Dysfunctional Hearts

by L. S. Pullen

  “She panicked, packed a bag, and left me,” he says with a grin.

  “And you seem amused by this, why?”

  He laughs; it’s an odd sound. And yet…a familiar one I only recall from childhood memories. Being here with him, visiting my Mum’s family, and seeing him being more like the man he was before is both nostalgic and unwanted. But at the same time, maybe it’s something I need.

  “We weren’t married when she fell pregnant.”

  This is news to me. I raise an eyebrow, a silent question.

  “Oh, yeah, right. Anyway, she just completely freaked out. Thought I wouldn’t want to stay with her and you.”

  “And why would she think that?”

  He tilts his head. “It took a lot of coaxing for me to reveal my feelings. We’d never talked about children or marriage, none of it. Hell, we didn’t even talk about her moving in with me, it just kind of happened one day—she stayed and then stopped going home.”

  He spins the ring on his chain. It’s his wedding band.

  “What happened?”

  “I hunted her down. She told me about you, and I asked her to marry me right there and then. We were married a month later.”

  I take a swig of my beer. “You never told me that.”

  “There’s a lot I never told you… Like how sorry I am for not being the man I promised her I would be. For not being the father I should’ve been.”

  “I understood.”

  His face is crestfallen. “What did you understand?” he asks like it’s not even something he understands himself.

  “You were heartbroken, Dad, and grieving.”

  He raises his eyes to me, but his head’s still low. “And so were you. You lost your mum.”

  Neither of us says any more. We’re both caught up in our memories, of what was, or what could have been if things had turned out differently.

  Summer 1994

  Watching the curtains close in front of my mum’s coffin was too much for my father to bear. With one final look over his shoulder, his grip on my hand tightens. I stumble over my feet as he drags me into the foyer. The scent of flowers mixed with death makes my stomach quiver. I want to rip my hand away, but his grip’s tight. His palm is sweaty against mine. When we round the corner, he breaks down. The weight of what we’ve lost brings him to his knees. Pulling me in close, he holds my head against his chest; I feel almost suffocated. I want to pull away so badly. But the muffled sounds of his sobs vibrate through me. Paralysed, I cry my silent tears.

  I know this is bad—it’s the worst thing possible. Knowing I’ll never see my mum again, hear her voice—those reassuring whispers, telling me how everything would be all right… I know now, my life will never be the same again.

  My Dad’s mum told me I needed to grow up and start acting like a man. Her words, just like her, were cold, lacking all compassion. Tactile she was not. I was to address her as Grandmother. God forbid if I were to abbreviate it in any way. She was the polar opposite to my other Nan, who knew what it was to show love and affection.

  I didn’t want to live in England. Leaving everyone and everything I loved back in Australia was the worst thing imaginable. I wanted to feel close to my mum. Even with her gone, it was still our home.

  He never drank before, not that I know of anyway. During our first week here, I saw him when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. I realised quickly I didn’t like being around him when he was like this; it made me feel uneasy. His temper was short, and it scared me—he wasn’t the Dad I knew.

  When I found him passed out in the living room, my heart was thumping so hard in my chest, I could hear it in my ears. I leaned in to make sure he was still breathing, and his hot breath let me know he was. It’s stupid, I know, but when you see someone you love die, it makes you scared for the ones left behind.

  “Dad?” I say, but with no confidence in my voice—only fear.

  “What?” he asks, suddenly rousing from his sleep. It startles me, causing me to jump back.

  “I wanted to make sure you’re okay…” I say, and focus on the grandfather clock and biting the inside of my cheek, my stomach uneasy.

  “Why are you even up?” He sounds angry. Damn.

  I’d never seen my father like this before. Mum told me once how he could put the fear of God into anyone in the courtroom. And now I understood why.

  “I heard the TV,” I say. It’s a weak response, but it’s the truth. Eleven and I’m wetting the bed, I cringe.

