Sorry this has been a while in the update (at least for me) - for some reason it hasn't been the easiest chapter to write - Ric wasn't letting forth with his feelings! Still the story is still revolving around in my head. Please review - and thank you to all the new people who have left reviews, it is heartening to know that this story is still picking up new readers.
Chapter 50
He walked the short distance to the car, the infant carrier bumping against his leg, unwieldy and heavy, he couldn't understand how new mothers coped with them, awkward to hold and carry. But his daughter seemed unperturbed by the bumpy journey, rewarding his glance at her with a big gummy smile. He couldn't help but return it.
Isabella was hot on his heels, cramming another bag containing god only knew what into the already crowded boot. She had been on edge all morning, snapping and criticising from the moment she had been woken by Lara's crows, which he had to admit, had been on the early side. They were attempting to all go up to London, visit the warehouse and meet with the rest of the band, his girlfriend wishing to see the rest of the guys again, show off Lara.
Girlfriend, the word made him pause slightly as he lent down to strap the carrier into the car earning a tut from the woman whom he had been reflecting on. It had been a curious three weeks, desperately trying to regain her trust, show her that he was worthy of her love and attention. It was strange to consider his actions in such detail; to think about the impact of his decisions on someone else. It wasn't his usual method of going about life and it was exhausting, but also strangely satisfying, seeing the joy he could bring to Izzy's eyes, the laughter to her lips and the smile to her mouth as he went out of his way to please her. And sometimes, over the past few days he had even received a hug of thanks – it was as far as anything physical between them went.
He had left her the evening after their walk, a small seed of hope planted in his heart as he drove back up the A3 to London, walking into the dark flat draped with dried washing. He returned back to Haslemere the next day with more clean clothes, a new toy for his daughter and a large bunch of pink roses for Isabella and had stayed for over a week.
He strapped his daughter in, weaving the seatbelt through the car seat with a practiced hand, in contrast to only a couple of weeks ago when he couldn't figure it out for love or money. That had made Izzy laugh – she loved watching him battle with the more confusing aspects of child rearing, no doubt the taste of revenge sweet in her mouth as she observed him getting covered in food, poo, puke and all the other delights his daughter managed to throw at him. Getting a child dressed, into the buggy and out the door without stopping seemed to be an art form to him, taking the same child shopping more exhausting then performing a two hour set on stage. But he willingly did them all, hoping; praying that the mother of his child noticed his efforts; however cack handed they were.
There was no appreciative roar of the audience to drive him on; any screaming fans or cheering crowds. If he was very lucky his daughter would bestow her charming smile on him or even better Izzy would relax and place her hand on his shoulder, touch her cheek briefly to his – the smallest actions were this thanks.
When he had been on tour, he knew that people treated him differently. As lead singer of the group he wielded glamour and power and anyone who wished to share in that would gladly suck up to him and any fulfil any demands he made. Despite trying to behave as normally as possible, even though he told himself that he was just another average guy; he knew that the past few months he had been living in an unusual bubble – one where the rough edges were smoothed and the many little problems and niggles of life were sorted without him even being aware.
That bubble had very definitely burst. It was quite clear that if he was going to be a house guest he had to pull his weight – supermarket shopping; household chores and basic DIY were all assigned to him. Attending the various activities that Lara participated in was also on the list and sharing in the feeding and changing obligatory. He was sure that Izzy was pushing him, waiting for the explosion of temper that the Richard of old would have suffered within a few days. Instead he kept his mouth shut and did what she asked.
He actually enjoyed it. The fact came as something of a surprise, but having lead such a narcissistic existence for the past year, it was pleasant to be reintegrated as a normal member of the population. Sure his hair was a tangled goo covered knot; similar to most of his tops, hey – he changed the sporty Coupe for another with more boot space and yes he now sung more nursery rhymes then any other song, but at least he was doing it for someone other then himself – and a record label.
There had been one hiccup in the past twenty or so days. He had received a call from a group he met when touring Australia, they had jammed together. Currently in London for a few days they wanted to meet up with Phantom, record for a few hours.
The set of Izzy's lips when he had told her was message enough that she did not like the idea. She didn't say anything, simply sighed and gave a weak smile with a nod of her head. He could tell what was going through her brain – she thought that he would disappear, fed up with the ritualistic and narrow world of child rearing. "I'll go up tonight, spend tomorrow recording and be back down by the evening," he had promised as faithfully as he could.
