Tybalt and Juliet Ch. 08

There was a lot that I'd learnt from Frankie's visit, but I wasn't naïve enough to take everything at face value. She hadn't just dropped by on the off chance - there'd been some planning - but whether she'd visited at Amy's request or not, I wasn't sure. Nevertheless, I was pleased that my girlfriend was at least talking to someone, if not me.

I was understandably upset that Amy had kissed Ritchie at James' party, but I had no right to be angry. I'd disappeared to take Danny home and Amy had reasonably assumed that I wasn't interested in her. But I understood why she hadn't wanted me finding out about it. She'd realised that the only person who might tell me was Frankie and, to swear her to secrecy, she'd had to tell her about us.

Amy had been unwise to go to group study sessions with her English class - but no more than that. She clearly hadn't told her mum that Ritchie would be there, but she'd obviously hoped that Frankie would always look out for her. Going to the meet-up at Billy's had just been stupid and she should certainly never have got into a car on her own with Ritchie. It was now clear why Amy had been so upset after the police had interviewed her; they'd wanted to get to the bottom of her relationship with him.

But for all her naïvety, Amy had been badly let down by her schoolmates. They hadn't warned her about Ritchie and, if Frankie was telling the truth, they'd positively encouraged her interest in him. In turn the school had failed the female students - failing to respond adequately to repeated complaints about the Head Boy's behaviour. The chickens would be coming home to roost there, and I pictured the police combing through every allegation made over the previous seven years.

So Amy had told a few white lies and made a few bad judgements. Partly that was to protect me from finding out things that she thought might upset me, but I suspected that pushing back against her mother's strict rules had also been a motivation. My girlfriend had been naïve, but she hadn't known how much of a manipulative bully Ritchie was - I'd been unaware of his 'wandering hands', as Frankie had called them. No one could have predicted that he'd come after us with a knife.

That was the problem - you could point the finger at so many people - almost everyone had some responsibility for this tragedy: Rob for not picking me and Amy up on time; me for not telling the teachers about my confrontation with Ritchie in the bathroom at the Prom; Amy for not keeping her distance from him during the summer term and for answering his phonecall; the female students at school for not warning her about him and encouraging her interest in him; the school for not adequately dealing with the allegations about him; the list went on.

But at the end of the day, only one person had picked up a knife; Ritchie was sick and he needed treatment as much as he needed punishment.

My phone began to ring. It was Amy.

"Hello," I said cautiously as I answered.

"Hello Jake," she replied.

"It's wonderful to hear your voice," I said.

"Thank you," she said. I could tell she was nervous. "Jake, I'm coming back home this afternoon," she paused. "I need to talk to you. Can I come and see you tomorrow, please?"

"Of course," I said. "Just come by any time. It'll be really good to see you."

"Thank you Jake," she said.

There was an awkward pause.

"I love you Amy," I said.

"I love you too Jake."

-

Amy's POV

I knocked nervously on the front door of the farmhouse. I hadn't seen Jake for a whole week - longer than at any previous point in our relationship. We'd talked twice on the phone, but that was only so that I could tell him that I was going to my grandparents and then that I was coming back. But Jake had sent a couple of messages each day - wishing me well, telling me that he loved me, saying that I could call at any time if I wanted to, understanding that I needed time alone. That was Jake at his very best - supportive, but never intrusively so.

Jake had been a shadow of his former self after coming out of hospital. I'd been prepared to see him with the bandages on, but it was the effect of the concussion that had shocked me. He looked permanently sleep deprived and there were black circles around his eyes. He moved slowly and bending down seemed to bring on crashing headaches for him. He struggled a little to keep up in conversation with me. At times he seemed more like an old man of eighty than a boy of eighteen.

The front door opened and Jake appeared, with the widest smile I'd ever seen. His appearance was transformed from the previous week; the bandages and sling were gone and his skin was its usual glowing complexion. I felt a surge of love as I saw him.

"Hello beautiful!" he cried with delight as he saw me. "Come in."

"Hello Jake," I said, stepping through the doorway. He threw his arms around me and pulled me towards him.

"It's so good to see you," he said and he kissed the top of my head. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," I said, "I really do." I smiled at him.

Jake kissed me again and I felt his strong arms close around me once more. He squeezed me gently against him.

"Jake, I'm sorry," I blurted out. "I ran away from you, I couldn't cope, I shouldn't have left..."

He put his finger on my lips to silence me. Then he bent his head downwards to kiss me. He cradled my head gently between his hands. I returned his kiss and pulled him closer to me.

