Lean On Me (Take My Hand) (22 page)

Visibly
relaxing, Jared leaned back into the cushions and took hold of my hand.

“Who’d
have thought it, huh? Me and you.”

“Yeah,”
I agreed with a small laugh. “You used to piss me off so bad.”

“Whatever.
You loved me really. Who else could you have ‘drink as many cans as you can
without being sick’ competitions with?”

“It
really wasn’t a competition. You have the drinking stamina of a fourteen year
old girl.”

“I
never knew I wanted this. Settling down I mean. But… I’ve never been so happy.
You
make me so happy,” he said, edging
closer to me and running his thumb across my jaw. The simple touch ignited
every nerve ending in my body. Well, apart from the ones that are shot to shit
of course. “You think we’ll make good parents?”

“I
think we’ll make unconventional parents,” I answered through a giggle. “We’re
either gonna be super cool or an almighty embarrassment.”

“Sorry
kids,” Jared muttered, staring down at my slightly swollen belly and rubbing it
softly. “Mummy and Daddy will try not to embarrass you
too
much.”

“Hey!”
I mock scolded. “I don’t know about you but I’m choosing the super cool
option.” Jared laughed, and then draped one arm across my shoulders, keeping
the other laid gently across my belly.

“I
love them so much already,” he said genuinely – not a hint of playfulness
in his voice. I felt the heat rise in my chest as my heart began to melt.
“Rachel?” he asked, concern flooding his voice. “Why are you crying, baby?”

Am I?

Wiping
a knuckle under my eye and skimming the shallow pool of tears, I noticed I was
in fact crying.

“Because
I love them too. As much as it scares me, and as uncertain as I am about
everything… none of it matters because nothing is as important as our babies.”
I took in a sharp intake of breath. You know when you already ‘know’ something,
yet somehow it still manages to slap you in the face when you’re least
expecting it? Yeah, well
that
just
happened.

I’m
going to be a mum.

Sweet
fucking hell.

“Uncertain?”
Jared repeated nervously.

“Not
about us,” I felt the need to assure. “We just have so much to sort out before
they get here. We need to decide where we’re going to live. I need to find out
what this means for work and Uni, and… I still need to tell Emily.”

“You
haven’t called her yet?”

“I
tried while you were in the shower but her phone was off. I’ll try Chris
later.”

“And…”
he began with a goofy smile that made me apprehensive. What was he planning?
“We need to pick names.”

“Funny,
I couldn’t help thinking about that on the way back from the hospital.”

“And?”
he probed with a wide grin.

“And
nothing. My mind went completely blank.”

“If
we have a girl we could name her after my grandma. Don’t tell Jess but I’ve
always been her favourite.”

“She
probably feels sorry for you.” For a second I could almost see the cogs turning
in his brain while he tried to interpret what I meant.

“Hey!”
he said eventually, displaying an exaggerated pout as he bumped his shoulder
with mine. “Will you quit it with the stupidity comments already?”

“So
what’s your grandma called?” I asked curiously. I’ve never met his grandma. I
don’t think he sees her much – I think they’ve got a Christmas and
birthdays kind of relationship.

“Audrey.”

“
AUDREY!
Jared I am
not
calling my daughter
Audrey!
”

“What’s
wrong with Audrey? My grandma’s cool for an eighty-year-old.”

“It’s
an old-people name. We might as well call her Gertrude! That’s it, I’m picking
the names.”

“You
can’t do that! That’s not fair,” he complained before setting those cogs in
motion again. “How about you pick out girls names and I’ll pick out boys?”

“No!
What if you come up with something minging like Eric?”

“And
what would you choose huh? Remy or Rash or whatever those dudes you read about
are called.”

“Um,
firstly – it’s Rush not
Rash…
and
secondly, either one of those names is better than whatever you’d come up
with.”

“Rachel!
I’m offended,” he said, gasping like a high school girl. “I think Zanzibar is a
great name actually.” I glowered at him, before wrinkling my nose up in
disgust. “I’m kidding, Rach. Have a little faith will you?”

“Hmmm,”
was all I could say with my lips pressed into such a tight line. “Will you hold
me?” I asked, looking up at him with pleading eyes. After what I’d seen today
my whole body ached to be close to him.

