Just Between Us (3 page)

             
“Well?” I looked to Kyle. “Let’s get all the witty comments out of the way now so I can eat whatever you’re making in peace.”

             
“You’re going to eat?” Mum said with a slight giggle, “Wow things are turning around.”

             
“Thank God,” Mick sighed.

             
Kyle looked at me, his blue eyes met mine, and he just smiled.

             
“Looking good, Soph.” He said casually.

             
“Okay,” I nodded, “fine, no witty comments now, but don’t expect you can make jokes later.”

             
“So we still off out then?” he asked.

             
“Dead right, I’ve been made over within an inch of my life and it’s about time this pity party hit the shots.”

             
“Crikey.”

             
“What have you made then?” Mum asked, poking around where Kyle stood.

             
“Chilli.” He beamed for her approval.

             
“Ooo lovely,” she crooned, “what a treat.”

We ate dinner. Mum and Mick cracked open the wine, and we all had a few glasses. I could tell they were overjoyed to have us both home as Mum must have mentioned it at least twenty times. Her favourite line was, “Oh it’s just like old times.” We laughed about Mick’s new hobbies that he was trying to acquire for his retirement but failing miserably. Kyle told us stories about parties he had attended and name-dropped quite frequently, his ego revealing itself again. I stayed quiet and just enjoyed the noise, the laughter that bubbled up from their stories helped to ease the pain, and the noise drowned out my own thoughts. It was as if Kyle had brought some much-needed joy back to our four walls.

             
I hadn’t packed a lot when I moved home and party dresses hadn’t been the top of my list when I did pack my things, however I managed to find some skinny jeans and a black silk top that could pass as a “going out” outfit. I borrowed some of Mum’s black Louboutins and used her make-up to mask my misery. When I stepped out of my room an hour or so later, Kyle was also walking out of his room. He wore dark blue jeans, black, leather dress shoes and a tight black shirt that looked good on his toned body. He looked me up and down, and not a word was spoken for a second.

             
“We match,” I recovered, and he smiled at me.

             
“You look great Soph, that prick has no idea what he’s done.”

             
“You think?” I laughed, embarrassed. We had already drunk some wine and it had loosened my misery a little.

             
“I know.” He grinned.

             
We made our way downstairs and found our respective parents out on the patio, enjoying more wine in the evening sunshine. Mum was laughing as Mick filled her in on a recent story from the golf club. He loved to entertain her and was grateful for her undivided attention. She gave it so willingly that it was a pleasure to watch them together. To think years before I was worried that Mick would break her heart. I thought he was a womanising, smarmy car dealer who would use her and cast her aside. However, he didn’t; he was never that man, he adored mum and she him. They were great together.

             
“Right, we’ll get a taxi,” Kyle said.

             
“Oh you two look adorable,” Mum said, her laughter still lingering in her voice. “Wait, let me get a picture.” She dashed off for her camera, and Mick reclined his chair to take in the last of the day’s warmth.

             
“You two got enough cash?” he barked, his voice was so deep and commandeering that everything he said sounded like an order.

             
“Dad we’re almost thirty for God’s sake, we have our own money now.” Kyle said.

             
“Old habits,” he said, winking.

              “Right, smile,” Mum said from behind us, and we both groaned. Kyle slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me to him. We both smiled and she shouted, “Cheese!” We grinned as she clicked away.

             
“So good to have you both back,” she tittered, heading back to her wine. “Have a good time,”

             
“We will!” Kyle shouted over his shoulder, pulling me towards the door.

             
“Bye!” I yelped as we left at speed,

             
“Shit … we need to get out of here before they get the video camera out.” I laughed again, and we waited outside for the taxi.

             
Kyle lit a cigarette. “Wow, you still smoke?” I asked, “Thought we’d grown out of that.”

             
“Only when I have a drink,” he said with a tight mouth as he lit the cigarette. “Want one?”

             
“God no, I haven’t smoked for years, Simon …” I stopped myself. Simon never liked me smoking, and so I gave it up.

             
“Oh fuck it, give me one,” I demanded. He laughed and gave me his already lit cigarette, getting another for himself. I inhaled and coughed straight away, but I was determined to finish this cigarette, and I was determined to be happy again. I wanted to be Sophie King again. I wanted to be the girl who loved her life, her friends. I wanted a heart full of something other than sorrow. The last time I had felt like that Kyle was there too, and after a few wines and this cigarette it was so easy to remember why.

