Thank you for all your very kind and informative reviews of late - they really help as it makes me reconsider my characters, think about connections that I have not realised or problems I may have forgotten about. This story plays on a loop in my head of late, like a TV screen I can't quite see in the corner of mind, hence the quick updates as I seem to know what is going to happen before I have even started the chapter - the characters are writing it themselves. So enjoy another offering and please let me know what you think.

Chapter 49

It was always difficult getting up to my daughter's demanding wail in the early hours. It was even more difficult that morning, having had a late night and too much wine. I staggered down the hallway to her room feeling haggard, my hair a bird's nest, attesting to the restless night. "Hello darling," I greeted her on a yawn, scooping her from the cot and staggering back to my bed with her. I lay down on my side, letting her lie next to me and feed, exhaustion getting the better of me as I half dozed.

Unlike the early days, I no longer breastfed all the time and had thankfully managed to wean her onto the bottle during the day so that Tatiana and Annabel could share in the chore, but her morning and night feeds were still from me. I valued our shared moments, liked the intimacy and bond that it gave us. Sometimes I could only wish she would sleep a little bit longer though – half six in the morning was quite a rude awakening.

Being October the days were drawing in and sunrise was increasingly later. Currently my daughter was engaged in a race to see who could be up first and that morning she had nearly succeeded. Daylight was only starting to break through the gap in my curtains as we lay there and I could feel sleep tugging back down at my eyelids as I flopped against the pillow ruminating on the previous day.

"Izzy?" The voice was soft and I opened my eyes and lifted my head to look at the man hesitantly standing in my doorway, a cup of tea in each hand. "I made you some tea!"

"Oh hey, thanks," I croaked blushing. I lay there my boob hanging out of the nursing bra, stomach flopped over onto the mattress – it wasn't a pretty sight. In contrast he was only wearing a t-shirt and boxers, his long legs sticking out the end and muscular biceps bulging out the armholes, a tattoo peeking out from under the short sleeve; glasses on and his hair falling in an artful tangle around his face – not quite as much of a nest as mine, but nearly. He took a step into the room, placing the cup down on the bedside cabinet, before retreating to the relatively neutral ground of the doorway.

I had let him stay the night. Partly worried that he had drunk too much to legally drive and I did not want to be responsible for Phantom losing his licence or worse and also because deep down I was scared that if I sent him away I would not see him again, at least not on such neutral friendly ground. Instead I feared Tatiana's dire warnings might come true and I would only ever see him again as Lara's parent. Therefore with stern warnings to behave himself, I magnanimously offered him the spare bed for the night, gave him a clean towel and went to bed closing the door behind me, a signal that he was not too try and cross the threshold.

However sleep had not come easily and I had tossed and turned, finally opening my door, hating to have a barrier between Lara and me, not use to shutting her out. I could hear his rhythmic breathing, not quite a snore, even and clear. There was a certain irony, not lost on me that we started out our relationship in separate beds and I use to lie awake at night then listening to him, desiring him – two years later the situation was the same; although I was even more reluctant to give in to his charms though.

We hadn't managed to talk, not properly. The passion that we always held for each other had not disappeared and my traitorous hormones demanded that I strip off and jump into bed with him, morals and future be dammed. But I didn't want to sell myself so cheaply, wasn't willing to accept anything other then being the most important person in his life (tied only with his daughter) and until I had some very important and no doubt difficult explanations and promises I wasn't budging an inch – and he was not allowed to get his hands on my body. I wasn't sure if I should inform him of the new state of play or not.

"Go back to bed Ric," I said wearily. "We get up very slowly in the mornings; I don't have the energy to be quick.

"Well, when you are finished feeding I don't mind getting her up, giving her breakfast. You can have a lie in." He shrugged. I laughed, more in amazement then anything else.

"You want to feed a small child breakfast and change a morning nappy!" He nodded, frowning slightly at the disbelief in my voice. "Be my guest then. She has a weetabix and apple puree for breakfast, spoons in the steriliser and then clean her up, ears, eyes, neck – gets so much food caught in her neck. Um, I'll get some clothes out for you and she usually poos about ten minutes after eating, so don't be too quick to change and dress her afterwards. You can use the full fat milk in the fridge for her cereal, but if she wants a drink the formula is on the worksurface and there are sterilised bottles next to it – don't use the ones in the washing up bowl though. Got all that?" I barked out the instructions, falling into baby mode without thinking, not caring that he might not understand all the complicated rituals of bringing up a small child. My brain just concentrated on another half hours sleep. Delicious.

