Lucky Scars

by Kerry Heavens

  He slid his hand into his pocket, pulling out a card and sighed. “I have a room,” he explained. But it wasn’t necessary. He knew I knew. “Spend the night with me, Bea.” His voice was sultry and inviting. Damn him. It was barely even a question.

  He took a step backwards into the corridor, his hand gently tugging me to follow. I let my fingers slip through his until he was only holding on by the tips. My heart was threatening to beat out of my chest. He used the last of our connection to try again to beckon me forward. “Please?”

  I closed my eyes. I could do this. I had to. I took a deep breath to strengthen my resolve and opened my eyes. He was watching me hopefully, even as our fingers lost contact and my hand fell to my side.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “Bea, please? I like you, you like me, what’s wrong with showing each other how much?”

  I shook my head. “That’s not how it works.”

  “That’s exactly how it works. People meet, they like each other, and then they see how good it could feel to express that in a beautiful hotel room.” He shrugged.

  “Jonathan, I’m just not in that place right now. I’m sorry.”

  The disappointment was evident on his face, but he didn’t fight me on it. He nodded reluctantly.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening,” I said quietly, leaning over to press the ground floor button.

  He said nothing as the lift doors closed, and I descended to the lobby feeling horrible.

  I hadn’t tried to lead him on and I’m sure he was right, it probably was how things were done. But not for me. I took months to get to that place with Lewis where we became more. I thought he was it for me, and then I lost him. I’m not about to put myself in that position again. I would call him later and apologise, but right then I had to be at home. I only wished Ziggy would still be there.

  The lift doors opened onto a bustling lobby. Evidently, while we had been tucked away in our private party downstairs, the restaurant and bar up here had filled up to capacity. Apparently, it was quite the local hotspot. Who knew? I guess I run with a different crowd, I thought, as I made my way through the throng to the cloakroom and waited for my coat.

  I checked over my shoulder a couple of times, but I was certain Jonathan was tired of the chase by now. He had too much pride to chase me out of a hotel. Once I had my coat, though, I didn’t wait around to find out and made for the front doors. The cool air hit me in a rush and I inhaled deeply, feeling the constriction I’d been feeling lift off my chest. I shivered once the outside temperature registered, though, and I threw my coat around my shoulders, fastening it as I walked briskly to the end of the mews. I paused, looking towards home, but the smells of China Town carried on the breeze, and my stomach growled its approval. The canapés had been lovely, but really, who were they trying to kid? While I had been level headed enough to make those two cocktails last, and I certainly wasn’t drunk, I needed some proper food inside me stat.

  Without another thought, I was turning right and heading towards my favourite noodle bar. The end of Dean Street was alive and bustling where it met Shaftsbury Avenue. Day or night, it was always teeming with life. I headed towards the crossing into China Town and waited with the crowd to cross. I pulled my phone out of my clutch and checked to see if I had missed anything. There was nothing interesting on my notification screen, and I realised I was disappointed that there was nothing from Ziggy. I would even have taken a pissy message about Jonathan being a dick to him, but he was conspicuous in his silence.

  I was staring at the screen, deciding whether to call him and tell him what a fuck up I was, when an awful sound snapped my attention to the road. Awful was the only word. It was an amalgamation of a screech of brakes, a thud, a crunch, a cry of pain and a collective gasp of horror. Somehow, though, it was just one sound—one sound among the hundred others competing in the tight space for dominance. And while horns blared, and bikes whizzed around traffic, a weird silence fell on our corner of London.

  Then, as if someone flipped a switch, chaos ensued.

  People ran in every direction around me, and there were terrified screams. A white, unmarked van had mounted the pavement, and like everyone around me, I thought another terror attack was taking place, but while everyone else turned and ran, I saw someone who needed help.

  With trembling fingers, I tapped at my phone screen, sobbing because I connected the call and then cut it off in my haste. I couldn’t handle technology; I just needed him. I was about to throw in the towel and just sit on the curb and cry when it rang. His stupid face appeared on the screen, and my heart leapt. He knew. He knew I needed him.

