“That was ace. Thank you so much!” Even though I felt slightly sick after devouring the whole packet of Minstrels, I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so happy. It certainly wasn’t since before Jake had ended things.
“I told you we’d manage, being so far apart.” Cass had intended her words to make me feel better, but they’d done the opposite.
“Why couldn’t Jake see that, then?” I asked.
“Because he’s a bloke?” she joked before her more serious response. “Because we’ve been friends for years. We’ve survived worse than this. So we know we’ll be okay. You and Jake don’t have the security blanket of that history. And he has all the crap of his family to contend with. That’s why.” Her words made sense, but they didn’t make the Jake-shaped hole in my heart any easier to deal with.
“It hurts, Cass,” I admitted.
“I know and I wish I could make it better. Can I ask you a question?”
“Yeah?” I wondered where she was going with this.
“When I last saw you, you said you could never forgive him. But do you mean that? Really? What if it was him trying to make things right with you today, rather than Garrett?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
“I think you do.” She paused. “I love you to bits, Neve, but sometimes you can be too stubborn for your own good. I think you still love him and want him back. But you’re too scared to admit it.” Only Cass could get away with such honesty.
“Yes,” was all I could muster. Finally admitting the truth was like unburdening myself.
I loved Jake.
I still loved Jake.
I would always love Jake.
“Well, do something about it then.”
“But what if he doesn’t want me back?” I’d never felt rejection like I had when he ended us. Could I risk putting myself through that again?
“Well, for one, according to Flynn, he’s a mess and was only thinking of you when he did it. And, secondly, you’ve got to take a risk sometimes. What’s the worst that could happen? He says no? How can that make you any unhappier than you are now? But what if he says yes?” The thrill which coursed through me at her final question was all the answer I needed. I took a deep breath.
“So, what do I do about it?” Cass yelped with glee at the other end, bringing a smile to my face as well.
“We can sort a plan of attack when you come home next weekend. I’ll speak to Flynn. It’ll be okay, Neve. You’ll be okay.” God, I hoped she was right.
Wolfing down the microwaved lasagne as fast as I can, the throb of a motorbike pulling up to the door tells me I haven’t been quick enough. Jim’s in the kitchen before I’ve finished and I wonder why he’s made a beeline for me. At least it’s better than him looking for Josh or Grace.
Knowing better than to believe I can hide my contempt from him, I turn my back and start rinsing off my plate.
“Whatcha doin’ that for, pussy? That there’s women’s work.” Yes, this enlightened vision of masculinity is what my stupid mother thinks is some sort of replacement for Dad. Well, one of a string of replacements, each more grotesque than the last. “I said, what are you doin’ that for? Didn’t you hear me?”
I try not to antagonise him by keeping my voice neutral. “Habit, I suppose.” I allow myself a slight shrug but still face the opposite way.
“That’s about right. You like women’s work, don’t ya? All growing pretty flowers and shit? Ha, you wouldn’t know what being a man is if it hit ya on the arse. Or would you like a bit of arse action? Hey?” Forcing myself to count to ten in my head, I can’t stop my fists clenching as the need to prove how much of a man I am to him bubbles inside. “You wanna grow something, grow weed, man. Then you’d be raking it in and you wouldn’t have to live here. You ain’t gonna get rich making things look pretty. Well, not unless you’re a girl and then you use that God-given talent and spread them legs. Make the world pay to see how pretty you are.” Disgust at his words flows through me, making the burning desire to hit him ever stronger. “See, that’s where Grace’s got it made. She’ll have men begging to play in her garden, if you catch my drift—”
My fist makes contact with his nose before he finishes the sentence. Yes, the sight of blood pouring from his face makes me feel better, but I’m not stupid enough to think this will be the end of it. He pulls the tea towel up to stop the bleeding and looks at me with hatred-filled eyes.
“You’re gonna regret doin’ that, kid.”
“Don’t you ever talk about Grace like that again or I’ll do more than that, dickhead.” I walk out of the kitchen, head held high but inwardly shaking. Have I just made things worse?
It doesn’t take long to find out.
Packing up the van the next day, I take a final look at my work, mentally admiring how I’ve honoured Neve. The garden now has a hedge of myrtle running along its west side. In a year or two, they will be a wall of green, a memorial to what I had. Neve. Myrtle.
Myrtle. She is a ghost haunting my days, my nights, my dreams, my hopes. Voiceless but still in control. Every day is spent following her lead, walking the paths of our scenes and shadows. Every night is spent being haunted as the ghost taps at the window of my sleep. Nothing I do appeases her.
I text Bill to tell him I’m finished and then wonder what to do. I’ve got time to kill and don’t want to go home. Home. That’s a joke. I think back to the home we had when I was a kid. Don’t get me wrong, life wasn’t perfect then, but it was damn closer than it is now.
Dad had worked long shifts as a paramedic but he would also have runs of several days off at a time. That’s why he got into gardening; it gave him something to do when we were at school. I can remember the hours we spent, digging and planting. He grew all of our vegetables at the far end, even though us kids were less than grateful at the abundance of fresh food it meant we had for dinner each night.