She had finished her morning feed by this time and lay there, contentedly, falling off my breast, so that it hung out of my top. I could feel the heat of Richard's gaze as he looked at it and wearily covered it up – hardly a thing to ignite sexual excitement, more of a milch cow. However I pushed myself to sitting, handed Lara over to her father and lumbered into her room, cup of tea in hand (how blissful) where I pulled out the necessary clothes for her to wear.

He followed me, Lara tucked into the crook of his arm, my daughter smiling away at me – the ease with which he held her annoying; so easily did he seem to take on this parenting role. In contrast to my cack handed efforts of her early days and the indecision and apprehension I had approached child rearing with, it annoyed me that he seemed to be such a natural. Of course this was not the first time – as he had said he had been involved with children, his own brother for starters and it was more the reawakening of lost skills then learning them anew, like most first time fathers. But even still it was just another thing he approached with ease. I had forgotten that he did not seem to suffer the indecision and uncertainty that most of the human race had to deal with, myself especially.

"Go back to bed Izzy," he repeated as I stood in the middle of the room, fussing with jeans, vest and sweater, socks (that never stayed on) and nappies. "You look exhausted!" I pulled a face half in agreement, knowing that the grey nightshirt I wore, coupled with woolly bedsocks was not exactly passion inducing.

"Yeah okay." It was wrench to leave him standing there with Lara, knowing full way that I had rather left him dangling – partly in revenge, throw him the baby and see how well he would handle it. But an invitation to be horizontal with my eyes shut was not to be dismissed and I lumbered back to bed, crawling under the duvet and closing my eyes. Of course as luck would have it, sleep had decided that it wouldn't come back and so I lay there, listening, ears sharp to any sign of distress from either party downstairs.

My little house was so small, the bathroom downstairs off the kitchen and three tiny bedrooms upstairs that the sound carried around the house. I could hear every word of the one sided conversation Richard had with his daughter, who must have been sitting there, letting out an indignant squawk every so often. "Right, Weetabix – and this goo must be the puree – yum. Okay open wide, delicious. Shit – that went everywhere!" I found myself giggling, visualising the exact scenario that was being played out downstairs. I hadn't told Ric that his daughter liked spitting out weetabix almost more then she enjoyed eating it.

His voice was a gentle grumble as he continued on the chore of feeding and dressing and I lay there smiling and laughing softly at the commentary that was punctuated by sung phrases and words, occasionally hummed pieces of music. As the sun rose higher, above the roofline of the houses opposite and straight in through my bedroom window, I eased myself out of bed, washed and dressed and went downstairs to see what the consequences of my morning lie in were.

I found them in the living room at the front of the house, lying in a sunbeam. He was on his back lifting her up on his arms and lowering her down, causing her to giggle with delight, trying to snatch the glasses off his face with her small hands. They were both dressed in a fashion, but a quick glance in the kitchen attested to the fact that although food had been eating, no clearing up done.

"Another cup of tea or coffee?" I asked quietly having stood and watched them for a few minutes, the happy scene causing my heart to ache.

"Coffee, god, yes please!" He sat up quickly and came to his feet with ease. My daughter clapped her hands in delight and then lent out of his arms, determined to get into mine. I gathered her up with delight, hugging her warmly. It was lovely to have some time off, even nicer to get her back at the end of it.

He stood next to me, smiling down at his daughter before looking up at me. I had forgotten how glasses magnified his eyes and they flashed blue and serious at me. "Enjoy your morning?" I asked trying to break the intensity of the moment.

"Yeah, it was fine – bit messy. Found a new way of lifting weights, more fun then pumping iron anyway." He paused. "Nice lie in?"

"Heavenly, thanks for that." I paused, not sure what to say; conversation awkward after last night. It was made even more difficult having to carry it out over Lara's head. "I am just going to put Madam down for a quick twenty minutes, would you put the kettle on please?" He nodded and moved aside so I could climb up the stairs, settling my daughter again, who was tired after her early start.

He had made himself at home when I came back down, the coffee brewing and the washing-up at least stacked next to the sink. "I'd better go home," he offered as I entered the kitchen. His back was to me and he was leaning forward against the worksurface, pushing down hard with his hands; I could see the muscles in his arms bulging with the effort. A thousand retorts and excuses sprang to my lips – I didn't want him to leave, especially if he was doing so because he thought he had outstayed his welcome.

"Right now? Is there something you have to do?" I kept my voice level, trying to get the right balance between grabbing need and a cold shoulder. He turned and faced me at my question and I could see the cloud in his eyes. He reached up under his glasses and wiped them and I frowned. Surely he hadn't been crying? I had hardly seen him cry at all in the time I had known him and here he was teary twice in under twenty-four hours. Was this the emotion his daughter bought out in him?

