21. Jemma
Chapter 21
Jemma
T he moment I’m seated in Braxton’s car, I pull out the diary that I stashed in my handbag. I sat up half the night going through the rest of the box. It all became a bit too much for Christine in the end, so she went to bed and left me to it.
“What’s that?” Braxton asks.
“Ma’s diary. She wrote it during the war.”
“Wow.”
“I want to read you a small passage from it. It’s from the day she met Pa—May seventeenth, 1941. It just proves I’m not imagining things.”
I open it to the page I placed the ribbon bookmark on and start reading.
It has been over a week since I’ve sat down to write because I am both physically and mentally exhausted. The days seem to get longer, and the casualties are growing at an alarming rate. One thing I’ve learned from my time here in England is that war is senseless. Beds line the corridors due to the lack of space in the wards, and if this continues, it won’t be long until we’re completely out of room. I pray this never happens.
I’ve made it my mission not to become attached to my patients, but in one particular case I’m afraid I have failed.
Private Albert Griggs was unconscious when he arrived three days ago, and I was assigned to help one of the doctors attend to his wounds. I was putting pressure on the large gash in his forehead when he first opened his eyes.
“Are you an angel?” he asked as his large brown eyes focused on me. “You are so beautiful, just how I imagined an angel would look.”
“I’m a nurse at the hospital.”
“Then I’m not dead?”
“No, you’re very much alive. You were injured in a mortar attack, but you’re in expert hands. Doctor Adams is one of the best.”
His face lit up as he reached for my hand, moments before losing consciousness again.
His isn’t the first hand I have held. There have been many occasions where I have tried to comfort soldiers when they were afraid or in pain, or those dreadful moments when I know they won’t survive their injuries. Holding someone’s hand when they take their last breath is a feeling I don’t think I will ever fully recover from.
There’s something different about Private Griggs. A light flutter settled in the pit of my stomach as he gripped my hand. That has never happened to me before.
In the days that followed, I felt drawn to him. Some of my quieter moments were spent by his bedside. He was still unconscious, but I held his hand, just like that first day, and sang to him.
“That’s exactly what she did with me, Braxton,” I say, looking up from the diary. “She held my hand and sang to me. You believe me, don’t you?”
Braxton’s eyes widen slightly before he speaks. “Do you think there’s a chance that you dreamed it? I dreamed about my mum once, years after she died.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But it felt so real.” In my heart I want to believe it was more than just that. I feel like I got to know a part of my grandparents that even the old me didn’t, and it brings me a sense of peace. “How would I know she used to sing to Pa?”
“I have no explanation for that, Jem. Maybe it’s a story you were told as a child.”
I shrug. “Possibly.”
“If it’s any consolation, the dream I had about my mum seemed realistic. And it comforted me.”
“Believing that Ma came to me gives me comfort too.”
He reaches across the centre console and places his hand on my leg, which reassures me. “Then that’s all that matters, Jem.”
His words make me smile, though just moments later my mood sours when Braxton’s phone rings and I listen to the message played back via voicemail.
“Hi, Braxton. It’s Diane.” Right away, I’m wondering who this woman is. “I’m just checking in to see how things are going with Bella-Rose. You two seemed to hit it off the other day. If you could call me back when you get a chance, that’d be great.”
“Bella-Rose?” I have so many questions, but that’s all I manage to get out.
His eyes dart to me briefly before focusing back on the road. “I’ve been lonely without you,” he breathes, and my heart sinks.
I know I am the one who has kept him at arm’s length, but hearing his words hurts so much. I have an immediate dislike for Bella-Rose, whoever she is.
I’m thankful when we pull into the car park at the rehabilitation centre a few minutes later, because I feel like I’m on the verge of tears, which is stupid. I’ve been wondering what he does in his spare time; now I know.
My logical side knows it’s unfair of me to expect him to wait around until I’m ready. I don’t know if that day will ever come, but right now I can’t even process all the emotions I’m experiencing: hurt, sadness, jealousy, disappointment and confusion. In one tiny moment my entire world has come crashing in around me.
“There’s no point in you hanging around,” I say, when he turns off the ignition and unbuckles his seatbelt. “I have plans this afternoon anyway.”
His brow furrows at my response. “That’s fine. I can take you wherever you need to go when we’re done here.”
“There’s no need.” I can’t even make eye contact with him as I reach for the door handle. “Thanks for the lift, though. Have a great day.”
“Hey.” He reaches out and wraps his hand around my elbow. “Is everything okay, Jemma?”
I glance at him over my shoulder and see the confusion on his handsome face.
“Everything is fine,” I lie, forcing out a smile. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Okay. I’ll pick you up Friday morning, but hopefully I’ll see you before then.” I doubt it , is my first thought. “If you need anything in the meantime, just call.”