"Well, here you go, take a spare key – it will probably be late if you are coming down afterwards, just don't wake us up!" He had dared to press a kiss to her cheek for that – she obviously trusted him enough to expect him to come back. And so he had taken Phantom out of the box, slid on a pair of tight leather trousers, pulled on his usual assortment of tops and dressed up his arms and neck with jewellery. He chose his skull domino to wear, picking out the theme in his clothes and with his Gibson Les Paul in the back of the car he headed over to Wimbledon, were the band was recording.
It felt good to be back in front of a mike, to have his fingers flashing over the struts of a guitar again, to have the pounding of the drums in his ears and the backing of other players under his guitar solos. It was an unusual mixture of rock and dance music that the band was pushing forward, relying on Phantom to add the heavier edge to their beats which normally filled club floors. The songs which they had roughly sketched out over three months ago had been mixed and recorded and all that was left was for the guitar riffs to be layered in and the vocals. It took ten hours for the eight minutes of music to be finalised, but everyone was pleased with the results. It was also pushing nine in the evening.
He had intended to go back to the flat and change; remove all traces of Phantom and once again present himself as the mild mannered boyfriend. But that would take time and it was in the wrong direction; instead he found himself driving down the A3 at speed, determined not to renegade on his promise – give Izzy any reason to doubt him.
He parked the car and slid inside, noticing the dim light in the hallway, wondering if Izzy was awake. She was; sitting at the kitchen table, in her pyjamas, working at her computer. "Hey," he greeted her, unsure what to say.
"Hey yourself!" She glanced up from her computer screen; starting slightly at the sight of him before turning on her chair – taking in his appearance. "Ric, what are you wearing?"
"Clothes!" He tried not to sound too defensive. Okay, the top was a thin t-shirt so low on the neck that it came down to the middle of his chest and it did have the vague shadow of a skull on it. The leather trousers were tight and left little to the imagination and at the moment - he glanced down in horror, realising that they were betraying him with an unsightly bulge. Damn it! But Izzy wasn't staring between his legs, instead her eyes rested on his face and the eerie mask he wore. It had suited the style of music they were playing; the aggressive rock driven sound but here in the small kitchen it was out of place and out of context. She hated it – he remembered that. "I'm just gonna' grab a shower and..." he muttered, cursing silently to himself – stupid move, don't remind Isabella of the less desirable sides of your work, prancing in all dressed up.
"Stay a sec Ric; I've just boiled the kettle and was going to have a hot chocolate," she said with a smile. "Just can you remove that mask please? It gives me the creeps. " He had obligingly pulled it off and sat down opposite her, thankful that she wasn't as thrown as he had feared, the opposite in fact as she gazed at him with a wide eyed trust and when he had finally excused himself to go and have a shower and go to bed she had given him a hug, thanked him for returning. It had taken immense self control to not push her further, or to get out the room with his dignity intact!
But now he was once again on the busy road back to London, man he was getting used to driving it, the worn route in and out, shooting up the A3 into South London, the warehouse in Battersea. He had it down to an hour on a good run. So far luck was with them, having avoided the commuter traffic; they cruised along happily; Lara falling asleep in the back, whilst Isabella shifted around restlessly next to him. He could tell she was nervous, of course she would be because she was meeting three people she had been close to and who were; to all extents and purposes like his family – hell he spent a heck of a lot of time with them.
"You still okay to drop Lara and I at the flat later; it won't interrupt your day," she finally said out of the blue having shifted around for twenty minutes, bit her lips, checked her makeup and buffed her nails.
"Izzy, I've told you already that it isn't a problem and if it is I will personally get a taxi for you. But it shouldn't be."
"Yeah, but Lara might not settle, what about the noise – I swear it's going to be too noisy for her."
"We'll turn the amps down. Did you bring those ear defenders as well, they are good." He had found them in a baby shop on Kensington High Street on one his brief visits back to the flat. Amazed that he had walked past the shop hundreds of times and never noticed its existence he was chuffed to find the ear protection for Lara. After all, despite his reassurances to Izzy, the reverb on the speakers could be huge. He was not about to be responsible for damaging his daughter's eardrums.
"And you remembered your guitar, I mean it was in the living room and I didn't see you put it in the car..."
