You knew that I couldn't leave it like that - there is far too much unsaid and undone. Thank you all for your reviews, ideas and suggestions. Yes Izzy is totally out of control at the end of part one, rather hit the self-destruct button hadn't she. I hope that I managed to get across that having lived through the situation of her parent's death she is very good at creating chaos around her and destroying her own happiness - self damaging. I didn't like her very much at the end and I know some of you agreed. And what about Ric? Sorry he isn't in this chapter, but I will forewarn you that I will have to start switching between the two characters, the story cannot continue from Izzy's point of view alone - their lives are too far apart now. Anyway, lecture over, keep reading and please keep reviewing - it was so heartening to read all your comments and know that you are behind this story. Pips xox

Part Two

Chapter Thirty-Six

I grabbed my anorak from the rack in the boot room and dashed out of the kitchen door into the pouring rain, avoiding any of the family gathered in the living room and Annabel who was in the kitchen. Outside the sky was slate grey and the rain pelted down, destroying the last of the late summer blooms, scattering rose petals and leaves over the spotless grass, the water gathering in any slight dip in the lawn, the hard earth unable to soak it up quickly enough.

It was as if the seasons had finally decided to change and Mother Nature had sent a storm to drive away any remaining traces of the warm weather we had been enjoying. September was in its dying days, October only a Sunday away and the season had turned autumnal overnight. It suited my mood, long sunny days and warm evenings were for merry times, happiness and being in love – I wasn't any of those and so the cold dreariness of rain suited my mood.

I walked around the perimeter of the acreage, ostensibly keeping under the trees for protection, but the rain dripped off the leaves and onto my hat, so that I was barely any drier then if I had walked straight across the middle of the lawn. Out here the tears could flow unchecked, mingling with the rain, so that I could not distinguish what was making my face wet. All I knew was that my heart was breaking.

Until now I had been able to steel myself against the emotions that kept rising up inside me. I could survive by dredging up my hate and disgust at Richard's actions on tour. I would close my eyes and envisage the picture of him standing there, tied up, his penis hanging out. I could feel the revulsion in me just by recalling the scene and would drive it to the point when the metallic taste of hate would well up as nausea in my mouth. Then I could straighten my shoulders and continue on my chosen path, lying to Ralph, Tatiana, their parents and just about anyone I spoke to on a daily basis. I told Anne that I was perfectly happy, did not return Mags call on my mobile and flatly refused to have any contact with anyone from Cluinn, despite Angus sending me several e-mails.

Unfortunately, Ric had managed to unnerve me with the lyrics to his song. I knew that they were just that – words, no more then a song, but the despair and venom with which they had been penned was personal. I raised a clenched fist to my mouth to try and stifle the cry that came out involuntarily. It was built of anger, rage, and my own despair. He didn't realise what I was sacrificing for both of us. I could not hand him the baton of responsibility that I knew would go with a child. He was carving out a very successful career with this music and to dump parental dues on him was not fair. The fact that his actions had destroyed my belief in his ability to be a caring partner and parent just added to my unwillingness to let him know.

But at the same time; even though I had chosen Ralph, more out of fear then anything else, I didn't think he was deserving of the honour either. I soon realised that there was a huge duality to Ralph Cheyne, one that I was having problems accepting. He was good at his job; that much was obvious for he had a natural charm and attention to detail. However he also switched personality as soon as he walked through his front door. When I once asked him why he shed his maturity as soon as he took off his suit, he had shrugged saying that he had enough of responsibility at work, he didn't need for it to follow him home and just wanted to relax.

And I soon realised what his definition of relaxing was. He and Tatiana drunk vast amounts of alcohol, both of them easily getting through a bottle each a night and at the weekend when there was no work to get up for, then the other stimulants were used. I looked on in shock the first time the little bag of white powder came out and Ralph used his credit card to chop up two fat lines on the surface of a photo frame. They both snorted the lines of coke up their noses, falling about with gregarious laughter before stumbling out the door to a party. I used my pregnancy as an excuse to stay at home and have an early night when in fact I was simply horrified. Ric had not been a huge drinker and far as I was aware did not touch drugs – in fact the only person who I knew that had anything approaching a habit was Jim with his dog eared spliffs and then they made him mellow, not the buzzing frenetic energy that the cocaine gave my future husband.

