Jersey Girl

by J A Heron

I will be forever in Dr. Hart’s debt.

  “It’s here,” I yell, jumping out of bed, almost falling flat on my face when my foot gets caught in the duvet. I manage to steady myself and keep hold of my composure, although my heart is racing. I’ve never moved so fast in my entire life. I want to make the most of this day. I want to say goodbye to people I’ve come to love and respect, but my main focus is getting my life back.

  And it’s been a long time coming.

  The excitement levels increase with every step I take. There’s a bounce in those steps, and I can honestly say it’s something I’ve not felt in an exceptionally long time. When I think back, they’ve almost been stilted, sluggish, as if walking through mud. My life has been a series of cataclysmic events, each with the potential to drag me further into depths of despair. But today, all of that is history. This is the day the ‘Get Kat Back Plan’ is celebrated.

  First off, I’m starving, so I head to the dining hall for the very last breakfast I’ll have here. I will miss the meals; they’ve been amazing.

  I enter the hall to an influx of cheering, whistles, and applause. I’m momentarily knocked back a step, taken by surprise. People rush up to me, congratulating me, and slapping me on the back as they wish me well for my sober future. I notice the ‘Good Luck, Kat’ sign made by the arts and crafts freaks. They’ve certainly outdone themselves. “Thanks, guys. You’ve all been amazing. I won’t forget you.”

  “Liar,” Dan says with a big smirk on his face as he approaches me. The fond look he sends in my direction warms me, then he swoops down, pulling me into his arms for a tight hug. “As soon as you leave here, you’ll have forgotten everyone’s name.”

  “If that’s true, I’ll remember you all as The Witchfield Crew.” I wink.

  “Ooh, I like that,” he says. We laugh and joke some more, and join in with endless chit chat. I refuse to make anyone any promises, but I have vowed to keep in contact as often as I can. It’s going to be difficult, but I’ll do my best.

  Breakfast is a delight. Everything you’d expect to find in a breakfast buffet is here in abundance. Chef has gone all out, and I’m touched he’s done this for me — for us. I fill up on bacon, eggs, and toast loaded with butter. I promised Dr. Hart I’d continue to work out, as exercise has helped a lot. “Oh, what the hell,” I say, buttering my fourth slice of toast.

  Dan laughs at me and my display of a healthy appetite.

  “What?” I mumble through a mouthful.

  “It’s rude to talk with your mouthful,” he scolds in jest.

  “It’s also rude to laugh at someone while they’re eating,” I throw back at him.

  “Touché.” I have no idea what that means, so I just giggle along with him. The noise around us simmers down slightly, and after a brief silence, he asks, “What are your plans?”

  “Lots of things,” I reply. “I suppose getting through each day will be a challenge initially, but my will is strong, and I don’t think I’ve been more determined about anything, ever.”

  “Good for you.” He grins. “I think, no, I know you’ll make it, Kat. I can’t tell you how proud I am of you.”

  “Aww, thank you. That means a lot.” He watches me as I continue to devour my breakfast, stuffing my face as if it’ll all run out. “What about you? What do you plan to do once you’re on the other side of that front door?”

  “Don’t know yet. I’m working on my lifetime plan with Dr. Hart. We’ve made progress, but it’s slow. You know how it is.”

  “I do. For me, for my recovery, I’m focussing on the things most important to me. Job number one is to find a job. Whatever I can find will do in the short term, but long term, I have no clue.”

  “I thought you wanted to be a marine biologist? What happened to that plan?”

  “Fell through since I didn’t get any qualifications after dropping out of school and living on the streets. I’d say the chances of that happening are zero.”

  “Never say never. There’s always college, then university. The option is there if you look hard enough.”

  “I’ll think about it, but I’d need to raise some serious cash to put myself through university. I wouldn’t want to feel like the oldie there either. I’d be surrounded by college graduates.”

  “Not necessarily. You’d be amazed how many students there are in their twenties and older.”

  “Thanks for the advice, but I’m more inclined to look at setting up my own business. I have a few ideas. Nothing solid, but plenty to keep me occupied.” He looks solemn. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, looking down at his hands.

