Noah and Me Page 3

  “Kieran,” I tell her.

  She turns and raises her eyebrows at me.

  “No,” I say. “He’s just helping us to get our stuff in the car.”

  “I thought you had a rule,” she says.

  “I do.”

  “But you’re seeing him again?”

  “Yes,” I say, “but I’m not having sex with him again. Therefore, I’m not breaking the rule.”

  She walks over to the window and leans her face against the cool pane of glass. “Does he know about the rule?”

  I stick my tongue out at her behind her back. “I told him he wouldn’t get to tap my ass again, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Ariel,” she says with a sigh. “I know for a fact that you didn’t say that to him. Especially in those words.”

  I shrug. “I told him I wouldn’t sleep with him again.”

  She turns and opens her mouth, but whatever she was about to say doesn’t come out. I stare at her and then slowly turn towards the door where Kieran stands with his arms folded across his chest.

  “Oh, hey, Kieran,” I say, getting up off the bed. “How long have you been standing there?”

  He sighs and slowly shakes his head. “Long enough to know that I’m not going to tap your ass again.”

  I laugh and walk over to him. “I already told you that.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You did.”

  “See?” I say, turning back around to Ruby. “Told you so.”

  Ruby clearly isn’t happy. “Did she tell you that she’s done this for six whole years? Did she tell you that she’s slept with a shitload of men but that she’s only slept with each of them once? Did she tell you that there’s a long line of men like you that keep coming back, time and time again?”

  I mouth the word ‘sorry’ at Kieran and turn around to face Ruby. “Enough,” I say. “That’s not fair.”

  She clicks her tongue and then turns her attention back to him. “Did she tell you about the deal she made with me?”

  I huff and tap my foot against the hardwood floor.

  “Maybe,” says Kieran slowly.

  My back is to him, but I know he’s frowning. If I were facing him, I’d see his eyes flicking between Ruby and me. He’s sweet. Too sweet for me.

  Ruby rubs her hands together in excitement and steps forward. “I’m allowed to tell every guy she meets about her little arrangement. She’s not allowed to be embarrassed about it while she’s still doing it. When she meets a man who she doesn’t want me to spill the beans to, then we know he’s the one.” Ruby shrugs her shoulders and smirks at me. “But I’ll probably have told him by then anyway, so the vicious little circle will continue. And Ariel will die a sad, lonely old woman surrounded by cats.”

  Kieran screws his face up. “She already told me, Ruby.”

  “She did?” Ruby sounds surprised.

  “Yup, but if you want my opinion—”

  “I don’t,” I interrupt. “Let’s go.” I shove my bag into his chest.

  “She’ll bonk me again,” he tells Ruby confidently as I push him out into the hallway.

  “I won’t,” I say. “Especially not now.”

  “Why not now?” he asks, sounding interested.

  I giggle and guide him towards the staircase. “Because you said ‘bonk.’”

  Chapter 5

  THEN

  The Funeral

  The car rolls to a smooth stop. I wad up my disintegrated tissue in my hands, watching bits of it fall onto my black dress, and sniff. It hasn’t really felt real until now, but as I look out the window and see the blurry sea of sad eyes staring at me, it suddenly becomes breath-stoppingly real.

  The door is pulled open and a pallbearer ushers me out. I don’t even hear what he says, I just see his white-gloved hand and I take it. He pulls me out and taps my arm.

  “This is the hard part,” he whispers.

  I want to tell him that he has absolutely no idea, but I can’t because my heart has just jumped into my throat, blocking any words from spilling out. The other pallbearers pull out two large oak coffins from the first car, two medium-sized coffins from the second car and then they pull out a tiny white coffin that they place in my arms. I hold it like a baby…like I used to hold her.

  Oh, Lily. I’m so sorry.

  Tears stream down my face as they line the coffins up in front of the church. No one is staring now. The sea of sad eyes has moved inside. Now it’s just me. And my family. For the very last time.

