Unbreaking A Heart

Part One - Knots and Butterflies

1) Monday 30 July 2007

I hardly slept the entire night. A few times I managed to forget myself, half asleep half awake, kind of dream-thinking about what would happen when I came back ... when we'd be back together. Sometimes it even felt like it was real, that events where already taking place and I was really back ... with him. Still, I can't call it a dream, until that last part, when he embraced me, welcoming me back. The last part, when I was suddenly swept back to where I really was, with her, in our hotel bed. The butterflies I'd felt in my stomach during the dream disappeared and the knots that had been increasing day by day returned.

The flight back from Zante was horrible. It dragged on, yet, when the seat belt lights came on for landing, it felt like only seconds. The same for the train and taxi ride back. Finally – yet suddenly – Sarah and I were standing in the Dog, being welcomed by my mum. And then all of a sudden, Sarah was gone, because of something my mum said. I didn't really get it, because in the background I saw someone that made the knots in my stomach tighten so that I had to put all my effort into not collapsing on the floor. When my mum finally blocked my vision the tension decreased so that I could follow her up to the flat, where I allowed myself to fall down on the sofa while she fussed over me for the rest of the day.

At ten o'clock that night I excused myself and went to bed. I wasn't lying when I said I was tired after the holiday and the flight home. Still, I knew that I wouldn't really be going to sleep once in my bed. After undressing, I reluctantly took up my backpack and found my mobile phone. I'd left it switched off since the taxi arrived in the village, that day when I left him, running after us ... running after me. Hesitating, I sighed nervously before switching it on. I put it on the bedside table and sat down on the bed, dreading what I would see once the unread messages would start pouring in.

It didn't take long before the phone started vibrating. A few moments later it seemed to be finished and I slowly reached out for it. I paused before turning the screen to my face and prepared myself mentally for what I would see.

The first message was from the mobile company telling me I had a voice mail message waiting. I pressed the number and waited for the verdict.

"You have three new voicemail messages."

'Three? Not more?' I thought to myself.

"Message, left on 19 July at 5.38 PM ... Uhh, Craig, What the fuck? ..." I could hear John Paul's breathing but no more words were spoken before the message ended. I pressed to delete the message and put the phone back to my ear.

"Message, left on 19 July at 6.03 PM ... Craig ... What ... I ..." I was surprised when I heard the tone so abruptly signaling the end of the message. I listened to it again before deleting it and prepared for the last message.

"Message, left on 21 July at 10.07 PM ... Craig, it's me. So I guess you've switched off your phone. Anyway, I wanted to talk, but ..." I heard a short hesitation on the recording "Well, no worries. Bye."

I took in the softness of John Paul's voice, and exhaled as I decided not to delete that message. Cutting the call to the voice mail service I realised that I'd hardly been breathing while I listened to these messages. I went back to my text message inbox and deleted the one I'd just dealt with. There were a few more, mostly from my mum and sisters, wishing us a safe trip and telling us to enjoy ourselves. There was one from Darren, sent at 2.30 AM on the 22nd, telling me I'd missed a party, or something, but he'd clearly been drunk as his spelling was even worse than usual. There was none from John Paul.

I breathed a sigh of relief trying to let go of the tension I'd been building up, dreading what he'd say. I'd expected shouting or angry texts, or both, but instead, there were only these three uncertain, and calm voice mail messages. Yet, the knots remained, the dread I'd felt increasing. I took up the phone and found JP on the contact list. I inhaled as I pressed the green button and prepared myself for what he'd say when it was me, not my voice mail service, on the other end. I was taken aback when his voice mail service answered a second later. I quickly tried to think of what to say, but hung up before the beep to start recording the message sounded.

My heart was racing, but I managed to calm myself down and redialed the number. Now ready for the automated voice I tried to stay focused as I left my message.

"Hi John ... John Paul. I'm ... back. When can you meet me? Can't wait to see you! ..." I hesitated before adding, "Miss you!" I pressed the hash key and cut the call.

