So Many Reasons Why (7 page)

I listened to Simon with interest. Hearing him talk about
his work and his cases reinforced for me why I was doing this course, and why I
needed to work past my agoraphobia. How could I help other people if I couldn’t
help myself?

“What’s the case you're working on now?”

“A murder.” He thought for a moment. “Not unlike the first
case you've covered, but this girl wasn't so lucky.” Simon paused as I laughed
aloud. If only he knew the number of times I wish he had killed me.

“You think the girl in my first case study was lucky?” I was
incredulous. My mind fought my heart to control my emotions. He didn't know it
was me. Of course escaping murder would seem like a good thing. In many ways
for me, I felt rape was worse than murder. At least if I were dead I wouldn't
have to relive it every day.

“Well lucky might not be the right work, but at least she
survived,” He observed.  “She may not have felt that way then, but things
get better. Providing she had the support and care necessary, she at least had
a chance to move on. This girl didn't.”

I nodded. He was right. She wasn't given the chance to fight
back.

Guilt suddenly swept through me. Was I wasting chances that
some people just didn’t get? I was barely 20, yet the last ten years I hadn’t
been living. I’d barely been coping. The difference between me and so many
others was I still had a life ahead of me. Whether I chose to live it was up to
me in the end, but it was there.

“I guess I see your point,” I admitted. “What she went
through would have been pretty hard to live with.” I pointed out.

“I don't disagree with you for a second. Getting over
something like that would have been incredibly hard, and a long process. From
the victim statements it looked like she had a supportive family. Many victims
don't even have that.”

“I know.” I whispered. “That’s what I want to do. I mean
when I finish, I want to work with victims of violent crime. I want to be able
to support people who have nobody. To experience something like that is one
thing, but to go through the aftermath alone, now that's just unbearable.”

Simon stayed silent for a long time. Had he hung up?

“You’re a very surprising young woman, Emma.” He said,
shaking his head in dismay. “Just when I think I have you worked out, you throw
something else out at me. Not many people can surprise me like you do.
Especially someone so young.”

I smiled. Goosebumps prickled my arms and shivered their way
down my back. There was something amazing about hearing the admiration in his
voice.

“It’s been lovely talking to you Emma. I hope we can do this
again.” I could hear something in his voice. I wasn't sure what it was, or even
how to describe it. It was just. Something.

“I’d like that.” I said shyly. 

Re-runs of
Community
or a movie.

That was the big question I was faced with right now. My
thoughts were interrupted by a beep. My email. I scrambled to my feet, tripping
over a rogue cup as I stumbled to my phone.

Please be Simon, please be Simon, please be Simon. Yes!

Emma,

Did you have time to read through my notes? I hope it
made sense to you. I am looking forward to discussing with you.

Simon

I was so smitten. I’d been so concerned that we wouldn’t
connect in person, and I couldn’t have been more wrong. I’d felt the energy
between us instantly, and I think he’d felt it too. From his smile, to his
amazing eyes, and right down to his personality, everything about this guy had
me caught.
 

Simon,

I'm sure you understand I'm a very busy woman, I've
spent the last twenty minutes trying to decide whether to watch old episodes of
Community
or the late movie.
But seriously, I found your notes very insightful. I'm no longer aiming for
just a pass!

Emma

My phone rang.

“Are you serious?”

It was him. My knees buckled sending me sprawling back on
the couch.

“About?” I prompted.

“
Community
wins
hands down. All the time. Besides,” He added. “The late movie stars Jennifer
Lopez. That should be reason enough to avoid.”

“And if I happen to like J-Lo?” I didn't. I hated her. But
that wasn't the point.

“Then I'm sorry, but our friendship is over.” He announced
dramatically. I laughed.

“You’d end our friendship over J-Lo?”

“Dear Sweet Emma.” He patronized. “Many, many friendships
have ended because of J-Lo. Some things are just unforgiveable. You’re lucky.
I’m willing to give you a chance to redeem yourself.” He added seriously.