As my knight on his white charger became tarnished, I started to reconsider Richard's actions, not having a flawless character to compare him to. Which was worse, habitual A-class drug taking or cheating on someone? The question revolved endlessly in my head as it seemed to be without an answer. Neither made me want to fall into the other man's arms and so I was left in limbo, physically with one man, mentally longing after another who I would not forgive. My pride was a very heavy cross to bear.

My aimless wandering had taken me in a whole circuit of the large garden, beautifully maintained by the gardener, past the swimming pool that had now been covered over for the winter and around the rose beds, where the gnarled bushes stuck out thorny branches across the grass pathways, catching on my jeans, so that when I pulled free I scattered more dead petals that the rain had not removed. As I moved closer to the house I heard a knocking at the window and looked up, saw my fiancée knocking on the glass. I paused and looked at him, wiping any remaining tears out of my eyes. He didn't like to see me crying, it was of the many things I did that made him feeling uncomfortable. He opened the window as I stood there, leaning out slightly his forehead knotted into a frown.

"For God's sake Isabella, what are you doing outside in the pouring rain? Come inside at once!" I stared back at him mutely, not quite sure how to react to such an order. He saw me hesitating and the frown deepened, his mouth puckering with displeasure. "You are getting wet and will get ill, stop being so silly!" Of course, that was the crux of the matter – Ralph hated it if I did anything out of the ordinary, behaved out of character or context, was eccentric in anyway. Walking in the pouring rain was classed as such.

"I am just coming in," I replied with a sigh. "I just needed some fresh air." I nodded to him and moved on past, heading to the back door so that I could take off my wellingtons and sopping coat. I pushed my wet hair out of my face and realised that despite being well covered, the water had managed to drip off my hat and run down my neck. My hair, gathered off my head in a ponytail was wet. The warmth of the house was comforting and I slipped off upstairs to take a shower and warm up, the tears had dried up and now I just felt numb.

I was sitting on the bed wrapped in my dressing gown, drying my hair when he came up to see me. "Why did you go out in the rain?" he asked collapsing on to the bed next to me and lying down. He was hungover and unshaven, having been awake until the early hours of the morning, drinking and talking with his sister and a friend who had stayed down.

"I like to try and walk everyday, it's healthy for me and the baby," I said over the roar of the hair dyer, brushing out my dark locks. My hand stilled for a moment as I did so and I glanced over at Ralph with a frown. I was dark haired, very dark haired and he was classic surfer blonde. I wonder what coloured hair my child would have, for I could guarantee that it would not be the colour of the man next to me, Richard was a light brown; shots of red creating natural highlights in his hair, but there was no way either of us would produce a blonde hair, brown eyes child. As parents we were both dark and blue eyed, genetics would not allow for our child to be anything else.

"You are silly Izzy," he said rolling over so that his head was near my hip. He smiled up at me, his hand creeping to where my gown split open as I sat cross legged.

"Ralph, no," I said, shifting away from his intended touch. I was not in the mood for sex.

"Izzy!" He pouted. "You are so bloody cold with me all the time – we've only done it like three times in the past two months!"

"Yes and I am pregnant, it rather plays havoc with your hormones," I responded with my classic excuse. "Apparently it changes as the pregnancy matures, but right now it is as appealing as eating mud!" He laughed at me stupid analogy and pushed me over so that the hair dryer fell out of my hand and I was lying next to him.

"How can you say this is horrible?" His hand crept up under my top, the feeling of his fingers grazing over my breasts making me shiver, rather then turn me on as he intended. I sighed slightly. "Come on Izzy," he crooned shifting so that his head was near mine, bending over and pressing a kiss to my lips. I responded with a chaste peck. I did not want sex right now – with anybody!

He was not to be deterred and his fingers continued to move over my boobs, kneading and pressing their swollen flesh, accepting my gasp of pain as an agreement to continue. It was easier not to fight him and so instead I switched off in my mind as I had the past few times we had gone to bed together. I was already recognising a pattern to his love making. He went straight for my boobs at all times, stimulating them until he thought I was turned on, before flipping me over and taking me from behind. No eye contact, no intimacy – very detached. It was strange and impersonal way to make love and I hated it, flagging up my pregnancy for not participating more.

