Broken, p.19
Broken, page 19
“Ten years?” I say dramatically. “What the hell did your dad do?”
Damien chuckles. “It’s more a case of what he didn’t do. The Army comes first.” Ouch.
“But Amy’s planning on staying?” Damien nods. “And going to university?” Another nod. “Do you have any other family over here?” I ask, fully aware Damien hails from Northern Ireland.
“Just my dad’s brother, Ted, and his son, Phil,” he answers. “Everyone else is back in Belfast.”
I smile softly. “Do you miss them?”
“I do, yeah,” he admits. “I have a big family. My mum’s the youngest of seven, my dad the oldest of five, and most of them are married with kids. Some of the kids even have kids.”
“Wow,” I say. “Your family get-togethers must take some doing.”
Damien laughs. “Oh, yeah,” he exclaims. “It’s crazy.”
“You ever thought of going back?”
Damien briefly presses his lips to mine. “I have reasons to stay.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “Cute.”
“Belfast hasn’t been home for a long time.”
I nod in understanding. “Plus, Amy’s here, and your dad.”
Damien laughs. “I love my dad,” he declares. “But it’s best for everyone if we don’t spend more than a couple of hours in the same room.”
“That bad?”
“You should hear his opinions on music.”
“Not a fan?”
Damien shakes his head. “You’ll never amount to anything playing the guitar,” he says in an imitation voice of, I’m assuming, his dad. “The Army is your only career.”
I laugh. “He wasn’t wrong though.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Damien admits. “I always knew I’d join the Army. Not just for my dad but because I wanted to, for the experience. Difference was, my dad wanted a son who’d move up through the ranks like he did, but that was never my plan. He was seriously disappointed when I was medically discharged.”
I smile weakly. I’d like to think his dad’s disappointment is trumped by gratitude and happiness that his son managed to make it out alive, but if not, Damien’s dad is not someone I look forward to meeting.
“I highly doubt you’re a disappointment,” I say instead. “You’re too bloody perfect.”
Damien chuckles. “That’s one hell of a pedestal you got me on.”
I shrug. “Prove me wrong.”
“You want me to highlight my flaws?” I nod. “All right…” He mulls it over. “I can imagine you heard my snoring.”
“I did,” I admit. “But that’s not a flaw.”
“Okay,” he says slowly. “I’m a fitness fanatic.”
“Well, duh.”
“Oh, no, I’m serious,” he says. “Those fifty push-ups I did before bed, if I skipped them, I wouldn’t sleep. And you ask Paul what I’m like if I miss my morning run. I’m basically a dick, stuck in a foul mood for the rest of the day. It’s not a pretty sight.” I laugh. “And…” He takes a deep breath. “Your clothes lying on the floor in the corner are driving me insane.”
I lean up to spy my discarded clothes. I lack a washing basket, but I do make the effort to pick them up in the morning and pop them in the washer.
“Your music set-up too,” he adds.
I furrow my brow in confusion. “What the hell is wrong with my music set-up?”
“The wires, babe,” Damien clarifies, and for some weird reason, his use of babe awakens the butterflies. I’ve never, lost memories withstanding, been called babe before. “At least three of them were tangled, the microphone wire was trailing the floor like a bloody snake, and you put your guitar lopsided in its stand.”
I let out a laugh, until I realise… “Wait, was? Past tense?”
Damien chuckles. “I sorted that shit whilst you were in the bathroom getting ready for bed.”
I smile brightly. “Are you saying you’ve got OCD?”
“I wouldn’t go as far as to say OCD,” he says. “But yeah, I’m a neat freak, and I can’t handle mess or clutter. It took all my strength not to clean up the smashed plates in your kitchen that night.”
I burst out laughing before leaning in and planting a kiss of pure relief upon his lips. I pull away, and Damien shakes his head at me.
“You’re far too happy about that,” he comments.
“Sorry.” I shrug. “But it’s nice to know you’re, you know, as human as the rest of us.”
