Another Summer (15 page)

She found she liked him for his honesty.  Maybe that was a good enough start.  Better than she’d hoped for when they were really no more than strangers.  If she noticed the glint of quiet desperation in the depths of his eyes, she decided quite determinedly to ignore it.

Joe’s bed was a prison.  They might be fixing his mangled leg but they couldn’t do much to fix his mangled life.

He’d probably been chucked out of uni by now.  He had no money.  No job.  Nowhere even to live.  And no mates to speak of.  Just Steve, who was getting it on with Heather.  How did that happen?

There’d been no word from Kat.  He suspected nobody had cared enough to tell her.  But he still lay there every day, watching the clock, longing to see her rushing in, as soon as she found out what had happened to him.

But weeks passed.  Silent weeks that gnawed at his insides.  He dreaded feeling this lonely forever.  Then Evie showed up.

She was prettier than he remembered.  Nervous, obviously.  And a bit wary.  But not the mouse he’d expected.  He couldn’t believe she still wanted to know him but soon he was living for the sound of her footsteps tapping outside the ward.

The baby was cute and seemed to be smiling at him.  Affection became a drug.  He was hooked before he knew it.  And scared of how he’d cope when they said he could go home.

Home?  Were they taking the piss?  Steve was storing his stuff from Kat’s.  But his flat and Heather’s both had steep stairs.  Joe was on crutches and in constant pain.  He needed daily physiotherapy.  He was stranded.

Then Evie got her father to let Joe move into their bungalow in Newcastle.  It was close to several hospitals.  He felt trapped by this perfect solution but couldn’t come up with an alternative or a reason to say no.

They gave him Vanessa’s room.  Put up with his erratic moods and tried not to crowd him.  Not many would have taken in someone who’d got their daughter pregnant but Joe discovered Michael Lee was a top bloke.  He was easy to talk to.  He knew so much about books and politics, stuff Joe had never considered.  He wasn’t heavy but was clearly biding his time.

Maxine was the opposite of any grandmother Joe had ever come across.  Super groomed and scary, she swooped in to visit the baby.  Joe expected to be glared at.  Tolerated.  But for whatever reason, she seemed to take to him and never seemed to mind his company.

Joe didn’t get what was going on with Maxine and Michael.  They were obviously into each other, yet weren’t together.  And there was no mention of divorce.  Evie said she hoped the baby would bring them back together.  Evie was a girl who liked a happy ending.

Her family behaved like they had adopted him.  Apart from snooty Vanessa, who treated him like shit on her shoe on the odd days she came home to visit, they were almost killing him with kindness and understanding.  But he knew they were all waiting for him to man up and do the right thing.

He kept waking up in a cold sweat, knowing he’d swapped one prison for another.  He didn’t think he fancied Evie any more.  He hadn’t had sex since Kat and she’d been beyond hot.  Evie was in a different zone.  He managed the occasional peck on the cheek but couldn’t imagine going there again.  He’d fallen in love with his daughter but the mother thing freaked him out.

He hated the drudgery of being stuck in the house.  He was twenty.  It was a sick joke.  He just wanted to take off on his own, get pissed and forget all about it.  But he was doped up with painkillers and trying to walk sober was effort enough.

It didn’t help that when Heather dropped by, the talk was all about weddings.  Steve’s family, being loaded, were paying for everything.  Heather said she didn’t mind, she was content just to pay for her dress.  But Joe minded for her.  He’d always hated that feeling of being a poor relation.

She wanted Joe to give her away.  He was horrified, laughed to cover it up.  Made jokes about him tripping over her dress if he tried to walk her down the aisle.

Heather didn’t find that funny.  She expected her only brother to be there for her.  If he didn’t want to do it on crutches or sticks, it was up to him to learn to walk again without them.

The physiotherapy wiped him out.  But he got off the crutches and onto a stick.  Michael was always encouraging and Joe, who’d never known his own father, found himself wanting that praise.

