Heart

by Nicola Hudson

  “You’re such a lovely young man, Jake. Your mum must be so proud of you.” Oh, yeah, so proud.

  “Thank you.” Well, I can’t exactly tell her the truth, can I? “I don’t think you’ll need me again until spring,” I add, knowing she will be disappointed by that.

  “That seems so far away, doesn’t it?” Her face suddenly changes. “What’s that, over there?” Her hand points in the direction of the newly-planted myrtle.

  “Oh, I put something in the gap from where that lavender died. I hope you don’t mind. There’s no charge,” I add, even though I know money doesn’t worry her.

  “I think I recognise it. Is it…?” Her excited tone surprises me.

  “Myrtle. It will give you some evergreen colour over winter and the white flowers are lovely in the summer.”

  “Oh,” she sighs. “I thought it was. I had myrtle in my wedding bouquet. Everyone did in those days. I heard Kate Middleton did, as well, so it’s probably all the fashion again.” Tears glaze her eyes and threaten to do the same to me. “Oh, Jake, that’s perfect. Every time I look at it, I will be reminded of my wedding day. Thank you.” Her hand takes mine and squeezes it tight. “I hope you find love like I had with Jack. You deserve it.”

  Walking back to the van, arms laden with my tools, I wish life was that simple.

  When I arrived for my lecture on Medieval Literature a couple of days later, I saw Garrett was sat in the same place as in Monday’s lecture but, thinking about Cass’s advice, I went and sat a couple of rows away, a part of me hoping he wouldn’t notice me arrive. How wrong I was.

  Before I had even taken my coat off, his long legs had straddled the benches between us and he was placing a coffee cup in front of me.

  “One skinny mocha, no cocoa symbolism today,” he said, sitting down next to me. “How are you?”

  “Fine. Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Fine? I know enough about women to know that fine never means fine. What’s up?”

  “You mean, other than having Perky join me at this godforsaken hour?” Yes, I know, I can be a bitch sometimes.

  “Oh, sorry. Do you want me to leave you alone?” His tone made it difficult to say yes.

  “No, stay. I’m just not a morning person,” I added, by way of apology.

  “I understand. This nine o’ clock lecture is a killer, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, this is my crap day. I have four classes, right through until six-thirty.”

  “Ugh. I hate those days. What do you do in between?”

  “Usually the library. I know if I go back to my room, I’ll probably not make it back,” I admitted.

  “I’ve got an hour after this before my next lecture. Do you fancy a study buddy? I promise not to distract you.” His smile seemed sincere and, with the lack of any other friends still the case, I agreed.

  True to his word, he accompanied me to the library and spent the hour in the study booth next to me. Other than a whispered “See you later,” before he left, he didn’t even talk to me. However, it wasn’t long before the vibration of my phone disturbed my reading.

  Yankee: Do you eat? If yes, we could get lunch. If no, you’re weird.

  Me: Yes & yes. I’m only free from 1 til 2 so it will have to be quick.

  Yankee: We can do quick. Food court at 1.15?

  Me: c u there ☺

  That was probably the moment when it all started. The way things were going to be between us.

  Garrett bought my lunch, carried it to the table and was entertaining company whilst we ate. He told me about growing up in a wealthy family in Boston, even laughing when I had to check on Google Maps exactly where Boston was. He told me about his grandmother, living a seemingly-hedonistic existence in London since becoming a widow. In fact, he told me so much about himself that I felt like I had known him for ages when he insisted on walking me to the lecture hall. We walked quickly as there is nothing more embarrassing than arriving after the lecture has started; I had seen others publicly humiliated for tardiness. About to follow a group of students into the hall, I felt Garrett’s hand on my arm.

  “Hey, I have to leave you here,” he reminded me.

  “Oh, yeah, thanks for lunch.” My smile was probably the most sincere I had bestowed upon him since our first meeting. He reached out and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. The intimacy of the gesture was unsettling.