"Apart from a lot of washing? Not at the moment – it all starts again in three weeks," he forced a smile. "Just don't want to outstay my welcome, that's all." I met his eyes levelly.

"You're not, promise. I would tell you if you were Ric. I just want to talk, rather then anything... else."

"And I would rather do both!" He offered it up as a joke, but if fell flat, making the atmosphere in the room even more strained. I went and stood next to him, pouring two cups of coffee and sat down at the table. He joined me on the other side, an exact replay of last night. "What do you want me to do Izzy?" He asked levelly.

"I want you to explain?" I cried out in frustration. "I want some answers Richard because I am confused. What I don't want to do is sweep it all under the carpet where it can fester away quietly. We could pick up exactly where we left off, but all that would happen is the next time one of us feels hard done by all that anger, resentment and pain will come welling up again. And Lara is now around to get hurt as well."

"Okay." He took a sip of his coffee before fixing me with a steely gaze. "Do you still love me Isabella?"

"What sort of question is that? That is unfair and loaded Richard, too bloody unfair."

"Will it help if I answer it first then?"

"What; do you still love yourself?" Anger made me petulant and he sighed and propping his head on his hands.

"Not exactly constructive is it. We won't get very far if you keep hurling insults at me." I snorted.

"Hurling insults! Maybe if you stopped lecturing me then I wouldn't feel the need to take aim." I paused, realising that I had automatically fallen into old habits. Yes, he had asked a rather loaded question, but that was all, he hadn't been lecturing, in fact he had done very little of anything, maybe the fault did lie with me in this instance. "Okay, sorry – that wasn't very grown up was it?" A slight smirk from his mouth answered my question. "Tell you what, when Lara wakes up I will go and drop her off with Annabel and then we can go for a walk, discuss this in the open – shout a little more freely maybe? Good idea?" He nodded.

And so half an hour later we were bundled into his car, the usual paraphernalia that went with looking after a small child pushed into the change bag and his daughter, strapped into her infant carrier lovingly fastened into the back seat. It was nice to have a second pair of hands to help me carry it all to the car, having someone else to heft up the considerable weight of an infant in their safety chair.

"This is a nice car," I said sitting in the roomy interior, appreciating the warmth that came from the leather seats.

"Don't get too use to it, it's only rented," he replied, pulling out of the parking space and following my instructions to Annabel, his eyes darting around the leafy roads and hills that surrounded the town I lived in. Ten minutes later we were in the countryside, the houses taking up huge plots of land, walls and gates keeping people out, possessing the countryside as their own. I rushed inside the large house, leaving Richard in the car, the silence heavy and oppressive, both of us knowing that we had to break it and talk.

Annabel accepted Lara with open arms. She had taken on the honorary title of Granny, even though we both knew it was not true, however there was no one else to place the name on and this kind woman did so much for me. She did not comment on the large black car idling outside or the fact that I didn't stay for a chat, but rushed out again, grabbing a spare pair of large wellingtons from the masses in the boot room – I think they may have belonged to the gardener.

We parked at the Devil's Punchbowl, looking at the scenery that dropped away in a steep circular valley, to the North Downs beyond. Ric stood at the head of the car gazing away into the distance for a moment, immune to my shouts that were whipped away by the wind. His posture was brooding and with his dark wavy hair tied back off his face, it was as if he were re-enacting a scene from Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff on the moors. He had glued his prosthetic onto his face, put more contacts in and I felt a little more removed from him then when he had been lying on my living room floor. "Ric, I have some wellies for you, it might be muddy after all the rain!" I tried again and this time he turned and listened, walked to the back of the car, swapping his thin trainers for the large wellingtons, digging his hands into the pockets of his anorak.

We walked in silence for a few minutes, the land falling away as the track passed down the side of the natural amphitheatre in the land. "They say the devil created this by throwing mud at Thor," I said as much to break the deafening silence as anything else.

He laughed slightly at the old and suspicious explanation, but did not say anything in reply until we had gone on a few paces, the sandy path changing and becoming muddier as we descended. "Have you thought anymore about the question I asked earlier?" His voice was subdued and gruff, the words delivered without looking at me, instead at his feet encased in the dirty green rubber boots. I didn't reply but splashed through a large muddy puddle instead. "Well have you?" He pressed.

"I don't know what you want me to say Ric?" It was such a loaded difficult question. "Either way I will hurt both of us with my answer. I could tell by the scowl on his face that it wasn't an acceptable response. "I can say very truthfully that I did love you, loved you an awful lot. Does that help?"