“Don’t
ask ridiculous questions,” he said, slouching backwards and holding his arms
out for me. Smiling, I nestled into his chest and wrapped one of my arms
tightly around his waist until my hand was clutching at the back of his shirt.

“Mmmm,”
I sighed. “I love being so close to you.” And I did. It didn’t matter that we
weren’t naked – skin to skin. Even through clothes I could feel the heat
from his body coating my skin, and hear the gentle thrum of his heart beneath my
ear. “You know something?” I asked, closing my eyes so I could concentrate
completely on the feel of him.

“What,
saffy?”

“I
think we’re gonna totally fucking rock as parents.”

I
could feel the vibrations of his laughter against my cheek, and that’s the last
thing I remember before the heat from his body soothed me to sleep.

Jared

One month later…

I
had never felt so embarrassed, so
gut-twistingly self-conscious… so utterly
mortified,
as I did the moment I stepped out of the hospital doors and into public view. After
an MRI scan three weeks ago showed nothing abnormal, I was referred for an
ambulatory EEG.
That’s
what I went
for this morning and
that’s
why I had
to make my way home on public transport with a maze of wires and electrodes
attached to my scalp.

I
had to lie down while they glued the electrodes to my head, and then they
bunched the wires up and tied them behind my head. The wires feed a fairly
chunky black box that attaches to my belt with a clip, and hanging off it is a
small controller, like the ones the weather people on the telly use, and I have
to press it every time I feel a ‘warning’.

That’s
if
I feel a warning. Four days I’ve
got to wear this God-awful contraption, and if during that time nothing
happens, I’ve got to get another appointment and arrange to wear it for even
longer. For the first time in my life, as I walked out of those hospital double
doors, pulling my hood up over my head in an effort to hide the wires, I prayed
for a warning to come. I would welcome the heavy feeling in my limbs and the
ache in my bones. I wanted to push that button so damn much.

I
wanted this over with. For good.

Rachel
was still at Uni when I got home but she was due back any minute. She is
stopping at my place tonight but we have been talking a lot lately about moving
in together permanently – we just need to decide where. My place only has
one bedroom so that’s not really an option. Rachel’s place has two bedrooms but
overall it’s tiny,
and
we don’t know
when and if Emily’s coming back.

I’d
literally just kicked my shoes off and hung my jacket up when I felt the buzz
of a text message in my pocket.

Rachel:
Be home in 10. Put the kettle on for a pot noodle I’m starving to death here
xxx

Rachel:
P.S. Hope hospital went ok. U no I’ll still love u even if u look like a twat
;-) xx

Tucking
my phone back into my pocket, I smiled. That is one of the many reasons why I
love Rachel – she can be serious when a situation calls for it, but she
would never allow me to wallow in self-pity. She makes everything fun.
Normal
. She was right of course, the
wires did make me look like a twat, and hearing her say it helped trivialise
what I had turned into a massive deal in my head.

Still
smiling, eager to have Rachel home with me, I headed to the kitchen. I am a Pot
Noodle connoisseur these days. I have finally mastered the art of preparing it
to just the ‘right’ consistency, and cutting the bread into neat triangles with
butter spread all the way to the crusts. Apparently leaving the edges dry is
pure laziness on my part. Oh and hey, it
has
to be butter – none of ‘that margarine shit’. It also can’t be ‘hard’
butter. If it’s fresh from the fridge or the room is cold, it needs fifteen
seconds in the microwave first otherwise it will spread too thickly, make her
feel sickly and ruin the whole Pot Noodle experience.

Yeah,
I never said she wasn’t fucking crazy. But she’s
my
crazy.

I’d
just filled the kettle when I heard a knock at my door. I hadn’t buzzed anyone
in so I decided Rachel must’ve gotten here quicker than expected. I was wearing
a grey hoody and I instinctively pulled the hood up over my head. I guess I
just wanted to see her smile before her jaw dropped open at the hideousness
that was my wired up scalp.