  “You’ve got a bit blown about by the speed-walking,” he smiled. “Speak soon.”

  “Bye,” I said to his back before making my way into the lecture. Even though my lecturer was great, regaling us with a potted history of American music, my mind kept replaying the way Garrett had touched my hair. There was nothing tentative about the gesture, nothing which suggested he thought I might be unhappy about it. Putting it down to American confidence, I tried to focus on my notes. But failed.

  At exactly six thirty-one, my phone rang. Yankee flashed on the screen. I felt a jolt of disappointment that it wasn’t Jake’s name.

  “Hi, Garrett.” How I wished his wasn’t the voice at the other end of the line.

  “Hey. How was your lecture?” Really? He wanted to talk about a class that wasn’t even on his course?

  “Fine, I guess.”

  “Uh oh, it’s that ‘fine’ word again,” he started.

  “Did you want something?”

  “Um, no. I just thought I’d see how you were,” was his reply, clearly surprised by my abruptness.

  “Well, I am fine. In the proper sense of the word. I just want to get back to my room and chill. My brain has had enough for the day. Sorry if I seem a bit snappy.”

  “That’s okay. I understand. See you tomorrow,” he added before ringing off. Did he understand? Did I care?

  Friday night, sat on the sofa, Cass casually braiding my hair while we watched Made in Chelsea, things seemed something approaching normal. Well, pre-Jake normal. Flynn and Cass were already here when I arrived and, after a dinner of Mum’s lasagne followed by chocolate ice cream, the three of us were sat in the lounge, watching TV and not mentioning Jake’s name.

  I tried hard not to be jealous at the relaxed intimacy shared by Cass and Flynn: the little touches which took place whenever everyone else was otherwise occupied. The love I felt for both of them meant I didn’t deny they deserved to be happy, but I missed what they had. I missed the time we had spent double-dating, best friends in love with best friends. I missed the physical side of being loved.

  That was probably why Cass had angled herself away from Flynn and started playing with my hair. Flynn had shifted slightly, allowing us more space, as if following her unspoken instructions. By the time my hair was finished, I felt relaxed enough to try sleeping.

  “I’m going up,” I said, also wanting to give the two of them some time to themselves.

  “Do you want me to come up?” Cass asked.

  “No, I’m knackered after the drive so just want to get some sleep. Honestly. You stay here. Sleep in Flynn’s room. I’ll be fine.” I was probably trying to persuade myself as much as Cass, but it worked and she let me make my way upstairs. Alone.

  By the time I had taken off my makeup and changed into my pyjamas, the sleepiness had gone. Not wanting to go back down and disturb whatever might be going on, I sat in bed and got my phone out. Big mistake. As I scrolled through the photos of Jake and me, reviewing the visual history of our relationship, I couldn’t stop myself crying.

  How could he do this to me? To us? I explored the close-up details of our selfies, looking for clues in his eyes. Uncertainty? Doubt? Unhappiness?

  Nothing.

  Nothing which hinted at what was coming. Even in the most recent pictures, he looked as in love, as infatuated, as ever. As me.

  Why?

  I threw my phone to the end of my bed and cried into my pillow.

  Why?

  I felt Cass’s hand stroke my back through the duvet until the crying subsided. She didn’t say anything, knowing no words could take the p
ain away, staying until the emotion and exhaustion overtook me.

  Thanks to Mum, the following afternoon found Cass and me at a posh hair salon in town. After promises not to go for the clichéd post-breakup gesture of getting all of my hair chopped off, Mum pre-paid for our appointments and left us to it. We sat in the lounge, quietly over-awed by the trendiness of the black-clad staff and all-white surroundings. Even the bass-heavy dance music playing over hidden speakers suggested we were way out of our comfort zone.

  A girl around my age called my name and looked for a response. I stood and followed her into the salon. “You’re with Emma, over here,” she said, shepherding me over to one of the chairs which looked more like it was built for space travel than comfort.