  I shouldn’t have come down. I know that now. But the nightmares of my mum trapped in that coffin makes me wish I’d died with her—at least she wouldn’t be alone, and we’d still be together.

  “Oh shit!” He braces himself as he stands, but he’s wobbly on his feet. He slumps back into the chair. “Charles, give me a hand, son.”

  I move towards him, and he takes hold of my arm. But he’s too heavy, he sways to the side, and his weight pulls me down.

  The sound of smashing glass echoes like thunder when I fall with a mighty blow to my head. The glass tabletop is sprinkled all over the floor. I see a splatter of white spots, blurring my vision as I try to blink them away. Something wet trickles down my face. It’s when I touch my head and pull my hand away that I see the blood, and that’s when the pain hits. A thick, throbbing sensation brings tears to my eyes.

  He soon regains his senses when he takes in what’s just happened. He hollers for his mum; unfortunately, she’s been staying with us. I wish my mum were still here—none of this would have happened if she hadn’t left us.

  Begrudgingly, Grandmother takes me to the local A and E department. It turns out, I need stitches above my left eye—five to be exact, and she is quick to explain it was an accident…how I tend to sleepwalk. Always about keeping up appearances, as mum used to say. But I didn’t understand it—not until now. I even hear her ask if there will be a scar; they answer most likely. Who the hell cares about a stupid injury anyway?

  In bed that night, I cried myself to sleep for the last time. I said goodbye to the home I missed, to the mum I’d lost, and for the Dad I no longer recognised.

  I vowed I’d never let myself love as my parents had—I didn’t want to risk losing something so precious.

  After all, you can’t miss something you’ve never had.

  Chapter 38

  Charlie

  I’m sorry.

  Sophie’s text and those two words are heavy to stomach. I should reply, of course, but I haven’t, and I won’t. It’s been two weeks since I found out about our baby and apart from the letter I sent her, I’ve been radio silent.

  But I’m home now, and I need to face facts. Sophie kept it from me, but she’s having my baby and no matter what, I will be part of my child’s life.

  The jet lag messed with me for days, but I have to get back to work. I have a life to sort out.

  It feels like an age since I was last here, standing in Nate’s garage. He turns at the sound of my feet. Oil mixed with the smell of gravel and sand hit my nose.

  “You’re alive, then?” His eyes shine with his disbelief, his anger.

  I hold up my palms in surrender. “Sorry, man, I was in Aus for my Nan’s birthday. Thought I told you.”

  He gives his head one firm shake. “No. Olly enlightened me. When I couldn’t get hold of you, I tried seeking you out at the bar.”

  I’m about to apologise when he steps towards me, his shoulders tight. “Don’t…it’s Felicity you owe the apology to. You were bang out of order. Tricking her like that and leaving a fucking shit storm in your wake…”

  Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I lean back on my heels and stare down at my boots. I’m ashamed to admit it, but he’s right. My eyes move back towards his, and I nod, knowing there’s nothing I can say to that—not until I’ve spoken to Felicity.

  “So, how was it? Your family good?”

  I pull my hands free and smile. “They’re good. Dad came.”

  Nate stops wiping at his hands
, tilts his head. “No shit?”

  “I shit you not.”

  We chat about my trip when we’re interrupted by Flick clearing her throat. When I turn around, she has her hands on her hips, no smile in sight.

  “Hi, Felicity. I think me and you need to go talk.”

  She looks past my shoulder back to Nate, and I don’t know what his silence says or what his facial features give away, because her posture slumps in agreement. I step up to her, and she turns, walking us out towards the paddock where we stop. I wait for her to say something first.

  “Charlie Broadbent, you have a lot of explaining to do.”

  I shake my head. “What? And Sophie doesn’t?” I counter like a primary school kid.

  The smell of fresh hay assails my senses, quickly replaced by the scent of warm horse shit. My nose scrunches as does Flick’s, and we walk a little further up.

  “I didn’t say that, Charlie, but what you did was bang out of order. Making me believe she told you. That was between you and her.”

