22. Present Day – December
22
PRESENT DAY – DECEMBER
JOSIE
I don’t mind running around after Jamie. I really don’t. He’s my baby bro, and the only brother I have left, so the kid has me wrapped around his little finger. Except he’s not a kid now; he’s legally an adult. And he’s gone and got himself a job at a pub — I’m super proud. Except now it means I have to drive him to and from The Bull twice a week.
I’d offered. Practically insisted . I want him to succeed — I’m not going to let him spend half his wages on taxis and I wouldn’t leave him at the mercy of Mum and Dad to take him, not when they’re against his bike idea and are hardly what I’d describe as enthusiastic about this job.
Jamie had tried to suggest that it’d be fun for me — I could hang out in a pub while he does his shift, except he didn’t think it through enough to realise I can’t drink while I wait for him. So, not that fun.
Oh, and let’s not forget the guy who’s crushed my soul will be there.
But that’s not Jamie’s fault. He doesn’t know I had a thing with Scott.
My heart pounds so hard I can almost feel it in my throat as I pull into The Bull’s car park to pick Jamie up after his first shift. Not like I’d hightailed it out with a flimsy excuse about seeing Ella after dropping him earlier.
It was a lie, of course. She’s elbows deep in learning how to be a teacher and not available — but I’d needed to get away from there. And with no Abi around to seek solace with either, I’d gone home and painted … and had a good talk with myself.
With a shiver, I pull my coat tighter. I can’t stay in the car waiting for Jamie, I’ll freeze in my old banger. And Jamie had wanted me to come in and see him at work. But the thought of going back into The Bull — the place where Scott had rocked my world — is giving me palpitations. Yes, I’d seen him since he told me I was too young and it was disrespectful to my brother, but there had been people around then. Now I’m on my own. And it’s his home turf.
Gripping my steering wheel, I fix myself a look in the rearview mirror. ‘Just get this over with, Josie. It’ll. Be. Fine,’ I assert. ‘Go in there and bump into him and be all aloof. Hi, fancy seeing you here. You can do friendly , Josie.’
He wanted to be friends. He’d made that very clear that night at the hospital.
That horrible night I was exhausted. Wrung out. He’d come in, got us coffees, sat with us, comforted us. His arms had closed around me, soothing me while we waited. Unable to play games or be anything other than real, I’d burrowed my head into his chest and whispered, ‘You’re here. What does this mean?’
‘It’s … it’s nothing.’ He’d tensed and I’d peeked up to see him frown, as if he was confused. ‘I needed to see you were okay. Well, that Jamie’s okay.’
I’d pulled away a little more so I could look him in the eye. ‘You’re here for Jamie ?’
His jaw had strained as if he was struggling to pick the words, the kindest of words, to let me down. ‘For Marcus. For all of you.’
I’d pulled back further. ‘So, you haven’t changed your mind?’ I’d felt foolish laying myself open like, that but I needed it crystal clear. I had to know; had to.
‘No, Jo Jo.’ I remember how I’d stiffened at that, the way he’d used my childhood nickname. ‘But I want to try and be friends. I want to be here for you.’
‘Friends, of course.’ I’d wiped my nose, scrubbed at my face, as if I could wake from the daydream where he says he’d got it wrong.
‘So, we are friends?’ he’d asked and I’d agreed, pulling away further, distracted by a set of scrubs coming through the doors.
I rub at my face again now, trying to draw colour into my cheeks. He wants to be friends?
I can be the best fucking friend he’s ever had.
Unclipping my belt, I fan my hair over my shoulders and swipe a finger under each eye to smudge away any mascara goo. Let the being civil commence. But my stomach swoops low and I feel faintly nauseous as I climb out of my yellow Beetle.
Entering the pub through the familiar heavy wooden door, the scent of real ale, hops, and polish greets me. It’s cosy inside with some Christmas decorations still up and the murmur of customers chatting and clinking glasses. My brother is behind the bar, almost glowing. And it hits me.
That’s why I’m doing this.
I want to see him happy.
I’ll awkwardly bump into Scott a thousand times to see him glow like this. I’m such a sucker. It’s half the reason I can’t move away from this small-ass town. I need to see that he’s alright as much as my parents do. And I know they need to see I’m okay, too.
Shaking out of my coat, I then hop up onto a stool at the end of the bar where I’ve sat with Ella before. It kind of feels like my spot now.
No sign of Scott. I tell the empty pit that’s opened inside me that this is a good thing. Maybe I can escape unnoticed.
Jamie walks over, throwing a bar towel on his shoulder like he’s been here forever. ‘What can I get for ya?’
‘A passionfruit and soda, please, bartend.’ I put on a silly fake voice and love the way he beams. ‘Not too much ice or I won’t tip,’ I call out to him as he swaggers off.