  Helping me into the chair was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. She looked like she should be on the red carpet in Hollywood, not cutting hair in a Midlands town. Her white-blonde hair fell in perfect waves onto lightly-tanned skin, covered only in a black-lace tee shirt and skinny jeans. Cowboy boots and long, silver earrings completed the look.

  “Hi, Neve. I’m Emma. What are you after today?”

  “I don’t know. I want it to look a bit different but nothing too radical. Any suggestions?” Let’s be honest, her style suggested she knew more about this than me.

  “Well, it depends what type of different you’re after. I could put a few lights through it and take a bit off the length. Or we could go a bit more edgy, you know, grown up? Safe or take a risk?”

  Looking at Cass’s smile from the chair next to mine, I knew I didn’t really have a choice. “Let’s take a risk.”

  Two hours later and I knew I’d made the right choice. Staring back from the mirror was a slightly different version of me. My previously one-length hair now hung in choppy layers around my face and to just past my shoulders. The white-blonde highlights threaded heavily through my natural blonde changed my look completely. The hair which had defined me as the same for the last five years now told the world I was not that soft, naïve girl anymore. I loved it.

  We walked out, each of us with an extra layer of confidence thanks to Mum’s treat. Cass’s change was more subtle: her fringe was heavier and the colour had a glossy hint of plum. “Let’s grab a coffee before we go back,” she suggested and we made our way to the indie coffee shop across the road.

  “Sitting having a coffee with you, like this, always reminds me of that day in Birmingham. You made me realise what a fool I was being, keeping Flynn away after what had happened. I’ll always be thankful for you getting him to meet me that day.” It had been such a risk, forcing Cass’s hand, especially when she was still so emotionally fragile after the attack. But I knew how much Flynn loved her, and how that love would help her to heal.

  “I wasn’t sure whether it was the right thing, especially the look on your face when I told you. But I’m glad I did. I know he’s my brother and all that, but you two make such a perfect couple. I couldn’t let two people I love carry on hurting.”

  “I’m not sure we’re perfect. Is anyone? But I don’t want to consider a life without Flynn. That’s what makes me worry for you. I thought you and Jake were the same and, if I think what it would do to me if Flynn ended it, I can’t believe you’re able to even get out of bed in the morning. I’m so proud of you, Neve. You’re doing okay.” Her watery eyes reflected her concern for me, and I reached across the table to hold her hand.

  “I have to. I don’t want to but I have to. What are my other options? If I don’t go to classes, I’ll fail. I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

  “Maybe you do,” Cass ventured. “If you’re so unhappy, maybe you should speak to him. Find out why he did it. I don’t mean the crap he said on the day, but what really made him do it. There might be a way around it.” My head struggled to think through the consequences of her suggestion. Could I cope with finding out the truth? Could we go back to how things were, as though this had never happened? Deep down, as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I knew the answer.

  “I could never take him back after this, Cass. He broke my heart. Come on, you’ve read the same magazine articles, watched Oprah with Mum as much as I have. I have to be strong. I can’t let him do it again. My heart may want to, but my head says I deserve better.”

  “Well, if that’s what you believe, maybe you should give Garrett a go. You know, see if there is a chance of feeling something like you felt with Jake.”

  I didn’t tell her I already knew I didn’t.

  That was what worried me.

  Waving Mum and Dad off outside the housing block the next day, I was glad Mum had insisted on me going home. A couple of days of home-cooked food, being pampered and spending time with Cass had brought some moments of happiness. Even Flynn had been surprisingly discreet about what had happened with Jake; Cass told me he had ripped into Jake about ending things with me, but Flynn himself was silent on the matter.

  Before I left, Cass had given me a gift-wrapped box, with strict instructions to only open it when I was feeling lonely or sad. It now sat in the corner of my room, next to the pile of pebbles.

  I needed to finish an essay that was due later that week so was content to sit at my desk for the remainder of the evening, accompanied only by a stack of textbooks. Not wanting any awkwardness in the following day’s lecture, I knew I needed to contact Garrett before then.

