Fix You (17 page)

Nineteen

February 9
^th
2010

H
anna wasn’t sure how she’d ended up sitting
in the corner of a dingy bar, pouring the dregs out of a bottle of wine. Her
wine glass was well used, marred by lipstick and finger marks, red droplets
clinging to the rim. She nodded at the barman to order another, figuring she
may as well end this day the way she had begun it.

In a complete state.

She hadn’t even realized the significance of the date until
she was on the subway train, rocking on her tiptoes so her fingers could grasp
the rail to prevent her flying into a fellow commuter. The man next to her was
reading the New York Times, folding it up into quarters so he didn’t disturb
anybody else, and it was then that her eyes had flicked over the numbers on the
corner of the page.

It had been years since she’d last had a panic attack, but
Hanna recognized the symptoms straight away. Her heart raced, her breath became
harsh and she felt as if she was about to fall down and convulse on the dusty
train floor. It seemed like the worst place in the world to have a seizure. It
was all she could do to hang on to a thread of sanity before the train came to
its next stop.

She didn’t bother to look to see where she was, just ran out
through the sliding doors and up the platform, panicking again when her card
didn’t open the barrier the first time. Her hands were shaking hard, the
feeling of nausea bubbling away at the pit of her stomach, and she only cleared
the exit by a couple of feet before she doubled over and pebbled the floor with
the remnants of her breakfast.

The morning rush hour had carried on around her. People
walking into the station entrance gave her a wide birth, assuming she was
either inebriated from the night before, or was some sort of mad woman,
muttering to herself as she leaned against the dirty brick wall of the subway
station. She was a small inconvenience—probably forgotten by the time they’d
stepped onto their train—a tiny speck in the myriad of eccentrics that
populated the great city.

It was times like this that Hanna wished she was still in
London. She would have called up Natalie, or Tom, or maybe caught a cab to
Claire’s to throw herself into her arms. She would have been plied with sweet
tea and hugs until she cried herself out and braced herself to face the day.

Instead, she was alienated in Manhattan, with a cell phone
filled with numbers of work colleagues and acquaintances, but no friends that
she could confide in, or ask for help. Nobody who would understand exactly why
this day was so hard for her.

The time passed faster than she’d thought possible.
Breakfast in a diner, and hours spent browsing in a book shop were followed by
an early dinner in the corner of a dingy bar in Soho. How she’d ended up there,
she wasn’t sure, but she felt more at home in this part of the island than
anywhere else.

The last couple of hours had been spent drowning herself in
a wine glass, and batting off advances of guys who thought she was easy game.
Even in her inebriated state, the last thing she wanted to do was forget her
mother with an easy lay.

And here she was, full circle, thinking about the last five
years and how she’d royally fucked things up. She glanced at her watch, trying
to work out—through the haze of alcohol—what the time would be in London. It
was way too late to call up Claire or Ruby. They’d both be tucked up safe and
warm in bed.

That left one other number. She dialed it before she’d even
thought it through, like she’d left all common sense at the bottom of her empty
wine bottle. It only rang twice before she was connected.

“Hanna?” His voice was soft and warm, with a hint of
concern.

“Richard.” She took another sip of wine. “I just wanted to
call and say how sorry I am.”

“Are you okay?”

She could hear a thrum of voices in the background. Hanna
wondered if she had disturbed him, maybe taken him away from dinner with
Meredith.

“The way I left you after mum died. I should never have
walked out on you without explaining why. I’ve been thinking about it all day,
and I—”

“Christ, I hadn’t even realized the date. I’m so sorry.” He
sounded agitated. She could imagine him running his hand through his thick,
coarse hair. He was probably the only other person thinking about the day her
mum died five years ago.

She laughed harshly. “I really shouldn’t have called. I know
you’re with Meredith now, and I’m so pleased you have found each other. You
deserve happiness.” Her words slurred off her tongue and into the mouthpiece.

“Have you been drinking?” 

“A little. But I’ll let you get back to your evening.”

“Are you at home?” he asked.

“I’m in a bar.”

“Alone?”

“Yep.”

“Fuck,” he swore softly. “I’ll send Jack over to drive you
home. Where are you?”

She looked around for evidence of the bar name, coming up
short when she realized there was nothing on the inside of the room. Then she
glanced down, noticed the beer mat and smiled.

“Murphy’s. In Soho.”

“Don’t move.” His words were a command, and she took him
seriously. She didn’t even want any more of the claret sitting in the bottle in
front of her. All she really craved was the soft warmth of her duvet and the
cleansing oblivion of sleep.

She sobered a little in the fifteen minutes she was waiting.
The bartender brought over the tab, and a glass of water, and she swallowed it
down, hoping to cleanse her system of alcohol. Then he was walking into the
bar, carrying his black woolen coat over his arm.

“Richard!” Just seeing him there made her jump. “I thought
you were sending Jack.”

“I decided to come with him,” he answered quietly, his eyes
scanning her face in concern. “It was a good excuse to leave dinner early.”

He looked tired. In the dingy light of the bar she could see
lines pulling at the corner of his eyes, dry and deep. She bit her lip, aware
he was being kind.

“Is Meredith with you?” She swallowed hard. Knowing he was
with another woman was one thing—seeing them together while she was at her
lowest ebb was another.

“She’s visiting her parents. It was just me and three
hundred and fifty of New York’s finest.” He grimaced. “So believe me when I say
you did me a favor.” Standing up, he pulled her coat from the hook at the side
of the booth. “Now let’s get you home.”

