I’ve been with Will for two years. I first met him at university, but nothing ever happened between us, then after I graduated I didn’t see him again until two years ago when I bumped into him on a night out with Simone. We’ve been together ever since.
“Hey yourself.”
“We still on for dinner tonight?”
“We sure are,” I smile.
“Wonderful, so I’ll pick you up for your place at seven.”
“See you then.”
I hang the phone up with Will and stare at my screen. I open Google and search for pictures of Jake.
I click on one enlarging it on my screen. He’s bare-chested, and he looks so incredibly beautiful.
Jake is lean but muscular, defined, with lovely slim hips. His hair is black, shaved close around the sides, longer on the top, he wears it high and messy. His hair-style, on anyone else would probably look silly, but not him. On him it looks perfect. And in contrast to his black hair, his eyes are blue. Startlingly so, just like the colour of the ocean.
He’s always had this cute little smattering of freckles over his nose ever since I can remember, but now, they somehow now make his gorgeous bad boy edge even more apparent.
Jake is also covered in tattoos. He’s almost as famous for his tattoos as he is his music and bad boy antics.
Jake has a full tattoo sleeve on his right arm. Tattoos on his left forearm and T M S in script on its inner, but his most distinctive tattoo, well for me anyway, is the one on his chest. It spans right across, sitting just below his collar bone, which says …
I wear my scars, they don’t wear me
Sometimes I wonder just how true that statement is.
Looking back, I don’t know at exactly what point I knew I was in love with Jake. I guess I just always was.
My mum used to say when we were toddlers I did follow him around like a puppy dog.
Jake and I were best friends – as close as you could get. And I know it was all he would have, and ever did see me as. He was always way out of my league.
I guess the sad thing for me, or maybe in hindsight the best thing, was just as I was realising the depth of my feelings for Jake, he was gone.
One thing I do find amusing is knowing how Jake is with women nowadays, he’s basically a slut, but when he was younger he was never interested in girls.
Back then, we were all about the music. I guess it was what bound us together. Well that and the other stuff. The bad stuff in Jake’s life.
Jake was always heavily into music, as was I, thanks to my dad.
My Dad used to be a guitarist in a small time rock band back in the eighties called The Rifts.
I was spoon fed music. And my dad fed it to Jake too. I think to my dad, Jake was the son he never had.
My life was a little different than other kids, when their parents were teaching them to sing Twinkle, Twinkle, my dad was teaching me the lyrics to (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction.
I was brought up listening to the likes of The Rolling Stones, Dire Straits, The Doors, Johnny Cash, Fleetwood Mac, and the Eagles, to name a few.
My Mum tried to balance it out, bless her, but my dad lives and breathes music, and he is such a force in my life she never stood a chance. I love my mum of course, but I absolutely adore my dad.
So because of my differences, and there were plenty of them believe me, I never really fit in with any of the kids at school, neither did Jake.
We were our own island, and when he left, I was left adrift for a long time.
My dad taught me how to play the piano, he tried with the guitar but I could never get the hang of it. Jake on the other hand was an absolute natural on the guitar. My dad gave him his own first six-string when he was seven. He always did say Jake was a born musician, so I guess it’s no surprise to him Jake is as successful as he is.
My dad is really proud of Jake’s career.
He’s always said I should get in touch with him, but I brushed it off, so there is no way I’m calling dad to tell him I’m seeing Jake tomorrow. He’d probably try and come with me.
It’s going to be surreal seeing Jake after all this time.
I click off the picture and open another, a close up of his face. I stare at the picture, my eyes tracing the scar on his chin, the one which stretches along his jawline, it’s not as noticeable as it used to be, maybe he covers it with makeup nowadays.
I know more about Jake than anyone. I know about a part of his past he’s managed to keep hidden away from the rest of the world.
Then a thought sweeps my mind. Maybe he won’t want to see me. Maybe he feels like he left behind the life he had here, and that’s why he dropped contact with me.
Maybe me, home, reminds him of a time he’d rather forget.
Jake had a pretty rough time growing up, which lead to his dad Paul going to prison when Jake was nine. Susie, Jake’s mum, remarried a few years later to lovely man called Dale. He was an architect brought over from the firm’s office in New York to work on a long term project in Manchester where we lived. Then when Jake was fourteen, Dale was offered a promotion back in their New York office and he took it.
Six weeks later Jake was gone. And my heart was left broken.
With a resigned sigh, I click off Google and Jake disappears from my screen.
I force myself to open my Word document to get the questions compiled for tomorrow before I go to dinner with Will tonight.
I don’t go to interviews unprepared. Especially if said interview is with my old best friend and one time love of my life.
Chapter Two
I arrive home from work, after somehow managing to compile a list of suitable questions for the interview with Jake tomorrow, drop my handbag on our coffee table, sling my jacket on the arm of the sofa and kick my shoes off.
Simone is in the kitchen. We share a modest two bedroom converted ground floor flat in Camden, which we rent from Simone’s cousin who is a property developer. Our rent is really reasonable as Marc and Simone are close. We would never have been able to afford it otherwise.
I wander in to the sound of the kettle boiling.
“Want one?” she asks holding up the coffee jar.