  Choking at the urgency to hear his voice, I tried again to get my fingers to cooperate, and, finally, they did.

  “Hello?” There was pleading in my tone. “Ziggy?

  There was a short stretch of silence, and I thought maybe I’d fucked up the call again when suddenly he spoke. “Bea? What’s wrong?”

  “Zig—” A sob cut me off.

  “Bea, where are you? What’s going on?”

  “I need you,” I whispered.

  “Tell me where?” he said with a steady determination that filled me with exactly the comfort I needed right then. He was coming. It was going to be ok. I looked up helplessly at my surroundings for a road name I could tell him.

  “Um,” I faltered. “I don’t know, I—” Fresh tears ran down my face, and I wiped at them with the back of my hand, only then noticing the blood. “Oh God,” I gasped.

  “Bea, please. You’re scaring me. Are you hurt?”

  “No,” I assured him quickly. “I just…” I didn’t even know where to start.

  “I need to know where you are. Calm down. I’m here. Take a deep breath and try to tell me where I need to go to find you. I’m coming. Okay? Now just tell me where.”

  I turned in place, looking for something I knew. I walked these streets every day, and they’d never felt so alien to me. He was the only thing that felt safe right then, but guilt swept over me, and I tried to pull myself together. I must have been freaking him out, and that wasn’t fair. Nothing around me seemed familiar, even though I knew it was; I was so disorientated. I needed to do what he told me and take a breath.

  He was coming to get me.

  It was ok.

  “Dean Street,” I told him as soon as I laid eyes on the street sign, relieved to be tuning back in but feeling so stupid that I was so close to home and couldn’t even focus enough to realise it. “At the Shaftsbury Avenue end, on the corner.”

  “I’m coming. Please just tell me you’re okay,” he said desperately into the phone.

  God, I sounded pathetic. This was stupid. He was home; he could be an hour, at least. I was selfish for asking him to come all the way back. “I’m okay, Zig. I’m sorry. You don’t have to come back. I was just freaking out, and I needed to hear your voice.”

  “Stay exactly where you are. I’m coming, Bea.”

  God, I felt so bad, but I couldn’t find it in me to be stronger. I was too glad he was coming. “Thank you,” I breathed. I could worry about how selfish I was later, but I couldn’t stand here all night. I had to talk to the police still. “Look, you’ll be ages, so just meet me at home later, okay? I can get myself there.” At least, I hoped I could.

  “No. Don’t move.”

  He was panting, I realised. “Are you running?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he breathed hard. There was clattering, rustling of clothes, and I could hear his feet pounding the pavement. “Shit,” he cursed, not necessarily to me. “Sorry,” he called out.

  “Zig, what are you…” I trailed off as my eyes caught the sight of him running down Dean Street with his phone pressed to his ear. What the hell? He left to go home hours ago. How was he right there? When he saw me, he lowered his phone and powered his legs harder. It happened so quickly; he was on me before I could react.

  He all but slammed into me, grabbing me by the arms and holding me to him, then fo
rcing me away from his chest to inspect me. “Fuck,” he growled and brushed his palm over my hair. His eyes darted over every inch of my face, then he was pressing me to his chest again. It felt like it was more for him than me, he held me so tight.

  “What happened?” he pleaded. I could feel him turning his head as he looked down Shaftsbury Avenue and took in the scene.

  “There was an accident. A cyclist was hit. I waited with him until the ambulance came.” I tilted my face up to his, and the blue flashing lights behind me twinkled in his concerned eyes. “His name was Owen. He didn’t make it.”

  Ziggy squeezed me tighter and concern furrowed even deeper into the lines on his forehead. “Fuck, Bea. Where’s Jonathan?”

  I felt a bitter laugh erupt inside me and felt instantly terrible. I hadn’t even thought to call him. I called Ziggy thinking he was back at home, and it never occurred to me that Jonathan was only a few hundred yards away, laughing it up with his business associates. I didn’t want him here, I wanted, no, I needed the support I knew Ziggy could give me, and I was going to greedily take it, even though I knew I’d have to pull him into this hole with me. This was going to dredge up the past in some way for both of us, but I knew he would understand. I would jump in the hole for him.

