Fix You (8 page)

Near the bottom of the page, he saw the words “Hanna
Vincent.” Just seeing the lines of her name kick-started something inside of
him, like a small pilot light was being lit in the boiler of his soul.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: You

Richard,

I hate that I have to write this
email. I hate that I can’t be there for you, and that I can’t even contact you
by phone. Everything about this situation is horrific, and I’m going crazy
trying to imagine how you must be feeling right now.

I spent the day of September 11th with
your family, and I was amazed not only by their fervent love and worry for you,
but also for the support they showed me at a time when we were all at our
lowest ebb. They adore you so much, and the relief we felt when we heard that
both you and my father were safe was indescribable.

And yet, it was tinged with sadness as
soon as we heard that your stepfather had died in the tragedy. I am sorrier
than you can ever know. If you need a friend to talk to, or a shoulder to cry
on, I am here, day or night, just call.

You know that, right?

I love you, my friend. I wish I could
be there to hug you right now, and as soon as I meet you next, please expect
for the breath to be squeezed out of you by my puny arms. I’ll be that happy to
see your ugly face.

Don’t worry about replying. I’m sure
you have hundreds of emails like this from your female admirers.

Hanna x

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: You

Hanna,

Thank you for your words. At a time
like this, what I crave is levity. There is so much going on here right now,
not just in New York, but also in my own life, and knowing that normality still
exists in the rest of the world, is somehow reassuring.

My father told me how much you did on
that day, the way you looked after Ruby, and supported Nathan, despite your own
fears. So I can categorically say that when you squeeze me, I shall be clasping
you back much harder. May I suggest you practice your breathing techniques in
the meantime?

I have to leave for a meeting now, but
I’ll try to write again soon.

Love,

Richard

An hour later, Richard made it to the makeshift conference
room at the top of Maxwell Industry’s newly rented office building. The
remaining members of the advisory board were standing around in clusters,
talking rapidly, their eyes wide as they exchanged stories of the day their
lives changed irrevocably. The majority of them hadn’t been in the office on
the morning of the crash, but the shock of their near miss remained etched on
their faces as they chattered, their eyes sliding over to Richard as he entered
the room. They were sizing him up as a potential replacement for Leon Maxwell.

Taking a deep breath, Richard squared his shoulders and
walked to the head of the conference table, keeping his pace even and measured.
He pulled the chair out, deliberately scraping it loudly across the floor,
making all eyes turn his way.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I suggest we start. We have a
business to run.” As they all sat down, Richard remained standing, moving his
eyes around the room. He looked at each board member in turn. Some of them
appeared skeptical, others hopeful. The cannier amongst them kept their
expressions blank as they glanced back at him, making it hard for him to read
their features.

“As you all know, Leon Maxwell, the owner of this company,
is missing, presumed dead. In his absence, I am here representing the new
owners: my stepbrother, my mother, and myself.

“I can see there are some among you who remain unconvinced
that I can step into his shoes and turn the fortunes of this company around. To
those people, I say; either you are with me, or you are against me. If you don’t
want to work here, I’m very happy to accept your resignation right now.”

Richard paused, his eyes scanning the room again to see if
any of them would take him up on his offer.

They all remained silent.

 “I’m glad we’ve got that settled. Just like my stepfather,
I expect you to work hard, and I demand your loyalty. Our business has suffered
a huge body-blow in the past week, as has America. But the camaraderie and the
determination I have seen out there on the streets has been absolutely amazing.
If we can channel that same grit right here into this company, then I truly
believe that we can rebuild this company brick by brick, and make it an
enterprise that Leon Maxwell would justifiably be proud of.”

Richard noticed a few heads nodding at his words. He remained
stoic, not allowing himself to sigh or even show a flicker of emotion as he
spoke to them. He didn’t dare demonstrate any weakness.

“Now, I’d like you all to go out there and motivate your
people. I’ll be meeting with you individually, and we’ll be making plans for
the future. In the meantime, I look forward to working with each and every one
of you.”