  “Not when my baby is concerned, it isn’t. She, after all, confided in you first. I waited for her to speak up so many times. But she said nothing.” I clench my fist at my side.

  Flick crosses her arms defensively. We hold a stare-off until she speaks. “You seem to forget… It wasn’t that long ago you asked me to keep something from her, too.”

  My eyes go wide. I want to laugh. Is she fucking kidding me?

  “Because she never would’ve accepted the lease otherwise.”

  An audible gasp catches my attention. I squeeze my eyes closed before staring back at Flick. Her face is a dead giveaway of who’s standing behind me.

  Slowly, I turn around and come face to face with Sophie.

  “What?” she asks, her voice shaky, eyes darting between Flick and me.

  I turn my head back to Flick, momentarily lost for words as she steps forward.

  “The lease on the shop… it was Charlie,” she admits.

  Sophie’s face is forlorn when I turn back to her, and it tells me everything her lips cannot, the hurt palpable.

  Her lips part with a slight tremble, and I think she’s going to shout or cry. Instead, she takes a deep breath, nodding once. Her hair escapes the confines of her plait.

  Flick moves closer, ever so slowly, like Sophie is a wild animal about to flee. Soph takes a step back. My gut clenches. Is this the universe sticking it to me? I watch her face with choked desolation. And I hate that I helped put it there.

  “It isn’t what you think,” Flick says and glances towards me for some kind of help. But I’ve got nothing, my thoughts a jumbled avalanche.

  Sophie’s body visibly sags in defeat. “So, you didn’t lie to me about the shop?” she asks.

  Flick nods, her face slack. “I did.”

  I snap out of it. No longer can I stand here and watch Flick take the fall. “Sophie, I asked her to. I knew you’d say no if it was me offering, and I wanted you to have your shop.”

  Sophie licks her lips, and her throat bobs as she swallows. “You never asked, and shouldn’t that have been my choice to make?”

  A noise rises from the back of my throat as I retort my response. “Looks like we both have issues where omitting the truth is concerned.”

  You’d think I’d just slapped her. I might as well have; it was a low blow. She hurt me, and in turn, I’m hurting her, but as mad as I am with her right now, hurting her was never my intention.

  “It’s not like you stuck around so we could talk about it, though, is it?”

  Felicity walks between us. “I think we all have a lot we need to talk about. How about we head inside, and I make us all some tea?” she asks, attentively. I look at Soph for confirmation. She shrugs a response which I presume means, okay.

  The air around us is thick with animosity as we walk into the kitchen. Soph sits at the table, and I try not to let my eyes settle on her for too long. I lean against the opposite counter, my ankles crossed, and my hands stuffed into my pockets.

  Flick’s busying herself with tea.

  “I only have chamomile. Is that okay, Cupcake?”

  Sophie clears her throat. “Yes, thanks,” she replies in a small whisper.

  And then we fall into a raw silence.

  This right here is excruciating—where the fuck to even begin? There are things I want to say, but I don’t know how and there are things that need to be said. But not all of it I want to say in front of Flick. It’s private, between Sophie and me.

  Once Flick hands everyone a drink, she sits down and ushers me to join them. She’s sitting beside Soph. I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse.

  “First things first. The lease,” Flick says.

  I keep my head cast down, only allowing my eyes to move up to meet Soph. Her face is a picture of hurt.

  “What do we do now about the shop?” she questions.

  Now my head does move. “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “How does this work? Are you my boss now?”

  There’s no malice to her tone, only sadness.

  I shake my head. “What the fu… no, Sophie, not at all. You signed all the paperwork; all I did was help secure the unit. It’s your business. You are your own boss.”

  My hand leaves my mug and goes to reach out to her, but I stop myself, pulling it into my lap and clutching my fist.

  “Soph, it was fate. The shop was available, and there wasn’t any time to waste. Charlie was worried you’d refuse his help, and honestly so was I. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have agreed to help.”