Gradually, Michael started nudging him into making plans.  Getting a job.  The future.  Joe couldn’t admit out loud that he was spooked by the way people looked at him.  Or didn’t.  As if the sight of his odd walk  offended them.  As if he’d lost his marbles, not just the temporary ability to walk in a straight line.

But Michael managed to talk him into signing on, although there weren’t many options for him on the jobs front.  He hadn’t finished his degree and had no experience of anything but bar work, which he couldn’t do now, thanks to his dodgy leg.  They mentioned courses and he went through the motions to keep them off his back.

But he got into the habit of wandering round town when he was out, looking at stuff he couldn’t afford.  Even though his leg was killing him, the exercise was good and he found that for those few hours he could pretend he wasn’t a father at twenty and he wasn’t being railroaded into doing the husband thing next.

One day he spotted a poster for the university art show.  Curious, he went in.  A woman was sitting at a desk selling catalogues, her long black hair hiding her face as she bent over a book.  The room was cool but her tanned arms were bare and her nipples poked out of her flimsy top.  It was Kat.

His stomach lurched as he stood there dithering.  But she glanced up and saw him.  Looked him over, eyebrows raised.  No hint of a smile.  Or anything approaching sympathy.

“Been in the wars?”

“Something like that.”

“No lasting damage, I hope?”

Her gaze settled on his crotch.  He felt himself tighten as if she’d touched him.  His leg was wobbly, as much from the memory as the pain from standing up.

“What are you doing here, Kat?  I thought you were in Amsterdam?”

“I came back,” she shrugged.  “I’m teaching for one semester.  Then off to Greece for the winter.  A friend runs an artists’ retreat.”  

“I live here now,” he told her although she hadn’t asked.  “I missed you.”

“Did you?” she laughed, as if she couldn’t think why. 

He felt stupid for blurting it out.  Maybe she didn’t even remember him.  It had been months and she’d never been short of playmates.

“We should get a drink sometime?” he tried, more casually.

“Maybe we should.  Actually, now works for me.  This place is closing for the afternoon.”

She took him to the darkest bar he’d ever been in.  The music was sleazy late-night blues, disorientating in the afternoon.  They snogged like teenagers, knocking back doubles of Jack and coke until he was so turned on he thought he would burst.  He switched his thoughts to something else.

“I’m still thinking about a portfolio.”

The words surprised him, coming from some hazy place in the past.  He’d lived for her approval once.  Hadn’t moved on, it seemed.

“Are you?” she scoffed.  “Take my advice, babe.  Don’t waste your time.  That classical crap’s going nowhere.  Find a friendly local club if you want to play.  But leave the real work to the big boys.”

He was stung.  “You used to say different.”

“Did I?   Maybe I was just being nice.”

She kissed him again, not interested in talking.  When she dragged him to his feet, she almost pulled him over.  He made a grab for his stick where it was leaning against the wall.

“Do you need that thing?  I still fancy you Joe but maybe you’re not up to it now?”

“I’m good,” he insisted, afraid she was leaving.  

“My place, then?”

It wasn’t far to her flat.  But he was in agony when they got there.  And his head was swimming with the cocktail of bourbon and painkillers.  He needed to sit down, catch his breath.  But Kat had kicked off her jeans as soon as they got through the door.

Her miniscule underwear was pink and see through.  She never shaved, he remembered.  The damp hair was erotic.  Inviting.  She leaned against the wall, legs apart, took one of his fingers and stroked herself through the lace.  Then inside.  And up into her open wetness.  Joe felt woozy.  Worse if he closed his eyes.

“Could we sit down?”

She laughed and pulled him to a sofa, straddling him when he’d fallen onto it.  She lifted her top, pulled at her nipples.  Held them out to his mouth.  Joe sucked.  He felt odd.  Tried everything to concentrate on what he was doing.

Her hands were on his belt now.  His zip.  Tugging him free of his jeans.

“What’s this?” she scoffed as he flopped into her hand.  

“Just give me a minute?” he pleaded, mortified.  “I got run over by a truck.”

“Not my problem, babe.”

