Hold On Tight (Take My Hand) (12 page)

Oh crap. In that very moment, just as Sarah’s phone started to ring in
my ear, I realised I’d become the exact kind of girl everyone hates to read
about.

A whiner.

“Emily, honey, I’m so glad you called,” Sarah beamed down the line. My
anxiousness evaporated instantaneously. “I’m so sorry I’ve not called. You
wouldn’t
believe
the size of the
phone bill I ran up last month and… well, I kinda got cut off for a week.” You
see? I
was
overreacting. “I hope you
haven’t tried to call and been worried because you couldn’t get through?” she
added. It came out like a question and then, whaddya know… I felt guilty yet
again
when I had to say no.

“I’m sorry. I just thought you’d be um, busy… or something,” I stumbled
out.

“I’m never too busy for you, honey, you know that.” She spoke so
reassuringly and I could tell she knew the
real
reason I’d not called – too busy wallowing.

“How is he?” I didn’t need to say Dexter’s name for her to know who I
meant. She sighed heavily and it infected me like a yawn, causing me to sigh
too.

“He’s not good,” she said on a tortured exhale. “I’ve only seen him once
this past month, and even then he ran as soon as he saw me. But I looked him
straight in the eyes and… he just wasn’t there.” Silent tears spilled down my
cheeks and my whole body began to ache as though I’d been in a violent fight.

“I miss him,” I choked out, sniffling back the ugly mix of snot and
tears mingling under my nose. Sarah didn’t answer me which immediately sparked
a fire of panic in my belly. Her response has
always
been ‘he’ll come back’. What if this time he
didn’t
come back? The thought ripped
through my aching heart like a razor blade. “We’re losing him aren’t we?”

“I…” Sarah trailed off, amplifying the spark in my belly to a full on
inferno. “I don’t know.”

So that’s what it feels like to have a piece of you die inside?

Sarah and I tried to discuss other things but somehow ended up always
falling on one word answers. She’s not heard from Martin again now he has what
he wants which I suppose is a good thing, but that doesn’t mean I can stop
thinking about him. That man is responsible for the way I’m feeling right now.
He
took Dexter away from me and I hate
him for it. I can’t allow myself to entertain the idea that Dexter had a choice
because if I do, if I pretend for one second that he is responsible for this
crippling ache in my chest, then I might end up hating him too.

And I can’t hate Dexter. I
won’t.
I
love him.

When I’d hung up on Sarah I made my way downstairs to see what Chris
wanted.

“You’ve been crying,” he said as I walked into the kitchen where he was
hovering over a hot stove. It wasn’t a question.

“I talked to Rachel.” Just thinking about her made another tear squeeze
from my eye. “She hates me, Chris.” He stopped stirring whatever was in the
bubbling pan, laid the spoon he was using on the counter and came over to me.

“That’s ridiculous,” he consoled, placing his hands on my trembling
shoulders. “She’s your best friend.”

“I’ve been ignoring her a lot lately, and I lied to her,” I admitted
shamefully.

“
Lied
? About what?”

“I didn’t tell her I was here – that I was back home. And when she
asked when I got back I said just recently. I didn’t know you’d already told
her. Thanks for the heads up on that one, bro,” I muttered scornfully.

“Well I didn’t know you weren’t gonna tell her!” he snapped back
defensively. “She’s your friend. I thought she’d be worried about you. Why the
hell did you lie to her?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed, shrugging. “I just didn’t want to talk to
anyone I guess.”

“Oh, Emmie…” Chris sighed sympathetically and cuddled me in his arms.
“She’ll come round. You’ve been friends forever. You’ll work it out.” Ugh. Why
does
everything
need working out? Why
can’t some things just not break in the first place? “You hungry?” he asked,
peeling himself off me and giving me a ‘manly’ pat on the back.

“Sure,” I lied. I can’t remember the last I felt anything but worry in
my belly.

“I’ve made some soup. Go sit down and I’ll bring some over.” Smiling
gratefully, I strode into the living room to wait for my canned tomato soup. I
knew that’s what was coming even though I’d not seen the tin or the contents of
the pan. It’s the only soup Chris has ever eaten and his reason for that is,
it’s the only soup he can guarantee he won’t find something green floating in.
I swear, he’s thirty on his next birthday but he still eats like a six year
old.

“Bread?” he called through at the top of his voice.