  She shakes her head. “It wasn’t for either of you to decide. I know what I’m like. Accepting help from others isn’t easy for me. But I have my reasons…”

  She pushes her tea away, linking her hands in front of her. Her eyes meet mine. “I won’t cut my nose off to spite my face. I have responsibilities, and the shop is now one of them. But you were wrong to keep it from me.”

  “As were you not to tell me about my baby,” I retort, unable to keep the hostility from my voice.

  Soph springs to her feet, towering over me, her five-foot-five inches of height suddenly appearing so much more. “Let’s get one thing straight. It’s our baby, Charlie, ours,” she says, waving her finger between the two of us. “Not just yours,” she says, nostrils flaring.

  I grind my jaw. “I know that,” I reply, standing up.

  “Calm down, the pair of you.” Flick says, staring between us in clear confusion of how this escalated so quickly.

  Sophie swallows her emotions, and her eyes dart around before rising to meet mine. “Listen, Charlie. It was never my intention to keep it from you. At least not until I knew everything was going to be okay, and I still don’t—” Her words catch in her throat. “But you don’t get to walk away and then come back, guns blazing, because I did what I thought was best. We never planned this, but I’ll tell you something for nothing. This baby will always take precedence over you…over me. Our baby will always come first. So, if that means me not telling you until I got a clean bill of health, then so be it. I was never meant to be able to have…”

  She doesn’t finish her sentence. Her face pales considerably, and she covers her mouth with her hand, breathing heavy through her fingers. Then she’s moving around the table and toward the door. I’m frozen on the spot when Flick throws up her hands and follows after her.

  When my brain catches up, I rush after them. As I approach, I hear Soph vomiting behind the closed door separating us. I lean my forehead on the cold wood.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut. At the sound of footsteps, I move back and wait with bated breath. The door slowly opens, Flick comes out.

  “Morning sickness,” she says in response.

  I only nod. “I think it best if I go. I don’t think anything is going to get resolved.” I loathe the thought of putting her under stress by just being here, and it’s not like I can act as though everything is okay, either.

  I walk away, my bod
y weary, and this time I don’t think it’s from the jet lag. I just don’t know where we go from here without the hurt and anger taking centre stage. I never told her about the lease; the hurt on her face was a punch to my gut. Maybe once we have some assurances the baby is okay, we can start, I don’t know—moving forward.

  Chapter 39

  Sophie

  It’s taken me a couple of days to come to grips with everything that transpired. I don’t understand any of it—from me keeping the baby quiet, to them hiding the lease of the shop from me. At first, I was numb, dumbfounded, but then I began to get riled up. I typed Charlie a few messages with curt words, filled with anger, but quickly deleted them. As tempting it might have been to hit send, I don’t want to be that person.

  But now I know about the lease, and now the shop is… I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s my stupid pride, but it’s jaded somehow.

  I hear the chime of the bell as the door opens and glance up, pulling in a breath. Familiar eyes meet mine—identical to his son’s.

  Of all the people I was not expecting to see, Edward is the first of them.

  He appraises his surroundings as he walks over to the counter. He nods with a smile.

  “Edward,” I say, my voice trembling.

  “Sophie, apologies for turning up unannounced, but I was wondering if maybe we could have a word?”

  My heart begins to race, and the onset of anxiety begins to work its way through my stomach. I twist the tea towel in my hands and stare at Rachel.

  “I’m going to take a break,” I tell her before turning back to Edward. “Can I get you anything?” I ask him.

  He studies the glass counter and his lips slowly move into a grin.

  “How about a slice of the Lemon Drizzle cake and a tea please?”

  “Take a seat, I’ll bring it over,” I say, wondering why he’s here. This can’t be good. I hope Charlie didn’t send him.

  Once the tea and cake are ready, I place it on the tray. The plate rattles as I approach the table. Edward stands and quickly takes it from my hands and ushers me to sit.