The Hardest Step

Dearest reader

How are you? Thanks for stopping by. Before you start, I just want to reiterate (in case the tags and category weren't clear) that there is no sex in this story. Zero. Nothing. Barely a passing reference. If you're cool with that, then please do read on. Trigger warning: issues of addiction/teenage pregnancy are raised.

It was just a scenario and a group of characters I felt I had to write. It will, however, serve as background for a future (sexy) story I'm currently sketching out, so there's that.

Still with me? Oh, thanks, that means a lot. It's a short one, so it won't take long.

Happy reading

T

The Hardest Step

Shaking, I thumbed the number into my phone.

I looked from Jean, my sponsor, to Carrie, my daughter. They both held my gaze. There was no hiding from this, no putting it off.

My heart in my mouth, I blew out a deep breath, rolled my shoulders, and dialled.

Ring

Ring

Ring

"Hi, Cult Clothing, Tish speaking. What can I do for you?"

My mouth was dry. I couldn't reply. The words were there, just once again they weren't going to come out.

"Hello?"

Finally, I managed to spew out some syllables. "Hello." I swallowed. "I was hoping to... to speak to..." I looked down at her name on the piece of paper, not trusting myself to get it right, "B-B-Bex James? Is she there?"

"Hang on a tic.... Err, who's calling?"

I looked wildly at Carrie. If I gave my name she might refuse to speak to me.

"Um... an old... an old friend."

"Ok. I'll just get her."

My knees were bouncing up and down almost faster than my pulse. God, what I wouldn't do for a glass of Pinot right now. Or a gin and tonic.

"Hello, Bex speaking. Who's that?"

Her voice! It was just the same and so different. Warm, direct, with just a hint of a Brizzle burr.

"Hi. B-B-Beccy? It's Georgie? Georgina Huntley, as I was, um, I know this is... er..." deep breath "I owe you an apology for how... for how I treated you in the past. I'm really sorry. I'd like... I'd like to come and see you and apologise if you'll... if you'll let me."

I held my breath.

There was silence from the end of the line.

I looked from Jean to Carrie. Carrie gave me a little wave forward with her hand, a little shooing gesture, a prompt to talk.

"B-B-Beccy? Are you there?"

"Yeah."

"Um... so, I know this is out... out of the b-b-blue..."

"I'll say!" she interrupted with a harsh, humourless laugh, "it's been, what 20 years?"

"22." My daughter's age, plus nine months, give or take a day or two. "22 years B-B-Beccy. 22 years of regret and grief. And I'm so, so sorry." I had to stifle a sob. Jean handed me tissue and I wiped my nose.

"I don't know what to say Georgie."

"You don't need... you don't need to say anything," I managed to get out. "Thank you for listening to me, and..." and now the tears started flowing, the flood coming as memories deluged me, "thank you for all your...all your years of... friendship." I was sobbing now.

"Well. Ok."

Maybe I was clutching at straws, but her voice sounded softer.

"Um..." I gulped, "would it b-b-be ok if I came to see you? I really wanted to b-b-but didn't want to just turn up and... and ambush you?"

"What for Georgie?"

What for? How to answer that? There were so many reasons. What could I tell her?

"Err... really, it's just... I just want to see you, B-B-Beccy." I was aware of how pathetic and plaintive I sounded. "I just want... to see you. I understand you probably don't want to see me... b-b-but you asked and... and that's it."

She didn't reply.

"Um... you should know that I'm a... I'm an alcoholic." This bit got easier. Slightly. To say, at least. I'd said it so many times over the years. To my children. My exes. My ex-in-laws. My parents. And now, at last, Beccy. "I've b-b-been sober now for nearly 4 years, and part of the 12 steps is making amends to those you have hurt in the past, and I definitely hurt you," I went on hurriedly, "b-b-but even if I wasn't with the AA I would have wanted to call you anyway. I should have found you years ago and b-b-begged forgiveness and I'm so sorry it took me so long," I sobbed out.

There was silence again.

Then, finally, she spoke.

"Wednesday. Could you do Wednesday?"

I looked at Carrie: she nodded.

"Yes, Wednesday would b-b-be great. What time? Where... where shall I meet you?"

"Do you know where the shop is?"

"No, b-b-but I can easily find out."

"Ok, come here for 11. We'll go for coffee."

"Thank you! I'll b-b-be there! Can I... can I give you my number in case... in case you need to cancel?"

"Is this your number?"

"Yeah."

"I've got it here then."

"Ok, great. Thank you B-B-Beccy. Sorry, B-B-Bex. I'll... I'll see you Wednesday."

"Bye Georgie."

She hung up. Jean gave me a big thumbs up as Carrie embraced me.

"Proud of you mum," she whispered. I didn't know why.