Damien and I continue to natter until exhaustion wins, and I fall back asleep. When six o’clock in the morning hits, Damien goes out for his unmissable run, and not an hour later, I’m honoured with another early morning visit from Jess, her desperation to get all the gory details taking over. She, of course, laughs far too hard upon the discovery Damien’s suspected mistress is his sister, but when she then gives Damien the “if you hurt Dani, I’ll kill you” speech upon his return, before heading off to work, all is forgiven.
Damien, unfortunately, goes right back to work too, and the rest of my day is spent helping Raif move in next door. He has a shitload of crap for one person, including a life-size mannequin, several framed pictures of Dolly Parton, and enough clothes to fill a shop. I’m not entirely sure where he’s planning on putting it all given the flat is already full of Jess’s stuff, but something tells me Raif will enjoy the unpacking part.
It’s nice to spend some solo time with Raif, having not yet had the opportunity, and despite the hauling and heavy lifting, it’s turning out to be a fun afternoon. Raif is hilarious, and his dramatic sense of humour is infectious. He loves to talk too, but I already knew that, and he’s thoroughly enjoying filling me in on the ins and outs of all things Raif.
I’m already aware he’s a born and bred Mancunian, learning from Damien he’s Paul’s cousin, and it’s their dads who are the brothers. Although while we’re on that subject, it is a little weird to think Paul was twelve when Raif was born, mostly because they are so close, and with such a large age gap, I wouldn’t have expected it. I air my thoughts, and Raif goes on to tell me he and Paul have only gotten close in the past couple of years, ever since Paul’s dad’s dementia started to kick in, but before that, they really only saw each other at family get-togethers. Apparently, Raif never even met Damien before he uprooted to Manchester, which is remarkable considering how close Paul and Damien are, but anyway, I digress.
What I didn’t realise though is Raif’s mum is Italian. She moved to England with her parents when she was seven, and she met Raif’s dad, a mechanic by trade, at university. Raif can speak fluent Italian too, demonstrating his ability with his usual flair, and he has family that still live over there, whom he visits when he can. His grandparents are still in Manchester though, and he sees them quite regularly.
I’m not surprised, however, to learn Raif’s ultimate dream is to move to London to become a fashion designer, which explains the mannequin. Nor am I surprised Raif’s love life is much like Jess’s: a never-ending string of one-night stands. Rather him than me on both counts.
Raif does unfortunately ask me about my family, but for a change, I don’t hesitate on filling him in. I leave out the Adrian part, but I happily share my memory loss and my family’s unfortunate deaths. He’s shocked, as expected, but I merely shrug it off. I think, finally, I’m starting to come around to the whole talking malarkey, and although it’s always painful to talk about my family, I don’t feel uncomfortable or embarrassed. I feel oddly at ease, but that’s probably Raif’s naturally easing nature; he has a remarkable ability to take a shit situation or story and make it light-hearted. Some may find it offensive, but I find it endearing. I really like Raif, but then he’s practically Jess’s double, so how could I not?
My back killing me from all the lifting, I’m now sitting on my couch nursing a cup of coffee, conscious it’s nearly half-five. Damien will be here at six for our official first date. When Damien mentioned taking me on a date before he left for work this morning, I did make a jibe about being a little past a first date, which Damien agreed with, but he’s determined to take me out. I have no idea what he has in store, but I’m thinking I need at least a morsel of clarification because for the first time ever, I’m wondering what to wear.
I know you won’t tell me what you’ve got planned, even though I hate surprises, but can you at least tell me if I need to attempt to pull something half decent from my suitcase to wear? xx
It takes a few minutes, about as long as it takes for me to finish my brew, for Damien to reply.
You don’t need to dress up if that’s what you’re asking. I’m fully aware fancy, crowded places are not your scene. Plus, you’re gorgeous the way you are xx
Forever smooth. My phone beeps an unexpected second time.
But while we’re on the subject. Do you plan on unpacking those suitcases or should I be worried about you taking off in the night? xx
I can’t help but laugh. I’m so used to living out of my suitcases, but I can see how it would be weird to someone looking in from the outside.