We made our way into Blackpool and hit the bars. It was relatively easy for us to reconnect after a few drinks and I felt more relaxed and carefree than I had for a while. We went to cheesy bars and sang along to 80’s tunes, then we went to classy bars and sipped cocktails. By 2 am we were in a sweaty club, dancing like teenagers on the dance floor. Kyle held me to him as we jumped in the air to “Mr Brightside,” screaming the words to each other and laughing so hard that my jaw ached. After the song had finished Kyle motioned for me to follow him to the bar, we made our way through the crowds, and he ordered two tequila shots.

             
“Come home with me!” he shouted, as he held the shot to me.

             
“What?” I asked, my drunken confused state filling my ears. I mustn’t have heard him right; we hadn’t spoken two words for years, and now he was asking me what exactly?

             
“Come back to London with me.” He patted his chest.

             
“Why?” I gasped, still out of breath from our dancing, aware that my newly styled fringe was stuck to my head with sweat. “What?”

             
“To forget.” He threw his shot back. “You’re not back in work for a few weeks, school’s on holiday, and this place is just a constant reminder. You need to get away.”

             
I knocked my shot back too and closed my eyes as it hit my stomach, burning my throat as it went. “We forgot the salt and lemon,” I said, and his eyes were still blazing into me.

             
“Fuck that. I’m serious, Soph. This place is killing you. Come to London, I promise you’ll have the summer of your life, and I’ll make sure you forget that idiot.” He was watching me closely for a reaction.

             
“How?” Tears filled my eyes. “How will that ever happen? I just can’t see it.” I wiped tears away, and he looked to me solemnly.

             
“You need to try, Okay? You need a change of scenery and you need to try and forget. I’ll take you out, we’ll live it up, we’ll have fun, and I promise you I’ll show you how to forget. Shit, Soph, this should never have been you, stuck here, a teacher, marrying some every day Joe, and living in a normal house. You weren’t supposed to be a housewife.”

             
“What?” I pushed away from him, offended, the truth was out now after a few drinks, now I knew how he really felt. “There’s nothing wrong with being a teacher, staying here, and being someone’s wife. We can’t all live the high life in London.”

             
“No,” he grabbed my wrists, “I meant you are so much more than just someone’s wife. You deserve more than this.”

             
“This is all I ever wanted.” I sighed.

             
“Really?” I looked into his eyes as his serious expression bore into me. “Please come back with me, if only for a few days. Let me help you get out of here. You’re a mess, it’s just not like you.”

             
“You’ll make me better?” I asked, incredulously.

             
He smiled at me and ordered more shots. “No funny business,” he said seriously, “and I guarantee it’ll help you forget, and if it doesn’t, I’ll …” he thought for a second, “I’ll run a marathon … naked.”

             
I laughed out loud. “Naked? You must be confident of winning, with a horrendous body like yours,” I said, sarcastically, shaking my head, and he loosened a little, his smug grin back. “Okay,” I agreed.

             
“Okay?” He laughed as more shots were placed in front of us, “Fucking yeah, we’ll have the best summer ever.”

             
“We are almost thirty, you know.” I rolled my eyes. “Not teenagers anymore.”

             
“Ah sod it. Thirty is the new seventeen,” and with that we threw our shots back.

The next morning I awoke with a hangover and ran to our shared bathroom to be sick. Twenty minutes later I was propped up against the toilet wondering if I would be sick again. Kyle poked his head around the door.

             
“Get out!” I shouted. Damn I had forgotten to lock the door that led to his room.

             
“Wow, you look like shit.”

             
I groaned, “OUT!”

             
“You haven’t forgotten that you’re coming home with me today?” He shouted through the door.

             
“Today?” I groaned. “I …” I tried desperately to think of a way to get out of this one. Surely he wouldn’t hold me to this.

             
“Soph, we’ve been over this. As Sheryl Crow once said, ‘
A change will do you good’
and you agreed.”

             
“But we were drunk, and this is my home and …”

             
“You’re miserable, holed up in your teenage bedroom whilst Mr Dick Head sits pretty in your house. So you’ll come with me, get away from it all, and come back in September, refreshed.”

             
“Really?” I felt the need to vomit again. “I haven’t packed, and I don’t have enough stuff.”

             
“Well pack, and what you haven’t got, we’ll buy new,” he said, cheerfully.

             
“How are you so chipper at this time in the morning after what we drank last night?”