Dinner that Mum cooked. Like she made us packed lunches every day. Her life was looking after us. Loving us. To show how much he loved her for loving us, Dad kept a small section of the garden for flowers and plants. For her. She had a deckchair there and would sit, book in hand, watching him work. Those are the happiest memories I have: the two of them, content, in love, whilst we played in the garden.
It was losing the garden that killed me more than losing the house. The day when she sat us down and told us that we were moving is definitely up there in the crappiest days of my life. I knew I had to be strong for Josh and Grace but, deep down, I wanted to bawl my fucking eyes out. We had lived in that house my whole life. I could remember every layer of wallpaper in my bedroom, every colour Dad had painted the kitchen, every room we had laughed in.
But the garden? I had helped him to create that. He had taught me all he knew from his own dad, a keen gardener. It was ours. His and mine.
She didn’t care about leaving the garden. Hell, she didn’t seem to care about leaving the house, even though it was filled with every memory that belonged to us as a family.
We had no say in where we moved to. She made all the decisions. Moved us to a godforsaken estate, crippled with crime. Moved us to a smaller house where we tripped over each other, unconsciously invading each other’s space. I get that she couldn’t keep up the mortgage payments once he’d died. But I didn’t get the way she could uproot us all, take away the one thing that tied us to Dad, in the way she did.
And now, her attempts at getting a job long-forgotten, she moves from one loser to another, each time surprised he doesn’t turn out to be half the man Dad was. Forcing us to pick up her pieces over and over again. I’ve learnt to cope, but it’s not fair on Grace and Josh. They don’t even have the same memories I have to remind me that life isn’t always this shit.
So I drive to the park.
The park where Dad used to take us as kids.
The park where I learnt to ride my first bike.
The park where I first told Neve I loved her.
The closest t
hing to home I’ve got.
I sit in the car park, put in my earphones and listen to every song that now makes sense to the broken man I am. I get it now: what all of those songwriters and poets are trying to express: every metaphor for heartbreak strikes deep within me, every wail replicates the sound of my own soul crying.
When I pull up outside our house an hour later, anger threatens to overwhelm me and make me do something I’ll regret. Everything I own, everything that is mine, is scattered across the front garden. Clothes are strewn everywhere, like flyers thrown from the skies. CDs dot the lawn. My laptop lies on the slabs, smashed beyond use.
And then I see her. Grace. Sat on the doorstep, crying. I lock up the anger and go to her.
“I tried to stop him, Jake. I did. But he was so strong. I couldn’t make him stop.” I sit next to her and put my arm around her shoulder. Try to make sense of the scene in front of me. “He was just so mad, picking anything up and throwing it out the window. And all the time he was saying really horrible things about you. What did you do, Jake?”
I couldn’t tell her the truth. Well, not all of it anyway.
“I hit him. He pissed me off. So I hit him.”
“He said you can’t come back, that he’ll leave Mum if she lets you back in. She was crying, but I don’t think she wants him to go, Jake. What are you going to do? I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to live here without you.” Her crying gets louder and I feel every sob rip through me, tearing at the little bit of heart I have left. That one impulsive moment has jeopardised everything I was trying to do for Josh and Grace.
“I’ll think of something. Don’t worry.” My words sound pathetic, even to me. What the fuck am I going to do?
“I saved this for you.” Grace pulls a frame from behind her. Tears fill my eyes at what I see, at knowing she understood the frame Neve gave me for Valentine’s Day was more valuable to me than my Xbox or laptop. I take it from her and mentally devour the selection of photos it holds.
Me and Dad.
Me, Grace and Josh.
Me and Flynn.
Me and Neve.
A twelve-inch square that reminds me of who is important in my life.
“Give me a hand picking this lot up?” I pull Grace to her feet and start collecting my things. She runs inside, coming back out a few minutes later with a duffel bag and a large pink box.
“It’s all I’ve got. The suitcases are in the loft.”
I pack my things into the bag and the box and put them in the back of the van. Grace lingers next to me.
“Where are you going?” Despite not having a clue as to what my next move is going to be, I don’t want to worry her. I also don’t want to make it worse by causing a scene. Not yet.
“I don’t know. Maybe Bill’s or Flynn’s. I’ll be okay. What are you doing tonight?” I was more worried about her than I was for myself. The roof over her head offered little protection if I wasn’t there.
“I’m sitting for Noah. When I get back, I’ll use my lock.” That said it all. I need to come up with a plan. Quick.
“Text me if you need anything. Anything. I won’t be far. Okay?”
“Okay,” she hiccups through fresh tears. Prolonging this isn’t going to make it any easier and I really don’t want to see Dickhead. I don’t trust myself.
After one last hug, I get in the van and pull away.
Back at the park, I lock the van and take a walk, hoping the fresh air will give me inspiration. I’ve got enough cash for a cheap B&B tonight but that’s not an option in the long run. All I want is to go to Neve.
To hug her and have her tell me it’s all going to be okay.
To be loved.
After eating breakfast with the other residents of the B&B, each of whom appears to have his own mental health issues, I face the facts. I can’t live like this. I can’t afford to live like this, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. And, having looked through the local papers last night, I also know I can’t afford to rent anything more than a bedsit. My hope of finding somewhere for me, Grace and Josh rests on two things: time and money. So I need to find some of both.