  The two wooden doors are thrown open from the inside by an old woman, and I hear the first song begin to play. Because I’m burying my parents, my two brothers and my baby sister, they let me pick songs for all of them. I think they felt sorry for me. Then again, who else was there to do it?

  The first song is for my parents. It’s Sarah McLachlan’s “In The Arms of An Angel” and it floats peacefully through the speakers as we begin our walk down the aisle.

  My parents enter first. Some people place white roses, my mother’s favourite, onto the coffins, and others kiss their fingers and then touch them as they go by. I want to tell them to stop touching my mum and dad.

  I can hear people sobbing. Some are crying and wailing loudly and I want to tell them to shut up because they’re ruining my parents’ song.

  The pallbearer nods to the eight guys in front of me, and then the song changes to Green Day’s “When September Ends.” My brothers, Caleb and Daniel, were big fans and I know that they loved this song.

  I see some of their friends from school, dressed in their uniforms with tears filling their eyes. My sobs get caught in my throat and I do that weird wet-sounding stuttering noise. My parents had lived their lives, I guess some would say, but my brothers were just twelve and nine. Cruel doesn’t cover it.

  When they’re halfway down the aisle and my parents have been positioned at the altar, I get the nod. My cheeks feel hot and cold at the same time. My toes are numb and my hands are shaking, but I’m not sure if it’s because of the winter storm whipping across the North Yorkshire Moors or because of the devastating reality that I’m about to commit my whole family to the ground.

  I take a deep breath and stagger down the aisle. I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d decided to have a private funeral. A family-only event. Seeing as how I’m the only family left, it would have been just me. And God.

  I see shocked, pale faces everywhere I look. I see nods of sympathy and stares of sadness. I see my fourteen-month-old baby sister’s coffin in my arms and hear the song I picked for her, and then I see nothing because I’m blinded by my own tears. Why does this song seem louder than the others? Is it because she’s smaller and needs it louder so that she can hear? Art Garfunkel’s “Bright Eyes” booms out from the speakers and fills the church so that no one can hide or escape from it. Or from what’s happening.

  I walk slowly down the aisle and I can’t help but think that this is wrong. The only time I should be walking down the aisle is when I’m walking towards my soon-to-be husband or following a bride. I shouldn’t be carrying Lily to her own funeral. I shouldn’t be bringing any of them here.

  I don’t know how my legs have done it, but they’ve carried me to the altar. The vicar nods at me and takes Lily’s coffin from my arms. I want to pull her back. I want to tell him that he can’t have her.

  He gently leads me by my arm, directing me to the first pew. It’s empty. We were only a small family and now there’s just me. I slump down onto a seat, picking up the order of service and staring straight ahead. I think I’m in shock. I know I’m here and I’m wearing the right clothes and acting the right way, but I still can’t believe that I’m actually here, saying goodbye to five people that were my whole world.

  An hour later, we walk out to the music of Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman. They’re singing about it being time to say goodbye, but it’s not time. It’s too soon. With aching eyes and a gaping hole in my chest where my heart should be, I follow the coffins out of the church an
d into the graveyard that’s littered with old, withering tombstones, some dating back nearly four hundred years.

  As I step onto the grass, Bernard, the landlord from the local pub, taps my arm.

  “I’m so sorry, Ariel,” he says sincerely.

  I nod.

  “And I’m sorry about Michael too.”

  My eyes flash up to him. “Why?” I hiss. I didn’t mean to hiss. It just sort of fell out of my mouth. I see the shock and confusion flash across his face. “Why aren’t you sorry about my parents, or Caleb and Daniel, or Lily?”

  At this moment, the sky suddenly darkens and the biggest, softest snowflakes that I’ve ever seen begin to drop from the sky, quickly covering us in a white blanket. I guess God is pissed off with me for being rude. Well, tough, God. You haven’t exactly played fair these last few weeks.

  Bernard looks up at the sky, blinking, and then looks back at me. “He’s your twin,” he says.

  “Doesn’t change anything,” I fire back. We step over the softer ground where the recently buried now reside and head towards the big, rectangle-shaped hole.