Thanking them for their time, Richard finally allowed
himself to sit down, trying to hide the trembling in his legs. They all started
to clap, standing up to give him a heartfelt ovation.

The first person to actually approach him was Joe Garfield,
the chief financial officer. A close confidante of Leon’s, Joe’s face was drawn
down in grief as he shook Richard’s hand, muttering the usual trite condolences
as he looked him straight in the eye.

“Thank you, sir.” Richard replied, wondering how, in the
space of a few days, he had turned into a man that everybody was looking to,
someone who was supposed to know how to run a multi-billion dollar business.

Joe must have clocked the nervousness in Richard’s face, or
perhaps it was the shaking of his hand as they clasped his own. Either way, the
older man took pity on him.

“If any of these fuck-ups give you trouble, come and see me.
I’ll give you every bit of support I can.”

“I’m grateful for your backing. Thank you.”

Glancing down at the sheet of paper in front of him, Richard
could see his temporary assistant had already set up individual meetings with
board members. His entire day was filled, right up until 8:00 p.m. that
evening. It was clear his life was no longer his own.

To fail at this, would be to let down thousands of people,
employees and customers and shareholders that were relying on him to make this
company a success.

That was not an option.

Eight

June 29
^th
2002

“
W
hat’s this?” Josh picked up the package
from her bed as Hanna continued to pack her backpack, stuffing things in as
tightly as possible.

Hanna glanced over as she watched him pull the t-shirt out
of the packaging. It fell open in front of him revealing the vintage 1973 New
York Dolls band tee Richard had sent her.

“It’s a present from Richard.”

“I don’t like the way he keeps sending you things.” Josh let
it fall back onto her bed, flicking his fingers as if he was trying to remove
any traces of the gift from them. “It’s weird.”

Hanna stopped packing, leaning over to brush his cheek with
her hand. “He’s just a friend, Josh.”

“Friends don’t send friends gifts worth hundreds of pounds,
Hanna. He clearly fancies you. Christ, the guy can hardly take his eyes off
you.”

Hanna choked back a laugh. “Josh, you know there’s nothing
going on there. He lives thousands of miles away, and I’m with you. Have a
little faith, okay?” Leaning forward, she touched her lips against his. “I’m
going to be away until Sunday, let’s not leave things like this.”

“I still don’t like it.”

Despite her entreaties, his bad mood continued all the way
to Paddington Station where he dropped her off. She gave him a quick kiss
before exiting the car, feeling his irritation as he responded with a quick
peck. She had barely pushed the door closed before he sped off, and she watched
the car as it disappeared into the London traffic, her worry for her
relationship with Josh reflected in the anxious nausea gripping her stomach.

As soon as she was on the train, Hanna breathed a sigh of
relief, deciding she would worry about their argument when she was back in
London. She touched her pocket to check that Richard’s letter was still there,
and pulled it out to read one more time.

June 20th 2002

Dear Hanna,

Thank you for the present. After all
these years, to finally receive the promised mix tape made me grin madly. When
I read the track listing I laughed out loud. Starting with
Wall Street
Shuffle
may have seemed rather obvious, but to follow it with
Money for
Nothing
by Dire Straits was an inspired touch. Your final song, Puff Daddy’s
All About the Benjamin’s
is actually one of my favorites.

Anyway, to thank you for your gift,
you’ll be pleased to see that I spent a few Benjamins on a t-shirt for you. I’m
not sure if you are a New York Dolls fan or not, but just seeing it made me
think of you, and the night we saw The Strokes.

Let’s do it again soon, okay?

Richard

Sitting in the backstage bar of the Glastonbury Music
Festival, Hanna watched as Tom McLean crossed the room and placed five ice-cold
bottles of Stella Artois on the sticky plastic table in front of them. She
picked one up and leaned back on the flimsy folding chair, necking a huge gulp
of beer, much to the amusement of the rest of the band.

“So, what did you think?” Tom asked, trying to appear
nonchalant as he pulled up another chair, placing it right alongside Hanna so
their thighs were almost touching.