"Isabella, relax – just relax." He threw a brief glance at her, noticing the pale face and thinned lips. She was more dressed up then she had been in the past three weeks, swapping her usual jeans and jumpers for leggings, long boots and a sweater – dress – thing. He wasn't quite sure which it was meant to be. She looked nice; especially with her hair straightened and makeup on. He didn't have the heart or the guts to tell her that most of the time she simply looked tired.
It was obvious to him that she juggled her finances with aplomb and skill, because as far as he could see her total monthly income was the six hundred from renting him the flat. He didn't begrudge her a penny of it, but couldn't find a way to give her more – knowing her pride she would just refuse any direct handouts. All he could do was make sure he paid for as much of the daily expense as he could. Already he had taken on all the food shopping and quietly renewed all the little classes that she attended with Lara. But the one person she obviously didn't spend money on was herself.
A late night discussion with a glass of wine in hand, had her admitting to him that she was still overweight and lacking clothes; unable and unwilling to buy more for her current figure. Her wardrobe was a strange mixture of certain maternity pieces she was stretching out and a few new clothes from the cheaper high street shops. He had to find a way to give her some money for a new wardrobe, but was rather stumped at how to do it subtly – before the idea hit him!
"Of course!" He thumped the steering wheel with his hand earning a strange look from the woman next to him.
"Of course what?" Shit, had he spoken out loud; he didn't realise.
"Nothing, just thinking about a tune." Crap lie really, but it was all he could come up with on the spur of the moment. What he actually needed was someone to distract Izzy away from the strict guidelines that she had laid down for herself and take her out for a day of rest and relaxation, remind her that she was a person herself and not just a mother. He could easily look after Lara for the day and didn't mind putting up whatever funds were necessary to make it happen, he just needed someone to physically pull Isabella away from Haselmere and her daughter. That person was Tatiana.
She was due to meet him later, pitch her company's talents at the rest of the band before taking Izzy and Lara to the flat. They were going to attempt to spend the night in Kensington, all being successful before going home the next day. Such a simple plan and yet his girlfriend was almost beside herself with nerves and worry.
He could see that she was biting her lip, chewing nervously the closer they got to Battersea – the worry that she was holding surfacing. The traffic slowed to a crawl the closer they got to the centre and they were nearly half an hour late by the time they swung through the metal gates and into the yard.
The enclosure was bleak and bare as they drew up, only a few parked cars near the fire door indicated that there were other people there, but otherwise the space was deserted. Puddles filled the cracked depressions in the concrete and Ric made sure to drive a slow and careful path over the concrete not wishing to disturb his sleeping daughter or cause damage to the rental car. He pulled up alongside a brand new Mercedes SLR, looking at it with a frown.
"Who does that belong to?" Izzy asked noticing the direction of his glance.
"Given the number plate I would have an educated guess that it is Lord Jim," he spoke with a frown. "But I know for a fact that there is a six month waiting list on them, so am surprised he has one, never said anything about putting in an order." He shook his head. "Nice car though."
` "Yeah, but totally impractical, no back seat, boot space."
"Not everyone needs to take the kitchen sink with them wherever they go Iz," he teased lightly, trying to evoke a smile. She needed to relax; not take life quite so seriously. He liked to tease her – sometimes he even got a sarcastic smile in reply. "Anyway, ready to see everyone again?"
"No, no, just need a few moments to settle myself. Would you – um would you take Lara in for me?" He glanced over his shoulder at his sleeping daughter, hesitating for only a second before replying.
"Sure." He gently unbuckled the car seat and lifted it out, looking at his daughter's face, scrunched up in sleep. She would wake shortly, but at least it gave him the opportunity to go in – let his new life collide with his old – father with rockstar; boyfriend with single man. He knew his friends would not hold back on their comments. Probably a good thing that Isabella was giving him a few moments alone.
The metal door to the warehouse closed with a slam behind him, unable to catch it with the infant carrier in his hands. He winched, but Lara only stirred slightly and continued to sleep. It announced his entry as efficiently as if he had rung a doorbell however and it took only moments for Jim to wander over to where the lead singer stood, gazing around at the space, re-associating himself with the empty and echoing room. At the far end stood all the cases filled with the equipment that had followed them around the world; the band named stencilled on the side. It seemed odd to have them here in England; last time they had been out was in New York. However, somewhere in the pile was his Fender and his keyboards, that he had shipped back, only having had the luggage space to take his Gibson with him.
