell as I walk down the street.
“It’s not… I don’t…” Sara said, “oh fuck.” I knew by now she’d be pulling on her hair, she’s so like Natalie. “It’s not that, I just don’t want anyone to get hurt” I heard the unsaid words. I don’t want you to get dumped and blame me. Natalie is out of your league.
“It was only dinner. No biggie.” She might not want anyone to get hurt but it was too late for that. I was hurt. Really hurt. I thought Sara was different. Seems she wasn’t. No matter what she said, I wasn’t good enough for her little sister. End of story. “Someone’s at the door.” There wasn’t. “I’ll call you when I get back from Durham.” Like hell I would.
“Skye, wait a minute, would you just listen? I don’t want to ruin our friendship.” Her voice was pained.
Too late. “And me being with Nat would do that?” I said coldly this time. Fuck. To hear her say it practically ripped my heart out.
“No, of course not. Shit, this is coming out all wrong-“
“Poor Skye from the council estate,” I continued talking over her, my voice getting louder so I could drown out her words, “not good enough for the sainted Natalie Jeffries from the island!” This was me at my self-pitying, chip on the shoulder best.
“I didn’t say that!” Sara argued, offended and angry I thought such a thing. With tensions rising, both of our voices now echoed throughout the living room.
“No, but it’s what you meant. Look I have to go.” I ended the call with a vicious swipe, before I noticed I was crying. Really crying. Bawling actually. I lay on the sofa, my legs curled up underneath me, and I hugged the cushion to my chest, sobbing into its softness. I didn’t see my intruder until she was sitting next to me, pulling my legs onto her lap.
“Are you going to let me explain?” Sara asked quietly. “You owe me five minutes at least.”
“How did you get in?”
“We have a key. Mrs McCarthy asked Mam to keep an eye to the cottage.”
“Didn’t trust Jamesie Donaghie’s daughter to look after the place?” I snorted in disdain.
“Don’t be daft, Skye. You have such a hang up from your childhood that it’s hard to make you see sense sometimes.” Sara handed me a paper tissue. “You and Nat being together would only make it official, you’ve been like a sister to me for years anyway. I’m so sorry if it didn’t come across right.”
“No, I’m sorry, Sara,” I sighed. I knew she wasn’t guilty of what she’d been accused of, it was simply me projecting my own feeling of insecurity; it wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. “I don’t know what gets into me.” I thought about what it meant. And what it meant was Natalie was becoming ever more important in my life.
“You spend too much time in your own head sometimes, Skye. I’ll forgive you if you forgive me?”
“Deal. Come here you softie,” I hugged her tight.
“So dinner tomorrow night?” Sara asked.
“For sure. I’ll head into Berwick tomorrow to get the ingredients.” I could see her mentally weighing up her next question. I knew what it was before she even asked it. No, I’m not psychic I just knew my friend really well.
“Are you going to call in and see your Dad? Or brothers?”
I had two brothers, one either side of me. In fact, Cameron, the younger one, used to date Natalie. For all of about five minutes. Still, go figure. “I don’t think so, not this time,” I said.
Sara raised her eyebrows but clearly decided discretion was the better part of valour. “We’ll bring the wine then, Nat can bring the dessert.” Sara chuckled at the sudden blush highlighting my cheeks. “Or Natalie can be the dessert?”
I slapped he
r arm, and then once more for good measure. “I haven’t asked her yet,” I looked down at my hands; I was picking at my thumbnail, my tell. “Our night out in Newcastle was well, wow, you know? But she’s every lesbian’s wet dream and I’m,” I grimaced, “well I’m not.”
“She does seem to be a hit with the ladies, something she takes full advantage of.”
I’m not sure if Sara meant it seriously or as a joke, or if it was simply her way of giving me a subtle warning that Natalie Jeffries was a player off the pitch as well as on it.
Chapter 19
Skye
“A little birdy told me,” Natalie said as she leant against the bonnet of my car, “that not only were you making dinner as a thank you, but you are heading north to go food shopping?”
