The Aisle and Skye (The Skye Series Book 2)

by Fox Brison

  Without me.

  Shrugging off my foreboding before it could lodge it’s tendrils deeper into my psyche, I began dealing with our temporary separation the only way I knew how – by throwing myself into work.

  It was strange.

  When I was single, spending time alone never bothered me. I could spend weeks at a time during the long summer holidays and not see another soul – except for Mr Khan at my local shop. But now, for some reason, I needed company. Tonight I was at the theatre with Tess, something Nat abhorred, and Friday I was pencilled in to have dinner with Brooke and Abby.

  My social calendar had exploded exponentially since Natalie went to Sunderland; I wasn’t sure if the black hole she left could be filled, but I was giving it a damned good go.

  ***

  “This was such a great idea, Tess,” I said as we walked towards the Boston Opera House.

  “I remember you saying how you liked the theatre but didn’t go very often, and I’ve never seen Wicked, even though it’s been top of my wish list for ages,” Tess said with a shy smile.

  I grasped her arm tightly. “Mine too! I can’t believe how lucky I am that you’re my TA, we have so much in common!” I said excitedly. “I have the soundtrack at home. It’s been bliss being able to play it at full blast this week without having to worry about Nat getting pissed off.”

  “Oh me too,” Tess said with another shy smile. “Not the pissing Nat off bit, obviously, but the full blast bit.”

  “I wonder… oh hang on, speak of the devil.” I answered my singing and dancing phone, relieved we hadn’t entered the theatre yet where I would have instantly put it on silent and missed Nat’s call. And yes, another foible of mine; my foot would barely be over the threshold of the cinema or theatre, and I was harping on to whoever would listen to make sure their mobile was on silent. “Hey, sweetie this is a surprise.”

  “Hey, you. Yeah, I know. I couldn’t sleep because I’m missing my snuggle monkey. I thought we might, you know…”

  My eyes widened. I wanted to, you know, with Nat, but in the middle of Washington Street? Hmm. Incredibly difficult. “I miss you too,” I said lovingly. A van blasted its horn at two jaywalkers.

  “Where are you? Are you outside?” she asked. Her curiosity was marbled with swirls of disappointment. Actually, I think the disappointment was far more prevalent and I was gutted.

  “I’m going to the theatre with Tess. I did tell you.”

  “Oh. Right. yes, I must’ve forgot.”

  “We have tickets for Wicked,” I expanded more to fill in the awkward silence that followed her statement, than for any real need to let her know what show we were seeing.

  “That sounds nice.”

  Nat’s inflection indicated it sounded about as nice as eating a cockroach smothered in arsenic.

  “Nat, I’m sorry, but we’ve just arrived at the theatre. Can I call you when I get home?”

  “No, it’s okay, you have a good night and we’ll talk tomorrow. Love you.”

  “Love you too,” I said, but it was too late because she’d already hung up. Normally we would re-enact the Sound of Music with our au revoirs, farewells, auf Wiedersehens and goodbyes, and a cramp of disquiet echoed in my lonely heart. The call may have appeared bright on the surface, but it was fake tan brightness.

  Natalie kept piling on the layers until she resembled an Oompah Loompah.

  ***

  “Do you fancy going for a nightcap?” Tess and I were both buzzing after the performance and in fairness, I didn’t fancy going home to an empty flat. “It would give us the opportunity to rave to our heart’s content about how totally amazing the production was.”

  “That would be great!” Tess exclaimed.

  “Brooke introduced me to this fab Irish pub not far from here. It’s a good place for the craic.”

  “Oh… well I don’t know, Skye. I mean, it’s not something I’m into. I’m not judging you, I have friends in Colorado who frequent a cannabis shop-”

  I laughed. Our wires were so crossed it was like the spaghetti junction of misunderstanding. “No, Tess, not crack the drug. The craic. It’s an Irish term for news, gossip, fun, and enjoyable conversation, all of which I’m hoping we’ll have tonight!”