Ten messy minutes later and I felt him slump against me and then withdraw. I let myself sink to my stomach and buried my face in the pillow so he couldn't see that it was once again wet with tears. All I could think about was Ric and our silly; energetic, passionate lovemaking sessions. I briefly felt Ralph press a kiss to my head. "Are you going to have a nap darling? Shall I see you downstairs later?" I nodded, unable to find the words to reply.

There was only one thought running through my mind on a continuous loop. I cannot marry this man, I cannot marry this man, I cannot marry this man.

I had to wait until after supper before I managed to be alone with Ralph again. We were sitting in the snug, a fire lit in the grate for the first time that autumn, testimony to the coolness the rain had bought in. I relaxed back into the sofa with a groan, feeling my stomach full and tight. There was a certain advantage to wearing maternity trousers, I could eat quite a lot and they expanded with my growing waist. Right now I was feeling very replete, having eaten my fill.

Ralph slumped into the sofa next to me, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning his head back, closing his eyes. We were due to return home tomorrow afternoon and I hoped that he would take things easy tonight. So far he hadn't drunk as much as usual – I decided to take my chance.

"Ralph," I said as sweetly as I could, leaning over, running my fingers through his hair.

"Mmmm," he didn't really respond.

"Um, I've been doing some thinking recently and I was wondering about things."

"What things Izzy?" His tone was abrupt, not encouraging conversation. Unlike Richard I rarely was given his full attention on anything.

"Well you – me – our forthcoming nuptials." My words made him open his eyes and turn his head in my direction, his eyes narrowing in my direction.

"What about them?"

"Do you ever feel like life is a little out of control at the moment? Things have just been taken out of our hands and I am now just feeling…well, unsure. We are suppose to be getting married in a week and suddenly I am not sure if I am ready to commit, that is all." The lines on his forehead deepened and I bit my lips with worry – he didn't understand my hesitant explanation.

"Isabella," he sat up straighter. "Are you telling me you want to call off the wedding?"

"Not call it off, delay it – until after the baby is born. I just feel like such a hormonal mess at the moment, not myself at all. I want to marry you when we are ready, not in haste because of my situation." More lip biting, they were going to be ripped to shreds.

"You were the one who came and dumped this all in my lap," his voice was bitter, bordering on angry. "You wanted to get married so the baby would not be born a bastard. Why have you changed your mind?" I blanched slightly, not because his tone of voice held anger, having witnesses my ex-boyfriend's temper, Ralph was mild mannered by comparison. Instead it was the relief that I saw buried in the depths of his eyes that made me hold his gaze.

"Ralph, the one thing I have maintained all along is that I don't love you. We are having a child together," I said the words quickly, it made it easier. "But getting married for that alone is not a real reason and two wrongs don't make a right. I accepted because I was scared, but now thinking about it…" I trailed off, unable to say anymore, but just sat there, fiddling with my hair, looking at the floor, anywhere but letting him meet my gaze, scared he might see something there.

"You still don't love me?" His tone was petulant; demanding as if he were a child denied a toy they wanted and not talking about more important affairs. I didn't trust myself to answer and just shook my head.

"Ralph – it is not your fault, it is mine. As I said I am feeling overwhelmed at the moment and when I finally say 'I do' I want to mean it with all my heart." I looked at him with as little guile as I could muster, the irony of the situation not lost on me. I had told lies to get myself into this mess and now I was telling more to try and get myself out of it. At least if I did it now the pain and damage to people's lives would be as minimal as possible. He sniffed at my response.

"Do you even want to stay engage?" His eyes drifted to the large diamond that I wore on my ring finger, the flawless carat catching the light and sparkling away. Right now it felt as heavy and possessive as if I were wearing handcuffs.

"Yes," I glanced down at my hand, spreading my fingers and looking at the jewellery. "As I said, I simply want to delay the wedding, have our baby first, get use to the idea of being parents and then when we are ready get married." In truth his behaviour with regards to my pregnancy did not fill me with hope for his surrogate father role, another reason I did not want to tie myself to him in wedlock – I would be locked for life!