“Why
are you knock…” I started to say as I opened the door to who I’d assumed was
Rachel. “Ben?” I pressed, stepping to the side as he stumbled through my
doorway and then fell to his knees. He was drunk. The smell of stale whiskey
oozed from his pores, his eyes were swollen and his cheeks beaming red. I
didn’t have time for this shit. “Ben!” I snapped firmly.

Clambering
to his feet, he let out a drunken giggle.

“She’s
k-kicked m-me out,” he slurred. “C-can you fucking b-believe that?”

“Who’s
kicked you out? Kerry?”

“Yup.
You g-got a drink, mate?”

“I
think you’ve had enough,” I scolded. Following his pissed-up arse to my living
room where he flopped backwards onto the sofa. Then I nipped quickly into the
kitchen before coming out with a bottle of water and tossing it his way. I
wanted him sober. Fuck that, I wanted him gone. Rachel would be home soon, and
after what he said about her last time he was drunk, I didn’t think it’d make
for such a nice meet ‘n’ greet. “So why’d she kick you out? You know, it’s
probably just a misunderstanding.” Then, remembering Kerry was six months
pregnant, I added, “probably just hormones, mate.”

“Nah.
I fucked her best friend last week,” he stated calmly, as if he hadn’t just
openly admitted what a despicable fucking lowlife he was. His
wife
is
pregnant!

“Jesus,
Ben. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I
wasn’t. She’s been pecking my head all the fucking time lately,” he rambled, sounding
more coherent with every gulp of water. “I’d had enough. I go to work and get
yelled at by my boss, then I come home and get yelled at by Kerry or screamed
at by the kids.” What a selfish motherfucker… that’s all I could think. “What
the fuck is that?”

I
followed his gaze and realised my hood had slipped slightly.

“Oh,
um… nothing. Just having a few tests that’s all. Nothing serious.”

“Tests
for wh-” He paused mid-sentence and produced a drunken hiccup slash burp slash
pig noise. “For what?” he continued.

Fuck it.

“They’re
thinking epilepsy. This shit should pick up whatever crap goes on my brain if I
have a seizure.”

“Wow,”
he muttered, his reddened eyes half rolling into the back of his head. “Didn’t
know you still had those.”

Huh?

And
how the fuck would Ben know ‘about those’?

“What
do you mean still ‘have those’?”

“Um…
n-nothing. I…um…”

“Ben
what the fuck do you mean, still have those?”

“Fuck,
Jared… I…” Ben started ripping through his hair so fast I’m surprised he didn’t
pull it clean out of his head. The seriousness of whatever he was about to say
sobered him up instantly. His red cheeks had paled and his half-closed eyelids
had sprung wide open. “Back in college, the night you were…attacked…I was
– I was there.”

“What
do you mean you were there? I didn’t even know you when I was in college!” But
how the hell else could he have possibly known? There were only two people
beside myself who knew about that night – Mick and Rachel.

“I
went to Saint James’ sixth form too. We didn’t have any classes together, but
I’d seen you around.”

“Are
you trying to tell me you were one of those motherfuckers?” I asked, remarkably
calm. That didn’t last long though before my blood started to simmer. “ANSWER
ME GODAMMIT!”

“Yes!
Okay? Yes I was one of them!” I stumbled backwards as if I’d been punched in
the gut. “But I didn’t want to be. I hung out with a bad crowd back then. I
told him to stop. I tried to make him stop!”

Memories
of that night came flooding back with unwelcome force. I’ve never been able to
remember faces or specifics, and the foggy recollections I was experiencing now
were no different. But… I’ve always remembered one of them being reluctant
– maybe even suggesting they leave at one point.

Ben.

That
was Ben.

My
friend.

My
oldest fucking friend.

“You’ve
been my friend all this time,” I barely whispered – the air knocked clean
from my lungs. “Who else?”

“What
do you-”

“Who
else was there?” I cut him off. “Who the fuck was it, Ben?”

“It
doesn’t matter anymore. It was a long time ago.”

“It
matters to ME! Because in here,” I tapped my forehead with my finger, “in
here
it was fucking yesterday, you son
of a bitch!” I started pacing. I couldn’t keep still. My fingers were
twitching, my body on edge with adrenaline – every part of me ached to
punch my
‘friend’
until I felt his
bones crack beneath my hand. “So who the fuck was it?” I roared.

