“Barely,” I grumbled.
“Did he get the message?”
“Loud and clear.”
“Did he listen?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“So, you’re seeing him again?”
“Tonight,” I sighed.
Ziggy scoffed, “Have fun with that.”
“Oh, I will.” I looked up with dangerous delight. “You’re coming with me.”
Chapter Nine
“Are you sure about this?” Ziggy cringed at the door.
“I’m sure,” I said, daring him to leave me. “You owe me.”
“He isn’t going to like this, you know?”
“He’ll like it a hell of a lot more than me not showing up at all, trust me.” I pulled open the door to the bar and stepped inside.
To say I was surprised would be an understatement. My assumption that this would be a swanky banker-ish type of place was way off the mark. In fact, the whole vibe was way more like Liv’s bar back home. Relaxed, eclectic and cool. It was a little more forced here, newer and not as natural in its cool. But still, totally not the kind of place I’d expect to find the Jonathan’s of this world.
“Nice,” Ziggy whispered, sounding as pleasantly surprised as I felt. “I can handle this.”
“Right?” I turned to him with a grin.
“This won’t be so bad. What are you drinking?”
“I’m buying; it’s the least I can do.”
Ziggy laughed. “For using me as a human shield, you mean?” He nudged me in the ribs with his elbow, and I shoved him back.
“I need a beer,” I stated, heading for the bar. “Ooh! They have Corona! What do you fancy?”
“Sounds good to me,” Ziggy said, coming up beside me at the bar. He scanned the crowd while I placed our order. “So, which one is he?” he asked subtly. Ish.
I looked around after handing over my money and shook my head. “I don’t see him.”
“Rude,” Ziggy scoffed.
I shrugged. “I only said maybe, and I didn’t give him a time. Maybe he left already.”
“His loss.” Ziggy took a swig of his beer. “Still, silver linings, I like this place.”
“Yeah,” I smiled. “It reminds me of my friend Liv’s bar. My brother-in-law runs it with her.”
“Nice. Is it far?”
“Not really. Forty-five minutes on the train. I’ll have to take you some time. I should go home more than I do.”
Ziggy scoffed like my statement had tickled him somehow. Maybe he wasn’t as fond of going home as I was. I didn’t get the chance to ask, however, because I heard my name being called from behind me somewhere.
“You came!” Jonathan beamed.
“We did,” I replied hastily, not realising the weight of the “we” until I saw Jonathan’s face fall slightly.
“Jonathan, this is my… Ziggy,” I offered, struggling for a term for what we were. Friend was not enough. Employee, no. Best friend would probably sound a little middle school to Jonathan and a little presumptuous to Ziggy, given the short time we had known each other. But none of that seemed like any of Jonathan’s business, anyway, when I really thought about it. God, why did I have to overthink things?
Jonathan frowned. “Your Ziggy?”
Ziggy laughed and switched his beer to his left hand, offering his right out to Jonathan in greeting. “I’m the friend,” he said. There was a tone to his statement, and I tried not to analyse it.
I glanced at Jonathan as he shook Ziggy’s hand and did all the analysing for me. From his expression, I wasn’t wrong in thinking Ziggy’s statement was loaded with something. Jonathan was sizing him up, and I felt completely out of the loop on their silent discussion.
“You’re the bodyguard, I suppose? To protect Bea from the stalker who won’t take no for an answer.”
Ziggy’s expression softened, and he elbowed me with a smirk. “This one can look after herself; she doesn’t need a bodyguard.”
I smiled at Ziggy. I wasn’t sure if he was warning Jonathan that I was liable to knee him in the nuts if he got handsy or reassuring me I could handle this. I went with option two.
Jonathan’s eyes narrowed though. He didn’t like the message Ziggy was sending, obviously. I just didn’t get why. Ziggy was being sweet.
Nervously, I drained my beer. “I might not need a bodyguard, but I do need another drink,” I said, trying to break the tension.
“I’ll get them,” Ziggy said quickly. “What are you having?” he asked Jonathan.