“Natalie! When did you get back?” I practically squealed. Hell. I sounded like I was seventeen again and asking Miss Mackie the librarian for a copy of the Well of Loneliness hoping she’d get the hint. She never did.
“About ten minutes ago. So, shopping, dinner?”
I regained some composure. “Your feathered friend is correct. You will be joining us, won’t you?” I acted indifferent, or so I thought.
Natalie’s grin told me otherwise. “With bells on. However, Sara put me on dessert duty, so I was wondering if I could beg a lift into town? Dad’s borrowed my car to play golf down in Goswick.”
After the conversation with Sara I was convinced friendship was all I was worthy of, but those misgivings evaporated the moment I looked into Natalie’s bright hazel eyes. “No begging necessary, a small charge perhaps,” I winked; oh yeah, my mojo rocked.
“I’m sure something can be arranged.” That voice. When she softened it I swear I lost all sense of… everything.
Weeelll he-llo, my libido said seductively.
She moved closer and whispered into my ear. “I missed you.” I quivered. I was now pressed tight against the car and her thigh subtly wormed its way between my legs. I groaned as she ever so slightly pushed her hips forward.
“Someone’s full of beans,” I wriggled out of her embrace before I completely embarrassed myself and forced her hand down the front of my jeans, “so you’re on trolley duty.”
“It will be my honour, milady,” she said with a bow and a sweep of her baseball cap. She stepped back and I was both relieved and disappointed.
“Get in you idiot,” I giggled and we were off, until,
“Did you check the tide times?” She asked, it appeared, innocently, but there was a slight upturning of her lips.
“Oh, hell no! I thought, hey, let’s take a chance I’m feeling reckless today; let’s see if I can wreck two cars in the space of two months!” I gave her a goofy smile, which she returned with a five million megawatt one. If the island ever needed a lighthouse she should be their first port of call. She placed a pair of aviator style sunglasses on the tip of her nose and looked over them into my eyes.
“I’m a fly by the seat of the pants kinda gal myself, Ariel.”
“Ariel!” I huffed.
“The little mermaid?”
“I know who she is,” I said, “I’m not sure I appreciate being referred to as a cartoon character.”
“A hot cartoon character,” Natalie said and waggled her mirrored aviator sunglasses.
“You’re an ass sometimes.”
“But I’m your ass,” she said softly. She looked nervous, worried her question couched as a statement had taken our mild flirtation one step too far.
“If you play your cards right.” My answer allayed any fear and warranted another of her global warming smiles. Although change terrified me, in fact, scared the bejeezus out of me, I held a sneaking suspicion I wasn’t going to regret a thing about this change in my life.
Not one damn thing.
***
Berwick was a small historic town on the border between Scotland and England. Some locals were either staunchly loyal to England, whilst others were desperate to move the border south three miles and become Scottish, something the town hadn’t been since 1482. Even Columbus sailing the ocean blue wasn’t as important as Berwick finally becoming English – it had changed hands over fourteen times, after all!
The town was filled to the gunnels with history. It was surrounded by town walls built during Elizabeth the first’s era, and although never used, they were strategically important at deterring the Scottish and French from invading. In fact, Bonnie Prince Charlie, allegedly, travelled south via Carlisle because he didn’t fancy tackling Berwick’s walls.
I parked the car in the farthest corner at one of the local supermarkets. “Is this my punishment for the crack about the tides? We’d have been quicker walking from the island.” Natalie whinged.
“I just don’t want another ding in my door,” I replied. Okay, so it was a little to do with the crack about the causeway, but hey, I didn’t want her to see my petty side before we’d even done the nasty.
The supermarket was heaving; it was a Saturday morning, so unsurprising really. Natalie claimed a free trolley and we crawled towards the main doors. We couldn’t go any faster, there were people everywhere. “Seriously, Berwick only has a population of twelve thousand people. Do they all shop at Morrison’s on a Saturday?” It was my turn to whinge.
“No, they knew you were coming so decided to be all contrary like,” Nat mocked.