  The pub was busy because there was live music in the corner, a young lad drumming a steady beat on his bodhrán, and a couple of women with fiddles. There was even a grey haired bearded man with a tin whistle. It was toe tapping stuff.

  Tess kept glancing at a couple of women sitting at a table near us; they were holding hands and laughing, clearly together, clearly in love.

  “Tess?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’ve bent your ear about Natalie often enough. What about you? Is there anyone special in your life?”

  “No, not for a while anyway. I dated some when I was at Yale, but none of them lasted.”

  “How come?” I asked, intrigued. She was pretty and smart and it was surprising she didn’t date.

  “I guess people find it hard to get past my idiosyncrasies.” She may have said it nonchalantly, but I knew from personal experience that it hurt.

  “Tell me about it,” I snorted and touched her arm in tacit understanding. “I gather there was someone special though?”

  “Yes. Carolyn. She was a secretary in my father’s department. It wasn’t strictly verboten, it just wasn’t…” she wore a pained expression. “She wasn’t good enough in my parent’s eyes. After a while she couldn’t put up with my crap. It wasn’t that I was in the closet… well not the lesbian one anyway.”

  “There are more closets to hide in other than the one that houses our sexuality.” I nodded in agreement. “Your dad?”

  “Yes.” The one word was stark and explained everything and yet not enough.

  I began cautiously removing the label from the bottle of beer Tess had bought me. The condensation dribbled down the sides, leaving a small puddle on the table.

  The silence was slightly uncomfortable.

  Small talk was not something I particularly excelled at, which is why I found it difficult to make friends. However, I had a doctorate in guilt and that’s what I now felt for leading our night into such a mire of emotion.

  “Out of curiosity,” I said when the quiet became unbearable and I had to say something or scream, “do you like Carrie, the Breakers left back?”

  “I did, I guess I still do. But look at me.”

  And I did. She was dressed smartly, with her long brunette hair in a French plait. If I had to use a term to describe her? Geek chic. Horn rimmed glasses, tweed blazer and skinny jeans. Even the brown scarf wrapped loosely around her neck screamed put together rather than thrown together. Large blue eyes stared dejectedly at me from her thick glasses. “Trust me, Tess, the only thing you’re lacking is confidence. If you like a girl you have to let her know. You have to be willing to put your heart on the line and make an effort.”

  “Did you have to put in a lot of effort to catch Natalie?” she asked.

  I laughed. It was good to talk like this, to get to know each other outside of work. “God no. It was Natalie who put in all the effort. I basically fell into one ridiculously calamitous situation after another, and she rescued me from them. So trust me, Tess, when I say there’s someone out there for everyone.” Then I had what I deemed the idea of a lifetime. “Hey, when Nat comes home why don’t I see if she can organise a double date? If Carrie plays for our team that is!”

  And I didn’t mean the Breakers!

  Chapter 14

  Natalie

  I kicked a couple of stones along the road leading from the park to my digs. Skye had been prophetic about one thing, I was spending more time in my room moping and brooding than mixing with other people. Stuffing my hands into the deep pockets of my tracksuit, I scrunched my head into my shoulders in a vain attempt to protect myself from the biting wind whistling through the early morning streets of Sunderland. It was crazy how quickly I’d forgotten how lonely and ble
ak the North East could be in the autumn, and in a few weeks it would be winter, an even worse prospect.

  Picking up the pace, I started striding out. Jill could have no complaints about my cardio when I returned, because when I wasn’t moping I was training.

  It shocked me, completely shook me to my core, to realise that professionally my life was going great guns, I mean great guns, but personally? That was in the crapper. Okay so I was exaggerating, but after listening to Skye yakking about her theatre trip with Tess and what a wonderful time they’d had at the Irish Pub after, I was feeling precious about the situation; Skye was revelling in her freedom and I was languishing in mine.

  It wasn’t one of my most admirable admissions, that I assumed Skye would suffer pangs of loneliness far greater than my own, and when she didn’t I pouted like I’d injected three years’ worth of botox in one hit.