Jonathan looked at the bottles Ziggy and I were holding and then up at Ziggy. “I’ll have a Corona too, thanks.”
Ziggy turned and jostled to the bar, and there was an awkward silence between Jonathan and me.
“I’m glad you came,” he said, breaking it.
“I said I’d try,” I replied weakly. I was starting to regret it. Clearly, I should have come alone, but I couldn’t change that now.
“So, you two…” Jonathan glanced at Ziggy’s back and then back to me.
“Just friends,” I confirmed. “I don’t date, remember?”
“Right,” he nodded.
I felt like I had messed this whole night up because I was being that socially inept idiot again. “I made him come because I’m a chicken. I warned you. I’m not good at this.”
Jonathan’s face warmed finally. “You’re here; that’s the main thing. What do you think?” He gestured around the bar.
“I like it a lot. It’s busy,” I noted as I was nudged by someone moving to a spot at the bar behind me.
“Maybe we should move away from the bar,” he said loudly as the din picked up.
I nodded and followed him to a spot by a high table set around a pillar several feet away. I could still see Ziggy, so I knew he would find us.
“He hired a PR company for the launch. I don’t know if these people are rent-a-crowd or real customers who’ll be back, but it doesn’t hurt to have a packed opening night.”
“No, it’s brilliant,” I agreed. “How do you know him?”
“Uni,” Jonathan said, “then working together. He quit to follow his real dream, and here we are.”
“Whereas you are living your real dream?”
“Almost, I mean what I do is great, but being a lowest-of-the-low hedge-fund type is still the big dream, but there’s always time.” he deadpanned.
I swallowed but then relaxed as his smirk appeared. I replaced the pinch of guilt with an overt eye roll. “Very funny.”
Ziggy joined us with fresh beers, and soon we relaxed into a neutral discussion about music and comedy in local venues. After my third beer, I started to think about going home. I couldn’t help it, it was a pleasant enough evening, but I began thinking about the logistics of leaving. Would Jonathan want to walk me home? Would he expect a kiss? Would it be so bad if he did? I didn’t even know anymore. I looked up and met Ziggy’s eyes, and he knew. We both knew this was why I made him come.
Taking the decision from my hands, he looked at his watch. “I should make a move if I’m going to make my train,” he said casually, draining the last of his beer.
“Yeah, I should probably call it a night too,” I agreed. I was grateful not to have to sweat the details, but I couldn’t help feeling guilty all the same.
Jonathan looked disappointed but didn’t push me to stay. “Would you like me to walk you?” he offered.
“That’s okay; Ziggy is going my way. You stay and enjoy your friend’s night.” I felt guilty, but this is exactly why I tried to tell him there was no point in us getting to know each other better.
“Okay,” Jonathan agreed reluctantly. “Well… thanks for coming.” He lifted his hand, leaning in and I braced myself for another kiss on my cheek. That would have been okay; it’s a normal, friendly gesture, I reminded myself. But just at the last second, Ziggy handed me my coat, and Jonathan backed off, shooting Ziggy a look I wasn’t able to interpret. He took the coat from Ziggy and held his gaze stony-faced as he sho
ok it out, then he turned to me and held it open for me to slip into.
I obliged reluctantly and then stiffened when I felt Jonathan pull my hair free of the collar. I turned to face him and smiled tightly. “Well, bye then.”
Good Lord, it was awkward! I didn’t want to say I’d call or invite him to call me. I didn’t even want to go so far as to say, “See you around.” And yet I felt like a real bitch leaving it how it was. Damn the bubble failure!
I was officially done with the evening. I just needed to leave. Without another look at him, I turned and headed for the door. In the doorway, a bouncer who hadn’t been on duty when we arrived, held the door open for us and I smiled grimly in thanks.
Outside in the cold, wet night, I stopped to zip up my coat. Ziggy stood beside me silently. I was so frustrated, I couldn’t get the damn zip to even connect, and after several failed attempts, the frustration I was feeling got the better of me, and I growled and stomped my foot.