  “Really?”

  “It’s just…” he takes a deep breath, “…I’m really happy we got to reconnect. Even though being here is a strain, it means the world that I got to share it with someone. Someone I care about. I want to thank you for being there when I needed you, and always listening to me non-judgementally. Whatever happens, Kat, I’ll always consider you a great friend.”

  “Ditto,” I tell him, fighting a sob threatening to escape. “You’ve helped me too, so much. Especially with that Stuart guy…”

  “I’m sorry about that.” He cuts me off. “I thought he was a stand-up guy. I would never have been friendly with him had I known what he was like.”

  “You don’t have to apologise. We can all be a bad judge of character occasionally. I won’t hold it against you.” I add a little laugh to lighten the mood, and he laughs with me. I don’t want him to feel bad because of someone else’s actions. “I could never blame you.”

  The way he’s looking at me reveals he still wants more from me, more that I’m unable to give, so I place my hand on his and gently squeeze. “I’ll be in touch,” I whisper.

  “Don’t forget this,” he says, pulling out the flower he made for me. “I understand if you don’t want to keep it, in case it brings back memories you’d much rather forget.”

  “No. It’ll remind me of you, me, all of us – the Witchfield Crew.” I laugh. “Most of all, it’ll remind me of the strength I found here.”

  When I stand up, I bend down and kiss him on the cheek. I need to distance myself, giving him the space he needs too. I’ll always see him as a sibling, nothing more, and it hurts me that I can’t find the resolve within to offer him more. The last thing I want to do is hurt him. Since Connor, I’ve not wanted anyone else, and although Dan and I shared a kiss, it meant nothing to me. I’ll always be fond of him, and I’m worried about leaving him behind. But he must find his own way out of the darkness that is addiction. He has to fight this battle, just like I’ve had to.

  I walk away from Witchfield Manor feeling my heart soar.

  I did it.

  I won.

  I have a vibrant mind, my aura has been cleansed, and my body is in okay shape – apart from all the extra Jaffa Cakes I’ve consumed. And it’s all thanks to the incredible people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting here. With all the help I’ve received and the hard work I’ve put in, I’ve been rejuvenated.

  I take my first step out into liberation and take a deep breath. I hear the giggles behind me when I do the running man dance.

  I glance up, spotting a sleek black car. I guess they’ve rented one to come and collect me. I can’t place the make, but it’s familiar. The driver’s door opens.

  What the hell?

  Unfolding his tall, manly frame from the car stands Connor. Firstly, what the hell? And secondly, what the fucking hell? Third, what is he doing here? The crease on my forehead must be ridiculously deep; I’m gobsmacked. He walks towards me, slow motion controlling each stride. I want to read the emotion in his eyes, but I can’t because it’s hidden by aviator sunglasses. I want to scream at him, take them off, but all I can do is stand in awe as he purposefully puts one foot in front of the other. Time is standing still, my scrambled egg for brains cannot process the sight of him. My brain does manage to tell me that he looks crazy hot. He’s wearing black dress trousers that cling to his st
rong thighs, and a black leather jacket covering a white shirt. I bite my lip as my imagination sees those shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing sublime ink work.

  It dawns on me that Benny and Raven knew this was going down; that’s why they were behaving so childishly the last time they were here.

  “Let’s get you out of here, shall we?” That dark, husky voice I love so much wraps around me like a warm blanket. All I can do is nod, and maybe a little too enthusiastically. He chuckles at my candour, reaches for my bags, and graces me with a panty-melting smile.

  I’m like a zombie as I walk towards his car. I stand there, with my brain fried, wondering what’s going on.

  “Where’s Benny?” I ask when I finally feel my tongue again.

  “I’m here instead. Get in the car,” he shouts from a few feet away.

  It would look ridiculous if I were to sit in the back, but if I sit in the front, I’ll be too close to him, closer than my palpitating heart can handle. Look like a fool, or revel in his closeness? Err, stupid question. I open the door and sit up front.

  Connor finishes putting my bags in the boot, and I watch him stride to the driver’s seat.