You don’t need to worry xx
Good to know. I’ll see you soon xx
I potter about, deciding to stay dressed as I am in my usual style, and my door soon buzzes. I don’t bother letting Damien in, chucking on my denim jacket, grabbing my phone and keys and heading straight outside. Damien is standing outside the main entrance dressed about as casual as I am in dark denim jeans and his usual figure-hugging T-shirt, a white one tonight, topped off with his trademark khaki jacket.
“Hey,” he says, tilting in for a virtuous kiss.
“Hey,” I reply. “We taking your car or mine?”
Damien looks at me like I’ve just asked him to strip naked in the middle of the car park, or something equally ridiculous.
“No offence,” he says. “But your car is shit.”
“Don’t diss my car.” I gently slap him on the arm. “Not all of us can afford a fancy BMW, Mr Self-Employed, and my car is as reliable as they come, thank you very much.”
“You’re cute when you’re pissed,” he says, and I bite back a smile.
“I figured you might want a drink,” I state.
“There’s no booze where we’re going,” he says, taking my hand and leading me to this car.
I slide into the passenger seat, and as Damien starts the engine, the speakers are filled with the sound of Oasis. Damien quickly turns the volume down.
“Oasis, huh?”
“Not a fan?” Damien asks, driving off.
“A little outdated, don’t you think?”
“Oasis will never be outdated,” he argues. “Connect your Bluetooth,” he suggests, subtly reminding me just how fancy his car is, with its built-in Bluetooth, satnav, and hands-free phone calling. I’d be jealous but a car is what gets you from A to B as far as I’m concerned, and as long as it drives, I don’t care about fancy gadgets. “Play whatever you want.”
“Ooh,” I tease. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”
Damien has opened a door, and I take the opportunity to wind him up a little, just for the fun of it. Damien cringes as I turn up the volume and loudly sing along to the sound of “Barbie Girl”.
“My favourite,” he says sarcastically, yet he’s smiling.
“Or how about this one,” I say, changing the song to “Yakety Yak”, and Damien laughs.
“At least that one has some sentimental value,” he says, and I smile at the memory of one of our earliest conversations.
“Classic.” I shrug, but I’ve made my point, so I put Damien out of his misery and turn it off.
I quickly search for a decent playlist, press play, and happily sing along. I lose count of how many songs we get through, roughly a couple of hours’ worth, before Damien pulls up in a large car park in a place called Keswick, somewhere I’ve heard of but never visited, and I resist the urge to groan. Keswick is in the Lake District, and what is the Lake District infamous for? Bloody walking. I shouldn’t be surprised. Damien is an active guy, and as relationships are a two-way street, I guess I’m about to take a trip in Damien’s shoes. Not literally, of course. I’ve got my trusty Converse trainers to keep my feet from aching.
I wait in the car whilst Damien gets out to pay for a ticket. When he returns, he rummages in the boot and pulls out a hiker-style backpack, slinging it over his shoulders, obviously well prepared for whatever I’m about to endure. Closing the boot, he swings around, opens the passenger door and holds out his hand. Smirking at his never-waning gentlemanly style, I take his hand, and we start to walk.
I let Damien lead me, keeping my hand entwined with his, capturing the breathtaking views of the neighbouring fields, and the beautiful large lake in the centre shimmering in the fading sunlight. That’s a point, it’s going to be dark soon. I’m not sure walking in the countryside in the dark is the best idea. I’m not scared, Damien is with me, but the countryside is not typically known for well-lit streets, and I’m wondering how the hell we’re going to see where we’re going.
“I hope you’re up for walking,” Damien says, pointing to a nearby hill that looks more like a mountain to me, and I stop dead, letting go of Damien’s hand.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say. “I can’t walk up that.”
I stare at the hill. I’m the leisurely strolling type, you know, down the flat streets of Stanton that involve little to no effort. Actually, I don’t walk anywhere, so I’m not sure what I’m talking about, but I’m definitely not the uphill struggle type. I suppress a laugh. If only I could say the same about the rest of my life.