  Me: Hi. Had a good weekend?

  Yankee: Yes, thanks. Went to London. You?

  Me: Yes, thanks. Went home.

  Yankee: That’s always good. See your boyfriend?

  Me: What boyfriend?

  Yankee: Sorry, thought you were seeing someone.

  Me: No. Why u think that?

  Yankee: You acted a little strange. I was worried I’d messed up.

  Me: No. Just a strange mood

  Yankee: So no boyfriend then? ☺

  Me: No. Not looking either!

  Yankee: Message received! Meet for lunch before lecture?

  Me: OK. 1.30?

  Yankee: It’s a date… only joking!

  Me: Bye.

  Yankee: What are you doing now?

  Me: Bye.

  Yankee: Seriously?!

  Me: Yes. Bye.

  I finished drafting my essay and went to bed. Lying there, I realised it was just a week since Jake had left me here, alone. My heart was still a heap of broken pieces, but at least they were now arranged in a tidy pile in the corner.

  Who was I trying to kid?

  Shaking the rain off my hair and wishing I was organised enough to carry an umbrella, I looked around the food court for Garrett. He was sat, engrossed by his phone screen, so I made my way over to his table. As soon as I got there, he was out of his chair and holding one out for me.

  “Let me get something to eat first,” I said, ignoring the chair.

  “I’ll get it. You sit down.” His tone was one of command.

  “I can get my own lunch!”

  “I know but I’m trying to be a gentleman here. Give me a break, will you?” The combination of his smile and the proximity of others meant I had little choice but to go along with it. “What do you want?”

  “I’ll have a jacket potato with cheese and beans. Oh, and a Sprite, please.” Having draped my coat over the back of the adjacent chair, off he went to buy lunch.

  “Here. I don’t know how you can call those things beans, though. They’re gross!” Once the lunch trays were placed on the table, he sat across from me and smiled. I hadn’t noticed his teeth before. It was true what they said about American dentistry. He had a great smile.

  When it was time to make our way to the lecture, he pulled me close and sheltered us both underneath his coat, holding the hood over both of our heads. The difference in height meant the walk was an endless knocking of elbows and legs and we were breathlessly laughing when we finally reached our destination, almost falling through the door to the lecture hall.

  “Oh, and what do we have here? A scene from some
airport chick-lit romance where the couple fall in love through the raindrops? How sweet. You’re late. Sit down and kindly do not disturb us any more than you already have. Back to Victorian balladry, everyone.” The lecturer’s sarcasm definitely brought an end to our laughter. I was embarrassed and angry. Checking my phone, I could see we weren’t late; he had started early. As the lecture progressed, my anger grew to the point where my notes were little more than random words punctuated by ferocious stabs of my pen.

  Garrett didn’t get the chance to stop me making my way to the front of the hall as soon as the lecturer dismissed us.

  “Ah, an apology, is it? Better late than never, I suppose.” His words did nothing whatsoever to appease me.

  “No, this isn’t an apology, as we weren’t late. I checked and it wasn’t quite three thirty when we sat down. You started early.”

  “Sorry. Was I supposed to wait until the chime of the clock to begin? Everyone else was seated and ready but because you,” he paused to scan the seating plan, “Miss Peters and Mister Adams, were not here, we were supposed to sit and make small talk until you deigned us with your presence?” The old man’s voice was dripping in sarcasm and I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks.

  “You do not have the right to talk to us like that, Sir,” I added my own note of sarcasm to the word. “We are paying ridiculous amounts on tuition. The least we deserve is to be treated like—”

  “Doctor Randall, I’m sorry, we won’t be late again,” Garrett interrupted my spiel. “It was completely my fault. Please do not hold it against Neve, Sir.” His words were accompanied by a smooth smile, the one he had used on me before. The transformation in the lecturer was beyond belief.