* * *

"I'll be just here Mum. Call me if you need me, ok, promise?"

"I promise."

"Good," Carrie nodded. So wise, so knowing of my ways. The one I had hurt and disappointed the most, yet the most loyal.

"I don't deserve you," I choked out as I clutched her to me.

"I know," she said cheerfully, "but you've got me anyway. Now," she checked me over, like a mother looking over her daughter's uniform, yet another sign of how our roles were reversed, another loving punch to the gut, "go and tell her the truth."

I swallowed and nodded. I turned towards the shop.

Beccy, Bex as she called herself now, must have been looking out for me, as her tall jeans and jacket clad form stepped out of the shop. My breath caught at the sight of her. Her hair was short and bright red, and she'd filled out a little, but behind all that was the girl I'd known since primary school. I hadn't seen her since that summer after our GCSEs, but I'd know her anywhere.

"Hi. B-B-Bex."

"Hello Georgie."

Her voice was plain. Not cold. Not warm. Room temperature, with possibility of rain later. Or snow.

"Thank you for... for seeing me," I said carefully.

She snorted. "What the hell happened to you? Since when did you get so meek? And when did you start stuttering?"

"Probably when... when they took my driving... my driving licence away," I wasn't going to hide anything. Honesty, I'd painfully realised through many a trial and many an error, was the only policy here.

"Shit!" She paused. "How did you get here then?"

"Carrie drove me."

There was an awkward silence as we stood there in front of her shop: me clutching my shoulder bag, head down, her frozen mid step, one hand still on the door.

"Can I... can I get you a coffee?" I ventured.

"Yes," she replied after a moment, "I suppose you can. This way."

* * *

"So," she said as I put down our coffees on the table she'd grabbed, "what did you want to say to me?"

"Oh... you want... you want me to get straight to... to it?"

"Yes. I thought that was why you were here?" There was a frosty note in her voice now.

"Of course, sorry, yes I don't want to waste... to waste your time. And thank you. Again." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I squared my shoulders. Time to face the music.

I opened my eyes and looked at her, hoping she'd let me make eye contact. She did. Eyes of steel. "Sorry. I pause a lot. It's the... the stutter. I have to rehearse what I want to say. I have to try to avoid words that start with...b-b."

"Fair enough."

"B-B-Beccy. Sorry." I concentrated. Of course her name was hardest to say. "B-Bex. I hurt you. I'm so sorry." I focused again, trying to control my voice. "You told me something in confidence, told me, your closest friend, who you had every reason to trust and confide in, and I b-b-betrayed you. I am truly, truly sorry. I hate myself for what I did to you, and for... and for what I did to us."

Her eyebrows went up at this.

"Yes, what I did to us. We were b-b-b... best friends B-Beccy. We'd... we'd known each other since... since nursery. And I...I...I threw that all away in the most disgusting... ridiculous... childish, mean... and horrible way I could have done. I'm so sorry! I ruined that. I ruined those memories we had of each other. I made you feel... well I can't... I don't... b-b-but I imagine it was hurt and b-b-betrayed and... I can't stand that..." her eyes weren't softening and my tears were flowing now, for her, for myself, for what we had been, for what we could have been, "I really hate how it must have tainted your memories of... of us and the good times my selfishness robbed us of." I couldn't bear it and I reached for her hand. She jerked a little, but didn't pull it away. I gripped her fingers, wiped my eyes with my other hand and took a breath.

"B-B-Beccy, I'm so sorry I outed you like that, in front of everyone. I'm so sorry for all those hideous things I called you. I'm so sorry... so sorry that I never came and apologised."

"Why?" she whispered, "Why did you? Why didn't you?"

Oh God. She had to ask. What could I tell her? That I'd been drunk (well, yes); that I'd slept with Mikey that night and found out I was pregnant three weeks later while on holiday in Benidorm and my parents had grounded me for the rest of the summer; that I'd decided there was no point starting college when I was going to give birth before the first year was out; that I was too proud, too stubborn, too angry. Yes, all of that was true. But it wasn't the truth. And I needed to tell the Truth. I'd promised Carrie I would if she asked.

I gave her hand a squeeze and let go. I closed my eyes again, took a breath, held it and breathed out, the way my therapist had encouraged me to. Then I once again squared my shoulders and looked her in the eye.

"I was angry with you. At the time I didn't know why." I swallowed. "B-B-Beccy. It took three years of therapy, two divorces and the persistence of my daughter to finally... to finally work it out." I took another breath. "The reason I outed you... B-B-Beccy... after you told me about... Mikayla... was b-b-because I was... I was... I was jealous."

"Jealous?"

"Yes. Jealous. I was jealous. Jealous of Mikayla." I looked straight into her eyes as I saw realisation dawning. "I wanted you to b-b-be with... with me."