Chapter 48
The rain came down in a vertical sheet; notice more than anything else that summer was well and truly over. Thankfully the approach of winter did not fill me with dread as it had last year and whilst I had a brief mourning for the end of summer; it was only because I had enjoyed spending hour in the sunlight garden with my daughter, where as the weather grew inclement we were increasingly forced inside.
It helped that Richard and I were once again in contact. My teary phone call to him had re-established the lines of communication and now we spoke almost everyday or at least exchanged texts. He also thankfully made the calls, bearing the expense of our strange relationship. I was still reeling from the seven pounds it had cost me to call him in South Africa!
Our conversations were always light hearted, our texting were silly jokes and messages – never anything serious, never touching on any matters of the heart. Whenever he turned the topic to where I lived, what I was doing with my life, I gently steered it in another direction. I was scared to tell him about Lara, not wanting to dump the burden of parenthood on him through a phonecall. Instead I was waiting to meet him, let him see and understand. The only trouble was the longer I resisted admitting the truth, the harder it was becoming.
He had been due back in England a couple of days ago, but the last text I had received from him (just before he was due to go to the MTV awards) said he was unsure what their plans were, the next few days mapped out by how many awards they might or might not win. He would contact me, he promised, just not quite sure when. I could do nothing other then trust him, there was no reason not to and I had nothing to lose, having been very careful to give him nothing fragile – least of all my love.
Tatiana had blanched when I let on what had happened in her absence, going paler beneath her newly acquired tan. "Are you sure?" she had asked a worried note in her voice.
"Yes, actually I am. I only called in desperate need, but Tatty he has been so kind and sweet and caring. It made me realise that whilst I have been focusing on all the negatives of our relationship, we were actually quite happy together – he did care about me!" There was a pleading note in my voice as I implored her to understand my frame of mind.
"And have you told him about Lara?" She nodded to my daughter playing on her mat, batting her toys with deep concentration.
"No – I haven't said anything, purposefully kept the conversation light."
"How do you know he want throw a huge fit when he finds out, demands to know why you kept it a secret and fight you for full custody?" I blanched at the negative picture she painted, but deep down refused to believe it. Yes Richard and I had argued, but we had never explained our actions to each other and something inside me was sure that he would not wish to split up a family. Hell, before he started on this crazy music path he was training to become a lawyer specialising in children's cases – he valued the young and the need for familial relationships. However I couldn't explain it to Tatiana, it was one thing to admit to our past and tell her his real name, quite another to reveal his unusual history and upbringing.
Of course I had my misgivings about being in contact with him. All the doubts that I had before the birth of my daughter reared their ugly head again and this time I had hard fact to back them up. Lara's father had just spent over a year touring around the world – even by his admission he lived his life out of a suitcase, in hotels and tour buses and it was unpleasant. I didn't know how he would be able to be a part of his daughter's life if that was how he lived his. And his music – it was breathtaking and sexy, heavy and rocking that somehow got inside your mind and soul. It was exactly the sort of music that most parents feared their children hearing too young for it ignited feelings and emotions inside the listener. On top of all those problems there also seemed to be the small one of his appearance. Whilst I was aware that 'Phantom' was a character and the costumes worn on stage were styled for him, it was still slightly off putting to see the muscular, sculpted man he had become. His long tangle of dark hair, the incredibly tight trousers, and the excuses for clothes that seemed to be more ripped fabric then any substance – it didn't shout responsible adult, it definitely was not Haselmere parent.
Either way, radio silence had been maintained for five days and I realised how much joy our silly conversation had provided me – how much I looked forward to his phone call or text. Instead there was total silence from his number. I could have easily called him, but didn't allow myself – didn't want to seem too grabbing, too eager. For once he could do the chasing; I was determined not to make it too easy for him. My life had very nearly gone exceedingly wrong because of his actions.
Instead I got on with my life as best I could. Tatiana had gone ahead with her plans and a month ago had quit T&W in high style, walking out with a good handful of clients. She was determined that I could work with her and despite my protests granted me a pretend title, printed up business cards and asked me to write press releases. It wasn't difficult labour and a few hours at the kitchen table when Lara was asleep meant that I could easily keep up with the jobs she asked me to do. It felt good to be using my brain again, to be providing for my daughter and whilst I didn't think I deserved the salary she conferred on me, I was also grateful for an extra income stream.
