John's heart stutters—he knows from the area code that the caller can only be one of two people. And that means there's a fifty percent chance it's her, oh God maybe it's her, maybe she's gone back to her flat and sent Jimmy away and wants to talk to him—maybe she didn't want to wait for him to call her tomorrow like he'd promised and wants to sort things out with him—
"…hello?" John repeats. His voice sounds breathy and forced—too eager to come off as casual even to his own ears. He inhales deeply, attempting to not sound so desperate, and readjusts the phone from its awkward cradle between his chin and his jaw in order to hold it more firmly against his ear, like a lifeline.
"Hello… uh, is this John?"
John's heart sinks upon hearing the obviously male voice. He blinks down again at his caller ID, still illuminated on the phone's cradle in the otherwise dim room, and catches the full number this time instead of just the first few digits.
Ah.
It's not Rose's cell number, but it's still a number he still knows by heart.
"Wilf?" he asks, trying to not let his disappointment seep into his voice—it is good to hear from him too, after all, they haven't spoken since—
John swallows. "I— um… how are you?"
"Oh, fine… fine—I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"
"No, not at all… is everything alright?" he asks, voice rising in slight alarm. Was something wrong? What if… What if something happened to Rose? No—Wilf wouldn't have said he was fine. Rose must be fine. John exhales, the panic dissipating with his breath.
"Yes… and you? Is everything OK, John?"
There's something in Wilf's tone—something beyond casual—something compassionate and concerned, that makes John pause, almost startled. He's not quite sure why he finds Wilf's question so surprising. He's not sure what he was expecting at all from Wilf, in fact—might he be angry with John? Or disappointed? Or perhaps Rose hadn't told him anything at all. Maybe that's why Wilf sounds nearly sympathetic… maybe—maybe Wilf doesn't know about what happened between him and Rose?
It suddenly occurs to John that perhaps Rose wouldn't want to share the details of her personal life with her grandfather—maybe Wilf doesn't know anything about what happened at the chip shop last week. He lets out a breath as hope and a small bit of relief begin to uncoil from the tension in his posture—maybe he hasn't destroyed everything after all. But this thought soon twists back in on itself and settles, sickening and heavy, in his stomach. If Wilf doesn't know, and John doesn't say anything—well, that would be another deception, wouldn't it? This is exactly what brought him to this point to begin with: withholding something that the other person might want to know—and yet here he is, and the first, eager thought to come to his mind is to do the same bloody thing again. God, has he learned nothing at all? Unsettled, he runs a hand through his hair, and takes a deep breath.
But even so… now wouldn't be the time to discuss it with Wilf, would it? Particularly if Rose hadn't told him anything—maybe she doesn't want Wilf to know? Talking to Wilf about why Rose has distanced herself from him might only mess things up even more between them—and just when he has finally spoken with her and they've agreed to talk the next day. And maybe he's reading too much into this conversation to begin with—maybe Wilf does know. John hasn't elicited the reason for the phone call yet—maybe... maybe it's a not a friendly phone call after all.
Maybe Wilf is calling to tell him to come get his belongings which are still in his old room in Weardale, maybe he's calling to tell John to get them and never come back, and to stay away from Rose—to leave her to be happy with Jimmy. Jimmy... his jaw clenches at the thought of him. That stupid, handsy, possessive jerk...
No… it's not his place to say anything. Not yet. Not until he knows what Wilf wants to say to him. John sucks in another breath.
"Are you still there?" asks Wilf, startling John out of his thoughts.
"Of course! And everything's brilliant. Molto bene." He forces a smile as he stands alone in his cold dark kitchen. He catches his reflection and drops his grin, which looks strained and fake in the dull sheen of his stainless steel fridge. "What… um," he inhales deeply. "What can I help you with?"
"Ah… good, glad to hear you're doing well," Wilf says, and there's a momentary lull in the conversation, as if the older man is unconvinced. "I just—well, I'm just calling for some advice, if it's no bother, about the remote you gave me for Christmas. I'm having a bit of trouble getting it to click on the downstairs lights—I changed the batteries but nothing happens when I push the power button."
