Broken (12 page)

“Nanna!” Isobel sings, wrapping her little arms around my mother’s legs. “Did you bring chocolate?”

“Isobel!” Max scolds.

It doesn’t faze her. “Nanna always brings chocolate.”

Her vocabulary stuns me. It hasn’t been
that
long since I last saw her but the development is remarkable. She’s more fluent, clearer, than I remember.

My mother winks and reaches into her coat pocket, pulling out a bag of chocolate buttons. Isobel practically rips them from Mum’s fingers and starts opening the packet.

“You can have them after dinner,” Max says, taking the bag from her.

Isobel pouts. “But Nanna said!”

“Carry on and you won’t get them at all.”

“Oh, Max.” Our mum tuts. “Don’t be so hard on her. She’s only three.”

I witness the battle on Max’s expression as he fights the urge to roll his eyes or, worse, tell her to stop being an interfering mare. It makes me smile.

“Yeah, Dad. I’m only three. God sake.”

“Izzy!” Max is wearing his angry face and I have to turn away so he can’t see me laughing. The kid is bloody adorable.

“Izzy, honey,” my mum begins, taking her little hand in hers. “Why don’t we go help Mummy in the kitchen?”

She does it to stop Max disciplining Isobel for her attitude, and when they’re out of sight, he releases the eye roll he’s been holding.

“Deep breaths,” I say, snickering.

“Pisses me off,” he whispers. “Last week she actually stormed out of the house, tears and everything, because I shouted and made Izzy cry. The little sod had a tantrum and threw a toy at the TV in our bedroom. Cracked the screen. What the hell did she expect me to do? Give her a cuddle and a pat on the bleedin’ back?”

I can’t help find the whole tale highly amusing.

“It was all an act for Mum’s benefit too. She knows exactly how to play her nanna. I swear, she got over herself and started pretending to be a cat before Mum had even driven off the driveway.”

“Mums are supposed to interfere,” I say, still smiling. “Think it’s the law.”

“Dinner’s ready!” Laura calls out, and so I turn around to make my way to the dining room.

“James,” Max says, his voice low as he stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “This is the last time I’ll mention it, I promise. I know you don’t like talking about it, but you
would
if you were struggling, right?”

No
. I force a smile. “Yes,” I assure him, patting his hand. He removes it from my shoulder and nods. I can’t quite tell if he believes me, but it doesn’t really matter. I feel great. I’ve got this.

My stomach growls when the smell of shepherd’s pie assaults my nose. I didn’t realise I was hungry until Laura places a generous plateful in front of me. It’s my first decent meal in, probably, a couple of weeks, and I tuck in eagerly.

“Mummy,” Isobel says, half way through the meal, huffing like a stroppy teenager. “I’ve told you I don’t like peas.” She’s a bossy little madam and she knows how to work it, putting her hands on her hips and making everyone laugh. The funniest part is she’s already eaten half of them.

“Well if you don’t eat your peas that must mean you’re full,” Max says. “And if you’re full, you mustn’t want your chocolate buttons.”

“Oh, Max,” Mum interrupts. “You should never force a child to eat something they don’t like.”

That statement would be less amusing if she hadn’t done the exact same thing when we were kids. To this day, she gets in a bad mood if you don’t clear your plate. I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve heard, “I don’t know why I bother standing for hours making food when no bugger eats it.”

“She
does
like them,” Max says. “She’s just acting up.”

“I’m only three, Dad.”

God help my brother when Isobel hits puberty. I daren’t even imagine how big her attitude will be then.

We carry on eating and Isobel finishes her peas without another word. When Laura brings in apple pie and custard for dessert, Isobel starts telling us all what she wants for her birthday, which is eight whole months away.

“Spiderman?” I question. “I thought you like Hulk?”

“Spiderman’s sick,” she says, shooting imaginary webs from the palm of her hand.

“She reminds me so much of James,” Mum says. It makes my smile fade. “He’s never been able to make his mind up either. I’ve lost count of all the silly ideas he’s come up with in his life.”

I chuckle, because it’s expected of me. I’m sure she doesn’t mean to, but it’s comments like that which have always made me feel small, stupid. It’s why I stopped telling her things about my life when I hit my late teens. It took me a while to find a career I was passionate about. I get bored easily. Distracted. I
have
tried my hand at many things. Some I gave up on, some I failed at, but I’d rather have given them a go than die wondering ‘what if?’

“Remember that time you wanted to write a book?” My mum asks, tipping her head back and giggling. She’s mocking me and I don’t even think she realises.

I catch Max watching me, and I think he notices that my smile is awkward, as I hope she moves onto something else. He changes the subject, and relief floods my veins. “So, how’d you do at Weight Watchers this week, Mum?”