  I truly hated myself for it.

  ***

  “You have a letter from Boston.” I stopped eating my breakfast and took the small white envelope from Beth, my housemate. It was quite thick and I immediately cheered; I’d recognise Skye’s messy scrawl anywhere.

  Leaving my toast and coffee, I didn’t even wait to get to the sanctuary of my bedroom before eagerly tearing the envelope open.

  A love letter!

  My darling Natalie,

  I know it might seem strange me writing to you when we speak on the phone every day, but sometimes the words that are in my heart tend to get lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth. Yet funnily enough, I don’t suffer the same ‘connection interruptus’ when it comes to my brain and my pen, so here goes.

  It’s only been a few weeks since you left me, but it feels like an eternity.

  I’m distracted, fleetingly, oh so fleetingly, from your absence by the mundane; but it’s like a wisp of smoke on a windy day and I always return to you, to us. I went shopping on Tuesday – you can’t get any more mundane than that, can you? – and when I was unpacking the groceries at home I found four loose tomatoes. I immediately felt sick, without actually eating them. It seems that even when I’m not thinking about you, I am.

  I went for a walk in the park yesterday, the leaves have started falling and I found myself smiling, remembering last year and that epic leaf fight we had. And that’s when it hit me and hit me hard. Yes I miss you, some days so terribly it hurts. I miss the sound of your breathing, the smell of your hair, and your arms around me at night keeping me safe. However, I have the memory of them, and more importantly, the memory of you. Natalie, you have filled my heart with joyful, loving memories when before I couldn’t stand to look back because there was nothing but sorrow and heartache. I thank God, and Sara (although she’s smug enough about her matchmaking, so let’s keep it to ourselves) that you tunnelled under those walls I’d built and saved me from myself.

  So even though we are apart I’m not sad; I’m looking forward to Christmas when we’ll make new memories for me, for us to cherish. We’ll walk along the beach and drink cocoa in front of the stove. We’ll visit Christmas markets and I’ll no doubt buy a snow globe which you will bundle up in three layers of bubble wrap to make sure it gets home safely. We’ll make love in the afternoon whilst rain pounds on the window, and I’ll stroke your hair listening to the sounds of the weather battering our home as we fall asleep in each other’s arms. These are the memories we have yet to make and each one will be indelibly inked on my heart and in my mind. These are our future, a future that will be as long as our lives. You are my soul mate, my reason for being and I can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together.

  I may not speak these words, but know they are my heart because I love you, Natalie Ann Jeffries, forever and always.

  Skye

  xxxx

  My spirit soared when I read the letter. And when I read it for a second time I focussed on the adoration each word, no, each letter spelled out for me. I was about to read it for a third time, but was late for training, so folding the white paper into a tiny square, I placed it in the pocket of my shirt.

  Next to my heart.

  Chapter 15

  Skye

  Brooke and Abby lived in Beacon Hill, an historic neighbourhood of Boston and I was incredibly envious, not because you had to be seriously minted to own one of the Federal style row houses, no, it was because the brick pavements and narrow gas lit streets were a nod to the past, and being a rabid historian it appealed to me on every level. It was hard to believe that this was once farmland, and I was walking along what used to be a cow path to Boston Common. Times change, life moves on, yet here, like in Durham, it was a snapshot of the past which had remained pretty much constant for the last few hundred years, except in 2107 there were horseless carriages prowling the streets rather than the four legged variety.

  The red brick buildings (some with curved bay frontages, others as flat as a pancake) were individual yet as similar as fraternal twins, and although many had long been converted into smaller apartments, Abby and Brooke’s house remained in its original sartorial splendour, a grand old dame from a bygone era. Located in an area known as the South Slope, it had been in her family for generations. Brooke had lived in it since she was nineteen when she moved in with her grandparents whilst studying at Harvard.

  Seriously better than the three bed flat above the Wing Wah Chinese takeaway that Sara and I shared in Durham with three lads from the geology department!