Ziggy chuckled and turned me to face him. “Here, Sparkles. Let me help you.”
He lifted the ends of the zip a little so he could see them in the streetlight and slotted one neatly into the other. I stood like a child while he engaged the zip and pulled it slowly up to my chin, arranging my collar as he finished. “There.” He grinned and poked my nose with his now cold index finger.
“Thanks,” I sighed.
Ziggy offered me his arm. “Shall we?”
I smiled gratefully and slipped my arm through his.
We set off, but as we passed the line of people waiting to get in, someone sidestepped and bumped into me. “Hey, watch it,” he said aggressively to me after stumbling slightly.
I looked up at him, shocked that he was having a go at me for his own mistake.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” the obviously drunk fool slurred. He was not getting in this place tonight, that was for sure. I could already see the bouncer on the outside of the door take a step in our direction.
I decided to let him handle it and turned away, ready to finally head home.
“Stuck up, bitch!” the drunk spat, and before I knew what was happening, I was tucked behind a vibrating Ziggy with his fingers digging into my arm to keep me in place. The bouncers had already intervened and were moving the drunk guy away, but Ziggy didn’t stand down. He just gripped me behind him and kept me there.
“Ziggy?” I said over his shoulder.
His fingers just tightened.
“Ziggy, I’m okay, you can let me go.”
Nothing.
He was trembling but didn’t move. He was just fixed on the bouncers who had now sent the drunk on his way in the other direction.
“Zig, you’re kind of hurting me.” I tried pulling my wrist out of his iron grip, and suddenly, he let go and turned around to look at me like he had been stung. He looked at his shaking hand in horror and then back at me.
“I—” he choked. “Shit, are you okay?”
He grabbed me and looked me over, then held me to his chest.
“I’m fine,” I chuckled warily against his jacket. “Are you? You’re shaking.”
For a long moment, he didn’t reply; he just held me like I might vanish.
“Bea, is everything alright?”
It was Jonathan. Apparently, he had noticed the scene.
Ziggy abruptly let go of me and stepped back, running his fingers through his hair. His eyes darted from Jonathan to me and then he hissed, “Shit,” again before turning and walking briskly away.
I looked back at Jonathan wide eyed. He took a step towards me, but I was already turning. “I’m sorry, I have to go after him.”
I didn’t look back or even think about him again. All I knew was Ziggy was falling apart, and I needed to know he was going to be okay. I jogged up to him and fell in step with him. Maybe he would slow down and tell me what was going on. Then again, maybe not. His feet moved faster and faster until I was struggling to keep up.
When we finally reached a junction, instead of slowing to cross, he turned right and shot down a side road. I stood confused on the corner for a second before deciding I needed to follow. I needed to know what had happened to make him lose it like that. Before I could reach him, though, he stopped of his own accord and looked up at the sky.
I could see his breath in big plumes rising above his head. He was breathing hard from the speed walk. I approached him cautiously and watched him bend over at the waist, holding his knees and panting. I wanted to wait for him to catch his breath, but it wasn’t happening, so I crouched beside him.
“Zig, what happened?”
He couldn’t reply. He wasn’t out of breath from walking; he was having a panic attack.
“Ziggy, look at me,” I demanded.
He lifted his head, his eyes wild and his breathing desperate.
“You have to breathe slowly,” I coaxed. “I don’t have a paper bag for you to breathe into, so you need to breathe with me. In through your nose,” I heaved in a deep, slow breath through my nose, “and out through your mouth,” I told him as I exhaled. Then I repeated the process until he began to try and comply.
We just breathed for a couple of minutes until he had slowed his breathing enough to stand up straight again. I stood in front him and studied his face, but he didn’t look at me.
“Talk to me,” I whispered.
He shuddered and closed his eyes. I noticed a tear slowly crawling down his cheek; I realised then that this was not something to discuss in a Soho sidestreet. “Come on,” I said firmly and took his hand. He didn’t resist when I started towards home, but we walked in silence.