This wasn't how I thought things would happen. I'd imagined the two of us sitting at opposite ends of a sofa, talking rationally about the events of the past few months. Ending up with the pair of us in tears, then him throwing me out and vowing never to see or speak to me again.

We broke apart and he smiled at me again.

"Let's have a cup of tea," he said.

-

I've never known a family drink as much tea as Jake's. They drank gallons of the stuff every day and the kettle was perpetually on the boil. Every visitor to the farmhouse was welcomed with tea in the kitchen, the heart of their home. It was a brave guest who asked for coffee.

Jake sat down opposite me at the table and he stretched out his hand to take mine. I was about to speak, to get everything off my chest, but he spoke first.

"Amy," he said. "I've got something to tell you. I'm sorry, I didn't tell you this before - I didn't know how."

I looked up worried. He was about to break up with me, I was sure.

"I had a scuffle with Ritchie during the Prom," he said, breaking eye contact with me. "In the middle of the meal, after the main course. I went to the bathroom and he was there. And he was saying horrible things about you and he tried to punch me, so I tripped him up and he fell on the floor."

Jake paused and looked me anxiously in the eyes.

"I'm sorry Amy, I should have told a teacher," he said weakly. "I should have called Mum and asked her to pick us up straight away. He came back to settle the score. I'm sorry, I put your life in danger."

There was a pause. I didn't know that Jake had had an altercation with Ritchie, but the police had asked me if I remembered Jake leaving my side at any point. The first time I'd seen our attacker that night was outside the hotel, of that I was fairly certain. I couldn't even remember seeing Ritchie during the photos at the start of the Prom. But hearing Jake admit that he'd made a mistake that night, prompted me to speak up.

"Listen Jake," I said nervously. "There's something I've got to tell you too."

He nodded supportively.

"I know Mum was trying to keep Ritchie and me apart last term, but I did see him." I searched Jake's eyes looking for an angry reaction, but there was none. "I didn't tell you," she said, "but our English class got together a couple of times a week during Study Leave, to go through our set texts. And Ritchie was there, he was part of the group." I searched Jake's face in vain for any sign of anger.

"Mostly we were at Frankie's house," I continued, "but the last time she couldn't make it, so we went to Billy's. And I ended up getting a lift home in the car with Ritchie. I didn't want to, I promise - I wanted to walk back, but Billy pressured me into it. And then when we were in the car, Ritchie apologised for what happened at James' party and said he wanted to try again."

I paused, looking up at Jake again.

"What did you say to Ritchie?" he asked, "in the car, I mean."

"I thanked him for him apology," I continued, "and said I just wanted to focus on my exams." I paused again. "I'm sorry, I should have told him straight that I had a boyfriend, and that I wasn't interested, but I was kinda scared what he might do."

Jake nodded. "I think I'd have done the same thing," he said graciously.

"And then he phoned me," I continued. "After our exams were over. I shouldn't have answered the call, but I did. He asked me to go to the Prom with him, said I should go on his table and get away from losers like you and Danny."

Jake smiled. "I know he called you," he said gently. "We were on the train back from Dorset and I saw his name on your phone."

"And you didn't say anything?" I asked, a little shocked.

Jake shook his head. "I trusted you and I knew you loved me. I guessed what he wanted to ask and I knew you'd do the right thing."

"I told him that I had a boyfriend and that I wanted to sit on a table of losers," I said. "But I didn't say I was going out with you."

Jake smiled. "I knew that's what you'd do," he said.

"You're not angry?" I asked.

Jake shook his head and squeezed my hand gently. "We've both made mistakes," he said. "We've not told each other things that we should have done - both of us. But neither of us wanted to hurt the other. Neither of us could ever have dreamt what Ritchie would do."

"But that's not all," I said miserably. "I kissed him, I kissed Ritchie. At James' party. He was my boyfriend for five minutes. Then he got aggressive, that's when he tried to get my bra off, that's why I ran. That's I when found you."

A strange look swept across Jake's face. It wasn't anger or pain or disappointment, it was something else. He took some deep breaths as if, trying to control his emotions.

I looked up at him miserably; the silence between us seemed to last an eternity.

"Say something Jake," I said, "please."

"It's not something I wanted to hear," he said slowly. "But I've got no right to be angry with you. You kissed someone else, before we got together. So what?" he asked defensively, shrugging his shoulders.

He was trying very hard to sound casual, to brush it off.

"I hadn't played the hero and taken Danny home that night, it wouldn't have happened - it's my fault really," he said.