  Ringing the circular brass bell, Brooke answered the door with a welcoming smile. “Hey, Skye.” She gave me the ubiquitous double cheek kiss.

  “This is for you.” I handed her a bottle of Pinot Gris I’d bought specifically for the evening.

  “Oooh nice choice. Abby made shrimp étouffée.”

  “She called and checked I could eat it. I think after Nat’s declaration at the cabin, Abby will never serve me tomatoes ever again.”

  I was still waiting outside because Bean had plonked himself at my feet, his tail wagging and a blob of drool congealing at the corner of his expectant mouth.

  Pavlov, here’s your dog alive and kicking.

  Nat and I always made sure we brought Bean a gift whenever we came over. I carried out the ritual Nat usually performed, although I’m sure Bean wasn’t as impressed with my efforts. His eye roll and frustrated whuff told me in doggy language to get the hell on with it woman! I patted down my pockets and made a huge show of pretending I’d forgotten his treat until, ta-da, I produced a bone from my bag and he happily absconded with it, his tail going in it’s usual excited circular motion.

  ***

  Brooke and Abby’s home was as impressive inside as it was on the outside. Antique dark wooden floors throughout the house were festooned with beautiful Middle Eastern rugs, and the entrance hall was dominated by an oaken curved staircase leading to the upper floors. In realtor terms it was elegant, tasteful and comforting, full of original features, such as fireplaces, coving and shutters on the windows to name but a few.

  But as with the cabin it still felt like a home, not a set from an architectural magazine.

  My favourite room had to be the kitchen. I was suffering from a serious case of cooker envy. The eight burner stove was a wet dream come true, and like Bean, I salivated over it. And let’s not forget mention the Italian marble counter tops, and the well-appointed island. I could spend all day talking about how perfect it was and how if I won the lottery I would have a kitchen exactly like it.

  “I see Nat’s hit the ground running. I hope Jill dipshit Stark is taking note.” Abby said triumphantly.

  “Me too.” Nat was smashing it in England and had helped Sunderland to second place in the women’s super league. I managed to catch most of her performances, and so far she’d received three player of the match awards in only five starts.

  “She looks great on camera too.” Being a realtor, Brooke commented on something she was an expert in - kerb appeal.

  “Hey!” Abby hit her arm.

  “Oh, boo, you know the
re’s no one but you. What I mean is she’s very natural.”

  “It makes you sick, doesn’t it?” I chuckled. “She has buckets of charisma and a great presence. I remember being due to do on interview on Radio 3 not long after we met and I asked her for some advice. ‘Skye,’ she said, ‘if people don’t like what you say, or who you are, that’s fine, but you can only be yourself. If you fake it someone will call you on it and you’ll end up with egg on your face.’”

  “Did it work?” Brooke asked.

  “Well it didn’t stop me vomiting before going on air, but everyone said I came across well.” I finished the last of my wine. I couldn’t decide if talking about Nat helped, or made me miss her even more.

  “So when’s the next England squad announced?” Abby waved the bottle of wine at me.

  “No I’m good, thanks. It’s being announced next Wednesday live on Sky Sports. I think I’m more nervous than Nat at this point.”

  “Neither of you should be worried,” Abby said decisively, “she’s a shoo in.”

  “I hope so, Abbs, I really hope her going back to England this winter wasn’t all for nothing. I miss her so much. I know it probably sounds strange but I miss our walks together the most. And with that neat segue I was going to ask if I could steal Bean for some company?”

  “Oh my God this couldn’t have worked out any better because we were going to ask you for a favour,” Brooke came back into the dining room with the coffee.

  “Ah so the meal was bribery?”

  “Totally,” Brooke said unashamedly.

  “It’s worked and that chocolate torte would certainly clinch any deal. What can I do for you?”

  “We’ve booked a couple of weeks in Thailand and my parents would normally take Bean, but they’re visiting an aunt in New York. I know it’s short notice, but we were wondering if you’d stay here and petsit. He loves you and it means he wouldn’t pine so much if he’s in his own home.”