"Hey mate," his friend's voice was languid as he wandered over and Ric smiled to himself, realising that the guitarist had obviously not clocked what he was holding. He gently put the carrier down; shrugged off the change bag and with a glance to ensure that his daughter was still fast asleep, walked over to Jim, giving him a hug and slapping him on the back. In that moment he realised how much he had missed his best friend.
"Saw the car outside – when did you order that? Thought they were out of production!"
"Huh – oh back in April actually, wedding present for Laney and I from the parents – nice isn't it!" Ric let out a snort in agreement.
"You the first here?"
"Huh – no, Sandy and Gus are making drinks – you want some tea – god isn't good to be back in a country with decent tea? You coming?" He turned and took a few steps towards the small area they had cornered off as the kitchen, but Ric glanced backwards at his daughter, strapped into her seat fast asleep. He would only be ten feet or so away and would easily hear her cry; but if Izzy came in and found Lara abandoned in the middle of the floor, he could kiss goodbye any privileges he might have earned through good behaviour the preceding weeks.
Divine intervention occurred instead and Lara let out a squawk as she rolled over, opening her eyes and deciding that she was hungry – it was a demanding sound. Ric sighed. "Kettle just boiled?" Jim nodded; his eyes widening as if he suddenly took note of what was inside the large black item that sat in the middle of the floor. Ric leant down and gently undid the straps, lifting his daughter up and cradling her close into his chest so that she clung to his shoulder, her bright blue eyes peering all around as she desperately chewed on her fist; a sure sign that she wanted her mid morning bottle. Damn – could do with Izzy now, who was still in the car!
"Okay, what's that?" Jim sounded panicked at the sight of the young child and Ric found himself biting back a smile as he bent down again to retrieve the bottle from the bag. He wasn't as practiced at the juggling act of small child and food preparation and doubted that he would get much assistance from his friends, especially if their reactions were similar to Jim's.
"It's not a what Jim; it's my daughter."
"Oh!" Silence reigned as the message sunk in. It was received with a shout. "Where the fuck did you get a child from?" He approached slightly closer; squinting at Ric's daughter. "I come back with a car; you come back with a baby! God, she looks like you – got red hair and all! What's her name?"
"Lara." He spoke the word quietly, adding no explanation and embellishment. Jim had known him long enough, had even met his mother on a couple of occasions.
"Oh holy shit. Gus, you seen this!" Ric turned as Gus approached, hoping; no wanting for him to show approval, to know that all the advice he had dished out over the past year had not been in vain.
"Where's Izzy?" The bass guitarist said with a smile, as he sauntered up. He ran a gentle finger down the side of Lara's face.
"In the car." The words suddenly hit home and he frowned at his colleague and friend, who had started making beaming smiles at his daughter – bosom companions in an instant. "Angus – did you know?"
"Know what?" Angus' tone seemed calm, but Ric had spent the best part of a year with him and could tell that the simple statement was hiding a lot more.
"About Izzy? About Lara?"
"I knew that she was pregnant and I knew that she had a baby – yes." His face was impassive as Ric stared at him, disbelief welling up inside. All the nights and days he had spent talking and ranting about his relationship; trying to find a way to get over Isabella and Angus had held the key all the time – had known that she was pregnant.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice. He could just about understand why Isabella hadn't passed on the news – she had her reasons, but Gus; his sounding board and unwilling confessor?
"I thought Izzy was married," Angus shrugged in reply. "I wasn't about to be responsible for the breakup of that. I also saw her when she ran away from the bus and she begged me not to tell you – I had no right to break her trust."
"But I know you've been in contact with her – why didn't you say; let her know how I felt? I..." He broke off; trying to control the anger and pain that started to dominate his emotions. It wasn't worth it. If he had learnt anything these past three weeks was that there was no point dredging up old hurts – sometimes forgiving and moving on; although harder was the better path. He swallowed hard, eating all the bitter words he wanted to hurl out, the vitriol that built up inside him the past few minutes. Angus was being a good friend – to both Isabella and himself.
"It wasn't easy!" Gus confirmed quietly, giving him a pointed look. "Nothing harder then being between two arguing friends, promise you that!" He gave pause. "I guess things are patched up between you if Izzy is in the car?"
"Very much patched rather then fully repaired," Ric gave a wry smile. "We are officially, um – how d'you say it? – getting to know each other again. I am trying to prove that I can do it properly this time."
"And are you succeeding?"