“Ugh. Two on. It’s all Marie’s fault.” Marie is the friend in London she stayed with last weekend. “She took me out to eat every night, and you can’t eat out without having a pudding and a bottle of wine. I don’t think the chippy I had when I got home helped either to be fair. Or the bag of Maltesers. Oh, and the bacon was going out of date so I had to eat the full pack or it would’ve gone to waste.”

I find it remarkable she only put
two
pounds on this week. I daren’t say as much of course. I don’t actually feel like saying anything at all.

Not to the adults at least. Isobel is more on my wavelength. “Did you have a good day at nursery, princess?”

“No. I hate nursery.”

Her answer pangs deep in my gut.
I
hated nursery, too. They say you don’t remember much of your life before reaching four years old, but I remember sitting alone on the brown nursery carpet, littered with various stains and pieces of Lego, crying silently until my eyes ran dry, like it was this morning. Every. Single. Day.

“I’m so sorry, but I forgot to do something at the office. I need to go,” I announce. I didn’t plan to say it, to
lie
, but I need to get out of here. My mood is slipping.
Fast.

Everyone seems to understand and Laura gets up first, kissing my cheek before starting to clear the table. My mother follows suit and makes me promise to call her in the week before kissing my other cheek. Isobel, however, clings to my leg.

I prize her off me and lift her up so her face meets mine. Holding her with one arm, I reach into my pocket and pull out the first note I lay my hand on.

Kissing her nose, I hand her the twenty. “That’s for your magazine,” I say, and then kiss her nose again. “And maybe some sweets, too.”

Seemingly forgetting my existence, Isobel wriggles until I lower her onto the floor. “Mummy! Mummy!” she calls, running out of the room. “Look what Uckle James gave me!”

“I’ll have to try and get that off her before she flushes it down the toilet,” Max says as he walks me to the front door. “It’s her latest thing.”

Taking the handle, I open it, and Max follows me out to my car.

“Thanks for dinner,” I say. “Sorry I can’t stay longer.”

“She hates nursery because another kid threw sand at her today. She’ll have forgotten all about it tomorrow.”

“Um…” I feel like this conversation has a deeper meaning but I can’t figure out what it is.

“Kids have bad days like the rest of us. I saw your reaction. You’re worried she feels the same way
you
did. But honestly, James, she’s had an argument with another kid and she’ll move on soon enough.”

I’m not sure how he can read me so well but that’s not important right now. Maybe ‘normal’ people, ‘normal’ kids, do have bad days. Maybe she
will
get over it, so to speak. Trouble is I only have my
own
experience of life to compare things with, so I can’t help putting myself in other’s situations and imagining how
I
would deal with them. I don’t know any other way.

All I know is that life can be exhausting, soul destroying,
painful
. For me, growing up,
every
day was a bad day. Even when I laughed that tinge of sadness remained, tormenting me, mocking my happiness as it tried to force its way to the forefront. More often that not, it won.

It still does.

“Take care of yourself, James,” Max says when I fail to respond.

“I’ll call you.”
Sometime. Maybe.

I slide into my seat and Max pats the roof of my car as a goodbye. Driving off without looking back, I feel my happiness drifting away. I can’t allow it. Not again. I need to get it back.

I just don’t know how.

~Theo~

In
bed, I roll over and bang my head on Tess’ elbow. I love her, but she’s the
worst
person to sleep next to.

“I’m gonna buy you your own bed,” I grumble, rubbing my forehead. “You practically live here anyway.”

She’s sat up against the headboard, reading a celebrity magazine. “Blame Naomi. It’s like she thinks this new guy she’s seeing is supplying her oxygen through his dick.”

“Must be serious. What is it now, a month?”

“Almost two. She normally gets fed up after a week tops. She’s in love apparently.”

I laugh and stretch my arms above my head. “So what are your plans for today?”

“Same as every Saturday. Move as little as possible. You?”

I can’t decide whether to reveal my plans, mainly because I don’t know if they’re stupid.

“Your silence tells me they involve David Gandy.”

“There’s a fair at Heaton Park this weekend. Thought I’d pick him up and take him.”

Tess snorts. “A funfair? You really think a funfair is David Gandy’s scene?”

Her reply makes me sigh. “Maybe you’re right.” I knew it was a stupid idea.

“Hey, I’m not saying don’t do it. So what if it’s not his scene? It’s
yours
. Whatever you two have got going on together shouldn’t be all about him.”

What
are
we doing together?
I don’t know and I wonder if I ever will.

“Plus it’s a public place so that’ll aid your sex ban.”

I’m not looking at her but I can hear her smile through her tone. “Stop sounding so amused by that.”

