Just Between Us (2 page)

Two
–
Just trying

Now

The next morning I woke up
and wondered if Kyle being home had been a dream, but I heard him humming in our bathroom. Kyle was always such a playboy at school, his father’s money allowed that and he had a different girlfriend every week. I had no doubt that that was his lifestyle now. He was a music producer in London these days. He had studied hard at Exeter University doing Music and Production, made a lot of contacts, did his time as the office donkey, and now he was a big deal. He was good looking, rich by anyone’s standards, and there was never any doubt that Kyle Hanson would be a success like his father.

             
I made my way downstairs to everyone in the kitchen diner eating breakfast.

             
“Morning, Sweetheart,” Mum crooned walking towards me and kissing my forehead. “It’s great to see you out of your room.” I rolled my eyes and Kyle stifled a smirk.

             
“Jesus she’s not an invalid,” he said. Mum chuckled and went to put the kettle on.

             
“Toast?” she asked, and I nodded..

             
“You know,” my step-father Mick said, placing the paper he had been reading down on the dining table, “you need to snap out of this funk, it’s been a month, and you’re a pretty girl, there are plenty of blokes out there.” He nudged Kyle. “Tell her son, you must have plenty of friends who’d take her out, cheer her up.”

             
“Nobody local.” he said, eating his toast.

             
“Oh no she doesn’t need any of Kyle’s hooligan friends.” Mum said playfully, patting his arm, “London party animals.”

             
“Hooligans?” He laughed. “I wish.”

             
“Maybe Kyle should take her out and cheer her up.” Mum said.

             
“Oh no,” I panicked shaking my head, leaning into the worktop on my arm, covering my face with my other hand. “I really can’t face going out. Look at me.” I motioned to myself, wearing week old pyjama’s, my hair like a bird’s nest, and my trusty old dressing gown finishing off the look. “I really don’t want to see anyone or go anywhere.” I also wasn’t sure a night out with Kyle was what I needed, he watched my panic with amusement.

             
“Bloody nonsense,” Mum trilled approaching with my toast. “You’re thin as a lat after days holed up in that room. Let’s go to the salon, get our nails done, and a spray tan. By seven you’ll be brand new and ready to hit the tiles, it is Saturday night after all.”

             
Kyle smiled tightly at me, “Come on Soph, for old times sake.” He said, “I’ll take you out, let’s get wrecked, and forget about that arsehole.” I sniffed, smiling at him. He was trying to help, albeit with pressure from my mother, and perhaps it was time to get dressed and go out. She wasn’t going to give up on this, and maybe it was time to relent, after all Kyle was the first person to muster a smile out of me in weeks.

             
The issue was that I didn’t want to bump into my ex, Simon, and I didn’t want anyone to see me or feel sympathy for my pathetic life. I was a teacher at the local primary school and lots of parents had known I was getting married and returning as Mrs Farmer for the new school year. I just dreaded telling everyone that it didn’t happen.

             
“Sophie, for goodness sake if you don’t start getting dressed, eating, and living your life, I will call your father, and we will have an intervention,” We all laughed at her words, even Mick who had been engrossed in his paper again.

             
“You’ve been watching too much Jeremy Kyle, Mags,” Kyle said laughing, “but seriously, Soph, you need to get out, and I could do with a night out myself.”

             
I sighed and they all looked on expectantly. “You don’t have to take me out because Mum has put you up to this,” I said through a furrowed brow.

             
“Trust me it’ll do us both good to get out of this house.” He sighed, darting his eyes between the parents for effect.

             
“Sophie, I’m getting desperate,” she said, shaking her head, standing and muttering as she passed me to open the fridge.

             
He caught my eye and smiled again, “Well?”

             
“Fine.” I rolled my eyes.

             
“Nails and tan then?” Mum said enthusiastically, spinning around excitedly at the prospect of me going out.

             
“Nails, no tan, and maybe eyebrows,” I said quickly, fending off her efforts.

             
“Deal.” She grinned. “Do you hear that Mick? My baby is getting dressed. Thanks Kyle.” She beamed his way.

My Mum took me to the salon later that day. I had my eyebrows waxed, and we both had our nails done. She tried to convince me to have a hair wash and blow dry.

             
“You are letting yourself go, Sophie,” she sighed after leaving the salon as we were enjoying a coffee in a nearby coffee shop. I kept my sunglasses on, praying that no one would see me and ask questions about Simon. I was humiliated and in no mood to explain.

             
“Mum, I can’t focus on anything right now. I’m devastated.”

             
“You’re in a slump,” she said to me with a sympathetic smile, “After your Dad and I broke up, I couldn’t do this. I had a job and you to care for. You need something to focus on.”

             
“Well, remind me I have nothing to live for why don’t you! No kids, no job to focus on because school is finished for summer. Great.”

             
“No,” she shook her head, exasperated, “Please Sophie, no man is worth this, and you can do so much better. You’re beautiful.”

             
“But I don’t want to start again,” I sighed, “I was happy, all set, comfortable. I don’t want to date and meet people and start from scratch. I’ve lost my happy ending.” I sniffed.