I nod and then quickly climb out of the car and hurry towards the building. I’ll text him tonight and let him know I’ll catch a bus to my appointments from now on.
Two days pass, and I’ve had no contact with Braxton. Well, he has called and texted me a few times—he even came to the house yesterday, but I pretended I was asleep when Christine came up to my room. I have ignored him at all costs. I feel dreadful for it, but it’s easier this way.
He has more than done his part in helping me on my road to recovery. It’s time I cut him loose and let him live the life he deserves. A life without me . Why does the thought of that make me want to cry?
I hear footsteps coming up the stairs, so I quickly lie down and turn my back to the door. Christine has noticed the change in me as well, and I can tell she’s worried. I’ve reverted to my old way of coping … hiding away from the rest of the world.
Things were just moving too fast, I guess. I got swept up in the whirlwind of it all before coming crashing back down to reality, and suffering a massive blow to the heart in the process.
“Jemma, it’s me,” I hear Rachel say from the other side of the door. “Are you awake?”
I roll over onto my back before finally sitting up. I have been avoiding her as well, but I can’t continue like this. I need to talk to someone, and she’s all I really have. Burdening Christine with my problems isn’t an option. She’s going through far too much of her own at the moment.
“Yes, I’m awake. Come in.”
“Hey,” she says, opening the door and popping her head in. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”
I shrug as I cross my legs in front of me. “I’ve been avoiding everyone.”
She sits down on the edge of the bed. “Is everything okay?” When she places her hand on my leg, I raise my gaze to meet hers. “Jesus,” she says when she sees the tears in my eyes. Without hesitating, she pulls me into her arms. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
I’m not about to admit that I am devastated by the thought of Braxton and what’s-her-face … Bella-Rose. What sort of name is that anyway? Pulling back, I wipe my eyes. “I guess everything is getting a bit too much. I thought I was doing fine, but it’s obvious I’m not.”
“I understand this is hard for you, but you were making some progress. Don’t take a step back … you need to keep moving forward.”
“Easier said than done.” I sigh before continuing. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
“And you’re never going to find that out while you’re locked away in this room sulking.” Her words sometimes come out harsh, but she’s straight to the point, and that’s what I love about her … it’s what I need right now. “The Jemma I know is a fighter. She’s kick-arse. She lets nothing pull her down.”
“You say that like it’s not a big thing. How would you feel if you lost everything? Not just your memory, but your entire life. Your husband, your parents, your friends, your home, your career … everything . I’ve lost it all.”
“That’s the thing. You’ve lost none of that. Your memory, yes … and your job, but that’s no great loss. Your boss was an arsehole. But as for the rest, we’re all still here. And we’re not going anywhere. I know this is huge, I do. Just give it some time. It will all eventually work itself out.”
“I hope so.”
Rachel leans back and looks me over with a burgeoning smile. “You know what you need?”
“What?”
“A girls’ night out. Just the two of us. It’ll be like old times. We can do dinner and maybe go dancing afterwards. You love to dance.”
“Do I?” It feels weird that I don’t know this.
“Yes. You kind of suck at it, but you love it nevertheless.”
“I don’t suck,” I say, slapping her leg, and she laughs. “Do I really suck?”
“Well, put it this way: the first time we went out dancing together, I actually thought you were having a seizure.”
“What?” I screech.
“I’m kidding,” she replies as she grabs hold of her stomach and falls back on the bed. When a loud boisterous laugh erupts from deep in her throat, I reach out and slap her again.
“You bitch.”
My comment only makes her laugh harder, and as much as I try not to join her, it’s infectious.
When we finally get our emotions under control, she assures me my dancing isn’t as bad as she made out—though the fact that she seems to be suppressing a smile when she says this makes me sceptical.
“So, Saturday night … it’s a date, right? Dinner, dancing and lots of fun.”
“The jury is still out on the dancing part, but yes, I’d love to come.”
“I almost forgot; Christine asked me to give you this.”
She pulls a letter out of the back pocket of her jeans, and I recognise Braxton’s handwriting straightaway. The usual excitement I feel when I get one of his letters isn’t present this time round. Maybe because I’m still hurting, or maybe it’s because this time I’m unsure what it’s going to contain. Is it about my past—our past—or is it a letter wishing me a nice life so he can run off into the sunset with Bella-Rose?
“Thanks,” I say, taking it from her and placing it on my bedside table. I’m certainly not going to open it in front of her … I’m not sure if I’m going to open it at all.
Letter seven …
Dearest Jemma,
The seventeenth of September 2004. It was a day of mixed emotions for me. There was a bounce in my step as we climbed off the school bus that afternoon. It was a Friday afternoon and that meant I had you to myself for the entire weekend. Since you’d become my neighbour, they were my favourite days of the week.
