Second Chance Hero (13 page)

“Jesus, you don't know me very well. I’m not taking
that.”

I sling my arm around his shoulder and we walk to
The Duck as it starts to rain.

We’re two beers and a pasty and chips in, when his
reason for inviting me out is revealed. I love this man, but I’m getting tired
of people in this town not minding their own business.

“How are things with you and Jen?” He asks, rubbing
the back of his neck.

“I don't have an answer. There’s nothing going on.”

I see the disappointment on his face. I know I’ve
lied, but how do I tell him Jenna and I are getting to know each other again
but fucking off good old conversation and exploring each other’s bodies
instead?

“What’s the matter?” I have to ask, seeing as he’s
making no effort to hide his disappointment. He obviously wants to talk about
it.

“I don't like Kip.” That makes two of us, “I don't
understand it. He’s a city man. He puts her down; he told her he didn’t want
her moving back here. And he’s a vegetarian, only eats alimentos organicos!”

He throws his hands in the air like it’s a travesty,
and I understand the ‘organic’ part of his Spanish. In Esteban’s eyes if you
don't like chorizo and don't chug beer and mussels like there’s no tomorrow,
then there’s something wrong with you. I don't care what Kip eats, I just don't
like him. But I can't help laughing as Esteban flies off into a Spanish rant
and I’m sure I catch a few expletives.

“This isn’t funny, son.” He says eventually, after
getting everything off his chest.

“No it’s not, but I don't know what to say. You know
how I feel about Jenna.”

“I think I do. And I think she feels the same you
know? I just don't understand this Kip thing.”

“I think Jenna needed someone when she went back to
London. And I think she found Kip.”

I’m surprised by how rational that was. I want Kip
off the scene as much as Esteban, if not more. But I’ve hit myself with my own
words; she was lonely. She needed someone because I wasn’t there for her and
she’d never been comfortable in a group of girls, it’s why she stuck with me
and the boys. She must have looked for someone like Kip, someone who kept her
company without asking questions, someone wrapped up in themselves that she
could take the company she needed, but they’d never take enough time to realise
she wasn’t happy. Of course she isn’t happy.

“I’m trying,” I admit, breaking the silence, “I let
her down, all those years ago. I left her alone in the city and told her she’d
never make it.”

Esteban opens his mouth to speak, but I raise my
hand, the other hand bringing the beer to my mouth to take a quick mouthful.

“I know you know that already, and I’m surprised
you’re still there for me after what I did. But Jenna is here to stay, she’s
happy here. I’ll earn her trust again.”

“You had your own life to sort out, you’re a great
man. Don't take the blame for this, you’ve found each other again. We always
wanted you to be together. Even when you were young, we used to talk about your
future while we watched you play.”

“You and my dad?”

Esteban nods and looks back down at his beer. For
the last five years I’ve been a selfish bastard. I lost my best friend and I
lost my dad and that is something I can't forget. But I wasn’t there for the
people who also lost something that year; my mum, Esteban, Jenna.

“Your dad had the vision first. It was your tenth
birthday and you had a sleepover. Your parents had no problem with it, but you
went loco because you wanted Jen there.” he laughs, “Your mum and dad didn’t
once say she couldn't stay over. That’s when your dad saw it; he took me out
for a drink and told me everything he imagined for your future together.”

There’s a long, uncomfortable silence as we ponder
over our pint glasses. Esteban spends a good five minutes mumbling to himself
and I look around the pub and concentrate on the beer. It seems to make
everything better.

“Your mother is happier now that you’ve come back to
her,” he says finally and he’s looking at me in the way he always does that
takes me back to my teenage years when he was cautioning me for stealing a
bottle of beer. Or the time he caught me and my brother smoking a joint. It was
the only time I ever touched the stuff, after the telling off I got.

“I should’ve been there for her.”

It’s clear to me now how much Mum is suffering.
She’s always puts on a brave face, and I’ve never thought about how hard it
must really be for her. When my dad died she felt that she had to be strong for
us, and I chose to ignore everything and the lost expression in her eyes on the
rare occasions I saw her. I thought if I pretended it never happened that I
could escape the pain I felt for my mother. I’ve been too wrapped up with women
and work that I pushed everything away when I should have stepped up, been a
man and supported my widowed mother. I was a coward, when I should have been
her hero.

They’d been together since they were sixteen, my mum
and dad. He was all she ever knew and lost herself the night he was taken. I
chose to push her away, forced her to mourn alone, by choosing not to grieve
myself.

It’s Jenna being back here that has opened my eyes
to everything I ignored for so long.

I battle the tears stinging my eyes. But Esteban
leans down, forcing me to make eye contact.

“He’d be proud of you. Don't you ever forget that.
Just don't take life for granted.”

I shake my head. I won't.

Jenna

            I put my key in the door to open the
shop with my phone balanced between my ear and shoulder.

            “Kip, I said I’m sorry. Jade booked a
girls night out and she never has night out, with Pip being so young. I just
want to spend time with my sister.”

