Take My Hand Read Online Free Page B

this
date, I’m gonna need to ask you some questions.”
    Here we go…
    “Like?”
    “Is he a dickhead?”
    “No! At least I don’t think so.”
    “Hmm, okay that’ll do for now. Does he have a
job?”
    “Yes. He works in a pub. That’s where I met
him.”
    “A pub? One, since when do you go to
pubs? And two, you’re smart, Emmie. You should be aiming for a doctor or
something.”
    “Well one, since Rachel made me. And two,
stop being so judgemental. You work in a garage!”
    “Yeah well I’m fantastic so I don’t need a
fancy job to promote myself. Anyway question three – does he drive?”
    “I don’t know! I’ve only just met him. That’s
the point of a date right? To get to know each other? Ask me these questions
again tomorrow if you must.” I snapped, but I wasn’t actually angry. I knew he
was just looking out for me.
    “Fine. I’ll back off.” Doubtful. “But
number four is more of a statement than a question. You should know I won’t
hesitate to punch his fucking lights out if he messes with my baby sister. Got
it?” And that’s why I love him.
    “Got it. Look, I’m gonna go now. I’m really
tired from all the travelling.”
    “Sure thing, Emmie. I’ll talk to you
tomorrow.”
    “Night, Chris.”
    “Night, Emmie.”
    Notice how neither of us mentioned our
parents? Well, you’ll probably never hear Chris talk about them –
seeing as they haven’t spoken to each other in over four years. The thing is,
my parents are all about ‘the show’. It’s important to them what their toffee-nosed
friends think of us as a family. They raised us to be well behaved and
respectful. We’d help out at local charities every Saturday and go to church
every Sunday. Which was fine – admirable even. What’s not so admirable is
the fact they disowned Chris for wanting to be a mechanic instead of going to
university. How could they possibly be proud of a son with just an ordinary
working-class job? I mean, what must their friends think when their kids are
going out to teach or heal or inflict justice in court, and they’ve got Chris
coming home covered in muck and grease?
    That’s one of the things I detest about them.
If they weren’t so far up their own arses they’d see what a wonderful son they
were missing out on.
    Speaking of charity work, that’s how I met
Rachel. When I was seven my mum took me to the local community centre where a
weekly support group for disabled kids and their families was taking place.
Obviously I wouldn’t judge now but it was a little overwhelming for a
seven year old to be surrounded by all these kids who were so different from
you. My mum pointed to a brown-haired girl in a wheelchair and told me to go
and be friendly to her. So being the good little girl I was raised to be, I
did.
    Shame the said girl wasn’t interested in
being friendly back. Rachel was just as intimidating as a little girl as she is
now – and it has nothing to do with the chair. She didn’t want to be
there with all the other ‘freaks’ as she put it back then. She doesn’t remember
life without her chair and she didn’t see why she had to be treated any
differently to everyone else, but her mum made her go because she was
‘special’. ‘Sod being special’ eight year old Rachel said to me with the same
don’t-mess-with-me scowl she still uses to this day.
    I soon discovered perseverance was the key
when it came to Rachel – it still is. It’s almost like you need to prove
you’re in it for the long haul with her. Unless you’re sporting a mighty fine
six pack maybe…
    My mum took me to the centre every week for
six months (I think she wanted to get acquainted with the posh folk that ran
the centre) and she always pointed to the same girl and told me to go and play.
The first few weeks mainly consisted of me sitting on the floor hugging my
knees in silence while Rachel continued to scowl at the world around her.
    It was about four weeks in when I’d gotten
that fed up