Second Chance Hero (16 page)

            We reach the Punto and Jonas climbs in,
leaning over to unlock my door. I slump in, feeling more deflated than ever and
attack the volume button on the radio as Jonas’ preference for heavy metal
stabs my ears.

            “Christ!” I shout, smacking at the radio
to no avail.

            Jonas flicks something on the steering
wheel and the Sunday radio croons softly in the background, “I forgot you were
hanging.”

            “Understatement of the century.”

            “Where do you want to go?”

            “Anywhere.”

            Jonas smiles as he turns out of the
country club and drives along the country lane.

            “Why did you come to my rescue?”

            “Mum said you’d probably want to leave.
What happened?”

            I shrug, “Nothing. I’m an emotional,
irrational girl. We freak out sometimes.”

            “So I’ve noticed. Grace was a nightmare
last night. I’m not one for ordering about but if she ever gets in that state
again, there’ll be some ground rules laid down.”

            I laugh, and lean my head back on the
headrest.

            “Ask me.” He says turning into the car
park of a tiny pub I’ve never seen before. It’s nestled on a cliff top and
looks quaint and archaic, perfect.

            “Ask you what?”

            “Let’s go get a drink while you figure
it out.”

            I follow him into the pub, and we grab
our drinks and head out to the beer garden. The air is breezy and salty and I
fill my lungs with it, abolishing some of my hangover.

            “What happened?” I ask. I know what he
was telling me to ask him, and I know he’ll understand this question.

            “I don't know if it was Dom dying or you
leaving; it all happened so fast and he was just gone.” We take a synchronised
sip of our lemonades, “I didn’t see him between Christmas night and the
funeral. I saw him the day after but he was gone, like, vacant. I put it down
to Dom dying and it being such a shock. But he stopped coming out, Brad picked
himself up and kept afloat. Deac just vanished. He obsessed over the yard, over
work and...girls. Like he was trying to find something he’d lost. People get
over death, Jen. It’s a part of life and wounds heal themselves leaving good
memories in their path.”

            “But...” I feel it coming.

            “People don't get over love. I think
what happened with you was what changed him.”

            I nod. I suspected that’s what he was
going to say and I’m filled with regret again. If I had just stayed and been
the fireball everyone thought I was, I would have been there when Dom died and
the memories of the beach night would have faded into the distant, drowned out
by supporting Deacon and being there for him when he needed me.

            “It wasn’t your fault. He’s focused now,
driven to something. I’ve never seen someone press what he does, he’s like a
machine, and I think it’s for you.”

           
I’m sorry. People change. It has
everything to do with you.

            “I could have stopped it.”

            “No, you couldn't. Maybe it was Dom
dying that put it in perspective. Don't take my word on what goes through
Deacon’s head, I’ve never been as close to him as I am with Brad, it’s just a
hunch and most of the time the male hunch sucks. But...”

            He trails off and breaks eye contact.

“But what?”

Jonas contemplates his answer for long minutes
before he finally speaks, still refusing to look at me.

“I don’t think the old Deacon is coming back.” My
breath leaves in a rush and I sag in my seat, “I’m glad you’ve found each
other, I just want you to be prepared that this Deacon isn’t the one you made
the memories with.”

            I nod again as I look over at the
turbulent sea, waves crashing against the rocks. Jonas knows more than what
he’s told me. What side of Deacon has he seen?

            “You okay?” He asks after a while.

            “Yeah. You need to shave.”

            “Why does everyone keep saying that?” He
scratches his jaw.

            “Because you look like a cave man.”

            He laughs and I laugh with him, grateful
that my bushy big brother can distract me from the driving need to go and find
Deacon.

            “You wanna go back?”

            We’ve been sitting in comfortable
silence, while I think about everything Jonas told me and everything I told the
women of my family today. I’ve been the worst company but Jonas spent the most
part of the few hours we’ve been sat here playing a war game on his phone, the
sound of his guns the only sounds accompanying us, besides the raging sea.

            “Yes and no.” I answer honestly, “Will
they come round for dinner?”

            “I hope not. There’s a film on TV I want
to catch with Dad. Shall we go grab a pizza?”

            “Yes. A stuffed crust meaty one with
extra cheese.”

            “There’s my baby sis!” He hoots,
standing and swinging his keys around his finger.