            “You could have let me know earlier, I
was meant to leave this afternoon.”

            “I’m sorry.” I hear him sigh and I know
he’s biting his nails, “Don't bite your nails. Look I’ll come to you next week,
okay? Why don't you book some theatre tickets? We can go for dinner and stay at
my place. I need to sort my tenancy out anyway.”

            “That’s a good idea. I’ll book up to see
that new musical.”

            “Perfect. I have to go, I’ve got to call
the contractor.”

            “Okay, I’ll call you on Sunday. I love
you.”

            “Speak to you Sunday.”

            I hang up quickly and pull the
surveyor’s contact card out of my jeans pocket. I’ve been trying to call him
all morning, but Mum had me run to the supermarket for her, Jonas wanted help
with booking a hotel for him and Grace and then I had to sort my stuff out to
come here. I’m starting to panic about this work; I paid upfront for the shop,
taking a huge chunk out of my savings, I’m paying rent on a flat I’m not living
in, and because until my accountant has sorted out this month’s profits, I’ve
got no income and I’m running out of money.

            I’m about to call the surveyor when the
bell above the shop door chimes. I walk out to the front and notice a middle
aged lady inspecting the place.

            “Can I help you?” I ask and she jumps.

            “Hi, Jenna. I’m Ms. Peyton.”

            Oh, I’ve heard about Ms. Peyton; I’m
surprised she hasn’t visited me already. According to everyone I know in this
town she’s the busy body of Folquay, always poking her nose in and planning for
some organisation.

            “Hi, Ms. Peyton. Nice to meet you.” I
shake her hand noticing I leave flour behind afterwards. One of the bags I
brought in must be leaking.

            “You too, Dear. How’s it coming along?”

            “Steadily.” I lie, but I don't want the
town gossip to know I’m close to being broke and my surveyor is MIA, “Is there
something I can help you with?”

            “Sorry, yes. The town fete is coming up
and I wondered if you would run the cake stall? We haven’t had one for a few
years, since Mrs. Hale passed away and I’ve heard your cakes are somewhat
sought after.”

            “A cake stall?” How am I going to be
able to fund that? “Sure.”

           
What?!

            “Wonderful. I have drawn up some flyers,
I’ll pop them round next week.” She has a quick look around the front of the
shop, clearly noticing that there hasn’t been so much work as a wall being
stripped yet, “It was lovely to meet you.”

            She steers clear of offering her hand to
me again, and leaves the shop. Great, another commitment to add to my list of
many.

I make a cup of tea and I’m finally able to call the
surveyor.

            “Perry Matthews?” He answers.

            “Perry, hi. It’s Jenna Rivera.”

            There’s a long pause on the other side
and if it wasn’t for the timer indicating the call is still connected, I would
think he hung up on me.

            “I didn’t think I would hear from you,
Miss Rivera.”

            “Why not?”

            “Your business partner called and said
you have found someone else to carry out the work.”

            “I don't have a business partner.” What
on Earth is he talking about?

            “Mr. Reid said you had gone over your
plans and agreed his company would take on the refurbishment.”

            “That is not the case.”

            “I’m sorry, I just did as I was
instructed.”

            I can't explain how angry I am, as I
grip my phone as tight as I can and curl my other hand into a tight fist.

            “I hired you, not Mr. Reid. If he called
you, you should have called me to confirm that was the arrangement. I put a lot
of faith in you to come through with the design.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Can you still do the work?”

            “Mr. Reid phones me Saturday morning,
Jenna. I’ve taken on another job. I’d be happy to take on your shop in July.”

            “July?” I can't wait until July, “Fine.
It’s not your fault. Just next time this happens call the person who actually
hired you.”

            I hang up, not waiting for a response
and throw my phone on the sideboard, taking deep breaths to control my anger.

            I finish my tea and send a text:

           
‘Come to the shop please. It’s
urgent.’

            I make another cup of tea and wait. Half
an hour later Deacon comes bursting in the shop and I’m waiting for him like a
predator waiting to pounce.

            “Jen, what’s wrong?”

            I’m momentarily distracted by the look
of panic and concern on his face, and the fact he’s wearing the same shorts as
the last time I saw him, in his back garden, before his mother walked in on us.
I gave myself to him again, threw my self control out of the window for a few
precious moments with him when he’s been lying to me all week.

            “What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask
and watch the panic turn to shock.

            “What have I done now?” Now he’s playing
innocent, like it’s all in my head.

            “Are you trying to ruin me?”

            “I haven’t got a clue what you’re
talking about.”

            I storm behind the counter to where I
left Perry’s business card and throw it at him, watching it flutter to the
floor. Deacon bends to pick it up and I choke on an inhale at the sight of him
kneeling before me. A shiver bursts through me as he stands and towers over me.
The anger simmers below the surface, but the heat takes over.

            “It wasn’t enough for you to screw with
my head, then screw with my business but to humiliate me as well?!”