It still left me plenty of time to do all the activities that I had participated in on my child's behalf. From swimming to singing, coffee mornings to playgroups, I had signed up for all sorts of sessions, at first as a reason to get me out of the house, but as time went on because I could see that my daughter thrived with the interaction and exercise. It also stopped my brain from disintegrating further into the mush that pregnancy had left it in.
And so it was a wet Wednesday when I drove home in the rain after baby swimming, cursing when I found my space outside our house taken. Whilst it was lovely living in a charming Victorian cottage, the huge disadvantage was the dreadful parking, no driveways in which to leave the car, meaning there was always a polite bun fight between neighbours in an attempt to park their vehicles outside their houses and not a hike along the road. My neighbours kindly attempted to keep a space clear outside my abode, aware that I had a small child and that it was difficult to lug an infant carrier with an increasingly heavy child anywhere. I drove my small car with its rusty wheel arches and parked it several spaces further away, shooting glares at the brand new black Audi that languished outside my small house. I vaguely wondered who the owner was, must be a visitor to a neighbour's as it was still a ten minute walk into town from where I lived and we were not convenient for the station.
Instead I muttered a curse aimed at inconsiderate drivers and lugged Lara inside the house, the infant carrier bumping against my leg, the change bag and our wet swimming costumes banging my hip as I made ungainly progress up the road. Once inside we dried off from the rain and I made lunch. Lara had embraced weaning with gusto and although I had only been at it a couple of weeks, she seemed to eagerly eat the small cubes of mush that I offered her, begging for more with a little sparrow like mouth. Sweet Potato and carrot puree was on the menu that lunch time and she ate five ice cubes with gusto, followed by a mix of apple and banana that seemed to go down a treat, even if most of it ended up on her rather then in her. After a feed she then collapsed into her cot and I dropped into the nearest chair, weary with the energy expanded that morning.
I balanced on the boundaries of wakefulness enjoying the moments of peace and solitude and trying very hard to stop myself drifting off. I knew there were chores to be done – I should take the spare time to put a wash on, make a dent in the pile of the ironing and mop the kitchen floor. My hair was in rat's tails from the chlorine and rain and could do with a wash and condition and my toenails drastically needed repainting. Instead the cosy sound of the rain rattling on the roof tiles had made me soporific and I couldn't muster enough energy to cross out even one item on my invisible list.
It was a battle to stop my eyelids closing as I sat there, lulled into peace by the repetitive noise, drifting off. The sound of the door knocker banging had me jumping up startled, the noise rousing me from my state of semi-slumber and I looked around in confusion, briefly wondering where the interruption had come from. The knock sounded again and I pushed myself up from the chair, yawning and stumbled towards the door, opening it wearily, wondering who it was and if I could dispatch them quickly.
He stood with his back to the door, obviously viewing the house across the road, an umbrella held by his side as he was under the porch and protected from the rain. He turned as I cleared my throat, the sound catching as I looked at his face, so that it changed to a cough. The smile on his faded at the noise; so it was a serious look that he gave me, blue eyes sparkling in his face.
"I-I guess you better come in Richard, get out of the rain," I said stupidly, standing back so he could come in through the door.
"Thanks." He automatically bent his head slightly as he walked over the threshold and stood inside, water dripping from the anorak he was wearing. I stood there and stared at him, mute with astonishment, shocked and surprised. Whilst I had expected him to make contact, possibly to call – having him turn up on my doorstep stunned me into silence.
"Hi Izzy," he finally said after I had stood without making conversation for a good half a minute. I squeezed my eyes shut and then opened them again but he was still standing there, the smell of wet coat rising from him as he dried slightly, standing by the radiator in the hall.