John exhales a small sigh, relieved that Wilf doesn't seem to be angry at him. That… that's good, isn't it?
"Might be a loose connection," John murmurs. "Did you want me to come up and take a look at it?"
There's a long pause as he waits what seems like an eternity for Wilf to respond. John inhales nervously, leaning against the kitchen wall, as his eyes skitter across the darkened, cold countertops of the empty room.
"Were… you planning on coming up here again? I'd hate to put you out of your way—"
John sighs. Wilf knows. Of course he knows—
"It's no bother at all, Wilf. Never a bother—truly," he says, the words coming out in a rush. "How about this weekend—Friday evening? Same time as usual?"
"That'd work fine." Wilf pauses again, and continues, his voice more careful and measured. "Rose won't be here… she's in London—"
"Yeah. I um… I saw her. Tonight, I mean… I saw her tonight. She was… she was out for a bite with a friend. Um… Jimmy. She—she's in classes here now."
Wilf clears his throat.
"Oh! That… that's good. I'm glad. I hope you… well, I hope she's settling in then."
"Yeah," John's breath catches on that that word and he takes a deep breath. "She seems to be, yeah."
There's another long pause.
"Well only if you don't mind, John—but I'll see you this weekend then. If anything comes up, or if you need anything—you let me know, OK?"
"Yeah," John whispers, forcing another unconvincing smile for the benefit of absolutely no-one, not even himself. "OK, Wilf. Thank you."
He clicks off the phone and replaces it on the charger. The little light on the phone fades down and once again he's standing in the relative dark of the kitchen, the faint glow that filters into the room from the entry light illuminating things only slightly. He stands in the kitchen a bit longer, arms crossed and staring at his reflection.
—
She doesn't call for the rest of the evening, of course, not that he expects her to—hopes, of course, but she hasn't contacted him unprompted since the chip shop, and he wouldn't expect her to now. Nonetheless, he checks to make sure the ring volume on his mobile is all the way up, and keeps it close at hand just in case. He spends the rest of the evening at his desk grading physics lab reports, trying not to think about her… and her with Jimmy… and remembering the boy's arm around her shoulders, his hand on the gentle curvature at the small of her back. He imagines his own hand there instead, how she'd surely lean in to his touch, how the movement of her hips would feel against his hand as she walks… then he remembers Jack's words about Jimmy 'staking his claim' and the concerned, almost sympathetic tone in Wilf's voice. He grits his teeth and messily shoves the lab reports off to a corner of his desk, dropping his head into his hands and wondering what the hell she sees in that punk.
After a dreamless sleep, he wakes the next morning not quite refreshed, his head buzzing with equal parts nervous energy and anticipation. This is the first time he's known that she wants to talk to him—in more than a week.
They hadn't agreed when he would call her to get the paperwork signed–and more importantly, notarized. He settles on 9am—historically, that's a good time to text her. She tends to be available around then—she's had her morning coffee and run any morning errands, but hasn't yet started her lessons. He nods to himself: 9am it is.
When the clock hits 8:58am, he takes a deep breath and reaches for his phone. He navigates to his favorites list on his phone and grins softly at her contact photo—he hasn't changed it, it's still the selfie he took of the two of them in front of the fireplace. He's struck by the way she's leaning into him, her cheek pressed to his own, her lips parted in a soft smile... just centimetres away from his own. His finger traces the contour of her cheek in the photo and he wonders what would have happened, had he turned his face towards hers, just a little more... he swallows at the thought, a frisson running down his spine and settling low and warm, deep in his belly.
He presses her number and smiles gently as the call begins to connect. He feels so different—so much lighter—from the last time he called her... this time, she's expecting him to call her... wanting him to call her.
This time, they'll get a chance to really talk.
He clears his throat as the phone begins to ring, brushing a hand through his hair as if she were there to see it—despite his best plans to the contrary, why does he never plan out what he's going to say to her ahead of time? After the third ring, he wonders if she's heard her phone buzz with his call—if she'll pick up at all.
After the fourth ring, it goes to voicemail.
"You've reached Rose, leave a message!"