"A little bit." He thrust his hands deeper into his pockets and with no more then a glance at me he continued. "I loved you too, didn't realise it at first. I freely admit that when I came and sat at your door, it wasn't because I loved you and wanted to be with you, it was because I needed somewhere to stay and I was attracted to you and I knew you to be feisty and I also knew that you didn't come with ties, excess family, siblings and aunts and uncles." He shrugged and bit his lips slightly, possibly embarrassed by the harsh words.

"That's very truthful."

"Yeah and cruel isn't it? When I speak it like that in the open it makes me realise how calculated it was. But Izzy, I felt like that for maybe a few hours, until you took me back to my old lodgings and stood up to that awful landlady, then offered me a room – it disarmed me totally and I started to realise what a kind and giving person you were."

"You still didn't love me though did you?"

"No," he looked up and fixed me with a gaze, pleading in its depths. "I fell in love with you before I realised that I did. It was gradual and then when you came home and were so upset because Alanya and Jim were there and you challenged that I could teach you to sing."

"Yeah, I remember that evening. You were as stoic and unyielding as ever."

"And you were..." he gave a snort of laughter and shrugged his shoulders. "Magnificent," he offered after a pause. "You never ever back down from a challenge do you? And I couldn't help but bait you to see if you would rise."

"Immature," I flung out at him. And then the next day when you, when you..." The emotions realised that there was a chink in my armour and started to well up. I was angry with myself, how dare they come out as this early stage, when what we were discussing was fairly neutral, a past hurt that had been resolved. If it was bad this early on, it was only going to get worse.

"We discussed that a long time ago. Are you still holding it against me, or has it just come out in the list of grievances?" His tone was bitter. "Okay, let me say it again. I have never treated a woman like that before or since and it was probably because I had just started to realise how much I wanted and needed you in my life and you blocked me out, were the first girl to every say 'no' to me. I reacted with anger and I hurt you. I am sorry, but you know that!" He ground the words out and put on a burst of speed, striding past me down the hill, anger spurring on his exercise so that I had to run to catch him up.

"Ric, wait," I scampered after him, my boots sliding slightly on the slippery mud. I caught up with him, hooking my arms through his as much to stabilise myself on the slide down the hill as to try and show him that I was not angry about that incident anymore. Whatever the outcome of this discussion, I wanted us to remain on friendly terms, for Lara's sake at least. He looked down at my hand in surprise.

"Do you still wish to continue in chronological order? Is there a list of all my wrongdoing that you wish me to answer for? What did I do next that was wrong – oh yes, forced you to sing in our concert. Selfish, thoughtless, yes and yes again. And then what did I do wrong after that – no, I was quite good for a while."

"Stop it!" I shouted the words, the wind whipping them away. "I have never held the singing against you – ever. You gave me back a gift that is amazing. I sing to Lara all the time and she loves music, absolutely loves it. I even considered joining a choir I missed singing so much."

"Why don't you audition for crapstar, be Simon Cowell's latest signing?" His words were sarcastic before he softened slightly, the words getting through. "Lara does love music doesn't she? I was singing to her today and you could just see her whole face light up, it was like it all made sense to her." He hefted another sigh and stopped, putting a hand on my shoulder, looking down, his eyes strangely gentle when only moments ago they had been clouded with confusion and pain. "For the sake of Lara, I will be thankful forever Izzy. I cannot express how much it means to me that I have a child! Suddenly a lot of things I was questioning make sense. She is wonderful, she really is – you have been amazing bringing her up by yourself and I promise that whatever happens I will support you and try and share in everything from now on." I gave a slight sob at his words, so kind and helpful, but not what I wanted to hear for they suggested that we would be bringing up Lara together as her parents, but separately as people.

"Thank you Richard, that means a lot to me. It hasn't been easy." I swallowed hard. "But I need to explain why I made the decisions I did, even if I regret them now." It was my turn to sigh now. "Look, we explained why things went wrong in our lives, you did try and be Superman for a while and do everything. What I hold against you is the way you used to blame me for your exhaustion, your frustration when I had no hand in it. You can be quite vicious in your arguing and you often verbally hurt me – a lot!"

"For which I am sorry. If it's any consolation, I have learnt to control my temper, grown patient in my old age. Had to really as I've encountered some real idiots around the world, dealt with so many people and red tape. And besides, you often gave as good as you got when we argued and I can't help but be argumentative; it's the red hair," he quipped with a snort, making me look at the hair on his head. It was still dark, but obviously the heat of countries that had toured through had highlighted the natural auburn."