"Can I take your coat?" I finally dredged up some lost manners and watched as he shrugged out of it, handing it to me, my mind still refusing to acknowledge his presence as real, waiting for it to all dissolve away into another dream. But he didn't move, just smiled slightly; possibly a little bit embarrassed by the strange behaviour I was exhibiting, wondering what had happened to the woman he had known and why she had been replaced with the lunatic who didn't speak in full sentences.
Another glance up and down and I realised he was actually quite wet, had obviously been walking in the rain. The bottoms of his jeans were dark with water and the scuffed trainers no doubt wet through as well. Small droplets of rain caught in the locks around his face. It was only as my gaze assessed him that I realised he was unmasked, the twisted scar that ran across his face in full view – this was very much my Ric. "Hello," I said finally in return. "Come into the living room and dry off." He laughed at that, but followed me into my small cosy sitting room, sitting down in the chair I had just vacated, no doubt warmed with my body heat. "Um, cup of tea?" It seemed the most normal thing to do and the few minutes spent making it would let me regain some equilibrium.
"Yes please." The words were delivered with another soft smile as he bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes searching and holding mine.
"Feel free to take your shoes and socks off," I invited realising how stupid the words sounded after they had left my mouth. I hadn't seen this man in months and I was inviting him to get undressed. But my mothering gene was on and I couldn't help it. "The heating's on, you can stick them on the radiator to get them dry!"
"Thanks," the word was said with a light snort of laughter, but he bent over and pulled at the laces, obviously intending to take up my offer. I hesitated for a moment before turning and hurried to the kitchen.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit," I swore to the kettle, toaster and hob as there was no one to hear my alarm. "Shit," I added for good measure as I took mugs out of the cupboard and put teabags in. Richard was sitting in my living room; our daughter was asleep upstairs and with a bit of luck would remain so for another thirty minutes, possibly a little more. I was a bumbling mess, wrong footed by his arrival, unsure what I wanted to say to him, worried about the news I had to tell him.
Finally two mugs in hand I went back to the living room, pausing on the threshold. He had taken up my suggestion and now stood in the middle of the living room barefoot, his Converse and socks balanced on the radiator under the window. He had his back to me, perusing my small collection of DVDs and CDs, head titled to one side as he read some of the titles.
"Tea!" Even to my ears my voice was strained and high, but it caused him to turn and look at me, the slight grin fading again.
"I'm sorry Izzy, I should have called and asked if you were around- not just turned up on your doorstep," he apologised, taking the cup from me and sitting back down again. Sitting down was good, I could handle him sitting down, he wasn't so tall and huge, still sexy though – even with his wet jeans rolled up and the arms of his sweater pushed to his elbows. "I just got carried away, wanted to see you. It's been so long – too long."
"Guess Tatiana gave you my address?" He nodded. "How long did you have to torture her before she broke?"
"I said I would give her the Cluinn account, she squealed like a pig!" He flashed me a smile again and I realised how charming it was – had forgotten how he could tease and joke. My memories had not served me true. "You weren't around so I went for a walk into the town, try and get the lie of the land. It's raining pretty hard."
"Summer is totally over," I offered and he nodded.
"But it's quite nice. I missed the rain – we've been touring so many hot dry places and I forgot what a good rain shower is like."
"Very... wet," my eyes travelled to his large bare feet, watching as he flexed his toes into the rug. "If you have missed the rain you must have been away far too long – or you are just far too used to it."
"Have to be coming from Scotland, more then our fair share," he shot back. "Although obviously forgotten what it's like being out in it." He took a sip of his tea and gave a deep sigh of contentment. "I have missed real tea. I ran out of teabags halfway through and that Lipton's stuff you get everywhere else is just not the same, or maybe it's the water – couldn't figure it out."
I laughed slightly in a strained sort of way, not sure what to say or do. Part of me wanted to hyperactively get up and leap around the room, the nerves causing excess energy in me. The vitriolic side was getting worked up, huffing and puffing away; demanding that I ask some difficult questions and the hormones were just waking up and starting to get excited – I could feel the tremors running down my legs; the centre of me changing into molten wax.
"Dare I ask what you are doing living down here then?" He asked as he sipped his tea, his bright blue eyes never leaving my face, even over the rim of his mug.