He ends the call before the voicemail beeps—had she forgotten? Or maybe she wasn't expecting him to call until later? Not for the first time, he inwardly kicks himself for not clarifying when he should—
His phone interrupts his thoughts, chirping with an incoming text message and he smiles broadly—it's her, and she's—
sorry I'm in class right now
His brow furrows and he swallows down his surprise. He's happy she texted him back, of course, and so quickly, too… it's just... he used to know things like that about her schedule—when her lessons would be, what she'd be doing. He hadn't even known she'd started her classes this soon—let alone what exactly she was taking. When had she even started up with them? His mind races with questions best posed at a different time, and his fingers fly over the keypad to respond to her. He's momentarily tempted to revive an old joke they'd had about students and cell phones, as she'd once teased him about his own irritation as an instructor when students were distracted by their gadgets, but he hesitates. So much has changed between them, and there's no telling how she'd take that now… if she'd even know that was a joke at all.
No problem—want me to call back later?
There… that's a safer choice. As soon as he sends it, however, he's worried she'll say no—that she'll tell him she's changed her mind, that he should just send the paperwork along to her and she'll handle the matter on her own from here on out. And maybe he should have just said he was going to call back, or asked for a good time to call, or—
His train of thought is interrupted as the phone chirps in his hand again, and his eyes instantly and instinctively fix on the screen.
how about we meet at the bank at noon and get it signed by the notary then?
He smiles down at his phone, and quickly replies.
yes :)
—
He arrives at the bank early, pacing in front of the front desk, attempting a casual posture that he knows full well is undermined by his clenched shoulders, the tension winding through them so tightly that he feels like he might snap in two, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as if to brace himself. He runs over the plan in his head for what feels like the hundredth time that morning. First, he'd see Rose and smile, say hello. Simple enough, he can do that. Then maybe a hug?—or maybe not a hug—he'd have to play that one by ear, surely. Of course he'd ask her about her classes, and her flat. And he wouldn't mention Jimmy—no reason to give that pratany attention in the conversation. He'd make sure tell her about helping Wilf—she wouldn't mind that, would she?
… would she?
He stops his pacing as he realizes he's not certain. Hopefully not… but he should tell her. She should know, she should have a chance to let him know if she doesn't want him spending so much time at her home any longer. He wouldn't blame her, after all. It would break him but… she should have that chance. He owes that to her.
He swallows, trying to force himself away from that line of thinking and onto happier thoughts. Alright then… and after the paperwork was signed… maybe ask her to lunch? He swallows. Oh no. Maybe not lunch. Their last meal had been a disaster—maybe that would be moving too quickly. Coffee instead, perhaps? Maybe coffee. But coffee at noon? She usually only has a cup in the morning—he knows this, and she knows he knows this. Would that invitation annoy her, make her think he hadn't been paying attention, or doesn't care about her habits? Or… maybe her habits have changed now that she's studying and in school? She'd understand he just wants to spend time with her, wouldn't she? He sighs, exhaling slowly through pursed lips.
The front door chimes at 12:01pm, and he looks up, his breath catching as she walks in through a blast of cold air. She's wearing jeans and a brand new backpack, her hair down and tousled. He's frozen in place—she looks gorgeous, and her eyes flick up to meet his in a silent hello—which is just as well since he's just forgotten everything he'd planned on saying anyway. They stand like that, eyes locked and perfectly still, until he realizes the door is still open and looks up to see Jimmy there too, standing right behind her, literally letting a chill into the room with his very presence. He can feel the blood rising to the tips of his ears and it suddenly feels very warm in the bank lobby. Bloody hell, can't that boy leave her alone for a single minute? Or maybe… he thinks, maybe she asked him to come? His breath catches at the thought—would she have wanted Jimmy there? She'd said she missed him… they'd agreed to talk, hadn't they? He flicks his eyes from Jimmy and gazes questioningly back at Rose, who is watching him with wide eyes. There's something unreadable in her expression, something that strikes him as almost apologetic, and he's seen that look before—when she'd hurt her knee on the draglift in Weardale and they'd had to cut his lesson short. And he knows without a shadow of a doubt in that moment that Jimmy must have invited himself along. They hold each other's gaze for a long moment, while Jimmy stands a metre away, arms crossed and staring sullenly at John.