  The silence in the car is tense, and I wonder where we’re going. I keep my eyes focussed on the road ahead. Deliberations have me chewing on my thumb nail, with an uneasy feeling surrounding me. I need to ask the question I’ve been holding onto for the last couple of miles. “Where are we going?”

  “My place,” he says with certainty.

  “I’m not going to your house,” I say, turning slightly, resting my hand on the dashboard. He keeps his eyes on the road, but I see the slight eye movement in my direction, without moving his head. I glare at him, waiting for a response.

  I brace myself as he slams on the brakes and pulls into a layby. Nervousness has me twisting my fingers together. We’re in the middle of nowhere. All that’s around us is miles and miles of trees, fields, and hedgerows. Not a single soul would hear me cry out if I were in trouble. My pulse quickens as he turns to face me and removes his sunglasses then throws them towards the windscreen. “Do you want me, Kat?”

  “I… err, I don’t know. What are you talking about?” I manage to squeak out around the cotton wool soaking up all the moisture in my mouth.

  “You know what I’m talking about. Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.” He taps his fingers against the steering wheel; a sure sign his temper is rising.

  Temporarily, my tongue is tied up, stuck to the roof of my mouth.

  “You’re not going to speak?” He doesn’t get it. I can’t. “Okay, I will! It’s been far too long; a lot has happened. We both have a lot of talking to do, to clear the air, and I know you’re dealing with more you can handle right now, but I want you. I’ve always wanted you, and I’m here. So, the question now is, do you want me?”

  I know the answer. I’ve always known it, but I let him wait a few moments before I respond. I still can’t speak, so I let my actions answer the question he’s impatiently waiting to hear. I nod, as a single tear falls. His hand reaches for the back of my head, pulling me in, taking my lips and feeding from them. Our lips move with ease, gracefully. Our tongues taste, explore, and with each flick of his, it captivates my very soul. It’s a few minutes before he releases me, but only slightly. Our noses are almost touching as he stares deep into my eyes. Our hot, out of breath exhaling is amplified over the sounds of nature outside the car. In this moment, the entire world has fallen away, and we’re the only two people in existence to ever feel this way. As stupid as that thought is, it makes sense to me and my Connor-induced foggy brain. I want to focus on his eyes, but mine wander all over him, around him, taking in every feature. I want to commit every detail to memory, so that whenever I close my eyes, it’s his face I’ll always see.

  “Can we start again?” he asks, passion the predominant emotion radiating from his words.

  “Yes.” I gulp. “I’d like that.”

  “Me too, and I’m sorry.” His sadness and regret from all that happened is clear.

  “I’m sorry too.”

  “I don’t know why you’re apologising.” He smiles. “But now we’ve apologised, we can draw a line under all our mistakes and move on. Start afresh.”

  “I was apologising for, you know, where I’ve just been,” I say, pointing back in the direction we’ve come from.

  “What’s done is done. We have a fresh start, and we can be who we want to be from now on.”

  “I like the sound of that.” I smile. “The moment I walked out those doors, back at Witchfield, I became someone new. I became a woman on a mission to succeed.”

  “And you will. I see it in you. But there’s one thing that’s missing…”

  “Oh yeah?” I say, smiling as I reach up and place my palm on his cheek.

  “Yeah,” he says, taking my hand and kissing the palm. “You are a woman, that’s a fact, but you’ll always be my ‘Jersey Girl’.”

  My hands shake a little with nervousness as we step inside his house. I stand behind him, waiting awkwardly as he puts his car keys in a dish on an oak sideboard by the front door. I remind myself to take each step one at a time. Don’t rush. Keep calm.

  “I’ll take your bags upstairs. Make yourself at home.” He leans in and sweetly kisses my cheek before walking away. I hear his footsteps ascend the stairs and walk into a room with creaky floorboards above me.

  I look around the living room. There are pictures all around, but they’re of him and his band mates. Raven, Nelson, Eddie. There are many of him and Audrey, and one catches my eye. He’s about four or five years old, and he stands, almost hiding behind a young-looking Audrey’s legs. He looks so tiny. Lost. I’m reminded that I’m not the only one whose life has had its fair share of upset. He’s dealt with a lot too. I’m hoping that, one day, he’ll tell me all about how he came to live with Audrey. I wonder if he knows his biological mother.