“T, I don’t know the guy so I shouldn’t judge, but…”

“But you’re going to anyway, right?”

“But you’ve hardly been bouncing off the ceiling with happiness since you met him. I can’t say I understand what you see in him, he sounds like a tosser to me, but if you
are
going to keep seeing him, don’t let it all be on his terms. You want to go to the fair? Then go to the fucking fair.”

“But what if he doesn’t want to go to the fair?”

She rolls her eyes at me but doesn’t seem frustrated. I think she’s just making a point. “Then come pick
me
up and I’ll go to the bloody fair with you.”

“Thanks, Tess. I think.” Looks like I’m going to the fair one way or another today.

“But if I
do
go then you’re paying for the food. I paid a fiver last time for a hot dog the size of a rat’s dick.”

She makes me laugh. “Not sure what rats you’ve seen but I’m pretty sure you’ve uncovered a new species.”

“Whatever. Go brush your teeth. Your breath is knocking me sick.”

Great. Kicked out of my own bed by a woman that doesn’t even live here. “Yes, ma’am.”

**********

I’m nervous as hell when I approach James’ apartment building. My hand stutters over the call button for the penthouse several times while I try to gather enough courage to press it. I even turn around a couple of times but then tell myself, out loud, to quit being a pussy.

When I eventually push it I wait several seconds for an answer and sigh when it doesn’t come. I press it again and am about to give up when a man dressed in some kind of security uniform opens the door. Of course a place like this would have security.
Dumbarse.

“I’m trying to reach the penthouse,” I say, stuffing my fidgeting hands into my jeans pockets.

“Mr Holden only stays here during the week,” he informs me.

“So…”
Oh just give up
.
This is clearly a sign that your idea is stupid.
“Where does he live at weekends?”

“I’m not his dad, kid. I have no idea.”

I decide this guy is a twat. “Right. Thanks.” I don’t know what I’m thanking him for. He doesn’t deserve the smile I can’t stop myself offering.

Deflated, I head back to my car. Two options remain now. Give up and go home, or give in and call James. The choices make me huff in frustration. James has instigated
everything
we’ve ever done together, which really is just sex, and I wanted to take charge for once. Surprise him. The memory that I have his brother’s number springs to the front of my mind and I contemplate dialling it for only a second before realising that would be weird.

Reluctantly, nerves bubbling in my throat, I call James.

“Hello, Theodore,” he answers. His voice calms me instantly.

How does he do that?
“Hi. It’s, um, me.”

“I know that. I greeted you with your name.”

“Right. Yeah.” Fucking hell I’ve turned into a babbling moron.
Pull yourself together.
“Where are you?”

“Home.”

“No you’re not. I’m there right now.” I cringe when I’ve said it. I sound like a bloody stalker.

“I have more than one.”

Of course you do
.
Flashy, magnificent bastard.
“Oh. I thought we could meet.” I sound nothing short of disappointed and I’m annoyed I’ve allowed it to filter into my tone.

“I’m not tagged, Theodore. I’m allowed to leave my house.” His sarcasm is so damn infuriating, yet I can’t get enough of him. Clearly, I’m a glutton for punishment. “Where would you like to meet?”

“I thought…”
Crap
. My idea feels even more stupid now I’m about to say it. “It’s probably not your thing, but there’s a fair at Heaton Park this weekend.”

“A funfair?”

Why does everyone feel the need to repeat it like it’s the most ludicrous thing they’ve ever heard?

“I like them,” I mutter, feeling like a giant dick.

“I haven’t been since I was a kid.”

Great. He thinks I’m a child.

“Meet you there in an hour?”

Oh.
“Sure,” I agree. “Okay.”

“And, Theodore?”

“Yeah?”

“Lose the nerves. We’re getting to know each other, right? You like the fair. That’s something new I’ve learned about you today. I’m looking forward to discovering more.”

Well damn if words like that don’t make me want to set fire to my no sex rule.

“See you in an hour,” I say, ending the conversation with a smile so wide it makes my jaw ache.

I drive straight to the park, knowing I’ll arrive way too early, and hope I find out something new about
him
today, too.

As expected, I’m early. I get out of the car but stay close to the entrance while I wait for James. Even though I’m alone, a wide smile tugs at my lips. Looking over to the rides, games, and candyfloss stalls, I’m ten years old again.

There’s a light drizzle in the air but it doesn’t dampen the atmosphere. There’s laughter, happiness, everywhere. I feel like James and I need more of that. He’s always so serious, and although that intrigues me, he needs to smile more because when he does he’s fucking beautiful.

I walk around, my hands stuffed into my pockets, keeping an eye on the car park for around thirty minutes before I see him. There are strange flutters in my chest when he approaches. It sounds so cheesy but it’s the truth. He excites me. He makes me nervous. He even scares me a little. He makes me feel a thousand different things at once.