Putting the phone back on the bedside table and took the remote control for the little telly I kept in my room. I put it on VH1 and adjusted the volume before closing my eyes. It took a while before the knots in my stomach started loosening up and the butterflies reemerged. He was with me again.

2) Tuesday 31 July 2007

"Craig, wake up! You have to come down and help us in the bar."

I arose from my slumber at my mum's voice, still feeling tired. I checked my alarm and saw it was already 11.30. Why was she waking me up? It's not like they need a lot of staff for lunch on Tuesdays. I closed my eyes again and turned to face the wall, drifting off. It wasn't long before I was disturbed again by a loud banging on my door.

"Craig love, we really need you." My mum said as she opened the door and came inside. "Jack and I have to go to an all-day meeting with the brewery in Manchester, it's Darren's day off and Jake's not talking to me. Kris is coming in at 1, but I need you to hold the fort until then, and assist him until the evening shift starts."

I reluctantly opened my eyes and turned towards her. "Okay, give me 5 minutes. I'll take a quick shower and come down."

Fifteen minutes later I was stood at the bar, waiting for the first costumer to arrive. 'Why couldn't they just close the pub for a few hours?' I thought to myself in irritation. 'After all, it's only a Tuesday, and it's only gonna be that Leo Valentine until later today. I'd pay for the cans myself if he'd just drink at home!'

I felt my right pocket for my mobile and realised that I'd left it on the bedside table. I looked around the room, and contemplated what to do for a minute, before heading for the door to the flat. I was just about to open it when I heard the main door open. Turning, I said half-loudly: "Look, Leo, can ya..." I didn't get further before i realised it wasn't Leo Valentine. Into the bar came a small group of what could only be soldiers.

Ten hours later I was still working. Kris, I and from four o'clock, Mercedes, had been on our feet all day, serving the military men, past and present, who turned out to be celebrating yet mourning the end of something they referred to as Operation Banner. It wasn't until years later that I found out what that actually was all about. At ten o'clock, Jack and mum finally returned from Manchester, but they seemed so worn out after the day, that I refused their offer to take over, and it wasn't until closing time that I went upstairs to my room, butterflies in my stomach.

I went straight to the bedside table and picked up the phone before sitting down. There were twelve missed calls. I quickly saw that all of them were from Sarah, who'd eventually stormed into the pub around six o'clock and confronted me about not answering her calls. I'd managed to calm her down, explaining what had happened before I'd returned to the pint-pulling. Clearing the list of missed calls, the phone vibrated to signal that there were some text massages. There were seventeen unread ones, twelve from the voice mail service, four from Sarah, with four different versions of 'Why are you not picking up?'. Then there was one left, asking me to meet up.

The butterflies quickly evaporated and the knots were retied. It wasn't John Paul. It was Jake.

3) Wednesday 1 August 2007

I was having my favourite dream, the one with John Paul embracing me, spooning me, when I was interrupted. Yet, the interruption wasn't completely unpleasant. I felt hope and realised as I awoke why it was. My phone was vibrating silently, yet loudly, on the bedside table. Reaching for it, I felt excitement as I turned to read the name of the caller.

It was Sarah.

Disappointed I closed my eyes and dropped the phone on the bed, next to my right thigh. The vibration stopped, but started again a few seconds later.

It was her again.

Reluctantly I pressed the green button and placed the phone at my ear.

"Good morning," I hoped she didn't notice the flicker of hesitation before I continued, "my love. How are you today?"

I was surprised when I heard her crying.

"Sarah, what's wrong?" I asked her with concern. And yes, with guilt and fear.

"Craig ... I ... Can I come over? I need to see you ... I need to talk to you!" She muttered through her tears.

"Of course! Do you want me to come over?" I was quick to reply and ask.

"No!" She stated firmly, before continuing sobbing. "I'll be there in a bit."

I hurried to the bathroom, brushed my teeth and freshened up. I was pacing the floor in the room when she arrived. I embraced her, knots in my stomach.

"What's wrong?" I asked her, dreading the reply.

It wasn't what I'd feared. What she told me was the entire story of Leah's birth. That it was Amy who in fact was the baby's mother, and not their mum. That it had all been in the paper and that it was all Michaela McQueen's fault, that she'd sold the story. I calmly held her, allowed her to cry and told her that of course I forgave her for not telling me before.