  His house is very impressive. When we pulled up, it looked modest, a decent size, but it’s when you step inside you realise the view from outside is deceptive. It’s huge. The lounge area is massive, and I giggle when the thought of having to decorate such high ceilings, and a gazillion square footage pops into my head.

  The cotton mouth feeling hasn’t quite subsided, so I go in search of a glass of water. The kitchen is vast. Modern appliances are on every counter, and the black and white theme is what I expected of a man like Connor.

  Strong, masculine, virile.

  The garden, as far as I can see as I look out of the sliding bi-fold doors, has two levels. The upper is a decked area with barbeque, table, and chairs, and so many potted flowers it’s a haven for the bees. I’m reminded as I take in all the décor that Connor dabbles in property development, and I bet this was one of his projects.

  It really is stunning, and I could see myself living somewhere like this, and as that thought occurs to me, I’m hit with sadness. I live in Jersey. Connor lives here. Are we going to be a couple that only steals a few days together here and there? Is a long-distance relationship what I want?

  He knows I’d never leave Jersey; I told him when we first met. I don’t hear him enter the kitchen, and I jump slightly as he comes up behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Your garden is beautiful,” I tell him, squashing down the sadness before it can take hold. Live in the moment. The now.

  “It took quite some time to get it looking like that,” he says proudly. “It was a pile of mud, bricks, and derelict outbuildings when I bought the place. Luckily, I have a talented team on my side.”

  “Oh, yes. You like property.” It’s all I can think of to say. I know nothing about buying houses, and I certainly don’t know anything about fixing them up.

  “Yep,” he says proudly. “Got my eye on a couple. I need a new project, considering my last one took some time.”

  I turn around, wrapping my arms around his waist. I reach up on my tiptoes and place a soft kiss on his lips. He looks down into
my eyes then takes my lips, much like he did in the car. Awash with sensation, I move my hands up to his head, feeling the soft skin as it moves slightly with my touch.

  “You have a beautiful home,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, I should get a competitive price,” he responds. I pause. What? He’s selling? I notice the little spark of something mischievous in his eyes. There’s a long pause, a delay, and I wait with anticipation for an explanation, but still the pause continues. He’s patient with me as I try to fit the pieces together, then it comes to me. I slant my head, squint my eyes, and wait for him to tell me he’s planning on buying property in Jersey and moving there.

  He must read my thoughts. He nods. “Yes, I’m moving to Jersey. Do you really think that after all we’ve been through, after all the time it’s taken for us to find our way back to each other, that I’m going to let distance separate us? If you do, you’re sadly mistaken, Jersey Girl.”

  Inside, my heart has trebled its normal rate, and I feel like jumping for joy. “That sounds like the best plan ever.”

  It’s a chilly day, and I’d like nothing more than to sit in the garden and just let time go by without a care. Instead, I remain inside where it’s warm, and I can stay in close proximity to Connor. He starts to pull items from the large fridge freezer. “I hope you like seafood.”

  “I love it,” I tell him. “It’s the number one staple in Jersey.”

  He turns around, rewarding me with a luscious smile, “Of course. Seafood is in never-ending supply out there. This is fresh.” He points to the chopping board where he’s slicing up some squid. “But not as fresh as back home.”

  The grin I’m holding back bursts to life, and it almost breaks my face when he turns back around and can’t see me. He just called Jersey back home, and I feel my heart swell at the mention of something so silly. It’s trivial, yet it means the world to me.

  I go upstairs to freshen up while he finishes cooking. When I come back down, he’s laid the table, but it’s the two glasses of red wine he’s poured that stop me in my tracks. I don’t want to appear rude, so I keep quiet. I sit down at the table and just stare at the glass. This is my first test, and although I’m handling it well, it’s the shock that’s floored me. He places a selection of seafood cooked to perfection in a lemon and parsley butter in front of me. The aroma floating up, intermingled with the steam, is delightful. He sits opposite me, and just as he’s about to take a mouthful, he stops, fork in mid-air. “What is it? Don’t you like it?”