“Yes, you can,” Damien insists, retaking my hand and dragging me along.
“It’s getting dark,” I remind him. “How are we gonna…?” Damien opens his rucksack and pulls out two torches, one of which he thrusts in my direction.
I reluctantly let Damien lead me, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and not falling flat on my face, but as I lift my head to look at the height, I’m hit with a sudden wave of nausea. I’ve never been afraid of heights, but considering the slope I’m climbing, today’s as good as any to add a new phobia to my already long list.
I take note of the excitement radiating from Damien, like a kid in a sweet shop, but I don’t see the appeal. It’s a hill. It’s walking. It’s not like we’re climbing Everest, although it feels like it to me. I stumble my way up, a little breathless as I try to keep up with Damien’s effortless speed. I stop for a minute, around halfway up, I reckon, before practically falling to the path in a desperate need of a rest. Damien doesn’t notice at first, continuing to walk ahead, but it finally clicks, and he turns back, sitting down next to me.
“You hanging in there?”
May I point out that Damien has an unfair advantage here? He’s physically fit. Although I’ll admit, I didn’t realise just how unfit I am until right now, and I’m wondering if inserting a little exercise in my life isn’t such a bad idea if only to build up a little stamina. I’m going to need it if I plan on keeping up with Damien.
“Please tell me,” I say, catching my breath, “that there’s a point to all this and we ain’t just walking for the hell of it.”
Damien chuckles. “I promise it will be worth it when we get to the top.”
“I’m not sure I can make it to the top.”
Damien climbs to his feet, grabbing my hands and dragging me up with him. “Do you think you can handle a piggyback?” he asks, referring to my no-touching deal.
I look at him, mulling it over. I guess I could give it a shot. It won’t be his hands touching me, just me leaning against his back. Surely, that won’t bring Adrian flashing to the surface. Except it’s completely irrelevant.
“You can’t piggyback me up there,” I state. “I’ll break your back.”
“I’ve carried heavier weights than you, trust me,” he argues. “Besides, you’re as light as a feather, but then you don’t eat enough.” I roll my eyes at that. “So, are you hopping on or not?”
I sigh, but as I glance up at the height still left to climb, the decision is made for me. I nod, and Damien slides the backpack around his body, wearing it across his front before bending down a little to let me hop onto his back. I wrap my arms around his neck, and I can’t help but plant a few kisses as he starts our ascent.
“That’s a little distracting,” he admits, though I can tell without looking he’s smiling.
“Sorry,” I say, though I’m not. “Couldn’t resist.”
Damien decides to show off, practically running the rest of the height, and I’m grateful for the lift. We reach the top within minutes, far quicker than if I had walked, and as I jump down from Damien’s back, that’s when I see exactly what Damien wanted me to see: the view.
“Wow,” I mutter.
The thousands of lights below make the scenery look like a black canvas covered in stars, reflecting in the lake as it glistens in the newly formed moonlight. I feel like I’m standing in the middle of a glitterball and it’s oddly beautiful.
“What a view,” I say.
“Worth it?” he asks, and I turn to see him pulling a blanket from his backpack and laying it on the ground.
“Almost.”
Damien sits on the blanket, standing his torch next to him, the light pointed towards the sky, and I join him, watching as he pulls several Tupperware boxes from the endless pit that is his backpack.
“You gonna pull a lamp from that bag too?” I joke.
“I was thinking more along the lines of a hat stand,” he says, confirming he understood my Mary Poppins reference.
I glance down at the food Damien’s prepared, noticing there’s far too much: sandwiches, sausage rolls, vegetable sticks, what looks like mini chicken bites or maybe cheese bites, fruit and breadsticks with a selection of dips.
“You expecting company?” I ask.
“Just tuck in.”
I oblige, picking up a breadstick and opting for the pink-coloured dip, though I’m not totally sure what flavour it is. Even when I taste it, I’m still not sure, other than it’s a little spicy. Damien picks up a sandwich, taking a healthy bite, and a comfortable silence falls as we eat and take in the view that little bit more.