"You don't have to dye your hair anymore?"

"No, that was in the early days when Dev said jump and we obeyed. We've got a track record now, proved ourselves, make money for the label – make a hell of a lot of money for the record label – they pretty much let us do whatever we want." He snorted slightly. "I forgot about all that, Dev telling you to call me Phantom and arguing all the time because he was so domineering and I was too scared to really stand up to him."

"Hang on a sec, you were scared of Dev? Since when, you always stood up to him?"

"Okay, not scared exactly, how could I be scared of a five foot nothing cockney? I was scared of the faith he had in the band's ability to play and my capability to write music. I was worried that he would get pissed off and chuck us out on the street owing the label loads of money that I had no way of repaying. So yeah, I did tend to go with the flow – even when I realised he was bullying you and me – didn't want to rock the boat. And then, after Glasto when we had proved that people wanted to see us, liked us as a band, it got easier then – he started to back off."

"And what's he like now?"

"Hardly ever see him. He appeared for the Brits and the MTV awards and was all hugging and back slapping, but most of the day to day stuff is dealt with by other people." I felt slightly reassured by his words – knowing that Dev wasn't around. I hated that man, hated the influence he used to have on the decisions the group had to make. But at the end of the day, the problem did not lie with Devlin Summers. Instead we were skirting around the big issue, ignoring the huge elephant that was travelling along with us.

Silence reigned again as we continued on the walk, the pathway levelling out and entering into a copse of trees, the pathway a little drier as we changed back to sand under our feet. "Why did you lie to me?" The question was blurted out with no tact, no forewarning – not as I had meant it to be said, not as rehearsed a million times in my head. He stopped and fixed me with a stare.

"When?"

"When you fed me a load of bollocks, about not wanting to inconvenience me by making me fly up to Scotland for T in the Park. You just wanted to shag groupies didn't you? Were you scared that if I found out I would chuck you out the flat, is that why?"

"I didn't shag anyone at T Izzy. I never have."

"Yes you did?" I hissed out, venom suddenly lacing my words. "Angus told me, you shagged someone and cut your shoulder – I saw the scar Richard - where she pushed you against something sharp. Can't have been having sex in bed, or is that not where you take groupies?"

"I fell against the drum riser because I couldn't see and was a bit drunk," he stated the words levelly, tonelessly as if I were slightly stupid, or hard of hearing. "I told Jim and Mike, one of our security guards that a woman did it because they were having a go at me for not behaving as a lead singer should. Apparently I should be the balls of the group – I personally prefer being the brains – but that is beside the point. Never did I even kiss a girl when I went up to Scotland that summer. All I wanted to do was complete my dissertation and get the hell back to you!" I listened to the words, a small well of hope starting to appear deep inside me, but I couldn't look at him; didn't want to see any possibility of mistruth. "Look at me Izzy, fucking well look at me!" He shouted the last words because I was staring at the soil beneath my feet, unable to raise my eyes to meet his face, didn't want him to see the tears that had started to stream, see how much it had hurt me and how much I cared.

"Don't shout at me," I hastily wiped the moisture from my eyes and strode on ahead, trying to regain my composure. "Are you telling the truth?"

"Yes!" He bit out. "If you don't believe me, ask Angus, he knows the facts now because he was the one that thought otherwise and I know he is the one that told you."

"You're right, he did. He's been a good friend though, kept an eye out for me."

"Me too!" He was by my side in a flash, his arm around my shoulder, trying to draw me in, although I held myself rigid next to him. "I would be a complete mess if it weren't for Mr Mullhay that much I guarantee. You wanna' know what we do most nights after a concert?"

"Get drunk, party, and chat up women?" I pulled away from his grasp and watched as his arm dropped down by his side, almost lifeless.

"Play Scrabble actually. Usually too worked up to go to bed straight away, don't want to get smashed, bored with cards – so Gus and I play Scrabble, or do crosswords, or Sudoku. Really rebellious hey?"

"That's not what the gossip columns say, or the articles in mag..." I stopped myself, realising my faux pas; admitting that I had obviously taken an interest in what he had been doing, in what people were saying. He gave a little smile but made no comment.

"They take half truths and weave stories Iz or people meet you once and believe it is your overall personality. Or sometimes people think you act like that as they expect you to. Sandy parties, like he always has and he still gets through women as if they were water, so a lot of people assume that we all behave in the same way and it's not true. Gus could apply for sainthood and Jim has been faithful to Alanya since they got married – amazingly enough."

"And what about you Ric, do you?" I flung out at him, confused and wrong footed by his admission and by my mistake, not wanting to hear what life was like on the road for him, scared at what he would admit.