“Okay. I’m sorry. I’ve learnt the error of my ways.” I
giggled, playing along. The sound of Abed’s voice came through the phone.
“You’re watching it too.”  I realised, smiling.

“I happen to love this episode. I thought we could watch it
together.”

“Oh that is so cute.” The words tumbled out before I could
stop myself. He chuckled softly to himself.

“Shut up and watch.” He laughed. God I loved his laugh. So
sexy. Like him. I couldn't concentrate on the show. All I could hear was his
slow, sexy breathing. He laughed, I laughed, even though I had no idea what I
was laughing about. I felt so happy when he was in my thoughts. Which was
nearly all the time. I cannot remember the last time I honestly felt happy.

“So, tell me something I don't know about you.”  

The show had finished, and Simon had turned his attention
back to me. We had been on the phone for over an hour now, but I wasn't ready
to let him go, and by the sounds of it, neither was he.

“Um. Let me think.” Something he didn't know. There was
plenty that fell into that basket, none of which I was ready to share with him
yet. “I can be pretty shy.” His laughter rang through my ears.

My heart literally skipped a beat.

“Em, I said something I don't know.” He sounded amused.
Okay, so maybe I didn't hide my shyness as well as I thought I did. I'd have to
work on that.

“What do you want to know? Ask me something. I'm not good at
these games.” My voice wobbled. I was nervous. It was a risk, putting him in
control like this. There were so many things he could ask that I knew would
make me clam up.

“Okay. What's the deal with this Tom guy?”

“Tom?” I said, relieved. I could talk about Tom. “He’s just
a good friend. We have known each other for a long time, and he has helped me
through some really hard times.”

“Hard times? Like what?” He asked, intrigued. Could I do it?
Could I tell him, just like that? I so badly wanted to open up to him. I must
have been silent for longer than I thought, because next thing I knew he was
saying my name.

“Em, don't feel you have to answer that. We all have things
in our past. If you're not ready to talk to me, I completely understand.” He
spoke gently.

I felt the tears as they rolled down my chin, forming a pool
in my hand. I brushed them away angrily. Why do I always cry? If someone said
'boo' I'd burst into tears. I hated that about myself.

“I don't like to talk about the past. With anyone.” I added.
Especially not you,
I thought. It wasn't that I didn't think he would
understand. It was more I thought he'd understand too much. He saw people like
me every day. Victims. I didn't want to be his victim.

“When you are ready, I'm here Em.” He changed the subject.
“What are you doing Friday?”

“Friday?” I repeated. “Nothing. Why?”

“Well I think you need some lessons on what classifies as a
decent movie. I will bring some over.” He was having a go at my taste in
movies? I rolled my eyes. I saw no point arguing though. That would be like
baiting a wild dog with a piece of raw steak.

“Sure. Come over and teach me a lesson, professor.” I
cringed. Did I really say that? He was laughing at least.

“I will see you Friday then.” He was still laughing as I
hung up the phone.

So was this a date or two friends watching some movies?
Friends. I had to think of us as friends. Anything more would be bad, bad, bad.
I flung open my closet and began tossing through options to wear.

I realised as I pulled out the final top in my closet, my
clothes sucked. Sure, they were fine for sitting on the couch twiddling my
thumbs, but I had next to nothing suitable for Friday. I needed sexy, but not
slutty.  I texted Cass. I needed a fashion intervention. I could imagine
her reaction.

She loved clothes and anything fashion, and she was forever
trying to get me to dress up a little. I didn't see the point. Who was I
dressing up for? The doorman? Mom and gran? I'm sure they'd appreciate a little
sexy number.

Well, gran probably would, but then I'd have to sit through
another lecture on the benefits of online dating. Or the marvels of modern
medicine and the benefits Viagra can have on a woman's orgasm (yes, deadly
serious).

The last time she'd called she had hinted that some of them
will even come to your house. I blatantly ignored that very obvious hint. I
wondered how long until Gran ended up murdered. I'd called mom to have a talk
to her about inviting strange men to her house. Not that it had done much good.
Gran had insisted Bernie and Neville had been nothing but gentlemen. I didn't
want
to know if that was some kind of twisted threesome.