            I didn’t exaggerate when I told Jonas I
could eat a horse while we were on our way to get a pizza. We decide to eat in,
avoiding the family for a little longer, and I’m not sure how I fit so much
food into my body. The mighty meaty pizza I order is nearly the size of me, and
I devour that and a portion of dough balls in record time. I can't remember the
last time I gorged on carbs, and it feels so good; I can afford to put on a bit
of weight so at this present moment in time I don't care if it only lasts a
moment on the lips. I’m sure Kip will have me running it off soon enough.

            I’m beginning to analyse everything Kip
and I have. I know I’m not into it as much as I should be, or as much as he’d
like me to be, but I’ve never noticed the influence he has over me until now.
Not eating meat while we’re together, only eating organic, running in the
morning because he thinks it’s ‘good bonding time’... Why should a young couple
need bonding time? The simple answer is we shouldn’t.

            It’s dark when we get home and I fall on
the sofa next to my Dad, my usual spot, and rest my head on his shoulder.

            “How’s la rodilla?” I ask, squeezing my
arm around his belly. He puts his arm around my shoulder and kisses the top of
my head. Jonas hands me a cup of tea, taps me on the knee and sits down next to
me.

            “It’s fine.” Dad says, laughing at the
comedy film that’s just started before looking down at me, “Que pasa, mi rosa?”

            I shake my head and snuggle into him,
allowing myself to get lost in the light-hearted comedy that is
Anchorman
.

Deacon

“Mate, there are to be no slip-ups on this
scaffolding.” I address the site manager as the scaffs arrive, “I know you know
what you’re doing. But the public will be walking nearby constantly.”

“I’ll oversee it all, Deac.”

I nod, convinced and pull on the visi-vest and hat
he hands me. I’ve known Rick for years, Dad worked with him when he was
starting out and I know he’s one of the best in the business. I can't risk a
law suit because someone here gets hurt by the scaffolding. That’ll rinse a
business, shut it down.

I step back and watch as the boys bring the tubes
and base plates over. I’m not planning on sitting here all day, but I’ll catch
straight away if anyone’s head isn’t in it, and then I can be on my way.

“Deacon.” I turn to find Mr. Crane approaching, his
hand outstretched towards me, “I see you made good time.”

“We’re eager to get started.”

“Come.” He continues the walk up the access-only
road and I follow, glancing back, but satisfied that everyone has got straight
to work under the beady eyes of Rick and Mike, “We can grab a coffee. This part
of the hospital will probably quieten down while you're here, so feel free to
use the staff room if you need tea or coffee... Within reason.”

In other words, he doesn’t want gangs of burly
builders bustling through the department full of pregnant women. We’ve been assigned
to expand the maternity ward of Foster University Hospital; a job likely to
take a good few months. We’re only extending up by one story, and it’s a
relatively small hospital, but financially satisfying none the less. The
scaffolders will take a few days to get the frames up and then we’ll bring in
the cranes to demolish and tarp the roof. Then the building begins and I can
get stuck into extending the foundations. If I want to.

“The boys bring flasks and normally wait until their
lunch break.” I reassure him.

We step through the revolving doors of the
department and the hot hospital stench smacks me in the face, burning my nose.

I follow Mr. Crane to the staffroom, nodding to the
two receptionists on the way. I don't miss their surprised faces as I nod at
them, and smile to myself. Jenna might have every part of me wrapped up in her,
unfortunately not at this precise moment, but I’ve still got it.

“The machine is pretty simple,” Crane says pointing
out a tin of ground coffee and a tea earn, “Put the tea bag or coffee in and
fill with hot water. It’s not the best coffee but it shoots the caffeine in,
you know?”

I nod, and look back out of the room to see the
receptionists leaning over the desk to check me out. One cocky smile and
they’re swooning all over the place.

“They’re harmless.” He laughs, noticing my satisfied
grin, and hands me a cup of coffee. “I’ve got to get over to radiology. Talks
of some work needed there too. You’re good here? Yes, you’re good here. Take it
easy on them eh? I’ve got the signs in the trailer, I’ll get them put up so
people are diverted around the work.”