             
“No,” she leaned over the table, “Simon has given you the chance to find it.” I thought about her words. Yes it hurt and yes I was majorly depressed, but was Simon everything that I always wanted, or was I trying to make it fit? We were great together weren’t we? We had great friends, a great social life, great sex, and a lovely home. We had it all and so why? Why did he want it to end? I hadn’t spoken to him since the day I left to move home, no phone calls or text messages. The Estate Agent kept me informed of house information and even though Mick offered to buy Simon out and for me to have the house I didn’t want it. Simon just wasn’t bothered because he had never tried to contact me. He said it was over, and I left, and he was obviously glad. Prick. Tears started to well again behind my sunglasses.

             
“Oh love. I can’t bear this. What happened to my girl who knew she could have anyone?” She sighed.

             
“Someone broke her heart,” I whispered. She thought I meant Simon, but Simon had saved me as my heart was broken way before he came along.

Mum managed to talk me into a last minute blow dry, but no cut. She was well known in the little seaside town where we lived, and she and her friends spent a lot of money in the local salons, enough to get last minute appointments when required. She took me to her salon and to the girl who did her hair, Trudy. I was concerned as my mother’s hairstyle hadn’t changed much in the last decade, and she liked it in a particular style that, even though it suited her, had had its day. She wore a long, sleek, blonde bob with a sweeping fringe, and I didn’t want that. However, Trudy turned out to be a genius. She could fashion hair exactly to the patron’s needs.

             
Mum got me settled and then left to browse the local shops.

             
“Do as much as you can Trudy,” she sighed. “She’s being difficult and doesn’t want a style or a colour.”

             
Trudy looked to me, “Well we can do whatever you want.”

             
“You are both treating me like a child, I am here, I can hear you and I don’t need a cut.” At that I let my hair fall from the bobble that held it on top of my head, it’s natural curl had allowed the hair to become matted and it stuck out to the side like dry straw.

             
“Oh,” Trudy said, involuntarily and then noticed her mistake. “Right, mmm.”

             
My mother left, and I looked up to Trudy through the mirror.

             
“Do whatever you want,” I rolled my eyes, “if it means that it keeps me away from my Mum for a bit longer.”

             
“Great.” She smiled. “I’ll get my colour chart.”

Two hours later I left the hair salon a little more refreshed. I managed not to cry whilst I was in there and was glad for the inane chatter that surrounded me. Trudy highlighted my hair in foils, and it was lighter than I usually wore it, almost white in places, and it did make me feel brighter. She cut a fringe in and styled my hair into long choppy layers that she curled smoothly at the ends, so it gave a coiffed effect. I was pleased; I looked better and my hair was smooth once again. As she took the tabard off I caught sight of myself. I looked human again, better in fact, and I saw a smile in the mirror that I hadn’t seen for a while.

             
“Right, thanks Trudy,” I made my way to the counter, “How much?”

             
“Oh,” she waved my hand away, “your mum already paid. She came back in before when you were in the foils.”

             
“Oh right, great, it’s like I’m twelve again.” I went into my purse anyway and gave her a generous tip. “You’re a miracle worker,” I said, “I feel like a million dollars.”

             
“Well you look it,” she said. “See you again, I hope.”

             
“Thanks.”

             
I left and called my mum on her mobile to see where she had got to, and she swung by in her cherry red Range Rover to pick me up. Mum had her own money. Despite Mick’s wealth, she had stacks of it from property that she rented out and also the family textile business.

             
“Oh Sophie, you look gorgeous.” She gave me a knowing grin as if to say
I told you so
. “Do you feel better?”

             
“I hate to say it but I do. I really do.”

             
“Good.”

             
We made our way home, the house that she and Mick had bought together was a huge five bedroom home, on a new build housing estate in Lytham. The estate was huge and full of hundreds of palatial homes of varying styles and sizes, situated around a regal green space that housed ornate ponds and grasslands. It was a beautiful estate and Mum had excitedly picked our home from the plan when it was being built.

             
The house had a covered heated swimming pool in the back garden, three storeys and five bathrooms. Mick had a gym in one bedroom, one was a guest room that rarely got used, and we occupied the others. The whole top floor had been a master bedroom but was converted into a party room, or that’s what we called it. It had a cinema area with a huge TV and comfy chairs, a bar, a small dance floor, and a pool table. It hadn’t been used much since I had been home this time, and so I wasn’t sure if Mum and Mick actually went up there any more. My friends and I had loved it as teenagers.

             
It was dinner-time when we got home, and as we entered I could smell food, and so we made our way into the kitchen. “Who cooked?” Mum asked, surprised. She was a typical housewife and loved it. She did work and had always run her family’s firm, but her favourite job was caring for us. Mick loved that about her, as his ex-wife was a spoilt rich bitch by all accounts, even Kyle agreed. She had taken Mick’s success for granted, been with him through the tough years, and spent time making the most of the spoils as they grew older. She had a taste for all things expensive and eventually grew bored of being Mick’s wife; they drifted apart but remained civil for Kyle. So Mick seemed to love the way Mum indulged him, mothered him, and cared for him, something his previous wife wouldn’t even entertain.

             
“I did,” Kyle said, looking up from the hob.

             
“You know me, love,” Mick looked up to her indulgently, “I wouldn’t be able to fry an egg, can’t compete with you in the kitchen.”

             
I walked into the kitchen and prepared myself.

             
“Bloody hell,” Mick gasped, “what happened to that tramp you took out this morning? Looks like the fairy godmother has been around here somewhere.”

             
“Ha ha Mick,” I said sarcastically, “very funny.”

             
“Well it’s good to see you back, Soph. I much prefer you like that than sporting the homeless look.”