  He frowns. “Still…” he says slowly, “I’m sorry about Michael.”

  I take a deep breath in and blow it out through my lips. “I hope Michael rots in Hell,” I tell him.

  He says nothing back to that. I guess he agrees, despite the fact that he just told me he was sorry. I think that’s called being polite.

  People gather around me and the hole, and then the vicar steps forward at the same time that the pallbearers begin lowering the coffins.

  “We commit these bodies to the ground,” he says.

  I watch in absolute horror as my parents leave me.

  “Earth to Earth,” he continues.

  My two brothers follow them.

  “Ashes to Ashes.”

  Lily joins them. As she disappears, she drags me down with her.

  “Dust to Dust.”

  My heart slams into my stomach with such intensity that my knees begin to shake and buckle. I drop to the cold, wet ground and place my hands out in front of me. My body is shaking uncontrollably as the sobs shudder through my entire body. Snot falls from my nose and dribbles over my lips. I don’t wipe it away, and I don’t try to rein in my wails. I know I sound like an injured animal, but that’s what I am. I’m all alone in this cruel, horrible world and I hate it. I hate that I’m out here. I should be with them.

  I stop feeling and thinking and just imagine that I’m in a coffin, that I’m asleep and everything is okay. We’re together and we’re happy.

  The snow is dropping so heavily out of the sky that it’s started to melt on the top of my head. It’s bone-chillingly cold. Too cold. It’s reminding me of that night. The night I wished had never happened. The night my brother took everything away from me.

  “You’ve been drinking,” Jandy whispers as she comes to stand next to me, squeezing my shoulder to let me know that she’s there for me.

  Jandy is my godmother and she was also my mum’s oldest friend. She runs the charity shop in York for Cancer Research UK, and mum and me always made sure we found the time to help her out. Mum loved her like a sister.

  “I had to,” I say, staring ahead. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the whiskey.”

  “Don’t let this be the end of your life, Ariel,” she says. “Don’t let this destroy you. They wouldn’t want that.”

  No, I think, they probably wouldn’t.

  People have started to walk away now that it’s done. Finished. Over. Just like the lives of my family.

  “Stay strong, sweetheart,” Jandy says, cupping my face in her hands. “I’ll check on you in a few days.” She kisses me on the cheek as fresh tears start to spill down her face. She hugs me and then turns away from me to leave.

  There’s no wake. I couldn’t face it. More people come up to me and say things. I’m sure they’re nice things, but I don’t hear them. I barely see them. And then I’m alone. This is how it is now. No family. No brother. And no future.

  Nothing.

  I should have died.

  I want to die.

  It’s all I can think about.

  How can I do it? What’s the quickest way?

  Chapter 6

  NOW

  Move-In Day

  It’s only a three-hour drive from the university to our new life, but it feels like thirty hours as I pull into our underground car park. Ruby has moaned and complained the whole time I was driving. I’m ready to flick her forehead or something.

  “I can’t believe the automatic key card actually worked,” she mutters, holding it up and twirling it through her fingers.

  “Of course it worked.” I laugh and switch off the engine, stretching out my arms. “It’s York, Ruby. It’s a pretty big city and things do actually work outside of Manchester, you know.”

  “It looked tiny from the top of that bloody big hill we just drove over.”

  I sigh and pull my jacket from off the back seat before sliding it on. Winter in York is not going to be pretty. “Manchester wasn’t exactly Los Angeles, was it?”

  She shrugs. “I just have a bad feeling about this place.”

  “Your bad feelings never mean anything,” I remind her. “Now stop being childish and grumpy and let’s get our stuff up to our new home.”

  She shivers. “I’m not being grumpy. I’m cold. It’s at least four degrees colder up here. I don’t know how you lived on those Moors for all of your life.”

  I decided to take the top road into York while avoiding the narrow, winding road where my family lost their lives. Going that route also gave Ruby a brief glimpse of the Yorkshire Moors before we drove over the river then passed by the York Minster, the old city wall and Jandy’s charity shop. To say she hated it would be an understatement.