Faced with this reality, I make a decision I’m not happy with but know is probably the only option I have: to go back home and apologise. As much as my fists burn at the mere idea of apologising to Dickhead, there is no other choice. Not if I’m going to still be able to look after Grace and Josh. I send Mum a text asking to meet her later and go to work.
I’m glad today’s job means I’m working with Bill for the day. Too much time by myself will mean too much thinking time, and I’ve had enough of that in the last twenty-four hours. We’re landscaping the garden for a new house and working alongside Bill, creating something from scratch, reminds me of working with Dad when I was a kid. Even the groans of Bill’s aching body have a welcome familiarity to them.
“You all right, kid?” Bill asks when we sit down for lunch: his a box prepared by his wife, mine a sandwich and packet of crisps from the garage down the road.
“Yeah, ta.”
“Bullshit.” My head turns at the word; I’ve never heard Bill swear. “Come on, you can tell me. Girl trouble? Mum trouble?” Bill knows the basics about my home life. He knew Dad and had given me a part-time job as soon as I was old enough for it to be legal. That job had turned into this apprenticeship and I was thankful for it.
“I’m fine.” Yeah, sure I am.
“I’ve known you long enough, Jake, to know when you’re not telling the truth. I’ve also known you long enough to care when it looks like you don’t know what to do next. What’s up? I’m old enough, if not wise enough, that I might be able to see an answer you can’t.” What have I got to lose?
I tell Bill everything that has gone on. I start with the recent events and then go back in time, starting with Dad. When he prompts me, I also reveal how I dumped Neve. As I listen to the tale I’m telling, I can’t believe how I thought that ending things with Neve would make the rest of the sorry situation any better.
Bill leans back and crosses his ankles. I wait for advice. Words of wisdom. Words of comfort. Anything.
Nothing.
“So, what do you think I should do?” I eventually ask, desperate for a response to my outpouring.
“I think you should come round for tea tonight. Sophie’s making cottage pie. You don’t want to miss out on that. Come on, let’s get back to it.” Heaving himself up, Bill closes his lunchbox and moves back over to the area we were working on before lunch.
Still waiting on a reply from Mum at the end of work, I haven’t got anything better to do than go to Bill’s. I pop into the toilets at the supermarket and give myself a quick tidy-up. I pick up a box of chocolates for Sophie to say thank you for tea, knowing Bill would kill me if I took her a bunch of flowers.
Bill was right: Sophie’s cottage pie is amazing. The second and third helpings reflect how long it is since I’ve had a home-cooked meal like it. I manage to squeeze in a couple of slices of apple pie and ice cream before sitting on the sofa, my offer to wash up having been loudly turned down by Sophie. Bill sits on the chair next to me and switches off the TV.
“You ready for that chat now?” I only need to nod before he continues. “Me and Sophie have had a good talk about it tonight, before you came round, and we’d like to offer you a room here, Jake. For as long as you need it.” I thought I was going to get advice, not this level of help.
“Really? You mean it?”
“’Course we do, lad. You’re the best worker I’ve ever had and I couldn’t think more highly of you. I’m getting on and know I wouldn’t be able to keep the business going without you, Jake. When he was little, I had my hopes pinned on Liam but look what he’s turned out like. And he hasn’t got half the excuses you would have to go off the rails.” The tell-tale burning at the back of my throat tells me this could get emotional and I try to swallow the tears. Sophie comes back in, tea-towel in hand, and perches on the arm of Bill’s chair.
&
nbsp; “It will be lovely having someone else around the house, Jake. We would love to have you. The spare room just needs a few boxes moving out, that’s all. There’s a bed and other bits and pieces in there.”
“I can’t believe this.” I run my hands over my face, unsure of what to do. I want to hug and kiss them both, but know that is probably a line they wouldn’t appreciate me crossing.
“Well, believe it, kid. The room’s yours, if you want it. I’m sure Sophie will throw in a few dinners, as well,” he adds, smiling up at her.
“How much rent do you want?” Remembering the cost of the bedsit, I know how much I can afford.
“Rent? We don’t want rent. We want to help you out. We care, Jake. I don’t want your money.” The tears fill my eyes and Sophie walks over, hugging me to her chest.
“Come on, now. It’ll all be okay. Let’s go up and sort those boxes.” Following her out, I take a look back at Bill. He’s sitting with a huge smile on his face and I silently thank whatever force of life it is that brought him into my life.
Lying on clean bedding later that evening, I pick up my phone. Other than a couple of texts from Grace, it has been silent all day. No reply from Mum and I’m disappointed but not surprised.
Me: You OK?
Grace: Yeah. All moved in now?
Me: Yes. Got more space… and less hassle!
Grace: That’s good ☺
Me: What’s going on there?
Grace: They’ve gone out so it’s just me and Josh☺
Me: Good. Meet tomorrow after work?
Grace: YES! YES! YES!
Me: OK… calm down! Costa at 5?
Grace: I CAN’T WAIT! Love you xx
Me: Love u 2. See u at 5 xx
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