“I wouldn’t be surprised!” What did surprise me, however, was when a little fella suddenly flung himself at my legs.
“Aunty Skye, Aunty Skye!” Another joined him and I now had two limpet like appendages stuck to my jeans.
“Hey guys,” I leant down and gave my two nephews a big hug. “Where’s your Mam?”
“She’s looking after grandad, he’s not well,” the eldest, Jamie, said with a tiny frown.
“So your Dad’s with you then?”
“That’s right, Skye,” he nodded at me, “Natalie.” The tension ratcheted up tenfold. There was condemnation pouring out of every single one of my elder brother’s pores; the way he stood, and how he grabbed his son’s shoulders ushering them away from me. And in local weather a cold front hit Morrison’s car park early Saturday morning making the Day After Tomorrow look like a picnic in the Sahara…
And I was not impressed.
Natalie touched her hand to my lower back and I instantly felt its calming effect.
“Hey, Robbie,” Natalie said. “I’ll go and get started, Skye, unless…?” She left the question unfinished, but I was safe enough; Robbie would never make a scene in front of the locals.
“It’s fine, you go on ahead, I’ll catch you up inside.”
“Okay then, if you’re sure. Remember, Ariel, we need to be back before seven for the tide.” She pushed the trolley into the crowds and was swallowed up, although I heard her familiar infectious laughter as someone stopped her to chat.
“Boys, you’ll see your aunt later.” They wouldn’t, but I would never contradict their father in front of them, it just wasn’t my place. His wife, Angela, was the peacemaker. She was the sole reason I got to see the boys, albeit infrequently. If my brother had his way I wouldn’t even be a photograph on the mantle. Jamie and Malky headed towards Robbie’s work van, he was a plumber, their toes kicking into the pavement. “I heard you were back.” He didn’t look at me, he looked through me.
“I was going to pop in and see Dad before I went back to Durham.” A white lie, but I wouldn’t give Robbie the satisfaction of calling me on it. “Mrs. Jeffries told me he was poorly.”
“She would, nosey-”
“Hey!” I said angrily. “Don’t. Don’t you ever, not about her.” I didn’t care what he thought or said about me, but I wouldn’t stand for him doing the same to Caroline Jeffries. “I’ll call in later to Dad’s. Tell Angela I was asking after her.” A few people acknowledged us as they went in, or out as the case may be. Some of a more curious nature almost broke their necks trying to listen in to our conversation.
“Don’t bother
,” he spat, “he’s at my place.”
“So I’ll call in there. I was going to bring Angela some flowers.”
“I don’t want you and your,” this time he sneered, a real honest to goodness sneer, “friend anywhere near my family.”
Christ, change the record would ya.
“Robbie, one day you might regret your attitude.”
“Is that so?” He took a belligerent step towards me, but I stood my ground. I’d been intimidated by bigger bullies than him and flinching only made it worse.
“Yeah,” I retorted. I couldn’t say more than that, my heart was practically beating out of my chest and I didn’t want him to hear the wobble in my voice.
“Stay away from my family,” Robbie repeated and spun away, his trolley knocking into my hip. “We don’t need you.” There was something in his voice in that last bitter statement, something I recognised from the dim and distant past. I was damned if I could put a name to it, but it definitely wasn’t hatred or loathing, or even fear. But I’d heard it in his voice once before and eventually it would come to me.
“Homophobic prick,” I said under my breath whilst rubbing my hip which would undoubtedly bruise later. I searched the aisles for Natalie; she hadn’t gone far and gave me a comforting grin. I gave her a weak one in return.
“No, I don’t want to talk about it,” I anticipated her offer, “I just want to fill this trolley with junk food and get home.”
“By junk food I assume you mean the organic ingredients for your unctuous lasagne?” Natalie licked her lips and winked.
“Organic?” I squeaked in disbelief. I prayed she wasn’t one of those health food nuts who survived on kale and goji berries.
“Organic,” she reiterated and patted her stomach. “I don’t keep this washboard flat by putting just anything in my mouth you know.”