  “I’m starting to wish you’d gotten a nursing job in London,” I mutter.

  She grins and throws her empty water bottle at me. “Shut up and hurry. I’m going to wet myself if I don’t get to a toilet in the next five minutes.”

  “You went an hour ago,” I almost laugh.

  “I drank two cups of coffee.”

  “Who does that?” I ask, getting out of the car. “Who goes on a long journey and drinks a load of diuretics?”

  “Me,” she says over the top of the car. “Now let’s go.”

  I’m leaning against the doorframe of our new apartment, waiting for Ruby to finish what has turned out to be the longest wee in history, when two men come up the stairs. My eyes do a quick sweep over them as they round the corner. Sweaty, fit and hot. I quickly ruffle my fingers through my long, blonde hair and wipe underneath my eyes.

  “Fuck me,” calls Ruby.

  I should turn around and give her some sort of signal to stop talking, but I don’t.

  “That was the longest piss in history. I had time to sit and think about how much better value a tampon is compared to a sanitary towel.” I hear water running in the sink.

  The men both stop talking about rowing machines and look up at me. I grin at them as they stare at me in confusion.

  “And what did you decide?” I call back without breaking eye contact.

  “That the risk of getting thrush and toxic shock syndrome also needs to be considered before making a final decision.”

  One of them pulls a funny face.

  “And which do you think is more likely to give you thrush?” I ask.

  “Depends,” she says, turning the tap off, “on whether you’re a dirty bitch.”

  I giggle. Ruby throws the door of the bathroom open and steps into the hallway. I half turn and smile at her.

  “And how is one a dirty bitch?”

  Ruby’s jaw drops as she stares at the tall, blonde guy who just decided to join in our conversation. The tanned, dark-haired man steps closer to me and grins.

  Ruby takes a deep breath. I’m not quite sure what she’s going to say. Normally she goes for shock and awe, but these guys are hot. I’m guessing
she’ll want to impress them on some level and not put them off women for the rest of their lives.

  “You’re a dirty bitch if you don’t change your sanitary towel often enough,” she states.

  Shock and awe it is.

  The blonde guy, who reminds me of Barbie’s boyfriend, Ken, smiles and folds his arms across his chest. “Is that a medical term?”

  “Yes,” says Ruby, sticking her chin out at him.

  He unfolds his arms and offers her his hand. “I’m Owen. And I’m a gynaecologist at York Hospital. I’m more than happy to discuss the pros and cons of tampons and sanitary towels with you.”

  Ruby doesn’t flinch. “Ruby,” she says, shaking his hand. “And I’ve just moved here from Manchester. I’m starting work as a nurse in the A&E department of York Hospital on Monday. I’m more than happy to talk about any part of the human body, as I’ve not dedicated myself to a specialist field. And if you ask me, a male gynaecologist is a little bit pervy.”

  I was with Ruby on this one. If I had a problem down there, I would be mortified to find Mr Handsome with his head between my legs. In any other situation, it would be fine because he’s young, attractive and undoubtedly rich. I check out his hand. No ring. Then again, I’ve learned the hard way that it doesn’t necessarily mean no wife.

  He grins and then turns to me. “And you?” he asks.

  “Ariel,” I say, taking his hand. “I’m starting at the hospital on Monday too.” I shrug and lean back against the doorframe as the guy next to me rests his arm above my head. “And I’m a midwife so I’ve seen lots of vaginas and sanitary towels. We should compare notes.”

  He grins and then nods at the other guy, who looks like he’s a Greek or Italian god. “This is Ben.”

  I glance at him and let my eyes trail down his perfectly sculptured body. His tight white t-shirt is covered in a V-shaped sweat mark all down the front, his muscular arms poke out through rolled-up sleeves and his shorts are, well, very short. “Nice to meet you, Ben,” I say, shaking his hand. “And what is it that you do at the hospital?”