"Humph," he was unable to formulate a response, mainly because I think he was glad to be handed such a get out clause. "Well, you had better go and tell my mother; she had put a lot of work into organising everything for next weekend!" Somehow I doubted this was true, we had planned on a quiet wedding at Chelsea Registry Office, followed by a meal at a restaurant. No extra family were invited to the reception afterwards so it was not a large event to cancel, my dress was an off the peg affair, extra large to hide my swelling figure and the room we had booked for our 'first night' was at the Park Lane hotel, Ralph's employer; so no charges would be levied. We hadn't bothered planning a honeymoon. No, there was very little to unravel.

"Fine," I was so glad to be able to stop the wedding that even this threat did not seem so great. I climbed off the sofa. "You can tell Tatty and your Father, I will speak to your Mother." I practically skipped out of the room, or would have if my legs hadn't been so wobbly and my stomach doing flips. I wasn't too keen on facing Annabel Cheyne, for I knew she could cut me with simply a look. Instead I took a deep breath and went into the living room.

She was sitting in a wing chair reading a book under an angle poise lamp, her legs neatly together under her stylish skirt, ankles crossed in a feminine manner, her dark blonde hair pulled back in a neat chignon. "Yes Isabella," she looked up as I walked in, standing in the darkened centre of the room, feeling large and uncouth compared to her restrained elegance.

"Can I just have a word Annabel?" I asked and sat down when she nodded, placing her book to one side and folding her hands neatly in her lap. Every movement was done with decorum and ladylike elegance. She gestured for me to speak. "Well, the thing is, Ralph and I have been talking and I have been thinking and we were, hoping that if it is not too inconvenient, we would, um, well...we would rather quite like to delay the wedding." I mumbled through an excuse that lacked all the poise of the women sitting opposite me.

"You wish to delay the wedding?" she repeated levelly, obviously unsure if she had heard correctly given my mumbled words. I nodded. "Why? I thought you were keen given your impending state," her gaze was directed at my stomach.

"That is an excuse to get married, not a reason Annabel," I said sadly, my hand involuntarily drifting to my stomach. "I have decided and Ralph has agreed that it would be better to wait. Fools rush in after all!" She smiled slightly at my quote.

"Indeed. Well Izzy," I started slightly, surprised that she used my nickname. "If that is what you truly wish then I will cancel it all for you on Monday." I hesitated, amazed at how calmly she had taken the news, expecting her to pout and complain, throw a tantrum at the selfishness of my gesture when she had put so much work into the planning. She saw my hesitation and smiled the first real smile I had seen on her face since Ralph and I announced our 'news'. "Marry in haste, repent at leisure Izzy. I would hate for you to make such a mistake and I think it is a very wise move – you can always get married later and there isn't the social stigma of being an unmarried Mother these days." I nodded and gulped, levering myself up from the sofa and smiling at her.

"Thank you for being so understanding Annabel," I said softly, a single tear leaking out of my eye. "I think Tatty might be disappointed."

"Oh tosh, she will get over it," Annabel waved her hand in a deprecatory manner. "Her disappointment will last a few day, but imagine the years if you rushed into this marriage." I nodded at her words, surprised that she seemed so keen that I wait. It was possible that she realised I didn't love her son and was doing her best to protect him, but there something in her manner that I could not place my finger on. Her behaviour was not as I had imagined.

I excused myself and went in search of Ralph. He was still in the same position that I had left him in, possibly slumped a little lower on the sofa, his head a little more buried into the cushions. "How did Mamma take it then?" he asked languidly.

"Fine, she understood, thought we were being very sensible actually." He looked up as I spoke frowning.

"Doesn't sound like my Mother," he mentioned. "Oh well, that means we have next weekend free – Paul and Tory are going down to the Isle of Wight and we can join them. That will be fun won't it and keep your mind off what we should have been doing?" I nodded weakly. I couldn't really care less what we did next weekend; at least I wasn't getting myself into an irreversible situation. I needed to regain control of my life and it seemed that a man, any man would be unable to play a starring role.

As I had predicted, Tatiana was put out when I went into work on Monday, pouting at me as I sat down. "And we found that fantastic dress," was her opening comment. I merely smiled. Of all the Cheyne family, I had the best relationship with Tatty, enjoying her straight talking way; even if she spent far too much time hanging around the periphery of her brother's life. I had realised over the past few weeks that she was desperately insecure and simply wished for someone to enter her life and sweep her off her feet. It had once been my dream.