He slaps my back and disappears through the waiting
room and out of the doors. I can hear the girls giggling as I make my way out
and the old, arrogant Deacon wouldn’t have wasted any time talking to these
girls. But all I can see is Jenna. No, literally Jenna. She’s in the waiting
room with her nose stuck in a gossip magazine with a story on the front about
an actress’ drastic weight loss. I swallow down a lump that forms in my throat,
hand my coffee to one of the desk girls who attempts to introduce herself, but
it’s white noise. Why is Jenna sitting in the waiting room of the maternity
department of Foster Hospital? Fuck.

I leave as quickly as I can, taking care not to make
a sound on the tiled floor with my steel toe caps. Who am I kidding? I’m
wearing a fluorescent vest and hat, if she doesn’t notice the burst of bright
yellow walk past, just metres from her, it’ll be a miracle. But I get outside unnoticed
and gasp for air. I can't breathe, someone is squeezing my lungs. I stumble up
the road towards my car; fuck monitoring the scaffolding, I need to get out of
here and I need whiskey.

“Deac, you alright?” Mike calls, carrying a tube to
the collection of others ready to be put up, “You look like you’re about to
spew.”

            “Fine.” I say, pulling off my hat and
unbuttoning some buttons on my shirt, “I’ll be back later. Keep an eye.”

I’m too hot, as panic rushes through me, a mix of
fear, and rage. I reach the 4x4 and throw myself in, pounding punches on the
steering wheel until my fists hurt. Everything hurts. I thrust the car into
drive and speed off, needing to be as far away from this place as possible.

Is Jenna pregnant? She can't be. But then I remember
our night together and through my eagerness to lose myself inside her, I know I
didn’t use anything. For the first time in my life I didn’t use protection, and
it may have just fucked everything up. She’s going to kill me; no wonder she
avoided me and left the country club yesterday. She’ll think this is my fault;
she was by no means flagged, but I’d had one glass of wine and forgot the
number one rule of fucking someone you're not married to.

She can't be pregnant, someone would have told me,
surely. But Jenna’s been so good at being this mysterious woman, hidden behind
a wall of ice that if she wanted it to remain a secret it would. Fuck.

            I get back to the house, not remembering
the route I took to get here, and head straight out to the garden, ripping my
shirt off on the way and heading straight for the punch bag. If I don't take
this rage out on something now, I’ll take it out on something with a pulse. The
bag swings with each punch but the anger won't go away; I can't believe I was
so fucking stupid. Everything would have worked out, if not for
this...situation. How will she ever look me in the face again knowing I’ve done
this to her?

And then as dirty brown hair and a gangly form fills
my vision, becoming the punch bag, I realise what I’m angry about. I’m angry in
case this pregnancy has nothing to do with me. If Kip has knocked her up, I
stand no chance. He’d have no reason to be threatened by me, and I’d have
nothing to win her over with; there’s nothing I could offer her to bring her to
me, when a part of him is growing inside her. I should have put my foot down,
demanded she stopped screwing him while we pussyfooted around whatever we
really wanted to say, physical contact the only way to show what we feel for
each other.

            Maybe she was already pregnant when we
slept together. I throw my hands to my knees and choke as I struggle for air.
If this shit with Jenna didn’t fuck with my head before, it will now.

When I’ve managed to avoid passing out, I stand up
and look at the watch on my wrist, my knuckles bruised from my assault on the
punch bag. Kip’s face. The punch bag. Whatever I imagined I was hitting, my
knuckles smart and the pain is a welcome distraction. But it doesn’t last for long,
when I realise it’s lunch time and I’ve just spent the last two hours in a haze
of rage and confusion. I want this baby to mine; I would protect it and Jenna
with everything I have and everything I am. I drop to my knees when I reach the
patio, desperate for my dad to be here to tell me what the fuck I should do in
this situation. Who am I supposed to talk to about this? It’s gonna eat me
alive, I know it. I can feel it cursing through my veins, demolishing me from
the inside out. I want this baby.

When I can finally stand up, I pull my phone out of
my jeans pocket.

“Hello?” Jenna answers and I can hear she’s in the
shop by the whirring of the mixer.

“Jen, are you okay?”

“Yes?” She asks in question, confused by my random
phone call.

“Are you busy?”

“Not really, I’m just trying out a new recipe for
the fete.”

The fete! She’s staying in town. I figured she’d run
back to London.

“Will you come somewhere with me?”