Shit. He’s using the mixer tap. Did not think that through. I focus intensely on the mechanics of Jamie making the drink, to stop memories of that faulty button from flooding back.
‘Thanks,’ I say as Jamie slides the drink across to me, like he’s in some sort of Western film. ‘First shift go okay?’
‘Think so.’ He gives me a shy smile and I see the kid he still is shine through. ‘It’s been fun.’
Another barman, I think he’s called Enzo, shouts out, ‘Last orders.’
‘Better go and clear some empties.’ Jamie bounces off, like he’s ever been this excited to stack the dishwasher at home.
Scott appears through the door to the back. Shit, I’d forgotten about that door frame as well. Quite the reminiscence I’m having tonight.
His hair is mussed like he’s been running his fingers through it, and I remember how soft it felt, locked in my grip. There’s the shadow of stubble across his jaw. He looks undeniably sexy.
Nope. Not going there.
I am not admitting that six weeks on, I’m still gutted.
He sees me and freezes for a split second.
I swear a scowl crosses his face, but a customer calls him over and he takes their empties. When he looks back at me, his face is composed. Completely neutral.
‘Hi,’ he says as he comes over. ‘How are you?’
‘Good, thanks.’ I force a beam to my face.
Show time.
‘Just here to get my brother,’ I say brightly.
‘Well, it’s good to see you.’
Is it? He looks slightly pained, and my delusional heart does a triple salchow at the notion this encounter is as hard for him as it is for me.
Perhaps he misses me, too. Perhaps I wasn’t imagining it after all. But perhaps he’s just worried I’ll get all clingy and desperate, or loud and confrontational, or something else embarrassing.
Complaints that I’m too loud — too opinionated, too much — run through my head. I’ve heard them enough times from my parents, teachers, ex-boyfriends. Always opening my mouth and sticking my foot in it.
A sharp streak of pride runs through me, screaming, he missed his chance . I draw my shoulders back, bristling to say something snarky, but I don’t want to make things awkward for my brother.
Be aloof, Josie. Remember?
‘Good to see you, too,’ I manage to say, keeping my voice even. His dark eyes are swirling, holding me captivated and, as my breath catches, I lose my ability to form full sentences, let alone witty retorts. ‘Thank you for … giving him this opportunity.’
‘It’s not a biggie.’ Scott shrugs those giant shoulders. ‘I needed another member of staff, especially now Nate has left. And Jamie needed a job.’ He runs his fingers through his hair, probably like he’s done a hundred times tonight.
My hand tingles, wishing it could run through his hair, too.
‘Marcus would have appreciated it.’ It’s out before my brain has thought it through. Why am I bringing up my brother now? He’s the reason I’m in this predicament.
His eyes tighten and he looks away, and then back to me. ‘Marcus would have been the first to suggest it, right?’
I nod, forcing my lip not to quiver.
‘Listen, Josie …’ His brow furrows and I could kick myself for making this awkward. ‘I’m sorry?—’
I contort my face into a bemused smile, my forehead puckering in faux confusion. ‘What’s there to be sorry for?’ I sing out, my voice taking on an unnecessary volume, my hands opening out in an exaggerated gesture.
I mean, I can think of a few things, but I’m not ready to talk about how he disappeared after Marcus died, how he ditched me when he realised how old I was — who I was.
My unruly mouth has kicked into RBM: random bullshit mode. Fuck knows what I’m going to come out with while I scramble to get out of this situation looking like I’m cool. Like I’m totally fine with everything .
I can hear my mum’s chiding voice in the back of my mind: too loud.
Chill, the fuck, out.
Nodding my head in as sage a fashion as I can muster, I say, ‘I’m just glad Jamie’s found a good job with a family friend.’ I hear the words, and I almost can’t believe how good I am at being civil. ‘Jamie’s too nice …’ I’m not even bullshitting now. This is actually true. ‘I worry someone would take advantage of him.’
‘Family friend,’ Scott repeats, and I raise my eyebrows as if to say, aren’t you?
‘Of course.’ I smile and hold his stare.
I’m not going to be the one to break first. We have firmly friend-zoned ourselves. And it’s fine. Everything is fine.
Scott’s eyes seem to search mine, tighten, the flecks of amber in the darkness sparking, reflecting the fairy lights in the pub.
We share a breath, and then another, gazes locked. Just as the seconds seem to stretch away from us interminably, Scott calls out, ‘Jamie, you can head off,’ raising his voice, but not turning away, not breaking our connection. It’s only when Jamie comes over that Scott releases my gaze and looks at him.
‘Great first shift, dude. Same time on New Year’s?’
‘Thanks, man.’
They do a manly back-slappy-handshake thing, and then Jamie is beside me. ‘Thanks for the lift, sis.’
I down the rest of my drink and push the empty towards Scott before hopping off my stool.
‘See you soon.’ I spin on my foot and stalk away, not looking back.
Friend-zone. I can do this.