"Oh, I err – Tatiana's parents live near here and it's where I grew up so it made sense to come..." I trailed off, unable to tell him the real reason, explain how I ended up miles away from London.
"I understand," he said quietly and I gave a weak smile, knowing that he didn't really.
"The thought of living in London now," I continued. "The noise and the crowds – no space – it is so unappealing. I haven't been up there in months – the start of the year. I'm content here – even if Tatty claims it is a provincial backwater."
"Won't you need to go up for work though?" My smile came out more as a grimace.
"S'pose so, although the idea is pretty...I guess I will cross that bridge when it happens. At the moment Tatty doesn't even have an office, just works from home."
"Or her local Starbucks," Ric added. "That's where she was when I saw her anyway."
"You met her in Starbucks? You went out looking like..." I gestured towards his face, not voicing the question I was asking.
"No," he shook his head as he bent down and put his empty mug on the floor. "I still wear the prosthetic most of the time, the masks are now for when I am Phantom and, well this is just me." He spread his hands as if to indicate his open state, replying also without words 'this is me, take me as I am' at least that is how I chose to interpret it.
"You look different," I said after a moment's hesitation, studying him again.
"It's the hair isn't it?" He self-consciously reached behind his shoulder and fiddled with the length of hair tied back in a ponytail. It reached down to the bottom of his shoulder blades. "I just haven't had a chance to get it cut, keep meaning to."
"Not just the hair," I added quickly. "You look – bigger!" My face must have shown my feelings about his large muscular chest and the developed pecs that peeked out from the sleeves of his top for he laughed.
"You've got Sandy to blame for those – he got me into the habit of exercising, running, lifting weights. I can bench press about one sixty pounds now. You need to be fit when you tour."
"But, you do all that running about on stage and ..." I trailed off, red staining my cheeks. I had just admitted that I watched their gigs, knew the energy to put into the performance.
"You need to be fit in the first place to do all that running about." He spoke softly. "I thought I was going to die with exhaustion when we first started touring last year."
And I thought I was going to die of a broken heart, the words popped into my brain as I stared at him and I felt the alarming prickle of moisture in my eyes. Damn, why was this so difficult, so awkward? There was so much I had to say to him and we were just skimming the surface, having silly conversation about rain, tea and hair. I glanced over at him again, noticed that he was looking down at his hands loosely knotted together, the long fingers interlocked.
"Ric," I said finally take a deep breath, knowing that I could not delay the inevitable any further.
"Yes Izzy."
"I need to tell you something, show you something and, well promise me you will hear me out before..." My voice trembled and I felt my jaw quiver. Suddenly, my mother's ear tuned into the sound of my daughter's yells from upstairs. I didn't know if it was sweet relief or the worst timing. "Just excuse me for one minute please." I put my cup down on the floor and without glancing at him slipped up the steep staircase to my daughter's little room.
She was lying in her cot, her blanket kicked off, staring at her mobile and chewing the hard corner of a teething toy. A suspicious smell arose from her trousers and I realised this is what had woken her – she normally slept for at least another quarter of an hour. I hurriedly changed her, not wishing to delay the moment anymore and with soft murmurs in her ear walked downstairs with her in my arms, my heart pounding as if I were going to the scaffold. It was now or never.
He looked up as I entered the room again, the smile in his eyes dropping away as he saw the child I carried in my arms. I sat down on the sofa opposite him, cuddling Lara to me, aware that I was about to change three people's lives forever.
"Who's that?" He said softly, the blood rushed out of his face making it pale and white, the scar standing out in contrast.
"Um," I suddenly realised my teeth were chattering like castanets. "Ric, this is L-L," I swallowed hard. "This is your daughter, Lara Frances." The words came out in a rush and I stared at him in muted desperation, the sight of his face blurring as tears began to well up in my eyes. If it was possible he had gone even paler and he slid out of the chair on to his knees on the floor, crawling forward a pace so that he knelt in front of me and our daughter.