  “I left him at the party. I was tired, and I wanted to come home.” Even to my ears it sounded like bullshit, but we could talk about that crap later. Right now, I couldn’t think past Owen. “I came down here to grab some food before heading home, and then all this happened. It was awful,” I sobbed again, burying my face in his jacket.

  “Miss Lawson?” a gentle voice asked from behind me.

  I peeled myself away from Ziggy and turned, wiping my eyes and again forgetting the now dried blood. I looked down at my hands, turning them over, and my stomach turned at the sight of this life that had just left the body of a healthy young man right in front of my eyes.

  “Were you injured?” the softly spoken officer asked with concern.

  I shook my head and looked back at the blood. “It’s not mine,” I replied quietly.

  The officer nodded solemnly. “I just need to take a few details, Miss Lawson,” he offered a sympathetic smile, “if that’s alright with you.”

  Ziggy placed a protective arm around my shoulders and stepped up beside me. “Can’t she do this another time? She seems pretty shaken up.”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s best to do it while it’s still fresh in your mind.”

  “I already told them I didn’t see it happen. I only helped while we waited for the ambulance.”

  My shoulders were squeezed tightly.

  “I see. Can you just talk me through what you remember?”

  I tried to sort through my memory. I didn’t know how long I’d been here, but it felt like weeks. “I was waiting to cross over there,” I told him, pointing to the crossing on the closed section of road. “It was busy, and I was a couple of people deep from the curb, so I couldn’t really see the road anyway, but I was looking at my phone, so I wasn’t paying attention. I heard the crash and then all hell broke loose. People started screaming and scattering. Everyone thought it was another terror attack.”

  “Understandable,” he agreed.

  “I was about to run, but then I realised the van had stopped. It wasn’t trying to hit people; it was an accident.” I sniffled, reliving the moment. “Then I saw the guy on the road under the front of the van.” I looked up at Ziggy, feeling the need to justify my actions. “Everyone was running the other way, but I could see he was hurt. I just went to him.” A big fat tear rolled down my face at the image of him lying there.

  “And he was conscious?” The officer looked down to check his facts in his notebook.

  “Yes,” I began to cry again. “I held his hand and told him everything was going to be okay.” The sobs shook my body, and Ziggy was there to hold me up.

  “I’m sorry, I know this is hard for you, Miss Lawson, but can you tell me what he said?”

  “He said his wife didn’t like him cycling in central London, and that she was going to be so angry with him. I don’t think he realised then how serious it was.”

  “Did he describe to you any details of the accident at all?”

  I shook my head. “He blacked out briefly, and then when he spoke again…He knew he was going. He asked me to tell his wife—” I choked on a sob. “He asked me to tell his wife he loved her. Oh God, how can I tell someone the last words of their husband?” The tears just would not stop.

  “It’s okay, Miss Lawson. Next of kin is being informed, and officers from victim support will be in touch with you tomorrow. I’m sure they will be able to pass your message along.”

  My head snapped up. “No. I promised I would tell her. I just—”

  “Try not to think about that now. I’m sure, in due course, there will be a time when the victim’s family will take great comfort in knowing that they were in his final thoughts and that you were there for him at the end. But for now, you’ve done all you can. At this time, we need to gather as much information as possible, so I just want to confirm that the victim did not give you any details about the accident.”

  “No, none. I don’t know what happened. Just that he’s gone.” I hiccupped on the emotion of that statement.

  The police officer nodded in sympathy. Ziggy tightened his fingers around my shoulder, and I was so grateful he was there.

  “And you, sir? Did you witness the incident?” The officer directed his question to Ziggy.

  “Oh, no. I just got here.”

  “Okay then, well, I think that’s all for now.” He checked once again he had my number written down correctly and told me to expect contact from the accident investigation team and victim support. “Do you need someone to take you home?”

