Wendy Jones - The Summer We Loved

He turned to the man, busy struggling in his grip, the contemptible bully now squirming on his knees. “She doesn’t want to go out with you any more,” he said. “So leave. Now. And don’t ever think of coming back. She won’t be seeing you again.” He let the man go, pushing him away and then stood between him and Jen, who was by now busy picking herself up off the floor. Pete stood his ground as the man looked from one to the other. “Isn’t that right, Jen?” he called back.

Her voice was shaky, but adamant. “Yes.”

The man shot one last dirty look towards him and then, rubbing his hand and swearing under his breath, he turned and stomped away.

Pete turned around to Jen and noticed she was shaking. “Are you okay?” he asked. Her frightened eyes looked back at him, like a child’s. He quickly shrugged out of his suit jacket and placed it around her shoulders. It swamped her and something about that picture appealed to him, making his heart quiver. “Come with me.”

He walked with Jenny to a bench he spotted further down the lawn; it was tucked into a border of high flowers, partially obscuring it from view. He sat her down and then, sitting next to her, he tried to talk some sense into her. “Let me see your wrist.”

Jenny was reluctant, so he carefully reached down and took it. Pink marks were rising all around it, making Pete’s scalp prickle with anger. This girl loved attention. That much he did know about her. Surely she didn’t have to put up with scumbags like that just to get it? “Why did you go out with him?” he asked.

“He seemed like a nice guy… at first,” she told him. “Only yesterday he told me he thought he was falling in love with me.”

Pete pointed at her wrist, now cradled back in her lap. “This isn’t love, Jen,” he said. He was trying to sound calm, although every fibre in his body was screaming.

Her reply was a soft, barely audible, “No.”

He turned to face her, willing her to understand. “You’re a gorgeous woman, Jen. Why haven’t you found yourself a good man yet? You’re stunning and kind and fun. So what is it? Am I missing something? Because from where I’m sitting, I can’t see anything to complain about.”

Her expression was turning misty. Big, round, emotional eyes poured into him, penetrating deep into his guts. Adrenaline flared again. What did she want from him? No. He didn’t do this. He was no good at emotional. He wanted to run from the need he saw in her then. He had said too much. Damn, but how to get himself out of this now? He had only been trying to settle her, to reassure himself that she was all right. That was all. He could do fun, he could do pleasure; emotions were off limits for him.

Pete stood up and searched for some means of escape. With relief, he noticed Soph and her boyfriend hurrying towards them.

“Guys.”

“I know. We saw everything. How are you, Jen? Did that bastard hurt you?”

Pete remembered to breathe and gratefully seized the opportunity to get away. “You’ll be all right now?” he asked her.

Soph put her hand on Jen’s arm. “We’ll take care of her.”

“Great.” What else could he say? Those mysterious grey eyes, now pink-rimmed with tears, looked up at him from the bench. They were studying him, as if they could see inside his soul. Like they could read every thought in his head. He needed to run.

Pete did his best to smile and then made for the cover of the party. Now what he needed was a shag. He needed escape. Mindless sex to take him away from all that was closing in on him.

He searched the dance floor. Who was still available?

*

That was where it had all begun, according to Pete, anyway. Jenny sat at her writing desk and tried to remember the order of things. She wanted to tell the story exactly as it had happened and had interrogated Pete long and hard (or that was how he had seen it) to this effect. She wanted to show how it had really been, not just how people had seen it. It was important. She had to get this right.

Jenny looked up at the paperwork from the hospital, pinned to the notice board in front of her desk. She was on a tight schedule. If she was to get this all down in time, she was going to have to push herself.

She opened up her laptop and logged in. Listening to the hustle and bustle of life outside her window, Jenny let her mind wander back to a time when she had been less contented and she searched for a place to begin. In the end, she decided on five years later, after Pete’s return to her life. That was where her story would open, because that was when the pining had stopped and action had set in motion the storm that swept in…

I saw him again today, standing there, leaning against the wall. A set of notes hung casually in his hands, as he talked with the nurse whose patient he’d come to see. Did he see me? I don’t think so. He looked, but I don’t think he saw. His smile, as always, lit up the corners of my heart, but nothing was said, not to me. He must have asked out every nurse in the hospital at some point, either when he was here before, or since his return, but he never wanted me, not any more.

Am I that unattractive? Is it his reluctance to want me that’s making me think about him all the more? I hope not. I hope I’m not that shallow; maybe I am. Kate seems convinced there’s a decent guy lurking inside there, just waiting for someone to help him break out and I have to hope that she’s right. Because I saw something in his eyes the day of the wedding, just for a moment. It may be buried a long way down, but I can hear its voice.

Jenny’s brow crinkled as she let out a deep sigh and bit down on the end of her pen.

Whilst before he used to treat me like a little sister, now he barely acknowledges me. So here I remain, in limbo, waiting for him to notice me. And not in that wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am way he does with most women, but with something more, something deeper. I’m not a fool. I know that if he’d ever had any intentions romantically towards me he would have acted on them by now, but that is my hope, and for now, hope is all I have.

Putting her diary back in the drawer, Jenny slumped back down onto her bed. One of her friends had remarked once that her love life was rather akin to the rhyme for King Henry VIII’s wives: ‘Forgot to get divorced, should have been beheaded, lied, forgot to get divorced, should have been beheaded’ and now she was determined to survive. No more married men conveniently forgetting to tell her about their other halves; no more players. No one. She was through casting her net and coming up with jelly fish: all softness and beauty on the surface, but with barbs that stung you underneath. What she needed now was all or nothing. Love. Deep, meaningful, overwhelming love that took hold of you by the guts and dared you to feel the pain. Love that sucked you in and devoured you whole, while releasing you to evolve into something bigger, something… wonderful. Until that happened, she was not going to fall again.

Jenny hugged Mr Rochester, her old, worn, and much-loved teddy bear, to her chest. For now he was going to have to be enough. And she turned out the light and settled down to sleep.

At ten o’clock the next morning, Flis appeared at the kitchen door for breakfast. She was also on a late.

“Lover boy not eating with us this morning, then?” Jenny asked.

Flis shook her head. “He’s got a meeting in London today, so he didn’t stop over.”

“Anything important?”

“I’m not sure. He was a bit cagey last night, but I’ve got a feeling it might be a promotion.”

Jenny looked up from her cereal. “Do you think he might have to move there?”