"Lara," he spoke the name softly, his accent shortening the vowels making it sound softer. He stared at her with mute wonder and seeing their faces close together I realised that despite all my protests she looked like him. The shape of her eyes and their startling blue colour, the small pointed face and widow's peak hairline were all from him. Very gently he reached out a large trembling hand and placed it on her head, the size of the palm almost covering the top of her skull – it probably would have when she had been born. My daughter, who appreciated any sort of attention, gave him a beaming gummy smile and I watched as his mouth widened into one in return. His hand slipped off her head and he held out the other arm, silently asking to hold her.
It was very difficult to let go, to allow him to take her from my grasp, but I watched in admiration as he gently slipped his hand behind her back, cradling her against him as he rested back on his knees, looking down at her in amazement. I had to hand it to him; the man knew how to hold a small child. He moved his legs from underneath him and sat cross legged on the floor, balancing her on his knees, holding her in his eye line, his large hands supporting her small body and it was only as I briefly looked up from regard of my daughter that I realised tears were pouring from his eyes.
"Hey Ric," I said softly, alarmed at the emotions he was showing, far from the stoic creature I believed he had become. "Here, let me – there is..." He gently handed our daughter back to me before wrenching to his feet and striding out the room. Realising that he didn't know where to go, where the bathroom was, I gently put Lara down on her mat and followed him out. He was sitting on the stairs, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
"Ric," I touched his shoulder tentatively, not sure how he would react although the action was enough to make him look up. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, smiling slightly when I handed him a tissue.
"Thanks," the word was gruff and strained and he hesitated and wiped his eyes before taking a deep breath. "How old is she Izzy?"
"Practically six months, give or take a few days. Her birthday is April seventeenth." I hesitated and looked at him, glad the tears had dried up – it was unnerving to see him cry, so out of character. "Ric, I'm sorry." I said simply, not completing the sentence. Sorry for leaving you, sorry for not telling you, sorry for lying, sorry for not getting in contact – there was too much to apologise for. He snorted slightly and gave a deep sigh.
"She looks like Mam," he said quietly. "It was a shock."
"Yeah." It must have been a shock, I never thought of it from his point of view. Hello Ric, here is your daughter, gosh doesn't she look like your dead mother and by the way she has the same name.
"Explains a lot," he rose from his seat on the stairs, towering over me as he stood a couple of steps higher, slowly coming down the staircase. He reached out and ran his fingers gently down the side of my face, sending a shiver straight down my spine. I took a step backwards away from his touch, shaking my head.
"No Ric, no." I knew that his eyes shone with disappointment as I turned on my heel and walked back into the living room, laughing as I saw that my monkey of a daughter had managed to roll herself off the mat and was now lying on the carpet, examining the pile with an air of suspicion as it was not edible. I scooped her up, cuddling her close and showering her head with kisses, suddenly feeling the separation more desperately then before. She was no longer mine alone – by letting Richard in, I had to share her. Aware that he was now standing in the doorway I purposefully turned and handed Lara to him. "Here you go, why not get to know each other and I can go and put a wash on." I didn't give him a chance to object, but slipped past with a little smile – in for a penny, in for a pound.
The chores took more time then I realised and a full twenty minutes elapsed as I loaded the machine, washed up and cleaned the kitchen. Returning to the living room where I had heard the gentle Scottish tones talking I stopped stunned – it was empty. The panic that flooded my veins had my heart thumping. "Richard!" The word came out as a frightened shout – adrenalin coursing around, thoughts about child kidnapping running through my head. "Richard, where are you?"
"We're up here!" The reply came back down and I stopped and turned, realising that he was upstairs. I took the stairs two at a time.
"What the hell are you doing up here?" Fright caused aggression in my tone as I stopped dead in the doorway to Lara's room. He stood there at the change table, his daughter lying down on her back, her trousers off and a rolled up nappy balanced on the edge.
"She was wet," he replied a chiding glance thrust in my direction before he flattened out a nappy from the basket underneath, smiling down at his daughter. "Now stop rolling around, your Da hasn't done this in a long time." I stood there and watched, the adrenalin causing my body to shake as it left, trying not to gape in amazement as he changed her nappy with a sure handed touch. "There, better!" He picked her up, cradling her in his arm and walked over to me, a slight smile tugging at the corner of one mouth.