            I know I’m going over the top but I just
can’t stop. I want him but I hate him. I’m hurt, but I’m so in love with him it
hurts. The anger, the passion, the desire pours from my voice in a tone laced
with venom and I’m shaking.

            “I was trying to help.” He sits at a
table and kicks out the chair opposite for me. I can't sit down; I’m too angry
and can’t be near him right now.

            “You weren’t trying to help me. You
wanted me to use your company and you weren’t taking no for an answer. How dare
you make decisions based on
my
business because of your ego? I don't
want you to do the job. Why doesn’t that matter to you?”

            “Christ, Jenna. Chill out.”

            “I can't chill out. I’m hanging on by a
thread here and you’ve just fucked it up for me. You’re fucking crazy!”

            “Please, sit down.” I glare at him over
my shoulder. His eyes are hooded and his jaw is tight. Holy shit, he’s angry
with me? 

            I can’t say no; the colour of his eyes
darkening to look like an impending storm, his tone telling me there’s no
choice. I sit down with the chair a safe distance away.

            “I was thinking of you.”

            “Deacon, I’m sick of hearing the same
thing come out of your mouth every time you screw something up for me.”

            “I saw his designs.”

            “So what? They were my designs, you had
no right to look at them.”

            “You have to trust me.”

            I shake my head; I don't. Just when I
thought things were straightening out, complicated but bearable, he pushes us
back a few more steps. We’re back at square one where my body is screaming for
him but I can't stand to be near him.

            “I don't know you anymore.” I say, my
throat aches as the tears threaten to return. I once knew him inside out, and
that Deacon wouldn’t have made decisions for me.

            “That’s a lie.”

            “I’m not the liar here.”

He throws his hands up in the air and stands up. Now
it’s his turn to pace as he runs his hands through his hair, clasping them
together at the back of his neck. That’s something that hasn’t changed since
childhood; he used to do that when he was frustrated. I’m frustrating him.

            “He didn’t know you, Jen. His designs
were nothing like what you said you wanted and they were just sketches. All he
would have done was made them three dimensional and coloured them in. You would
have hated them.”

            “How do you know I would have hated
them?”

            He stays quiet, but doesn’t stop pacing.
When he doesn’t answer my question, I know he’s hiding something. For a split
second the conceited Deacon disappears and vulnerability takes over; he’s nervous
about something.

            “Deacon?”

            “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have cancelled
him. But I didn’t want you wasting your time on someone who couldn't see your
vision.”

            “Deacon,” We’ve calmed down now, the
sparks of desire burning deep inside me and he’s back to the confident man he
was when he walked in thinking I was in trouble, “You can't make those
decisions for me. I might not have liked the designs but I’d much rather you
were there to say ‘I told you so’ instead of taking that choice away from me.”

            He steps towards me and engulfs my face
in his hands.

            “You deserve the best, Jen and Perry was
going to charge you so much and do so little. I want your shop here to be
everything you imagine and more because this will be your home.”

            He’s inches away from my face and
getting closer. I can smell his delicious scent and feel his heat burning my
cheeks. I close my eyes and wait for those lips to touch me, to ease every
piece of frustration and magnetism I feel towards him.

But the bell chimes and I look up to see Emma
standing in the doorway. Not again.

 “For Christ sake, Mum.” Deacon sighs and lets go of
my face, dropping his hands to his sides and shoving them in his pockets.
Everything on the inside screams at me to demand he puts them back, but my
mouth stays shut, too embarrassed by what Emma must think to even think of an
excuse.

            “I need to talk to Jenna, Deacon.”

            Deacon looks back at me, with an
unreadable expression and our argument is forgotten, for now. Although I still
have no surveyor and I’m running out of money. He bites his bottom lip and I
think he’s angry, at me or Emma? He leaves after scraping one hand through his
hair. He doesn’t say another word before slamming the door behind him, but Emma
raises one eyebrow and bites her top lip.

I beckon her to follow me to the kitchen. I need to
bake. I head straight to the fridge and pull out some cooking chocolate, and
hand it to Emma.

            “Can you break it up into a glass bowl,
please? There’s one on the draining board.”

            She does as I ask as I gather the ingredients
for chocolate and cherry brownies.

            She hasn’t said a word to me since she
said we needed to talk; I know we’re about to have a Deacon conversation and
I’m dreading what she has to say. I pray to God she's the only parent who knows
about our predicament on Tuesday, I’m hoping she has the respect for me that I
didn’t have for myself, and has kept it a secret from my parents.

            “I haven’t told your dad.” She finally
says, which means she’s told my mother.

            “Why?”

            “I didn’t do it to gossip. I did it
because your mum is my best friend and I needed her perspective.”

            “Right.”

            “What’s going on?”

            “Please don't ask me that.” I answer
cracking eggs over a mixing bowl, “And please don't tell me not to mess with
your son’s head because I’m not.”

            “So what are you doing then?”

            I shrug, because I don't know. I
remember when Emma used to tell me off like this as a child, and that was my
response then.

            “Have you spoken about it? Or are you
always...distracted?”

            “Oh, god. Emma, we’re adults.”