He looks hot as hell. It’s rare to see him out of a formal suit and a simple jeans and a black v-neck jumper make him look so much more…relaxed. He looks like he’s been plucked straight off the cover of a glossy magazine and I have no doubt that he knows it, too. When he reaches me, he rests one hand on my hip and kisses my cheek. It makes me feel giddy and I hope the fact I’ve turned into a lovesick fool doesn’t show on my face.

“That’s almost romantic of you,” I say, butterflies swimming in my gut. “I can’t remember the last time you didn’t greet me by grabbing my crotch.” I can’t remember because I don’t think it’s ever happened.

“That was before I started courting you.”

A sly grin tickles one side of his mouth and I know he said
courting
just to annoy me. No matter how hard I fall for this man, I suspect he’ll always piss me off.

“So,” he begins. “Introduce me to the funfair experience.”

Now he’s here, I’m not sure what to do next. I actually feel a little lame, surrounded by families and children. “Let’s just take a walk,” I say.

James proffers his hand. “Lead the way.”

James walks beside me as I head over to the crowded area. There’s music playing, people laughing, children running. It’s impossible not to feel uplifted yet when I look at James his face is void of expression.

“You’ve never been to a fair?”

“Sure. When I was a child. I never really liked them though.”

Oh.
It takes me a moment to figure out how I’m supposed to respond to that. “How can anyone
not
like the fair?”

A small smile flashes across his face for a brief second before his expression morphs into what looks like sadness. I’m curious, but I don’t push.

“Guess my brain doesn’t work the same way as everyone else’s.”

What does that mean?
It feels like, in some small way, he’s attempting to reveal something to me. As always, he’s cryptic, but I think he’s trying. There are so many layers to James Holden and I imagine it’s going to take a lot of chipping to get to his centre. But I
want
to, despite the voice in my head screaming at me to run away.

“I come here to run pretty often, though.”

“You run?”

“Every day, if I can.”

“Me too. Well, not every day anymore, but as often as I can. My favourite place to run is Hollingworth Lake. I miss being able to do that every week.”

“I’ve never been. You’ll have to take me one day.”

“You want to run with me?”

“I want to do
everything
with you.”

I haven’t felt butterflies like I’m experiencing now since I was in Year 9 at high school and Damien Kaye smiled at me. “I should warn you, I’m fast.”

James sniggers, tightening his grip on my hand. “I’m faster.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“No. Just a fact.”

Laughing, I shake my head and bump his shoulder. “So, does this brain of yours allow you to like candyfloss?”

“Of course!” He smiles and it’s magical. Infectious. My own lips twist into a grin and I start jogging to the nearest candyfloss stand.

We eat from our sticks as we walk. Then I spend fifteen quid trying to win a teddy at a stall and don’t manage to knock a single can over with my beanbag. James, however, wins with his first pound coin. Of course he does.
Fucker.

He chooses a giant Peppa Pig teddy and I wonder if he’s going to give it to me, like they do in the movies, but he doesn’t. Then I feel like a twat.

“This will keep me in Isobel’s good books for at least a month.”

“Isobel?”

“My niece. She’s three, and the cutest person on the planet.”

His love for her shows on his face. It makes me smile. I’ve never imagined James with a child. He has a natural hardness about him, and whether he meant to or not, he just showed me another of his mysterious layers.

“She sounds adorable.”

“She is, but she’s sassy too. She’s the boss. Drives my brother crazy but I think she’s so funny.”

I could listen to him talk about this little girl I’ve never met forever. I love the calm that washes over him when he thinks about her, the softness, fondness, in his voice. We talk about his family for a little while longer. He tells me what his brother does for a living, tells me about his mum, albeit briefly, and I’m captivated by every word. I’m not naïve enough to think I’ve knocked down his iron walls, but I’ve made a dent and that’s good enough, for now.

I convince him, eventually, to ride the carousel with me, He shakes his head as if he can’t quite believe what he’s doing, right up until our horses start to move. I don’t take my eyes off him, Peppa Pig resting in his lap, as we go around. I can’t. His eyes are wide, stunning, as he laughs. At one point he spins an imaginary lasso in the air and yells, “Yee haw!” and I feel like my lungs will explode from laughing so hard.

This is the side of him no one else sees. He looks so fun. Carefree. Young. The positive energy radiating from him is addictive and I want more.
Need
more. I can try to deny it but I know it’s a lie. I’m falling for James Holden fast.
Too
fast. I sense danger ahead but I can’t stop it.

I don’t want to.

**********

Dusk closes in when we reach the car park. My car is closest, and I lean against the driver door, missing James already even though he’s standing right in front of me.