"H-How did you know how to do that?" I remembered my first cack handed efforts when she was still newborn, compared to the ease with which this single man had changed his daughter."
"My Grandmother was a midwife? I have listened in on more childcraft lessons then I can remember. And I was fifteen when my brother was born – use to change his nappies, it hasn't altered much, although couldn't find the talcum powder."
"I don't, you don't use..." I shook my head, trying to clear the fog, slightly stunned at what I had witnessed. This man, this musician, so comfortable in the role I had thrust upon him? Or was he just trying to be helpful? All I knew was that the little bubble I had inhabited for the past six months had just burst. Ric was here; he accepted his daughter and if early indications were to be believed, he would be good with her – would give Lara the love I had so desired him to pour upon her. He was cradling her against his chest, her little body pressed to his, one small hand resting on his muscled bicep, happy and innocent. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "What were your plans for the today Richard?"
"Plans?" he sounded shocked. "Anything I had planned to do has been blown out the water, I don't really know. Am I holding you up with something?" I shook my head.
"No." I took a deep breath and continued. "So would you like to stay the rest of the day, maybe for supper? I – we, there is a lot to discuss – about Lara and things." He nodded gravely and I frowned, wondering why he wasn't standing still, before I realised he was swaying slightly, the motion comforting the child in his arms.
"That would be nice, thanks for the invitation. If you want, I can continue to keep an eye on her – if there is more stuff you need to do that is?" I let out a slight laugh, amazed at his generosity, at the absolute difference to the stereotypical picture I had painted in my head.
"Okay – hope you like CBeebies," I replied in turn and with a flash of a smile, I led the way downstairs.
As good as his word, he kept our daughter entertained all afternoon whilst I pottered around, cleaning and tidying, writing a couple of press releases and finally when the rain stopped strapping her into the buggy and taking her for a brief walk with him, playing at happy families.
It felt odd to have him so close, so docile and accepting of the situation and I was torn between joy at his easy acceptance of the situation and worried that his immediate love for Lara might spur him on to make selfish decisions about her future. He stood in the doorway as I bathed her and then left us alone for our last feed of the day and slipped off downstairs.
It was dark by the time she was settled, the winter nights drawing in and he had turned lights on. There was a bottle of wine open on the table in the kitchen and a poured glass standing next to it. I picked it up and wandered into the living room stopping in surprise. He was sitting in the armchair again, sipping from the glass his face in shadow as only a small table lap was turned on.
"Did you bring this wine?" I asked holding the glass up. He nodded and I gave a brief smile before taking a sip. It was nice, a far cry from the cheap plonk I occasionally treated myself to. The taste fortified me. "Ric, I just wanted to say..."
"What Izzy?" He didn't let me finish and I blanched at his tone of voice, sharp, unlike the gentle way he had been speaking today.
"Don't be angry, please."
"Angry? Izzy, I am fucking furious!" He stood up, his tall frame casting menacing shadows around the small room. "Why the hell didn't you tell me sooner? I could have helped, could have been there? Shit, I could have known my daughter six months earlier."
"You couldn't have been there – you've been on tour. Tell me how you could have been there for us?" His shoulders sagged at my acidic question.
"Maybe not in person, but I could have supported you. What the hell have you been living on these past few months? Fresh air? Government handouts?"
"They aren't too bad for a single mother," my words came out tartly. "But no, Annabel and Peter Cheyne rent this house for me and I have an allowance in the form of the rent you pay on my old flat. I have to live carefully, but don't worry; your daughter doesn't go without." I was quivering with anger myself, riled by his accusations. Damn it, he hadn't changed at all, just as domineering as ever. Now that he was back he would fix it all for us – yeah right!
"I can tell that," he replied quietly. "It is obvious she is happy and settled. She's beautiful." He paused, maybe aware that he had overstepped the mark. "Why do the Cheyne's rent this house for you?" He paused. "Oh god, they think Lara is the Blonde Buffon's child – promise me they don't think that?" I sighed, crumpling on to the sofa in a heap.