“Of course!” Who would want soup without bread? It wouldn’t be food
without something to dip in it – just a thick drink. Chris came through
with the soup a moment later and handed it to me with a tea-towel to protect my
knees from the hot bowl. When I took it from him I noticed he’d already cut up
one slice of bread and mixed it in with the steaming red soup – just the
way I like it.

“You’re the best,” I said wholeheartedly, touched that he remembered.

“Damn right,” he replied confidently. Then, almost choking on a spoonful
of soggy, tomato saturated bread, we both burst into fits of laughter.

~Emily~

One month later…

“
They
said
yes!” Chris practically sang, scooping me in his arms and twirling me around
when he walked into the back room of the garage. He set me back down on the
floor and I brushed imaginary lint off the shoulders of his smart grey suit as
I looked at him proudly. After squealing like a prom queen I finally managed to
respond.

“That’s fantastic! I knew you could do it!” Chris had just got back from
a meeting with the bank. A few weeks ago the owner of the garage he works at
decided it was time to retire (I think he’s in his sixties but after years of
cigar smoking he looks at least one-hundred and two) and because Chris has
worked for him since he left school, he gave him first refusal. “I’m so proud
of you!”

“Well come on, we both knew I was always heading for greatness,” he
teased with a delighted grin.

“And maybe your headaches will stop now it’s all over.” Chris has always
suffered with migraines but lately they’ve been so much more frequent and even
more severe. Some nights I’ve actually heard him screaming with the pain while
he’s throwing his guts up in the toilet. I’ve been so worried about him but I’m
sure it’s the stress of getting his business plan together and worrying about
whether the bank would reject his application for a loan so I’ve no doubt
they’ll start easing off now.

“Hopefully,” he replied after a slight hesitation. “We should go out
tonight and celebrate. Just me and you. What do you say, kiddo?”

“I say, just let me finish up these books and then hell yeah!” Chris’
boss, Ernie, agreed to let me make myself useful in the office a few weeks ago.
I’m not getting paid but it doesn’t matter - the fact that it occupies my mind
is more than enough reward for me. Chris used the excuse that if the bank said
yes then he’d need someone to help him with the paperwork side of things, but
I’m pretty sure he was just trying to get me out of the house for a few hours a
day.

Either way, I’ve really been enjoying it. I’ve bought a couple of
bookkeeping and accounts books which have made everything seem pretty simple so
far and I’ve completely re-organised the filing system – taking the
mountain of scrunched up papers shoved into every available drawer,
straightening them out and alphabetising them in the
actual
filing cabinet. It’s given me a purpose I suppose, and some
days – even if only for a few brief minutes – I almost forget that
my chest hurts so badly.

“Great,” he replied, kissing the top of my head. “You mind if I go home
and change into something less poncey while you finish up?”

“Go ahead,” I agreed, chuckling at how uncomfortable wearing a suit made
him. “And for the record, if I wasn’t your sister, I’m pretty sure you look hot
in that suit.”

“Obviously. I’d look hot rolled in shit,” he shot back, already half way
to the office door. “Don’t be long,” he called over his shoulder before
disappearing behind a red car suspended in the air. So far I can only refer to
different cars by their colour. I guess I should work on learning the names if
I’m going to be doing this for the long haul. That seems like a possibility at
the minute, seeing as I haven’t heard from Rachel again which I’m taking means
I’m not welcome back in London.

That was very easily about to take over my mind and I didn’t want to
celebrate Chris’ success on a downer so I distracted myself by logging the
invoices in date order. I was done for the day in less than half an hour and
seeing as I was the last person here, I flipped off all the lights and set the
alarm before rolling the shutters down and securing the padlock on my way out.

When I arrived home Chris was looking more like himself in a pair of
indigo jeans and a long sleeved white jumper. He was sitting forward on the
edge of the couch, concentrating on the official looking papers in front of him
on the coffee table.

“Hey, Emmie.” He shuffled the papers into a neat pile and put them
inside a plastic folder. Then he got to his feet and strode over to me. “Soooo,
pizza and pub? Or chippy then club?” he asked with a mischievous grin.

“How about chippy then pub?” Clubs never have and never will be my
thing. They’re too crowded, noisy and reek of sweat.

“Sounds like a plan. Go get yourself ready.”

After showering, changing into my black leggings and light-brown
jumper-dress and blasting off my hair with the hairdryer, we headed straight
out. We planned to stay local in case we ended up having a few drinks, so we
started by walking to the chippy a few streets away from the house. We ordered
our food in takeaway trays so we could eat it and walk at the same time.