"You still have a hundred places to wear it Tat," I returned, sitting down and firing up my computer, glad that my mornings were no longer a digestive nightmare. I had told the office my exciting news and it had been received with many best wishes and happiness. They also didn't look so worried when I sat there eating chocolate bars, my feet propped up on the trash can as my ankles swelled in the afternoon.

"Suppose so," she rejoined, her eyes flicking through her e-mails, before she paused. "Oh my god!"

"What?" Her shriek made me stand up with worry and was loud enough to make several people turn and look before she continued. "Cluinn's album had just been announced as going Platinum!"

"Platinum!" I looked up from my work, my jaw dropping open, unable to digest the news. It meant that the boys had sold a million copies of their album – one million in five months was a stunning achievement. No wonder they were started to be referred to with such monikers as 'the mighty' and 'the unstoppable' Cluinn. Such achievement also boded well for the upcoming Brits.

"What do you think about putting a label on the cover with the next run saying that it contains 'Where we Belong' and 'Burn it Down' and 'Broken'?" Tatiana tapped where she could see a label as she passed me the jewel case of the CD over the width of our desks and I took it from her slightly reluctantly, staring at the cover. I had seen this CD so much, but rarely in its entirety. I had sat down with the band, listening to them arguing over the cover artwork, the lyrical contents, the colour of the jewel case, but my copy of the CD was on a recordable disc and my iPod, I didn't own a final pressing of the album.

"Why do you need to list 'Broken' as one of the draws?" I asked with a grimace. I tried to ignore my contribution to the whole process, the debacle of the video and performance at Glastonbury too raw, too intense to be part of my current life. I had only agreed to sing with Richard in the first place because I loved him so much – I didn't need reminding of that.

"It has such a dedicated following Iz!" She sounded shocked at my lack of knowledge. "Basically the way you can tell if you are a proper Cluinn fan or not are that you are aware of 'Broken', know the name of the mystery woman in the music and can sing the words. If you don't then you are simply someone who has picked up the song on the radio. I frowned not realising this. In the past couple of months I had handed over the promotion of Cluinn in its entirety to Tatiana, not wanting a daily reminder of what I had been part of. Like so many situations in life the energy and people had shifted and I had gone from being at the centre of the crew surrounding the band to locked out on the outside, no knowledge or information about what was happening. It was easier that way.

I glanced at the cover, noticing where the logo fell, their name in a chunky gothic script, the bottom of the letters crumbling away and into the title of the album. It was a simple cover but forceful, standing out on the shelves of the shops. I should know because I blanched every time I saw one. "Yeah, that should work; you just don't want to cover up the writing, so maybe a see-through one would be good. I opened the CD case and pulled out the internal flyer, flicking through the booklet, my eyes travelling over the words, but not taking them in, looking instead at the grainy photos inside, allowing myself for the first time in weeks to look at the band. They were stylised photos of them performing, Sandy sweaty on the drums, his head flying everywhere, the slow exposure of the photos making his hands a blur, Angus sitting on an amp tuning his guitar, Jim playing at a gig and Phantom roaring into the microphone, his half mask on, eyes screwed up in concentration, hair in a sweaty tangle around his face. It felt like only yesterday that I had been there with him; when I actually hadn't seen any of the band for over six weeks.

My eyes fell on the back leaf, grazing over the listings of where the album had been recorded, who had mixed the music, produced it and mastered the songs, a list of the products that used, the management team and in a few small paragraphs, the thanks of the band. Sandy thanked his friends and family, the rest of the band and his brother for teasing him enough to take up the drums. Angus mentioned similar, as well as a few names I didn't recognise. Jim payed tribute to Alanya's love and patience and his family's support throughout the years, as well as the friendship of the rest of the group. And then I read Phantom's tribute and felt my body shake. "I would like to thank my Grandparents for their unfailing love and support for all these years and for pointing me in the right direction. To all those who have stood by me these past years and put up with my crap and to Izzy, for being the most wonderful person ever!" I murmured under my breath, feeling myself choke as I read the words – it was such a personal tribute, not echoing the actions of the man who wrote them. I paused and licked my lips before muttering again. "Bastard!"

I handed the case back to my colleague and using force of will, pushed down the memories, turning instead to my work – there was no point moping, I had made my decisions and it was time to live with them as best I could.