             
“You got a man and settled down, whilst I got better at drinking.”

             
“Oh,” I said, “Right, um, well …”

             
“Better get packing!” he shouted through the door, and with that he left me to be sick again. I didn’t have the energy to resist and I had to be honest trying to take a break from my misery seemed like a very good idea.

Three
-
Just awkward

Old Times

When my
mum met Mick I was fourteen years old. She told me he had a son, Kyle Hanson, at my school before her first date with him. I had groaned and told her what an idiot he was, always acting up in class. He hung around with the popular kids who picked on other kids like me, thinking of harsh nicknames, and always looking gorgeously flawless whilst the rest of us struggled with the usual teenage trauma of spots and bad hair days. They dated for six months before I met Mick. Mum was cautious, and she was careful not to upset me, after all, I still missed living with my dad. Kyle never acknowledged me at school. If he knew our parents were dating he never let on and neither did I.

             
My parents had separated mutually, but I had an idea that it had a lot to do with a woman that worked at my dad’s shop. He owned a party shop that sold balloons, banners, cakes, cake decorations, and everything you could possibly need for a party. He did well, and he worked long hours, and we were happy, or so I thought. Next thing I knew Dad, Winston King, had then moved out and into a small two-bed house around the corner.

             
He was contented and didn’t seem to be dating anyone, but Mum had screamed the name Sheila at him a few times during the final weeks, which happened to be the name of his assistant at work. She was young, busty, and friendly enough. Mum dealt with everything with grace though, and the night they told me it was over, she took me for a ride in the country, and we sped down the tiny roads as she burned off steam. She turned the music up really loud, lots of Tina Turner and Cher.

             
“Don’t ever depend on a man Sophie, always be you,” she had said.

             
We learned to live as a twosome, and we took to it very well. I saw my dad a few nights a week, and he took me to dinner and the cinema on weekends, but I was too old for sleepovers. I liked my own bed and my own home, so I saw as much of him as he wanted, but he didn’t decorate a room at his house for me or anything like that. I didn’t need it.

             
After six months of dating Mick took Mum and me out for dinner to a swanky restaurant, he talked a lot and Mum watched him adoringly. I hated it, he was exactly as I imagined Kyle’s father to be. He was flashy, loud with a huge ego, and extremely proud of his wealth. I told my mum such after that meal and she was hurt, I told her that he seemed like a womanising show-off, and she should watch out. She didn’t scream or shout or try to change my mind.

             
“Just give him a chance, Sophie, I’m a good judge of character. Trust me.” She smiled.

             
As the months progressed Mick actually became bearable, perhaps the night we first met he was nervous and trying to impress me. He never took us anywhere flashy again after that. We went out for something simple like burgers or pizza, or the pub where they’d have a few drinks, and I would drink coke and play on my hand-held Nintendo. He wasn’t as loud as first impressions had implied, and I began to like the little thoughtful gifts he’d buy my mum and even me. He made Mum happy, and that was all that mattered. He paid her attention and snuggled into her, something my dad never ever did. I began to accept this new man into my life. Mick Hanson was larger than life, standing 6 feet tall, beer belly bursting out of tailored shirts, always laughing and joking, and he knew everyone wherever we went.

             
He and Kyle weren’t close. He had split from Kyle’s mum when Kyle was nine and had since been single, dating a few women until my beautiful mother just stuck. When he saw Kyle, Mum and I spent our weekends doing other things, and of course I saw my dad or my friends. After a year, Mick suggested that we go out as a foursome, and I was horrified. We both knew that our parents were dating, but because it was never once acknowledged at school I knew it would be awkward. He never gave me a knowing glance or even spoke to me. He was up there with the popular crowd, and I was a geek with frizzy, blonde hair. His hair was like black silk, and his skin always seemed to hold a slight tan. He was beautiful, unattainable, and I was definitely not worthy of his attention.

             
Mick took us to an Italian restaurant. He picked Mum and me up from home in his black, BMW 5 Series. Kyle was already in the front, and so Mum and I climbed in the back. That set a precedent for the rest of the night where Kyle would behave like a spoilt brat, and his Dad would pander to his every whim. Both Mum and I were shocked, Kyle didn’t join in any of the conversation, he just sat with a surly look on his face and stared out of the window.

             
“Kyle,” Mick ventured halfway through the meal, “please try and behave yourself.”