“On the record or off?” Hanna teased. She fingered the
backstage journalist pass that hung around her neck.

Tom stared at her for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he
considered her words. “Whichever I’m going to like the best.”

“I’m kidding, you goof.” She was smiling broadly. “You were
absolutely fantastic. I loved the new set. It was brilliant. You had the crowd
hanging on every note.”

“Were we better than Coldplay?” Robert, the bass guitarist,
leaned forward, his chin placed on top of his palms. He looked at Hanna with
clear, wide eyes.

She couldn’t believe how interested they were in her
opinion, although the little ego-boost their anticipation gave her was quite
welcome. It wasn’t the first time since she’d been at the festival that a band
had genuinely seemed engrossed in what she thought about them. Somehow her judgment
had become sought after. She assumed it had something to do with the fact that
she was interning for Music Train, and had their logo hanging from her neck
everywhere she went. All the bands wanted a good write-up from the nation’s
most popular music magazine.

“Coldplay was excellent, everybody was singing along to
them.” Tom physically blanched at her words, and she hurried to continue, “But
you guys were something else. People weren’t just singing, they were
worshipping. They were throwing themselves down as sacrifices to the gods of
rock.”

A broad grin spread across Tom’s face. He stood up, walked
over to her, and pulled her into a tight embrace, his lips swooping down on
hers with a loud smack. “Hanna Vincent, I fucking love you. Now make sure you
call me a rock god in your review.”

“You know that Music Train has proper writers here, right? I’m
going to be lucky if they even print an indefinite article without sending it
through five editors.” She wriggled in a feigned attempt to escape his grasp.
Not that she minded him being overly demonstrative—she was used to it by now.
He was like an overenthusiastic five-year-old, throwing himself at everybody,
not just her

“I spoke with your boss earlier and I promised them an
exclusive interview, but only if you wrote it.” He winked as he pulled away
from her, moving to sit back down.

“Oh my God!” she squealed at him, trying to restrain herself
from starting the whole hugging fest again. People were starting to look.

“Oh my
Rock
God, if you please.”

They stared at each other, matching smiles on their faces.
It was hard to believe that only two years previously she’d been watching him
play in a small pub and had no inkling he was going to become internationally
famous. How things had changed.

“Tom, sweetie!” A thin, highly-pitched voice came from
across the room. Hanna watched in amusement as a tiny blonde ran over, throwing
herself into Tom’s arms, wrapping her legs around his waist as she placed her
lips firmly on his.

“Is that Pinkie Jones?” Hanna asked Robert in a whispered
aside.

“Oh yeah, she’s been the bane of our existence all summer.
Whenever you turn around, she’s there. She’s been hovering around us like a fly
over a pile of shit.”

“Nice simile. Especially when you compare yourselves to
manure,” she replied dryly, watching as Tom sat back down on his chair, pulling
Pinkie onto his lap. Hanna bit her bottom lip in an attempt to stop from
giggling, causing Tom to raise his eyebrows in response. 

“Are you not singing today?” Robert drawled over at the blonde.
Pinkie giggled and shook her head before burying it in the side of Tom’s head,
nuzzling at his throat. Hanna noticed a flash of something just underneath the
surface of his eyes. And all of a sudden she realized that Tom McLean was
smitten with a Z list celebrity and runner-up in that year’s
Rock Star
reality show.

Hanna tried to restrain the wide smirk that was trying to
unzip its way across her lips because she knew that Tom would think she was
mocking him, even though she wasn’t. In fact, a little corner of her heart was
heating up fast at the sight of her friend being bowled over by a woman.

“Pinkie, this is Hanna Vincent, one of my oldest friends.”
Tom looked up and winked at Hanna.

“You don’t look that old.” Pinkie replied, her face frowning
in confusion. Hanna heard Robert start to guffaw next to her.

“No, sweetie, she’s not an old friend, as in years, she’s
old as in I’ve known her for years.”

“I’m twenty.” Hanna decided this would be easier if she just
came out with it.