“Dammit,” I cursed myself when a rogue dollop of gravy rolled off the
chip I was about to put in my mouth. Yeah I didn’t think that one through.
Those ridiculously small plastic forks they give you aren’t nearly strong
enough to get a decent grip of a gravy-saturated chip. “It’s all down my
jumper!” I whined.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pick you up some bibs tomorrow,” Chris joked. “You
need nappies too?”

“Piss off,” I spat, rubbing at the gravy stain with the little napkin my
fork was wrapped in.

“Oooooo, get you!” he teased in his best camp accent. “Seriously you
can’t even see it. Your jumper’s brown – gravy’s brown…” he tried to
console when I flashed him my most serious shut-your-face-before-I-slap-it
look.

We continued to walk while I sulkily stabbed at my chips – giving
every single one the evil eye before tossing it in my mouth. I was grateful
when we arrived at The Farmers Arms – eager to step into the warm. I
didn’t bother to put on a coat, despite the March breeze, figuring we wouldn’t
be walking far so I wouldn’t need it.

My golf ball sized nipples were screaming at me for being so stupid now
though.

Throwing our empty polystyrene trays into the bin outside the splintered
door to the pub, we stepped past the circle of smokers and headed inside. The
warm air blasted my face like a hairdryer and my mood picked up immediately.

“What’d ya fancy?” Chris asked, shrugging out of his jacket and placing
it over his stool.

“Just a Coke.”

“Come on, Emmie… live a little,” he said chirpily. “A pint and a vodka
and Coke please,” he went on to the short, round barman. Rolling my eyes at
him, I hitched myself up on to the tall stall with blue velvet padding and
waited for my drink. “So, what shall we do for your birthday next week?”

Oh yeah…

“I’d forgotten about that,” I admitted.

“How do you forget about your own birthday?” he asked, shaking his head
and laughing at me. The barman set our drinks out on the bar and Chris paid him
before sliding mine over to me. “Well you only hit the big two zero once. We need
to celebrate.” Ugh. Celebrate what? Celebrate the fact I’d lost the only man
I’d ever loved, my best friend
and
the
whole ‘new life’ I had planned? “Look,” he continued. “Either you tell me what
you want to do or I’ll arrange something huge that I know you’ll hate.”

“Fine,” I concurred grudgingly. “We’ll just do this again. Go for a few
quiet drinks. Just me and you.”

“Maybe you should invite Rachel?” I looked up at him like he’d just told
me he’d taught a rabbit to fly.

“She wouldn’t come,” I murmured, disheartened as I stared down into my
glass.

“You know you need to try and sort that out right? You two go way back.
You can’t leave it like this.”

“What am I supposed to do?” I snapped. It felt as though he was
admonishing me – like it was all
my
fault.

“Talk to her,” he suggested as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

“I tried that. She doesn’t want to know. Besides, I’m not even sure I
want to anymore,” I said defiantly. “I don’t even know what I’ve done that’s
bad enough for the way she spoke to me.”

“Sure you do. You lied to her, Emmie.” Jesus, why was he Team Rachel all
of a sudden? “Don’t look at me like that. You know I’m on your side with
anything you do. But you said yourself you’ve been ignoring her texts and that you
thought something was bothering her. Maybe she’s got some shit going on. Maybe
she’s taking it out on you because she misses you. I dunno, people deal with
shit differently. She might need you right now.”

Wow. Hello, Guilt… I wondered where you’d been hiding the past few
hours.

“You’re right. I’ll call her again tomorrow.” Chris patted my shoulder
and smiled proudly at me. I smiled weakly in return and then downed the rest of
my drink in one gulp.

“I love you, you know,” he said sincerely, shifting on his stool and
bumping his shoulder with mine. I gazed up at him with a confused expression.

“Um, okaaay… soppy much?” I ran through our time in the pub in my head.
Yep, he’d definitely only had
one
drink.

“I mean it. I’m so proud that you’re my sister.”

“Well, I love you too, bro,” I replied awkwardly. Don’t get me wrong I
love Chris to the moon and back, and I know he feels the same about me, but
he’s never been so openly mushy about it before. It unnerved me – made me
wonder if something was wrong.

“Right, time for round two.” Chris hollered for the barman’s attention
and I found myself staring at him concernedly. Maybe I was being irrational and
reading too much into it, but when he told me he was proud of me I saw
something flicker in his vibrant green eyes that I’ve never seen before.

It looked like fear… and it scared the hell out of me.