"Hey," she whispers.
"Hi," John says.
"Thank you for setting up—"
"Thank you for—"
They say, tripping over each other's words, and he chuckles, looking up at her.
"Any time, Rose," he murmurs, and her eyes drop and she gives a half-smile as he says her name.
They stand there, half-looking at each other and half-looking at the floor for a long moment. John clears his throat. What was he going to ask about? He begins to panic at the blankness of his mind until he notices her backpack. Of course—classes. He smiles warmly at her and nods at her backpack.
"What classes are you taking?"
She shrugs. "Just some basic classes, it's nothing much… English, maths, you know," she says, ducking her head.
He's about to tell her that it's not nothing much, that it's brilliant and she's brilliant, and that he's so, so proud of her when the bank notary comes out into the lobby and calls them back into her office.
Everything in the office is posh and expensive—imposingly so—with a large, glossy mahogany desk surrounded by several oversized plush chairs. The notary is a well-dressed young woman with a serious face who settles down primly behind her desk, clasping her manicured hands in front of her and nodding to each of them to sit down. Rose settles in to one of the chairs and gives the notary a small smile. John gently grins over at her, noting that the chair she chose is upholstered with small damask roses, and despite the awkwardness between them, he is just about to remark on this just to share something—anything—lighthearted between them again when—
"I'm fine standing," says Jimmy from the doorway, and John can't help rolling his eyes slightly as he takes a seat himself, although Rose doesn't seem to notice his reaction.
John pulls the patent papers out of his jacket pocket and Rose reads through the document, signing at the bottom of each page as the notary observes her. On the back page, John motions for Rose to sign, and adds his signature next to hers as her agent, then hands the packet back to the notary.
"We'll review the paperwork to make sure everything is in order and then submit it to the patent office by the end of business today. The charge will be £100," the woman says, as she stamps the signature page with her notary seal.
He hears Rose gasp and feels her eyes fly instantly towards him. He gives her a quick, reassuring grin in return as his heart begins to race—he'd forgotten about the fee. But she needn't worry.
He leans forward in his chair, hands clasped confidently before him on the desk and flashes a self-assured grin at the woman. It could be his imagination, he thinks, but Rose seems to look away, her head turning away from him. "I'm a client here," he says.
The notary smiles back, nonplussed. "I know, sir. That's a discount from the £150 we charge non-clients."
"Is it due today? The whole amount?" Rose asks, leaning forward with her brows drawn together, and for the very first time since entering the office she looks decidedly uncomfortable.
"Yes, I'm afraid so," the notary says gently.
John sucks in a breath and nods. This is his fault—yet another thing that is his fault, as if he hadn't yet assembled a varied and extensive collection of cock-ups already. Dammit, even when he tries to help her he ends up hurting her—maybe she'd be better off without him. Maybe she'd even be better off with Jimmy of all people.
He swallows.
No.
No.
He'll fix this. He has to fix this. He quickly calculates how much he'll have left in his own account after paying his rent for the month and nods at the notary. "OK, just take it from my savings."
Rose's head pops up, alarmed.
"No, you can't—"
"It's no problem, Rose."
"I'll pay you back—I can even pay part now, I just need to get to the cashpoint—"
"Why don't you wait 'til after your money comes in when we sell the patent, how about that? It's really no bother at all. I promise."
She pauses and considers this—and John's heart continues to race, half convinced she's going to say no, that she wants to leave here and be done with him. As done as she can be with him until the patent sells, anyway. He glances up at Jimmy in the doorway to find the boy's eyes are trained on Rose, expectant and waiting, and the notary looks down politely at the packet and flips through the paperwork, clearly attempting to give them time to resolve this.
Finally, after a long moment, Rose looks up at him, her eyes guarded, and nods slowly. John hears a sigh, almost a hiss, of exasperation and looks up at Jimmy, who for once is not glaring at him… he's glaring at Rose.