When we reached the door, he stopped, and I looked at him expectantly.
“I’m going to head home,” he murmured.
“Like hell you are. You just had a panic attack. You’re coming in with me.”
He shrugged. “I’m fine now, you should get some rest. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”
“Ziggy, please, it will take you an hour to get home, and the tube will be full of Friday night drunks. I won’t sleep knowing you have to get through all that just to get home.” I held his hand tighter and opened the door. “Come on.”
Chapter Ten
He sat on the sofa with his jacket still on, just staring into space. I watched him and wondered how the hell I was going to get him to talk as I poured us both a much-needed double.
“Here, drink this,” I ordered, placing a tumbler of whiskey in his hand and sitting beside him. I sipped mine, and he didn’t move. I didn’t know how long I should give him with his thoughts before I should start pressing him for answers, but I knew he needed time.
After a few minutes, I gently touched the fingers he had wrapped noncommittally around the glass and urged him to drink. He looked at it, almost surprised to see it there. Clearly, he didn’t feel it in his hand; he was so lost in his thoughts. He threw the whole thing back absently and swallowed, hissing at the burn. Then he leant forward and placed the glass on the coffee table and dropped his elbows to his knees, grasping at his hair with his fingers.
I rubbed at his back. I wanted him to know I was here, whatever was causing his emotions. I was shocked to feel the first sob through his chest. He broke down then, so completely I was afraid for him.
“Hey,” I whispered. “Talk to me.”
Ziggy cried and shook for a while before he raised his head. Still not looking my way, he wiped at his eyes and nose with the back of his hand. My heart ached. I’d thought there was something in his past he was hiding from, but I never got the idea he had this much hurt buried.
And. It. Killed. Me.
He scrubbed his hand roughly over his face like he’d had enough of wallowing in whatever this was. For a second, I feared he was going to try and say it was nothing and get the hell out, but he surprised me.
“I lost someone too. My girlfriend. Steph.” His voice was hoarse and strained still with emotion, but he didn’t break down again. He just stared at his hands, turning
them over and over as if they were overdue for inspection anyway and he was just multi-tasking. Then he shook them and clenched his fists tightly, suddenly standing. “Can I get another drink?”
“Sure,” I croaked, slightly blindsided. That was not what I was expecting. As I said, I knew he had a story; I just figured it would be something completely different from mine. Otherwise, why didn’t he throw in an, “Oh, me too,” when I spilled my story?
He crossed the room and pulled the bottle from the shelf, topping up my glass first and pouring at least twice as much into his. He dropped down onto the sofa heavily and picked up his glass, sipping this time and sinking back into the cushions in resignation.
“I’m sorry,” I offered into the silence when it became clear he wasn’t about to go on. “When?”
He took a drink before he spoke. His tone was flat and factual when he recalled the amount of time which had passed. “Ten years, eight months, one week, and…I think, two days.”
Good Lord.
That long? Then I realised I had no room to talk. I was still a wreck after so many years; why shouldn’t he be?
“How?” was all I could think to say.
Ziggy let out a mirthless chuckle. “You don’t want to know.” He knocked back his drink and reached for the bottle.
I put my hand on his forearm to stop him, and he finally met my eyes in challenge.
“Are you going to talk to me or the bottle?”
“Can’t I tell you both?”
“You can if you want, but I’m not competing. I want to help you. I doubt Jack Daniels can say the same.”
Ziggy smiled at me; it was soft and genuine despite his storming emotions. “I know you do, Sparkles. I know you do. But the thing is there’s nothing you can do for me.”
I lifted my hand and let him pour his drink. “I can listen like you did for me.”
He put the bottle at his feet once he’d poured and sat back staring into his glass. “There are some things you just don’t need to hear, I’m telling you.”
“Maybe,” I nodded, “but I told you mine.”
“Yours was different.”
“Was it?”
“Completely. You couldn’t have done anything differently for Lewis.”
Lucky Scars Page 8