  “That’s kind of you,” Ziggy answered for me, “but we’re only going to the other end of Dean Street. I’m here, so we’re fine.”

  While I was quietly taking comfort in the fact that Ziggy was here to answer for me and see that I got home okay, we began walking. Making my feet move wasn’t a conscious decision. It just happened. We walked in silence, and I barely noticed we were moving until laughter pulled me from my thoughts. I looked absently down into the side street towards the sound, and I realised I was looking at the hotel I had left so resolutely not thirty minutes ago. It felt like an entire lifetime ago.

  It was. The end of a lifetime.

  Before I knew it, I was sobbing again. Ziggy gathered me to his chest, and we stood. He had to have questions, but he wasn’t asking me for answers. He really was the best.

  “Come on,” he whispered into my hair. “You’re cold, and you’ll feel better at home.” Wordlessly, he managed to get me there, and when we arrived on our floor, he kept an arm around me while he stopped by his desk and picked up his bag. He took out his set of keys and guided me up the stairs to let us into my flat, leading me straight to the bathroom, where he sat me on the edge of the bath.

  He sank to his knees in front of me and slipped off my shoes. I just watched, defeated. Next, he pulled at my hands to get me to stand and turned me around to face the sink. He ran warm water and soaped the blood from my hands. Then without asking, he soaped them again to help me wash away the memory. He left me for a moment and disappeared into the bedroom, then quietly returned. I flinched when he unzipped the back of my dress, but before I could react for the good or bad, I felt something being slipped on over my head. He scooped my hair from the neckline and continued to pull it down over me. I looked down and sucked in a breath. It was Lewis’ T-shirt, the one I gave Ziggy and never took back. The one that had been out of sight and gloriously out of mind. The one I thought I never wanted to see again.

  But now?

  The fact that Ziggy felt it would bring me some comfort made it so. It smelled like Ziggy, not Lewis, but I felt like Lewis was with me. I had tried to cast out the last reminder I had of him, and it had found this wonderful man and planted him into my life.
I felt like Lewis was telling me something. Maybe this was his way of reminding me I was still alive. And so was Ziggy. He was here when I needed him, giving me the comfort of something so meaningful because he understood. I didn’t know what more I could ask for.

  He waited, and I realised he was leaving it to me to slip my dress off inside the T-shirt. Even that was so sweet it hurt. I stepped out of the dress, and he scooped it up, dropping it straight into the bin. I was relieved. Even if it wasn’t ruined, I never wanted to see it again.

  Everything felt so numb that when I felt his hands on my shoulders, urging me to sit back on the bath, I was startled I could feel at all. Ziggy placed his finger under my chin and lifted it until I looked into his eyes. I swallowed, not able to process the intimacy that I both craved and feared. Was he going to kiss me? I felt guilty for hoping to feel his lips on mine.

  I closed my eyes but didn’t lean in. If this was going to happen, it had to come from him.

  I gasped at the feel of cool moisture on my closed eyelid. The fragrance of my makeup remover told me he was doing the unthinkable.

  He was taking my makeup off for me.

  I couldn’t handle it. He was everything. Everything. And he would never let anyone appreciate him for the generous, caring, wonderful man that he was. I knew then that I would never love anyone more. How could I? This wasn’t simply a crush. This was a love that filled my broken soul, and at the same time, threatened to scar me worse than all the other scars I had.

  Tears slipped from my closed eyelids as he worked too gently for words. I was fleetingly grateful to Owen for being my reason to cry because Ziggy’s tenderness was breaking my heart.

  I could never have him, and he was all I’d ever want.

  With no clue about my inner turmoil, Ziggy finished cleaning my face and laid me down in bed, slipping out of his jeans to join me. My body had kind of shut down, and I went where he put me. I wasn’t in shock, or at least not because of the accident. It was knowing the bed I’d made for myself. Losing a love was, in some ways, easier to overcome. Their death, while cruel and heartbreaking, immortalised their love for you. It could never change, diminish, or grow old.