Your mum had drinks and snacks waiting for us when we arrived home. I was old enough to look after myself by now—I was almost sixteen—but I continued to go to your house every day after school. My father was still working late, so I would also stay for dinner, and Christine would make him up a plate for when he got home. Four years had passed since my mother’s death, yet your mum still looked after us both.
You and I were sitting at the kitchen table getting our homework out of the way when the call came in. Your mother answered it.
“It’s for you,” she whispered, placing her hand over the receiver. “I think it’s him.”
That immediately got my attention.
“Oh, my god!” you squealed, jumping up from your chair and hurrying to take the phone from her hand. Who the hell was ‘him’? I was totally confused, and I’ll admit, a little angry. If I was honest, though, it was more jealousy than anything. I wasn’t prepared to share you with another guy. “Hello? … Yes, this is Jemma … Uh huh … Really? … Yes, I’d love that.” The one-sided conversation was doing nothing for my rising blood pressure. “Okay, of course … No, I’m free tomorrow.”
Your eyes darted to me, and I am pretty sure I was scowling by this point.
The smile on your pretty face was huge as your gaze moved back to your mother, I’m surprised it didn’t split in two. Seeing you happy was one of my favourite things, but I was learning fast that this wasn’t the case if the cause of your happiness involved a male other than me. Well, unless it was your father, or mine, or Pa, or even old man Jenkins from the newsagent … he was funny and always made us laugh with his wacky sense of humour.
I didn’t mind seeing any of these men in your life make you happy, but this … this, I minded a lot.
I stop reading and rest the letter on my lap. I can relate to everything he was feeling in that moment, because that’s exactly how I felt listening to his message from Diane.
There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to hear what happens next, or who I’m talking to on the phone. I don’t want it to be a boy. I don’t want anyone to come between our friendship, which is crazy. This letter was about our past, so whoever it was, it has already happened. There’s not a damn thing I can do to change it.
You hung up the phone and shrieked so loudly my ears rang. “He wants to see me tomorrow.”
I sat there stunned when you leaped into your mother’s arms. “That’s wonderful news, sweetheart,” she said. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Who wants to see you tomorrow?” I grumbled.
I have never been a violent person, but I was already gearing up to rip him apart.
“Mr Jefferies,” you replied. “He owns the ice-cream parlour in town.”
“He’s old. Like, pushing fifty.” My tone was abrupt.
“Fifty isn’t old,” Christine piped in, but neither of us paid her any attention.
“So! What does his age have to do with it?”
I had no answer for that. To be honest, I was confused. I was certain you were going to mention one of the guys from school, or at the very least, someone our age. So, Mr Jefferies kind of threw me.
I couldn’t blame other guys for wanting you. You were beautiful—to me you were the prettiest girl in the school, and I knew I wasn’t the only one who thought that.
“I applied for a job there. Just over the summer … and I got it. He wants me to come in for training tomorrow.”
You scrunched your hands up in front of you as your body bounced with excitement, and hurt quickly replaced my anger. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that you had kept this from me. We used to tell each other everything.
“You what?”
“I got a job. Aren’t you happy for me?”
Happy is not the word I would have used. Hurt, pissed off maybe, but definitely not happy. I slammed my textbook shut and rose from the table in such a hurry, my chair toppled over and fell to the floor.
“Braxton, wait up!” you called as I walked out of the room, heading towards the front door. My head was spinning. “Braxton.” I’d already made it to my yard by the time you caught up to me. “Braxton, stop.” You reached out to me, but I shrugged your hand away.
“Leave me alone, Jemma.”
“What in the hell is your problem? You were fine a few minutes ago.”
I stopped walking and spun around to face you. “Why didn’t you tell me you applied for this job?”
The look on your face was a mixture of hurt and annoyance. “Because I wanted to surprise you. To be honest, I didn’t even think I’d get it.”
“Well, surprise,” I said with sarcasm dripping from my voice.
“Why are you acting like such a jerk?”
I wanted to tell you I was hurt that you didn’t tell me, and upset that we couldn’t spend our weekends together anymore. Those two days were the highlight of my week. I was being selfish, I know, but I had no control over my emotions. So, I just stood there and said nothing.
“Go to hell, Braxton Spencer.”
I don’t know what wounded me most—the sadness I saw on your face or the anger when you pushed against my chest.
It was the first time I’d ever heard you swear. It was also the closest we’d ever come to a fight. I didn’t know what to say or do, so I turned away from you and stormed into my house.
Slamming the front door behind me, I headed straight to my room. I’d felt nothing like this before. I sat on the edge of my bed and buried my face in my trembling hands.
That night I hardly slept. I was laden with guilt. I knew I had acted like a total arsehole. I should have been happy for you, but I was miserable—I couldn’t even fathom what my weekends would be like without you.