“Simon!
It was Simon!”

“
Simon?
” I repeated. “Should that mean
something to me?”

“He
was my older brother.”
Was?
“ He died
two months after…
that
night.”

“I’m
sorry.” It spilled out of my mouth automatically. Someone says ‘died’ and you
say ‘sorry’ – that’s how it works. But
was
I sorry? No fucking way.

“He
got in a fight. He lost,” Ben explained, and a sick, twisted part of me hidden
deep inside my mind felt a little satisfied.

“I
need you to leave.”

“Come
on, Jared. This shit is behind us. It was, what, eight years ago?”

“I’m
struggling to comprehend how you think that matters.”

“We’re
mates, Jared. I was a dick, okay? I followed Si around like a begging fucking
puppy. I knew the shit he got involved in was wrong, but he was my big brother,
you know?”

“Please,
Ben. Just… go.”

“You
heard him.” Rachel’s voice startled us both, causing our necks to jerk in her
direction. “Get the fuck out before I call the police.”

Hesitantly,
Ben rose from the sofa and made his way to the door. He paused briefly when he
reached it and looked back.

“I’m
sorry, mate,” was all he said before dropping his head and leaving. In that
moment I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to forgive, but I sure as shit knew
I’d never forget.

“Jared?”
Rachel asked carefully, reaching her hand out to mine. One look into her
concerned eyes tipped me over the edge. Dropping to my knees in front of her, I
laid my head on her lap and sobbed into her thighs.

**********

Waking
up, sprawled over the couch, I knew instantly what had happened. I could tell
by the ache in my bones and the rusty taste of blood in my mouth.

“I
think you bit your tongue,” Rachel said, sitting in front of me and reaching
out to dab the corners of my mouth with tissue. Instinctively I ran my tongue
across my lips, trying to find the wound. “Fuck, tongues bleed a lot,” she
added. “Would’ve been a vampire’s wet dream.”

“H-how
long was I out?” I slurred.

“Six
minutes. I’ll write it down on that diary thing the doctor gave you. Oh, and I
pushed the button on your thingy.” Oh yeah, the button for ‘warnings’. A
warning that didn’t happen this time. Again. It was changing – the
pattern and the frequency. Does that mean it’s getting worse? Does that mean
it’s
something
worse? “Water?”

Fuck yes.

I
nodded and Rachel reached sideways, picking up a glass of water with a straw.
Once I’d pushed past the embarrassment of having her see me like this yet
again, my heart fluttered a little. She was taking care of me. She
cares.
God I love her.

Rachel
held the glass in front of my face and angled the straw to my arid mouth.
Craning my neck a little, I welcomed the icy liquid into my mouth and down my
dry throat.

“It
doesn’t mean anything you know. The fact you didn’t get a warning.”

Huh?

“I
know it bothers you,” she continued. “But remember what the doctor said? About
inducing factors? Well today, I’m sure as hell stress was the trigger.”

Stress.
Understatement of the fucking century. Before I passed out I told Rachel about
Ben’s accidental revelation. I’m just not sure how I’m supposed to deal with
it. My mind flits from wanting to cave in the fucker’s skull to feeling so hurt
and betrayed that I want to wail like a fucking baby.

I
keep thinking back to the first time we met – how we became friends. On
reflection, Ben instigated everything. He took up the spot next to me in the
library on campus and joined in with my immature ribbing of the librarian.
Well, her name
was
Mrs Beaver. Come
on, that name is a walking invitation – begging to be ridiculed.

Then
I remembered how Ben first suggested we hit the pub after Uni. Once that became
routine, we naturally progressed on to clubs and ‘who can pull the fittest
skirt’ competitions. You know, just regular guy stuff. Soon enough, his friends
became
my
friends… and the rest is
history.

But
he knew who I was. All along, he’d known what had happened to me – what
he had stood back and
watched
happen
to me. Is that why he struck up a friendship? His way of dealing with the
guilt? Or maybe he just felt sorry for me. Either way, my relationship with
someone I have always considered my oldest, closest friend, was based on a
giant cesspit of lies.