“I wish I was with you. I’m so sorry I’m not.” I chastise myself for this whole time apart thing.
“When are you coming to the UK?” I ask.
“I’ve chartered the jet for a midnight flight. I’ll be there early evening your time.”
“Where is the funeral being held?”
I have no clue where Jake’s dad has been for the last seventeen years.
“Manchester. In two days. I’m arranging it. There’s no one else to do it.”
“Leave it to me. You don’t want to be doing it, baby.”
“It’s okay, I mean Stuart’s helping–“
“I want to help.”
“Okay … um … speak to Stuart see what he needs.”
“I will … so should I meet you in Manchester?”
“No, I’m coming to London first. I need to see you … and the funeral's not ‘til Friday … is it okay if I stay with you at your place? I just–”
“Jake, you don’t even have to ask, I want you here. And the funeral, do you want me to come with you?”
I don’t want to presume he’ll want me there. I don’t want to presume anything at the moment.
“I can’t do it without you.”
“Then I’m there. It’s you and me now, Jake. And what about your mum? Is she coming to the funeral?”
“No.” His tone is curt.
It’s understandable why Susie wouldn’t want to go, but I thought she would to support Jake.
“Okay,” I say, unsure what to say right now.
There’s a pause between us before Jake speaks again.
“I need you, Tru.” I can hear his ragged breathing down the line.
“I’m here. I’m always here for you.”
“I know it’s late there, but will you stay on the phone with me?”
“Of course I will. So what do you want to talk about?”
“You and me. Our future. What we’re going to do together.”
“You mean you want me to talk about that house we’re going to build on an island in the Maldives that belongs just to us, and we’re going to live off the land like a pair of castaways.”
“I love you, Trudy Bennett.”
“And I love you, Jake Wethers.”
“So tell me more about this island?”
And I do. I stay on the phone with Jake until the sun rises, and it’s time for him to catch his flight to London.
I shower, dress, force a little bit of breakfast down, and then head into work taking the Tube.
I’m tired. I’ve had little sleep, but I couldn’t sleep at the moment if I tried, I’m too worried about Jake.
Vicky beams brightly at me when I knock on her open door, then I watch as her face drops when she sees mine.
“What’s the matter, my darling?” she asks worried, getting out of her chair, coming over to me.
“Jake’s dad died.” My voice wobbles and I know I’m set to cry any minute now.
I’m not upset about Paul dying – not at all. I’m upset because Jake is.
I can feel his pain like it’s my own even though there’s an ocean between us.
He hurts. I hurt.
“Oh, sweetness.” She puts her hands on my arms, looking searching into my face. “How is Jake doing?”
I shrug. “He hadn’t seen his dad in a long time. They had a ... difficult relationship … but honestly, I think it’s hit him pretty hard.”
“Come, let’s sit.” She guides me over to the little sofa in her office.
“I’m really sorry to do this to you again, Vicky … but I need to take some time off to be with Jake. He’s flying in today, and the funeral is in Manchester on Friday. Of course I’ll work from home, and I’ll catch up on whatever I miss before I go to the US for the rest of the tour.”
“It’s fine, Tru.” She takes my hand patting it with her other. “Everything is in hand here with your column. The important thing at the moment is Jake, and making sure he’s okay. We can worry about the bio and everything else later.”
I feel the weight lift off my shoulders.
“Have I told you lately how wonderful you are?” I can feel tears forming in my eyes.
“It’s been a while.” She winks at me.
“Well you are, and I love you lots and lots.” I wrap my arms around her, hugging her.
Then the tears start to run from my eyes.
How am I going to cope without her and Simone when I move to LA? And my Mum and Dad for that matter?
I can’t even tell Vicky about the move at the moment. I will soon, but dropping this on her is enough for now, I think.
“Oh, my darling girl, don’t cry,” she says hearing my sniffling, she hugs me tighter.
Thank god I wore waterproof mascara today. Subconsciously, I must have known I would be crying a lot today.
Releasing myself, I get a tissue from my bag, and dry my eyes.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“Don’t be sorry. You’ve had an emotional time of late, a lot of changes in your life. I’d be worried if you weren’t crying. Now, do you want something to drink?” she asks, getting to her feet, moving toward her desk.
“Coffee?”
“I was thinking something a little stronger.” Her tone is conspiratorial. Then she pulls a bottle of Jim Beam from out of her desk drawer.
“Perfect,” I say, a little smile forming on my lips, as Vicky grabs two cups off her shelf.