He was covering really well, but he would be devastated by my revelation. I started to cry.

Jake got up and moved round to my side of the table and pulled me to my feet. He hugged me tightly as I wept into his chest. I was scared and frightened. I'd expected him to explode with rage and tell me to get out. But he hadn't. He'd been Jake. He wasn't angry with me. He was hurt, but he wasn't angry. He loved me.

I had to let myself love him.

-

Jake's POV

The final few days in July were blisteringly hot. I was fully recovered from the concussion and my stitches had been removed, but I was still forbidden from carrying any weight with my left arm or getting it wet. I'd been given a dressing to protect the scar from the sun, which I needed to change at least twice a day, but I was now adept at doing that with my right hand. I'd also seen a physiotherapist a couple of times and had some gentle exercises to practise. I was taking low-strength painkillers, but those seemed to serve no purpose, other than to prevent me from drinking alcohol.

I enjoyed being back at the Campsite, even if I was taking the pace a little gently to begin with. For the three weeks immediately following the attack, I'd usually wake two or three times each night. But the exercise and distraction of being at work again, improved things. Inside I wasn't completely back to being the same old Jake, no, that could only happen once Ritchie was firmly behind bars, but the path ahead was becoming clearer.

My talk with Amy had been a great relief for a number of reasons. Although Frankie had already revealed all, it was good that Amy had had the confidence to tell me herself. Although I was sure that Frankie had prodded Amy into telling me about her interactions with Ritchie, I was certain that my girlfriend was unaware of Frankie's visit. Equally I'd been able to tell Amy about my scuffle with him in the bathroom during the Prom, an incident that might well come to light at the trial.

Our talk had brought some issues out into the open that the two of us had tried to bury for the first few months of our relationship. We'd been able to be fully honest with each other, to be humble and to admit our mistakes and failings. We couldn't go back to our pre-Prom loved-up innocence, but if we had a future together beyond the end of the summer, those were lessons we'd need to learn anyway.

Amy was no longer tearful, but her eyes were still without their bright glint. She was quiet and withdrawn, and we rarely laughed when we were together. In the background the police investigation was rumbling on, and focusing now on serious allegations of sexual assault made by two of our fellow students against Ritchie. There was an emergency meeting of the school governing body scheduled for the end of the month and the headteacher was expected to be suspended.

As my health improved and I became more confident at work, I was increasingly able to put the psychological effects of the attack behind me. But my girlfriend's progress was being held back by the swirl of gossip and rumour that accompanied every twist and turn of the police inquiry. The week away at her grandparents had given her a break from that pressure, but now she vowed to stay by my side and to honour her work commitments at the Stables.

Although the doctors had forbidden me from indulging in any sort of sexual activity for the four weeks following the attack, it was clear that Amy wouldn't be rushing to rip off my clothes once the new month began. We kissed, sometimes passionately, but nothing more than that. I yearned to lie naked with her in my bed, just to feel her body against mine. But whenever I tried to initiate anything, even something as innocuous as fondling her breasts over her sweater, she'd push me away.

I was saddened, confused, and frustrated - and I feared for our relationship in the weeks ahead.

-

Amy's driving test was scheduled for the final Friday of July. I was on the late shift at the Campsite and had been keeping everything crossed for her all day. She'd promised to message to let me know how she'd got on, but as afternoon turned to evening, I still hadn't heard from her and I feared the worst.

I managed to slip away for a short period after supper to give her a call. It took a long time for her to answer and I pictured her, sitting next to her phone, watching it ring as my name flashed up on the screen.

It was obvious from the tone of her voice that she'd failed. She'd screwed up a parallel park and had mounted the kerb at some point. She didn't cry, but she sounded lower than she'd ever sounded before. I tried to be warm and encouraging, but I was well aware that almost anything I said would make her feel worse.

I ended the call a few minutes later, making the excuse that I needed to get back to work. Then I sat for a quarter of an hour, maybe more, mulling over everything. Barely a month before, the summer holidays had begun with so much promise and optimism, but now I couldn't wait for them to end. The start of term at Cambridge, in early October, felt like a lifetime away.

And now, rearing its head on the horizon, in less than three weeks' time, was the day that our A-level exam results would be announced - the third Thursday in August. Our places at university were contingent on getting the grades that we'd been predicted. Throughout July I'd been able to pretend that the fateful day was too far in the future to worry about, but now, with the start of the new month imminent, it seemed to be approaching with the speed and inevitability of a freight train. I was nervous.

Amy was in desperate need of good news and so was I.