            There's silence on the other side and
the sound of the mixer switching off. I’m hoping she heard what I said; if I
have to repeat it, I’ll back out but I need to do something I haven’t done in
five and a half years, and I want more than anything for her to be there the
first time I do this.

“Sure. I’m a mess, though. Do I need to change?”

“No. I’m getting in the car now.” I unlock the truck
and climb in, “Wait on the harbour path.”

She’s waiting for me outside The Duck and climbs in
as soon as I stop.

“Here.” She hands me a little cake box.

            “What’s this?”

“The last chocolate cherry brownie.”

On any other day I would devour that cake, but my
palms are sweating, my heart is racing and sending the blood racing through my
veins, and I’m scared as hell.

“Are you okay?” She asks, eyeing me warily. No, I’m
not okay, but if this situation has anything to do with me she’ll tell me
without me asking, “Where are we going?”

“To my dad’s grave.”

She gasps, clearly as aware as everyone else that I
haven’t been back to his grave since he was buried. I couldn't bring myself to;
I felt like I failed him because the last night of his life, the last Christmas
he would ever see, I was sitting on a wall breaking my best friend’s heart. I
don't know if I’ve really made a success of his company or I’m simply holding
it afloat until something takes that away from me too. I just couldn't bring
myself to go there, and talk to a lump of stone, like it was my father. There
would be no response, no advice from the stone, and I couldn't bear to talk to
him knowing I’d never hear his voice again. But something changed today, and it
hit me that I can talk to my old man, and know he won't speculate and discuss
it with whoever asks him how he is.

“Are you sure?” She asks, and I realise we’re nearly
there already.

“Yes. I need to talk to him.” I swallow, with more
difficulty than usual, “I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but I didn't
want to go on my own.”

“I’m here for you.” Is all she says, but it means so
much. She reaches out to my hand resting on my lap, and squeezes. My heart
constricts and I can’t bear to look at her. I’ll break.

We pull up at the iron gates of the cemetery and
they swing open slowly, leading onto a gravel driveway, surrounded by rose
bushes and benches bought in dedication to loved ones. We park near where my
dad is and climb out of the car.

“What are you doing?” I ask, expecting to offend her
because I didn’t think she’d actually be at the headstone with me.

“I’d like to talk to him.” She takes my hand in hers
and we walk in silence along the pathway until we find the perfectly decorated
grave, and I know my mum comes here a lot more than she talks about. Jenna
squeezes my hand again, a reassurance I wasn’t aware I needed, and then she
sits cross legged besides the patch of grass full of flowers, and a heart
shaped balloon Mum must have brought here recently.

I stand and watch Jenna, with my trembling hands in
my pockets.

“Hi, Mr. R.” She says, looking at the headstone like
she’s looking into his eyes, “I moved back to Folquay, I know the last time I
spoke to you I was in London, but I’ve opened up Mrs. Hale’s shop. I miss her
rainbow cookies.”

She smiles up at me. She stole a cookie once, a
rainbow one from Mrs. Hale’s bakery. I made her take it back, but when Mrs.
Hale let her keep it she gave it to me.

            “I’m doing the fete this year too. Deacon
is here, he’s doing an amazing job with the company, but I know you know that.
You’d be proud of him, but I know you already are. I hope it’s comfortable up
there and that Bob Marley is singing the tunes you always wanted to hear live.
And I hope you’ve memorised the recipe for my fudge cake, I’ve made it enough
times for you, so you can do it up there. I hope you’re having fun, but watch
Deac like a hawk, he’s a shifty one. It feels good to be back here. I see you
eating ice cream when I walk along the harbour wall. And I remember you and dad
used to sit in the garden with your cigars. I sit there and remember sometimes,
and it feels like I’m close to you again. Love you.”

She winks at me as she stands up and presses a kiss
to her finger tips and places her hand on the headstone.

“You’ve done that before.” I say as she joins me
where I’m frozen to the spot. All my anger evaporated while I watched her
talking to my dad.

“Dom and I have incredible one way conversations.
I’ll bet he can hear you.” She says and places the hand that carried the kiss
to my dad on my cheek, “I’ll wait by the car. Take all the time you need.”

She leaves me to the silence with nothing but the
trees blowing in the wind, and birds chirping their hellos. I watch her white
summer dress sway in the breeze as she walks back to the truck and stands
against the bonnet.