"No Ric, they don't, at least Annabel and Tatiana know the truth and I don't think Peter cares either way – Ralph sure as hell doesn't. Couldn't wait to get the hell out of dodge, dumped me at his parents when the pregnancy got complicated and buggered off to a job in Dubai. He's never contacted me since even though I haven't told him he's not the father, it shows him up for the callous man he is." The cushions next to me sank slightly with his weight as he sat down.
"Last Christmas, when you were in hospital – that was due to the pregnancy?" I nodded. "Shit, I am such a fool – why didn't I recognise the symptoms?" He chastised himself more then me. "You were throwing up all over the place, you got fatter and tearful and then you were in hospital. I kept thinking you had some terminal illness, cancer or something. It is so damn obvious in hindsight!" He smacked his hand down against his knee and I stared at it with a degree of fascination. The long fingers wrapped around the worn denim, a chunky metal watch strapped to his wrist and tangled up with its strap was a bracelet that I had given him. It was dirtier then I remembered, a few threads slightly frayed, attesting to its permanence – it didn't look as if it had been removed in a long time.
"Don't be too hard on yourself. I didn't know for ages – kept thinking I had some bug."
"Did you ever plan to tell me?"
"Yes, several times – but as you once said Murphy 's Law was against us." I took another sip of the wine, the soft rich flavour slipping down my throat, relaxing me, softening the rigidity in my limbs. I sunk a little further into the chair and gave a deep sigh, my hand falling to my side, grazing against his. He picked it up in his palm, squeezing it. But his touch was electric and I sat up again too quickly. "Supper!" I turned and looked at him. "What do you feel like for supper? Is pasta okay?" I was back to the burbling fool again and I caught the wistful smile he gave as the sensible Izzy slipped away again. But I couldn't let him close, didn't want to give him one iota of encouragement and think that he could just waltz back into my life – that was far too dangerous.
Instead I busied myself serving a simple meal, leftovers repackaged as a pasta dish. We sat at the table in the kitchen in muted light, talking little and enjoying the rest of the bottle of wine that he had supplied. It was hardly fine dining, but it was the best that I could offer and he seemed to lap it up. "Sorry it's nothing more elaborate," I apologised as I cleared his empty plate. "You're probably use to fine restaurants and posh food now."
"Hardly!" He snorted at the thought. "You eat whatever you can lay your hands on whenever it is served. We occasionally had some catering staff on tour with us, in Australia and the US, but it is a lot of sandwiches, even more Pizza and takeout. I really missed good home cooking. You are an excellent cook Izzy, always have been."
"Yeah well, don't raise the bar too much; I don't have anything for pudding."
"That's all right." He paused and in the dim light, I caught the gleam of his eyes staring at me as I scraped the plates clean and loaded them into the dishwasher. "We haven't really done much talking have we?" His voice was calmer again, mellowed by the food and wine or maybe he was making an effort to control his temper.
"S'pose not. What do you want to talk about? I am all right as long as stick to the weather and aspects of child rearing." I was nervous and it came out as sarcastic humour.
"How about you; Lara, how I might fit into your lives?" He shrugged. "Sit down and have another glass of wine, the washing up can wait." I hesitated and then removed a block of cheap cheese from the fridge and paired it with some crackers, sitting down again at the table, looking at the linoleum table covering, picking at a bit of dried on weetabix with my fingernail. He was right, this was a conversation we needed to have – it wasn't one that I wanted though for it could only be painful. "Isabella, look at me," his voice was gentle but firm. "Please," he added and I reluctantly lifted my head from the regard of the table cloth. He grabbed my hand across the width of the wood before I could remove them and held it caught between his hands. "Why didn't you tell me when you found out?"
"I wanted to Ric, but I didn't find out until, until..." My teeth started chattering again as I dredged up memories I had squashed down and buried. "It goes back further Ric – back to the start of when Cluinn was signed, when you all started; getting told what to do and what to wear, when they created Phantom for you and Devlin Summers started bossing you and me around." I gulped. "I hardly saw you, doing your degree and trying to record and you were always so tired and short tempered. I felt pushed out." The tears were starting to prick and I felt the warmth of his hand gently rubbing my fingers, the press of his ring into my hand.