"Do I what? Get through women – no." He fell into another silence as we negotiated a kissing gate, going through it and turning, to let me through. I made a move but he pulled it towards him, slamming it shut against the opening so my way was blocked.

"Can you open the gate please?" I ground out; suddenly thinking this walk was a bad idea. We still had one hell of a hill to climb back to the car and I was enough of an emotional and physical wreck already. I tugged at the gate, but he held it fast.

"No, I will let you pass once you've heard me out. You can't run away from this Izzy and I know it's what you are scared to ask me, so I will say it. No, I am not a womanising rock singer despite what happened. Yes, you caught me having a blow job on the tour bus at the V festival. What I promise you totally and utterly is that it was a set-up, which I was forced to do and apart from crossing my legs I didn't have much defence. She had been at it for all of five minutes when you discovered us."

"How horrible for you," I replied sarcastically trying to tug the gate open again still to no avail as he held it tightly shut with his strong arms.

"Izzy, Mike and Jim tied me up in the bus and let the girl do what she wanted. In retaliation for being stuck up and drinking a whole bottle of Jim's whiskey that cost him, or rather his father about five grand. It was a stupid act of revenge that ended badly." He inhaled deeply. "Jim and I came to blow over it, I nearly quit the band I hated him so much afterwards."

"So why didn't you explain?" I choked out with a sob. "Why didn't you call me and force me to listen, or get Jim to do the same? Maybe if I had realised, if I had known? Why didn't you chase after me when I ran from the bus?"

"You left me to cut myself free with the penknife Izzy? They had restrained me with cable ties and it took a bloody long time, I nearly sliced my wrist at one point. By the time I was free and gave chase you had gone. I went and beat up James instead! And then when I thought I could go and explain back at home you waltzed in with Ralph and said you were engaged. What was I suppose to do, beat him up? Shout the truth at you in front of him? I made what I believed to be a noble retreat – guessed that despite what you had told me; Tatiana was right and you had been carrying on with him, hence the reason you dived into his arms. Figured the best man must have won and retreated to lick my wounds." His voice had turned into a painful hiss, his eyes bright with unshed tears, like the ones running down my face as I recalled the horrible moments bought to life with his words.

"I-I," I gulped. "I found out I was pregnant Ric, that Friday and went up to V to tell you. Found you tied up and accepting a blow job and ran. I was scared and vulnerable enough, without knowing you were being unfaithful. And then Angus told me it wasn't the first time."

"He was wrong on both counts; he only said what he thought to be true!"

"It didn't matter Ric, I saw what I saw and made my own conclusions, which let's face it were fairly normal under the circumstances. And to make it worse I had been worried about telling you because I thought you would be cross and angry – dumping a pregnancy on you just as you were starting to succeed as musicians, last thing you needed. Part of me was scared you might demand an abortion!"

"What!" The look on his face made me realise in a flash I couldn't have been more wrong. "Isabella, how could you even begin to think that? If someone had made a fifteen year old girl have an abortion, then I would never have lived. I'm a Catholic Izzy, it goes against everything I believe in – I would never ever have demanded that of you. We would have found a way around it, maybe it would have been difficult but we would have found a way!" He took a deep shuddering sigh. "But with those doubts rolling around in your mind and then discovering me with my dick in a girl's mouth you believed there would be no way I would be a faithful boyfriend and father, did you?" The words came out pained with the realisation of the situation and I nodded, unable to speak as I was shaking and crying so much. "Please don't cry Izzy, please don't!" He lifted his hands from holding the gate and wiped them under my eyes, brushing away the tears before bending forward and kissing me lightly on the lips. "Don't cry," he whispered again, his breath warm on my face. I pulled back; not wanting to loose it all on a kiss and he stood back and opened the gate for me so I could walk through.

"Just because it is a kissing gate, doesn't mean you have to kiss me," I spoke tartly, trying to cover up my true feelings and inner turmoil.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it."

"The thing is Ric," I said trying to regain an even footing in our conversation as I strode up the pathway that had started to climb again. It was a fairly fruitless task for tears still pricked at my eyes and my emotions were open and raw. "You caused me a lot of wrong and I took all that and compounded it. I went and saw a man and lied and told him that he was the father of our child because I was so scared and angry. Your wrong made me do wrong and it all boils into one huge bloody mess – one that I am still entangled in to a certain extent. In some ways I am lucky that Ralph was such a weakling, that he did take so little interest because otherwise you might have had to fight another man for custody of your child!"

"Did Ralph ever suspect that Lara wasn't his?"