When morning finally rolled around, I sat by my bedroom window and watched you leave for your first day on the job. Your dad was driving you, and as you made your way to the car, you turned and stared at my house.
You should have been happy, excited even, but because of me, you looked broken. I knew it was all my fault, yet I still couldn’t find it in me to go outside and wish you luck. It’s stupid, but in that moment, it felt like this was the end of us. Like things were changing, and you were slipping through my fingers. I loved things just the way they were, and I didn’t want to lose you … or what we had.
Hours later—it was around midday, and I was still moping around the house when there was a knock on the front door.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” your mother asked.
I moved aside so she could enter. “I brought you over some lunch. I thought you might be hungry.” She handed me a plate containing a wrapped sandwich as she passed.
“Thank you.”
I had no appetite, but I appreciated the gesture.
“You’re welcome, but that’s not why I’m here.” I took a seat on the sofa, and your mother sat beside me. “I know you’re upset about Jemma getting a job, but I wanted you to know that I held her while she cried herself to sleep last night.” I bowed my head. Knowing I caused those tears was hard for me to swallow. Hurting you was the last thing I ever wanted to do. “Do you know why she took this job?”
“No.”
I still couldn’t bring myself to look at her, so my focus remained on the carpet below.
“She wanted some extra money so she could buy you a Christmas present. She wanted to get you something special this year. That’s the only reason. It’s only a temporary position over the summer.”
“I didn’t know that,” I whispered.
“To be frank, Stephen and I aren’t overly happy about her working; we both think she’s a bit too young, and we’d much prefer she concentrated on her studies for now. But this was important to her … you are important to her, Braxton.” She placed her hand on my leg and gave it a gentle squeeze before she stood. “I just thought you’d like to know that.”
I’m glad she told me, but it made me feel lower than I ever had in my life.
After she left, I set off on the long walk into town. I had no money for the bus, but that didn’t bother me—I would have walked to the ends of the earth for you.
You were busy serving when I got there, so I stood out on the street and watched you through the large window. You looked cute in your uniform: tiny hot-pink shorts, a white polo with matching hot-pink dots, and a white hat. Your beautiful brown hair was pulled back into a high ponytail.
I tried hard not to focus on your long, lean, bare legs, but it was impossible. You’ve always had the most amazing legs.
I stop reading again and stare down at my legs. He wouldn’t say that now. I may have had amazing legs once, but not anymore. They’re horribly disfigured by the huge, ugly scars that will forever remind me of the accident.
The older we got, the harder it became for me to hide my true feelings for you. You were no longer the little girl with the missing front teeth who stole my heart; you had grown into a beautiful young woman who owned me completely.
I must have stood out there for about fifteen minutes until all the customers had left. You were wiping down the counters when I entered.
Your eyes widened in surprise when you noticed me standing just inside the doorway. I was worried about how you’d react to seeing me, but I needn’t have been. Moments later your face broke out into a beautiful smile, and it made my heart race.
“Braxton,” you said as I stepped towards the counter. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to apologise. You were right, I acted like a jerk yesterday.”
“You did,” you agreed, as your gaze moved back down to the countertop, “but I forgive you.” I can’t even put into words how relieved I felt when you said that. “Would you like an ice cream?”
“I don’t have any money on me,” I replied.
“That’s okay. I still have my lunch money … I didn’t eat anything. I wasn’t hungry.”
Sadness flashed through your eyes, and the guilt I had been burdened down with all day quickly returned. I knew exactly how you felt, because I hadn’t eaten anything either.
“I’m sorry, Jem.”
“It’s okay. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
You moved over to the display cabinet that held all the different ice-cream flavours. “I want you to try the new creation I invented today, it’s called ‘The Braxton’.”
“You named it after me?”
“I did. I was going to call it ‘The Triple-Decker-Jerkoff’, but I didn’t think my new boss would appreciate that.”
I laughed as you picked up the metal scoop and rolled the first flavour into a neat ball. “This one is Apple Pie Delight. I know how much you love Ma’s apple pie.” You placed it on the cone and rinsed the scoop before moving to the next flavour. “Vanilla Dream, because you can’t have apple pie without vanilla ice cream. They’re made for each other.”
“Exactly,” I replied as my smile grew wider.
They were made for each other, just like we were.
“And lastly, Wicked Chocolate, because I know how much you love chocolate.” You grinned proudly as you held the cone out to me. “Ta-da … behold ‘The Braxton’.”
A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach so they say, but in that moment I didn’t fall head-over-heels in love with you, because I’d been hopelessly in love with you for years.
What we had is far too beautiful to be forgotten.
Yours always,
Braxton
I stare down at the tiny ice-cream charm in my hand, and I do something I haven’t done all week … I smile.