             
“Why bother, you’ll have a new chick this time next month.”

             
Mum almost choked on her wine, and I looked to my food. Mick was ready to explode.

             
“Outside now,” he stormed off, and Kyle followed for a telling off outside the restaurant

             
“Told you he was a brat,” I said as I continued to pick at my pizza. I had tried my best to tame my wayward blonde curls tonight and applied some make up sparingly.

             
When they re-entered, Kyle was even quieter, and Mick huffed his way through the rest of the meal.

             
They married shortly after this incident. It was a small, simple ceremony in the Lake District with a few friends, and of course Kyle and myself. He barely acknowledged me then, and we still didn’t speak at school. We were fifteen, I was awkward, and he was an arrogant arse. He didn’t tell my mum that she looked pretty or even buy them a card to celebrate, he was so used to being privileged that he lacked any humility.

             
My mum was wealthy in her own right through her family textile business, her brother Colin was a banker in New York with no interest in the family business, and consequently she had inherited it and ran it seamlessly. She and Mick together were very well off and bought the big house in Lytham where I moved with them. Kyle visited every other weekend. His dad always took him out on weekends, golfing, go-carting or watching football at Old Trafford. Mick kept him away from us as he was so hostile. Still, it didn’t really help matters.

             
When Kyle’s mum decided to move to Spain, he was devastated. I saw it in his eyes when he came to live with us, as Mick moved his stuff into his room.

             
“Why do I have to share a bathroom?” he moaned as he unpacked.

             
“Because the other rooms are taken.”

             
“What that stupid gym? You don’t use it, fatty,” he spat.

             
“Watch your mouth Kyle, that attitude better change or you can get to Spain with your bloody mother.” I knew Kyle wouldn’t want to leave. He was the hero at our school and had more followers than he could shake a stick at. However, from the outside it would appear that he had a fantastic life. He had wealthy parents lavishing his every whim, but I started to notice then that his parents weren’t that great. His mother had buggered off abroad, and Mick was giving up before he’d even started. Part of me started feeling sorry for him.

             
Still, Kyle and I didn’t become friends, we didn’t speak at school, the most we did was share a lift in Mick’s shiny, black BMW. In the end it was my mother who started to make the difference. She brought some stability and routine to Kyle’s life, his mum had always had her own agenda, the gym, lunches with her friends, and drinks out. Kyle was last on her priority list. My mum listened to him, cared for him, and enjoyed it. She was interested in what he did and with whom he did it with, and she made sure that he always had clean clothes and good food. At home he remained quiet and surly, but I could tell pretty quickly that Mags had stolen his heart.

We quickly settled into a pseudo-family routine. Kyle spent holidays with his mum at first, but he liked it there less and less, especially as we entered sixth form, and his social life really took off. I had two best friends, Ashley and Kathryn. We had been friends for years and had a group of our own that we partied with. They certainly weren’t the popular crowd that Kyle mixed with, but we had our fun. We experimented with make up, tarty dresses, hair straighteners, alcohol and boys, lots of them. I learned that my hair could be tamed, and that I wasn’t such a bad kisser. I didn’t have too bad a body and could rock a pretty mean Lycra dress when it was called for.

             
Kyle and I had it pretty good, with our brand new cars, credit cards, clothes allowances and a fair amount of freedom. We had an amazing house, the party room was a great meeting place for our friends, which we used separately. Our parents didn’t mention that we weren’t friends or try to make us friends. They simply accepted us as we were. Separate entities. Kyle was still arrogant, but he seemed happier, and he even hugged my mum and Mick when the mood took him. He asked for their help when required, and he allowed them to look after him, a huge shift as far as they were concerned.

             
The Easter before our final summer at home, before we left for University, Mick and Mum surprised us. We had finished most of our exams and only had a few to study for, and so they booked a ten-day break in Cancun, Mexico. Kyle wasn’t visiting his mum until summer and for only two weeks, as he wanted to have a blast the last summer after school with his friends. I knew everything about him from mum as I’m sure he did about me, but we didn’t talk. We weren’t close, but I did garner the odd smile from him, and we did conspiratorially laugh at our parents sometimes.

             
I often wondered if he didn’t consider me worthy of his friendship, or if, in fact, he hated me because he actually hated our situation. Mum had stolen his father and replaced his mother in his life, and I was happy with everything, whereas he couldn’t have been less content. He was angry with life and rightly so as his two parents didn’t seem to care very much how he felt