"I don't know – but he never took much interest in anyone apart from himself. He had a dreadful coke habit and a big ego that increased whenever he indulged."

"And you chose that man to be the father?" His voice was incredulous.

"I had nowhere else to go. At the time I felt trapped. And then as things settled down, as emotions no longer ruled supreme, I realised what I had done and it was a very hard treadmill to stop. The only thing that gave me pause was that song you sent me."

"Which song?" He paused walking up the hill, his breathing heavier with the exertion, although not as flushed as I was. He obviously did not remember for he frowned as if trying to recall what he might have emailed or posted me.

"I've lost my positivity, I'm positively lost. I thought the path was obvious it's not." I sung to him, watching him flinch at the words as he remembered. I continued. "Resigned myself to failed potential, the wind exits the sails,"

"Please don't go on Izzy," the request came out as a harsh whisper which I ignored.

"Don't say the pain will fade tomorrow, the last thing that I feel will be today, hey." I stopped singing and spoke the next line. "This is how it feels, this is how it feels, this is how it feels," I shouted at him. "This is how it feels!" I hit him then, all the anger, frustration and hurt coming to a head as I spoke the words he had sent to me, smacking his chest with my hands repeatedly, the words coming out as fragmented sobs until they no longer made sense. His warm arms closed around me, hugging me tightly to his chest and I felt the weight of his head resting on me, the touch of his lips on my hair.

"That is how rock bottom I felt Izzy, how totally and utterly tortured I was. I had lost you and I didn't know how to get you back."

"So you wrote a song that put all the blame on me! I didn't do anything except try and stand by you and love you and then when it didn't work out you turned around and accused me of taking everything away." I sniffed, slightly reluctant to leave the warm embrace of his arms. He kept touching me, kept trying to hug and kiss me; possibly realising that whenever he did so my insides would change to molten liquid and a little bit of my resistance would melt away.

"It was easier to blame you then myself."

"And at the end of the day none of it would have happened if you hadn't accused me of being unfaithful." The words were like a cold shower on the warmth of our embrace and I felt him stiffen against me as he remembered, moving away slightly.

"I did, didn't I?" His words came out dull and dead. "There you go, it is all my fault after all." He stuck his hands in his pockets and started trudging up the hill again, not elaborating on the comment. I was forced to lengthen my stride to keep up, feeling the heat rise with the exercise, the slope becoming a steep incline as it led back up to the car park.

"Ric," I gasped, feeling the air wheeze in my lungs. I was not as fit as I pretended to be and definatly not as fit as the man in front who must have pumped iron and exercised most days. He didn't stop but slowed his pace down slightly, skirting a large patch of mud that had formed on the hillside as the clay once again appeared on the path. I ignored the detour and ploughed on through, slipping and sliding as my wellingtons sort purchase on the gradient. It was a hopeless and stupid thing to do because I couldn't walk through it and ended up sliding over, put my hand out to save myself as I fell which caused me to loose my balance even more, my knee painfully striking a sharp rock hidden in the dirty soil as I went down, covering one side of me in mud. "Ric," I whimpered, extracting myself from the puddle, realising that I was caked down my leg and arm, the sleeve of my coat and my jeans through to my wellingtons were wet and dirty with the sticky brown clay. The knee of my trousers was ripped and blood flowed through the hole, mixing with the dirt.

"Izzy?" He took once glance behind him and took in the ridiculous sight, back to my side with no more then a few strides, his arm around my waist helping me up. "What have you done?"

"I slipped over, no thanks to you for striding on ahead. Ow, shit!" I tried to put weight on my leg, the cut stinging and hurting. I bit my lips determined not to cry over a silly accident.

"Come on, we are nearly back at the car. Can you walk?"

"Sort of," I gasped as I put a little weight on the leg, wincing as I felt the jolt up to my knee.

"Let me carry you!"

"I'm covered in mud!" I protested, embarrassed. The only trouble was that I knew I was not capable of walking on my own.

"It's only mud, it washes off. Here, I'll give you a piggyback." He crouched down and I clung to his broad back unable to protest anymore, feeling his muscles tighten with my weight, his back shift so that I melded in more easily before finding a pace and continuing the climb, mainly in silence. "Can you not hold on so tightly around my neck Izzy, unless you are trying to strangle me," he said as the wooden palisade around the car park came into view.

I was glad to reach the car, end our walk. It was difficult to know what to say, how to treat him. We had talked, but no conclusions were reached – we were still sifting through the past, hadn't come to any agreement or negotiation – if anything I was more ill at ease now then I had been, the past reawakened and shaken down. All the hurt that I had sat on and buried had been dug up and held up for exposure – it was unsettling and painful.