Between the stories I'd heard from Cass and gran, I was
pretty sure I never wanted to date anyone, ever.

Scones in the oven, tea ready in the pot, house cleaned. At
last, I was ready. Most of the time I loved seeing Mom and Gran. Today I was glad
for the distraction. It had been a weekly tradition having them over for lunch,
and I'd felt bad about missing our date on Monday. Besides, I missed grans
stories.

Gran was moms grandmother (so my great grandmother). She had
raised mom after mom’s mom had died during childbirth. Gran was very
'spirited'. She was a young woman trapped in a pensioner’s body. She was more
tech savvy than me, could drink my father under the table, and got more action
than even Cass.

She was loads of fun and always full of great (although
often embarrassing) advice. She had slowed down considerably since pop died
five years ago, but recently, it seemed like she was hitting her stride again.
Apparently (if you asked mom) it was the bad influence of her friend and
room-mate Dulce.

I had met Dulce once. She had come to a Christmas party with
Gran. I remembered her spiking mom’s punch and trying to seduce my uncle
Gerrard. All the while trying to convince Gran to have a go at the 'hot' 50
something head waiter. Not that Gran needed much convincing after her sixth
sherry and apple juice. I still remember the look on mom’s face when she caught
the pair in a rather compromising position in the study.

I jumped again (of course) when the doorbell rang. Mom and
gran were here. The smell of half-baked scones wafted through the kitchen as I
cracked open the oven door. Almost ready.

I plastered a smile on my face as I swung open the door. In
truth, opening that door terrified me. I could feel the symptoms of a panic
attack building. I willed the ball of fear rising in my chest down. Focus.
Breathe, Em. I hugged them both, taking their coats as they made their way into
the living room. I practically ran back to the kitchen, avoiding any eye
contact. Finally, I could breathe.

Control.

“Emma, it smells lovely in here, scones?”

“Of course.” I nodded. “But I can't take all the credit. It
is your recipe after all.”

“Nonsense,” Gran snapped, a twinkle in her eye. “We all know
I could certainly never do the recipe any justice. I was too busy kanoodling
with your pop. No wonder they always ended up like little black rocks.”

“Gran!” Exclaimed mom, rolling her eyes at me. I am sure 90%
of what came out of gran’s mouth embarrassed my mother.

In personality, mom and gran were like chalk and cheese,
though it was obvious where my mother got her looks from. Even at her age, Gran
had silky smooth skin, deep green eyes, and a smile that still managed to tempt
men ten years younger than her.

Unlike gran, mom had no idea how beautiful she really was.
With her long blonde locks falling halfway down her back and her long lean
body, she could have been a model. Dad always said he was instantly drawn to
her emerald green eyes. She was the complete opposite of me. I had the dark
hair and blue eyes of my father. While I was in no way overweight, my body
seemed to lack the length and grace of my mothers.

“Now Emma, how have you been?” Mom asked, taking a seat on
the sofa. She glanced around. “The place looks nice.” She looked at me closely,
obviously looking for signs of emotional instability from the other day. I
smiled at her. In mother language that meant 'oh good you're cleaning.'

“Thanks.” I carried over the pot of tea and the condiments.
“Scones will be a minute.” I placed the tray on the coffee table and went to rescue
the scones. They were perfectly golden.

“Oh Emma, this all looks lovely. You go to way too much
trouble though my dear.”

“It’s not like I don't have time on my hands Gran.” I
laughed. The words hung in the air. Shit, why did I say that? I thought. I knew
how much trouble my family had accepting my situation. My way of coping was to
joke and lighten the mood. Their approach was to tiptoe around me and ignore
the fact that I obviously still have serious issues relating to the
attack.  ‘If we ignore it, it's like it never happened.’ That is the
Mancelli family philosophy. If anything, ignoring it made it worse. Who could I
talk to if not my own family? My own dad barely found the time to call me, much
less visit me. In the past year I'd seen him once.