"I remember, they were manic times, everything got out of hand and I didn't know which commitments to fulfil first, so tried to do them all." He spoke softly. "I am afraid that as you were the least demanding you probably got the smallest amount of me and I was pretty thinly shared around. But Izzy, please don't think for one moment I didn't appreciate everything you did. God, you made it possible for me to live, to achieve what we did when we did." I gave a weak smile through the tears that had started to run down my face.
"At Glastonbury, when you were so sick..."
"My focus was you – you were the one that got me through that nightmare of a performance. Shit Izzy, I could barely stand upright. And you stood up to Dev, got me home – nursed me through it. I was so grateful, so amazed at the care and love you showed I seriously thought I should ask you to marry me then and there." I gave a slight gasp at his admission.
"So why didn't you?"
"Why didn't I?" He gave a short laugh. "Because I was scared you would throw it back in my face, worried that I wasn't what you really wanted. Hey, success was beckoning, but all I had to offer was a CD of music, a possibility and nearly thirty grand of debt – why should I have saddled you with that?" Spoken in his logical way, I could see the reasoning behind it; understand that the moment hadn't been right.
"But you were so bloody stoic all the time Ric, never said you loved me, never showed that you did!"
"Showed!" He drew his hand out of the grasp and as I did so I realised we had been clinging to each other as if it were the only thing keeping us from drowning. "It was all for you Izzy, every fucking note, every lyric – both the first album and this one."
"Bollocks. Your latest album wasn't for me at all. Carthesis means to get over someone Richard and you quoted me as inspiration – you wrote those songs as a way of getting over breaking up with me. That isn't showing someone you loved them – that is finalising the end of a relationship."
"I didn't mean it like that. Isabella, the title was decided after we had written the dedications. The guys ragged me silly, said they could tell exactly how I had been feeling about you at the time I penned every song. And you know what? They were right. 'Setting Sun' is about trying to move on. 'Chasing Shadows' is all the regret I felt, still feel. 'Hearts on Fire' what the fuck do you think that's about?" He stopped, chest heaving with emotion, but I wasn't moved.
"And what about 'Fighting 'til the End'? And of course let's not forget 'Carthesis' as well, or 'Numbness'? Yeah, I can tell you missed me a lot." I raged back at him, failing to notice the smile that started to widen his mouth, forgetting in my anger that I was quoting the titles of all his songs back at him, obviously knew them all intimately. As I spoke, he stood up and moved around the table and crouched down next to me.
"Izzy," he shook his head as if it would clear his thoughts. "I promise that you were always the most important thing in my life and everything I did was trying to deal with that, trying to prove that I could get by without you, but it is a lie."
"Yeah, well you know what Richard; I can get by without you!" Unfortunately my voice trembled as I delivered my verdict and instead of the words wounding as I had intended, they seemed to amuse him.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?" I nodded, trying to put on an act of bravado, except he leaned forward, stood up slightly and kissed me, long and hard. Mind drenching, deep, his tongue wriggling in between my lips, those large calloused hands, cupping my face, kissing me as if it were the act of a dying man. Resistance was futile and it took me a good few seconds to gather the wits that had fled and pull away from him, panting slightly as my hormones rushed around, demanding to know why I had stopped something so wonderful.
"I'm sure," I hissed, at the very same moment a little voice inside starting shouting about my ability to lie. But I was determined that I wouldn't fall out of the frying pan and into the fire. Tatiana's warnings had been well heeded; I wasn't going to fall back into this man's arm. One half cooked apology and a kiss didn't give him a place in my bed. There was far too much past history, far too much that needed to be discussed and agreed and I feared that the wine and intimacy had got to us. Continue on his present course and he would end up in my bed, making me no better then a common groupie and probably given in to him with as little resistance.
He straightened up and looked at me, bewilderment, anger and confusion mingling on his face, lust making his breathing heavy. He shook his head as if to clear the confusion and looked down at me, before rubbing his face with his hands. "I'm sorry Izzy." He paused. "I guess that's it then. Are you going to ask me to leave now?"