Yet if she hadn’t dumped him, he might have been watching where he was going that day.  His head was all over the shop.  He felt embarrassed.  He’d never had a problem getting it up.  Maybe there’d been damage and nobody had told him.

“I’ve never had a fuck-buddy who can’t fuck.”

“A fuck-buddy?  Is that what I am.”

“Not looking good, so far, is it?  Shall I try kissing it better?”

She went for it.  Hands.  Tongue.  The works.  He lay there feeling pathetic.  What was wrong with him?  She was the love of his life.  Why did he feel so out of it?

Too late, he realised why.  He rocked forward.  And spewed, before he could shove her out of the way.  She shrieked at him, calling him a loser.  And tossed his stick after him as he stumbled out of her flat.

Humiliated, he walked himself sober.  But hours later, he still felt sick with an overwhelming sense of dread.

At home, he gulped a glass of water and scrubbed himself in the shower while he tried to think what to do next.  Evie was cosy on the sofa with a magazine.  She looked fresh and young after her bath, her damp hair curling over the shoulders of her fluffy pink robe.

“Dad had to go out so we had dinner early.  I kept some for you.”  She shuffled her legs underneath her, making room so he could sit down.  “Are you okay?  You look a bit pale.”

He didn’t know what to say to her.  He had the strangest urge to bury his face in his hands and cry.

“Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing here.”

“Are you saying you want to leave?”

Her cheeks were flushed.  She was fiddling with her belt, not looking at him.  What would he do if she asked him to go?  He’d started to feel comfortable there.  He’d never even told her he was grateful.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you miserable,” he said.

“Are you?”

She sounded like she was going to cry.  He found himself reaching for her hand.  She was cold.  He rubbed her fingers.  Kissed her.  Shyly, she kissed him back.  Her robe came open.  He saw the ripeness of her breasts, slid his hand in to cup one and felt himself harden at the thought of being the only one who’d ever touched her.

But she wrenched away from his hand, tugging her robe together.  “You’re after sex?  After all this time?”

He didn’t think he could cope with rejection from her, on top of everything else.  The lump in his throat made his voice sound croaky.

“I’m sorry.  I got a bit carried away.  I forgot you were so pretty.”

“You know what I look like.  You see me every day.  Maybe you’ve forgotten you’re only here for Claire?”

“If you only asked me here because of Claire, why are you crying?”

She dabbed at her eyes with the belt from her robe.  “Maybe I thought things would be better than this.”

“Maybe they could be?”

“Is that what you want?”

Truth was, he didn’t know.  He needed somebody to want him.  To adore him, even.  But beyond that, it was all too much of a blur.

In the end, they seemed to need each other.  With Evie in his arms, his body did what it was meant to and it was more of a turn-on than he’d expected, to take his time and feel her responding to what he was doing.  Afterwards, he felt a surge of relief and despite the ache in his leg, he nuzzled her neck, enjoying the vanilla scent of her hair.

“Seems a bit mad that you’re in Vanessa’s room when we already have a baby.”

“I don’t think your dad would go for us sleeping together.”

“He’s old fashioned.  He’d expect us to be married.”

Still in the afterglow, he felt drowsy.  Not really listening.  “Sounds like a plan.”

Before he’d realised what he’d said, it was already too late.  Michael was clapping him on the back and announcing how proud he was.  The juggernaut was rolling.

He wanted to run away.  He didn’t think he loved her but couldn’t bring himself to be that cruel again.  Or to  let Michael down after all he’d done.  But if he was to go through with a wedding, Joe knew it would have to be quick, before he lost his nerve.  And small.  He couldn’t bear competing with the Drydens.  

He got his way and Evie did look gorgeous on the day.  And with all the good wishes, he did get swept up in the mood.  But he couldn’t shake off the feeling he was watching it happening to somebody else.

He’d hated Evie’s idea of a honeymoon in Cornwall.  His memories of that summer were best forgotten but he could hardly tell her that when she was so excited.  But he turned down any suggestion of staying with her grandmother.  Or worse, a freebie cottage belonging to the Drydens.  He booked the Crown Inn at the last minute.  He hadn’t expected much.