"I'm going to cover your car with mud," I gave my clothes an embarrassed glance as I leant against the door, watching as he sat on the edge of the boot and swapped the muddy wellingtons for his trainers again.

"I told you, it's rented, not mine. I don't own it – don't own much at all. No car, no house, not even a lot of the clothes that I wear. Now stop fussing and get in, you'll get cold!" He brook no further arguments from me but drove home at speed, carrying me into the house and through to the kitchen, leaving me propped against the kitchen table as he ran a hot bath for me. "Do you want me to look at that knee?" I nodded, wincing slightly as I tried to straighten my leg. "Would you mind taking your jeans off Iz, so I can get to it?" I unbuckled my jeans and slid them down my legs, well aware that my legs were hairy, my knickers greying and that I was standing there in a mud covered fleece and socks.

"Is it as bad as it looks?" I muttered as he crouched by my leg and gently examined the gash in my leg.

"Not too bad," he gave a slight hiss. "I'll clean it up and you should be okay – can get away without amputating I think!" I gave a slight laugh that caught with a sniff, hitting him on the shoulder at his silly remark, but let him gently wipe away the dried blood and put a plaster over the gash.

Half an hour later having had a hot bath and changed, I felt more human. I made us tea and carried it through into the living room, stopping as he was sitting in the chair, only boxers and his sweater on, and a DVD box in his hand. With a gulp I realised it was the Cluinn tour DVD that I had bought only the other week, desperate to try and see him – even if it was in concert. "Where are you clothes?" I asked stupidly, stunned at his state of undress and the fact that I had forgotten to hide my latest purchase.

"In the washing machine with your dirty stuff and Lara's babygrow from this morning. I put it on as well, hope you don't mind, but they are all I have to wear."

"No, not at all, thanks for doing that!" I handed him the cup of the tea, glad when he put the box down on the floor to accept it. "Ric," I began hesitantly.

"What Izzy?" His tone was level, pleasant, the look in his eyes less clouded then earlier as if he was more at peace with himself.

"Thanks for rescuing me."

"No problem. Although it was my duty as you were obviously following me when you slipped." He paused. "So have we managed to get anything sorted? I am slightly confused after that conversation, just feel all over the place. How are you?"

"Kinda' the same – confused." I admitted, perching on the arm of the sofa, trying very hard not to look at him and failing as my eyes trailed over his fit body.

"I've been a real bastard haven't I?"

"You said it."

"But you aren't entirely blameless."

"No, but neither is Tatiana, or Ralph or the stupid technician who managed to delete my e-mail account; or the doctor who wouldn't release me so I could go to the Cluinn concert last December. The thing is Ric, we could systematically go through every event and occasion and apportion blame, or we can just accept that we made mistakes and try and move on."

"And how do you want to move on?" He ran his gaze over me and I suddenly felt quite naked, even though I was dressed again.

"Slowly, I want to move on slowly. I think I might learn to trust you again, I may even learn to love you again. At the moment I think I like you, but I am unsure if I really do or simply like who I think you are."

"I'm not him!" Ric spoke as he picked up the DVD box and waved it at me, the picture on the back a slow exposure of him singing and head bashing. "That is a character I inhabit, not me, so don't believe all that shit you read in magazine articles and on message boards. Don't heap false facts on top of the truth if you are judging me." He inhaled deeply and let it out with a sigh. "Would you throw it back in my face if I said I love you? I love you and always have and will."

"I won't accept it Ric – if you love me it is unrequited and that is a cruel sort of love."

"But you loved me once, admitted it yourself. Give me another chance Izzy," he swallowed hard. "Please. Give me a chance to prove to you and Lara that I can be a good boyfriend, a loving father and partner. I am in the UK now for quite a while – we have a video shoot in three weeks and another few concerts, but that is it. I can be at your beck and call, do whatever needs to be done; fix things that need fixing, be wherever you want me to be. Please!"

"Are you begging Richard?" I couldn't believe my ears, didn't want to listen to the words he spoke or feel the beat of my heart as it sped up with excitement.

"Do you have to call it that; sounds really unmanly?" He flashed me a hesitant smile. "But yes, I guess I am. Am I melting you at all?" I pulled a face, closed my eyes and sighed.

"Not an offer I can really resist is it." I tried to match his tone, keep it light. "Okay Ric, I accept. We start again from here, deal?" I held out my hand, expecting him to shake it, instead he picked it up and kissed the palm, sealing my fingers around it.

"Yes," was his simple reply.