Pinkie repaid Hanna’s frank reply with a dazzling smile, and
Hanna could see exactly what Tom saw in her. Her face was open and guileless,
and even if she didn’t appear to have too much going on between her ears,
whatever was there seemed kind and friendly.

“Have you two known each other long?” Hanna asked, very
interested in the reply. She had a feeling she was going to be able to live off
this story for the next few months.

“We met at the
Rock Star
wrap party. Tommy came up
and told me that he’d voted for me a hundred times every week.

The need to laugh washed over Hanna again. With his street
cred and her tabloid appeal, Tom and Pinkie were going to be paparazzi fodder
of the highest order.

HANNA ARRIVED BACK at Josh’s flat
earlier than planned that Sunday. Rifling through her handbag, she found the
front door key and let herself in, trying not to breathe in the rancid, damp
air that lingered in the hallway. She swung her backpack onto her shoulder, her
sandaled feet stepping onto the threadbare carpet of the stairs. She slowly
walked up to the second floor, her muscles feeling leaden in reaction to the
sudden exertion. Her body ached. She wanted nothing more than to jump in Josh’s
admittedly tiny shower, then crawl under the covers with him for a couple of
hours.

The apartment was silent as she let herself in, and she
realized that her first supposition—that he hadn’t even bothered getting up—was
the correct one. His wallet and keys were still on the counter of his tiny
kitchen. Pushing his bedroom door open, her eyes adjusted slowly to the gloom
of the curtained room. She placed her rucksack down beside the door and walked
over to his bed.

Her legs reacted before her mind did, as if they sensed the
wrongness of the moment. Hanna stopped suddenly, seeing the two of them
sleeping, their naked bodies entwined beneath the draping covers of the thin
white sheet. Josh’s arm was flung across the woman’s waist, his head buried in
her neck as he gently breathed; his slumbering face a picture of innocence.

Numbness enveloped her body. She recognized the woman. They’d
met a few times when Hanna joined Josh and his workmates in the pub on a Friday
night. He had introduced her as his boss, and the two of them had barely
interacted during all the times she had seen them together. Now the connection
was way too close for comfort, and Hanna closed her mouth in an attempt to
quiet the cry that was trying to escape her throat.

Fight or flight? She bit her thumbnail, her face screwed up
with misery, as she tried to decide the best thing to do. Should she confront
them before they had time to make up a story to cover up their indiscretions?
Or should she run and leave the room with a small modicum of her dignity
intact?

Her mind was made up for her, when Josh moved languorously,
lifting his arm from the woman’s waist and stretching it over his head, his
eyes opening slowly and blinkingly, as they reacted to the dim light. Raising
his head from the pillow, he looked over at Hanna and smiled, opening his mouth
to say something before he looked down and saw the naked woman lying beside
him.

The look of horror that crossed his face was almost comical.

“What the fuck?”

“I think that’s supposed to be my line.” Hanna’s voice
sounded surprisingly controlled to her as she surveyed the mess that was her
relationship.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were in Glastonbury.”
He pulled the sheet up to cover their naked bodies. A bark of laughter wound
its way up her larynx as she realized that he was trying to put the fault
straight back onto her. And then the laughter was replaced by a sob, and she
knew she had to get out of there right now.

Reason had kicked into her brain, punching its way through
the numbness, and she turned around to pick up her backpack before walking out
through his bedroom door. She could hear him shouting at her, but didn’t reply,
increasing her pace until she crossed the few feet to his front door.

It was like her whole body had been hit hard. Her muscles
felt tight and edgy as she ran down the stairs, barely noticing the weight of
her backpack as she moved. Her heartbeat sped in response to the shock of
seeing them there. She had no idea how she made it outside without falling
over.

Hanna wanted to slap the palm of her hand right across Josh
Chambers’ face until she heard the satisfying thwack of his teeth hitting his
inner cheek. She wanted to climb up into her mum’s lap like she was five years
old again, and a simple cuddle would erase all of the hurt.

Most of all, she needed to go home and crawl into her little
single bed, pull the duvet over her head and bawl her eyes out.