Hanna stood and turned, putting her arms into the sleeves as
he held her jacket, allowing him to pull it over her shoulders. He held on for
a moment too long.

LETTING OUT A small breath of air,
Richard turned her around and helped her to fasten the large buttons on the
front of her coat. This wasn’t how he’d envisaged his night panning out. He’d
planned a nice, civilized dinner, perhaps followed by a whisky or two, and then
an early night. Instead here he was. His body felt electric, as if by seeing
her he’d come alive. His nerve endings stabbed like a thousand tiny needles.

He hesitated for a moment before taking her hand in his. But
then, he saw two of the guys at the bar turn around to stare at Hanna, a look
of disappointment on their faces, and he felt the need to mark his territory.
Even if it wasn’t his to claim.

“You really don’t need to do this,” she mumbled, just before
she tripped over her own shoe. He tried to restrain a laugh, but it came out
strangled, causing her to stare at him indignantly. “Do you find this funny?”

“A little,” he admitted, putting his arm around her shoulder
to lead her to the main door. She kept veering to the right, like a car whose
steering was slightly off-kilter. “But I’ll try to restrain myself.”

“Good. Because I don’t want to have to hit you.”

“Which one of me will you hit?”

“Both,” she muttered, trying to uncross her eyes.

She stumbled against him again, and he held her close,
deciding not to point out the obvious. By the time they were in the car she
felt sleepy, burying her head in the wool of his jacket, her voice languid as
she continued to spout a mouthful of drivel.

“Do you remember when we first met?” she asked him. “You
were all smart in your evening suit, and I was a hot ball of mess.”

“That’s not how I remember it.” He was murmuring into her
hair, breathing in the aroma of her shampoo. “You looked hot as hell in that
waitress uniform.” Memories of black hair and kohled eyes assaulted his senses.
“I couldn’t wait to show you my PlayStation.”

She laughed, then hiccupped. “Is that a euphemism?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, looping his arm around her
shoulder and rubbing her arm with his finger.

“I can remember being impressed by your…ardor,”

Jack brought the car to a stop. Even at eleven o’clock on a
Tuesday night, the streets were crammed with traffic. Richard wondered if Hanna
would make the journey without falling asleep.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

The car was filled with silence, and Richard let his head
fall back, working out his next move. He wanted to make sure she got back to
the apartment safely, knowing today of all days was difficult for her. If he
could just put her to bed and watch her sleep, he’d feel better about the whole
thing. He tried to suppress the anger he felt with himself, and her friends,
for letting her go through this alone.

Twenty minutes later, Jack pulled up outside the apartment
on the Upper East Side. Hanna was so quiet that he wondered if she really had
fallen asleep. But as soon as the car came to a stop, she lifted her head up
and stared at him.

“Thank you for the lift.”

He was confused for a moment, before realizing she intended
to go into the apartment without him. For some reason, that wouldn’t do.

“I’ll see you in, make sure you’re safe.”

She laughed. “I think all the druggies and murderers have
gone home for the evening. The scariest thing in there will be Mrs. Van Kemp
staring at my shoes with disdain, and telling me I’m lowering the tone again.”

“Humor me.”

She nodded rapidly, then started to jab her hand, trying to
release her seatbelt. He bit back a chuckle before leaning across to unfasten
it for her.

“Stop laughing at me.” She gently slapped at his arm. “It
isn’t funny.”

He’d spent enough time at his father’s apartment to know the
doorman, nodding at him as he half-carried Hanna to the elevator. Through the
thickness of her winter coat she felt small and vulnerable, and he wondered if
his need to protect her was just a natural reaction to her size. Perhaps, as
with Ruby, he wanted to shelter her from the world and keep her safe.

The thought cheered him as he grabbed the door key from her
bag and slid it into the lock. Flicking the light switch on with one hand, he
supported Hanna with the other, his arm curving around her waist. She kicked
off her shoes, and they landed on the tiled floor with a clunk.

“Do you want to do a scan of the apartment, make sure Ted
Bundy isn’t hiding in the washer-dryer?” A flash of amusement lit her eyes.

He offered her a small grin before taking her coat and
hanging it neatly in the hall closet. “The scariest thing you need to worry
about is the hangover you’ll have tomorrow morning.”

Walking to the kitchen, Richard pulled a tall glass from the
cupboard. Filling it with water, he carried it to the guest room, placing it on
the bedside table.

“Where do you keep your painkillers?” he asked, trying not
to watch as Hanna unpinned her hair. It cascaded down her shoulders. “I’ll grab
you a couple, and then I’ll be gone.”

She blinked in the mirror, her eyes meeting his. “In the
vanity cabinet above the sink.”

Richard walked into the bathroom, surprised at the lack of
cosmetics and products littering the sides. Grabbing the blister packet of
Panadol, he brought it back to her bed.

Hanna sat on top of the coverlet, her head resting against
the headboard, and he popped two pills out, placing them gently in her mouth.
Lifting the glass to her lips he encouraged her to drink, unable to stop
himself from running his hand through her hair as she swallowed.

“That feels good.” Her eyes were closed as his hand caressed
her. “Can you stay for a while?”

“You need to get into bed.” He reached around to her back
and pulled down her zipper. The movement felt too intimate, and he had to try
and suppress his reaction to her proximity. “You’ll feel better after a good
sleep.”

“You’re so nice.” Her voice was just a murmur, and she
shuffled closer to him, her head nuzzling into the crease between his shoulder
and neck. “And you smell great. You always smelled great, even in the mornings.
It’s one of the things I miss most about us.”