Later, we had lunch. My mum gave har a good hug and told her not to worry about a thing, that all this with Amy and Leah was just regular family stuff and would be forgotten before we'd know it.

I have to admit that I felt a sense of admiration for my mum with how she dealt with Sarah. She was really sweet and although I'm sure she'd enjoyed the gossipy part of the story, she could also see the bigger picture.

After lunch we decided to go for a walk in the village. As we were walking through the pub, I heard a voice shouting, "Hey you!"

It was my girlfriend. She let go off my hand and walked towards John Paul's sister who was busy clearing glasses of the tables.

"How can you lot show yourselves after what happened?" She asked her angrily. "And where's your sister? I wanna have a word with her!"

"Oi! What do you mean?" Mercedes replied with similar spite, yet I could see that she was taken by surprise.

"What do I mean? Pretend like you don't know anything about what that witch did!" Sarah was not persuaded.

Mercedes looked like she was about to deck my girlfriend, so I stepped in and tried to calm things down.

"Merce, it's Michaela. She's sold Amy's story to the paper. We ... Sarah wants to talk to her."

"Craig!" Sarah was about to start shouting at me, but I gave her a look that made her back off.

"Do you know where she is?" I returned my attention to Mercedes.

"What do you mean? Don't you?" She replied dryly.

"Me? Why ... Why should I? It was my turn to be surprised.

"Didn't John Paul tell you?" She raised her left eyebrow. "They went backpacking around Europe together."

The knots in my stomach started loosening up. That was the reason John Paul hadn't returned my call. Still, they didn't disappear. 'Why didn't he leave a message telling me?' I kept on asking myself in my mind.

"No!" I hurried to reply before asking eagerly, "When are they coming back?"

"Dunno! They left last Sunday, and spoke about starting in France and then perhaps ending in Athens, depending on the money situation. Guess they'll last until Rome, if I know ´Chaela right" Mercedes replied. "I'd say they'll be back at the end of this week!"

The butterflies arrived before I fell asleep that night.

4) Thursday 2 August 2007

It turned out Mercedes knew her siblings quite well.

I was helping Darren in the pub when his phone rang, reminding me of the text message he'd sent me while I was on holiday. When he'd finished the call; I went over and asked him about it. He couldn't remember it, so I showed it to him.

"Oh, that one! Yeah, I must have sent it after the farewell party!" He replied.

"Which farewell party?" I prodded.

"You know, the one before they went away, you know." He must have noticed my confusion as he continued, "You know, your boyfriend and the little witch!" He chuckled at his own wit and I was too surprised to argue.

"Yeah, I remember now, John Paul asked me to say 'Hi!' or 'Goodbye!' or something – 'Give my regards!' he said, I think. Can't really remember exactly ... Sorry!"

"Which was it?" I asked irritably "Hello? Goodbye?"

"I don't know. You can ask him yourself. They're back!" Darren replied in a tone that told me to stop hassling him.

"What? How do you know?" I shouted.

"I'm psychic, mate!" He replied in a mock-mystical voice. "What do you think?" He picked up his mobile. "It was Mercedes, asking for the day off because of it. Which means that you must work her shift."

I was already out of the door before he finished that last sentence.

I ran all the way to the McQueen house. As I got nearer, the battle between the butterflies and the knots in my stomach escalated and I felt both delirious with excitement and nauseous with dread, and my steps got slower and slower. Still, I finally yet suddenly reached the house and before I hesitated I knocked on the door.

The door opened a few moments later. Realising right away that it wasn't him that answered the door, I rudely (I realise now) pushed past his sister Mercedes and entered the house.

"Where is he? I need to speak to him! Where's John Paul?" I asked as I looked at the people there.

It took only a moment for it to dawn on me that although all the McQueen women were present, the house was completely quiet apart from the whimper of Myra sobbing as she held her youngest daughter in her arms.

The knots of dread conquered as I repeated my question, barely whispering, "Where is John Paul?"