"Splendid," the notary says, with a bright smile. She rises from her chair and ushers them out the door and back towards the front lobby.
As they reach the entrance, Rose shrugs on her backpack. Jimmy continues to stand there sullenly—and my God does that boy only have one expression? John ignores the boy, turning his back towards him, and instead focuses his attention on Rose, who meets his gaze with raw sincerity.
"I couldn't have done this without you… I wouldn't have even thought of patenting this. Thank you."
"You don't need to thank me, of course I'll help you. Anytime." His voice nearly catches on the swell of emotion rising in his chest.
There's a pause and her eyes drop to the floor. His heart stutters as he realizes she's most likely about to leave, to turn around and walk out the door, and away from him—again. His mouth goes dry and his mind races as he remembers the way he felt when she ran off from the chippy without a second glance back at him. But she's still here, she's not moving away from him yet… and there's something he'd planned on saying, wasn't there? There's something he's forgetting, something important he wanted to say, that she needed to hear, but it's escaped his mind and… Wilf!
"Wilf… um," he says as her head darts up at the mention of her grandfather's name. "He… he said he was having problems with the remote I gave him for Christmas. I told him I would—well, if it's ok with you, I mean—I told him I would come up this weekend. To fix it."
"Yeah," she whispers. "'Course it's ok with me."
"I just… I just didn't know if—" and he's lost for words and she's just standing there staring at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence, and oh God she's not going to make him say it, is she? In front of Jimmy who is staring daggers at him, in front of everyone in this bustling lobby with the door several metres away from them, blasting cold air at them every time someone opens it, and he can't think and—
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she takes a step closer to him. Even without him saying it, the soft expression in her eyes tells him that she knew what he meant, what he would have said if he could.
"John, you're one of my best friends, yeah? And you have done so much for me, you—" she falters as he takes a step in towards her, wanting to just be near her. "No—no, let me finish, ok? You've done so much for me and I've meant everything I've—"
She takes a breath, dropping her eyes. "You never need to ask. Doesn't matter when. Anytime you want, you just let me or gramps know, and you go up there, ok? You're always welcome. Always."
She raises her eyes again and her gaze is serious, steady. He nods quickly, almost dumbly, in response, and her eyes soften at his silent agreement. Any response is caught in his throat as she stands there, looking as if she's unsure as to whether to take a step towards him or to pull away from him. She starts to inhale a long breath, and he's not sure whether she's going to say something else—maybe goodbye, hopefully not goodbye, not yet—and why can't hethink of a single thing he'd so carefully planned on saying?
"Let's go," Jimmy says, interrupting his thoughts. John looks up at him to find Jimmy staring at him with his typical brooding glare—no surprise there. John doesn't respond to him at all, and instead looks back down at Rose, his gaze tender.
"I'll text you later, ok?"
"Yeah," she says, her face relaxing slightly with a small, tentative smile. John can't explain it even to himself, but it feels like a weight has been lifted from him, almost like they've reached some sort of a wordless understanding. It's not quite a clear way forward, not yet, but it's more progress than he's made in a week and he smiles at her in earnest, grateful to at least have come this far.
"C'mon Rose, I'm starving," Jimmy says, opening the door and letting in another blast of arctic chill, his eyes trained on John the whole time. By his motion, John gets the impression that the boy had expected Rose to turn heel and come directly to his side: but instead, Rose stays still, looking at John for a moment longer. Jimmy's gaze flicks over to her, questioning at first, but then hardening. He glares back at John with something more than his usual sneer—something almost cruel.
"I'd really love some chips. There's a chippy near your school, not far off, isn't there?" Jimmy finishes.
Jimmy's voice remains deceptively light, but his glare spits out the last words like a challenge at John's feet, and John's smile drops as Jimmy's words register. A smirk rises on the boy's face, but John's first thought is of Rose. He looks back down at her and finds her eyes trained on the floor, her smile gone. She swallows.
"Yeah. Best get going," she whispers, and before he can even register what's happened she's out the door, walking away from him.
The door closes behind them, and John stands still, watching them as they walk together down the street.