"No bloody idea! But I've become a dab hand at changing nappies and feeding that much I can tell you. In fact it's time for madam's bottle now, need hot water." He walked in the direction of the small sink and kettle, determined not to ask for help, even though it was tempting to go and get Izzy, hand her over – no this was a real test. Jim stared at him with a mixture of panic and wistfulness.
"So you a fully functioning Dad now? Never remember the Pater doing this for me?"
"Hardly, but I am giving it a go – hey!" He greeted Sandy propping up the worksurface, eyes bloodshot with a hangover; blowing on his cup of coffee. "How's it going Sands?"
"Yeah, cool." Sandy replied, giving a second take at the small female that clung to his arm – his reaction echoing the rest of his friends. "Ric, why do you have a small baby and where did you get it?"
"Well that's better then Jim who called her a thing. This is Lara – she's my daughter." He fell silent again, wondering if Sandy was going to be as astute as Gus in making the connection.
"Okay, either you've gone mad and decided to adopt a child – unlikely 'cause she looks like you – weird, never thought little kids looked like their parents. So, secret love child?" He hesitated.
"Or," Ric prompted, as he switched on the kettle and pulled a large mug out of the cupboard to warm the bottle in.
"Izzy?" Sandy said the word with a sideways glance, almost as if he were worried to utter the word in public. Had he really been that down and depressed about Isabella that his friends were now worried to speak her name to him? He confirmed with a nod; turning as the door banged shut, the four men in the room fell silent as the woman herself stood there staring at them all; biting her lip with repressed panic in her eyes.
Standing the other side of the room he couldn't help but admire her! The angle of her head set of her chin in a determined lift. She may be nervous but she wasn't going to let it get the better of her. She walked over to him and their daughter, her boots echoing on the concrete floor; eyes taking in the other band members. They were all smiling; looks were encouraging and friendly – after all Izzy had been a great friend of theirs in that year previous to fame and fortune.
"Hey Izzy," Angus was the first to make a move as she took the ten steps towards Ric, her focus evidently on Lara.
"Hi Gus, good to see you again."
"You too darling." It was as if that simple exchange of words opened the flood gates and Jim approached.
"Izzy, babe!" She laughed at that, the sound breaking the tension that had started to build with pressure. He slung an arm around her, kissing her cheek; making her laugh. Why was she always so relaxed with Jim and highly strung around him? "Saw your new arrival. Laney wants one of those you know! I might have to get her to come over and see."
"Jim! Her voice was lightly scornful. "It's not an object, Lara is a child and has the same needs and cares as any person, possibly slightly more. "Hey sweetie," she smiled at her daughter.
"I'm just warming her bottle," Ric noted that she didn't address him, didn't make any contact or even bestow a smile on him. Was this how it was to be? Or maybe she was worried about how it might be interpreted.
"Okay thanks. Want me to give it to her – you guys must have stuff to do!" She glanced around at the deserted space. The sofas were still there, the speakers abandoned in the middle of the floor with a couple of mics. A rudimentary dusting had taken place, but otherwise it looked exactly as if had not been occupied for over a year – which it hadn't really. There was a lot to do if they were to run through the music they were making a video for and practicing for the upcoming arena concerts in November and December.
His girlfriend and daughter happily ensconced on one of the couches he started shifting the flight cases with the others, amazed at the sheer weight of some of them. This was what their crew had done almost every day of their lives – building the stage up in a few hours, ripping it down again after the show and packing it up once more before moving on. After only fifteen minutes he stripped off his sweater, forty minutes later his t-shirt was also wringing wet. He pulled that off as well, clad only in his jeans and trainers like Sandy.
He draped it over the arm of the other sofa, smiling at the pair of females sitting there, not missing the gaze that Isabella flicked over his body. Even though they had been living in the same house, she hadn't seen him topless – although as she owned their tour DVD it wasn't as if it were a forbidden sight. He often ended up tossing his t-shirt into the crowd at the end of a concert, especially when they were in the hotter countries – the temperature in some of the venues easily climbing over forty degrees centigrade.
"When did you get that tattoo?" she asked quietly, nodding at his right shoulder blade. He glanced behind him, checking out the black markings. Always black, he didn't like the adornment on his body to be in colour.
"Oh, um New Zealand – it's a Maori design. It was a full pattern of waves and curls, intricate in their design which licked over his shoulder and across the blade, the edge running down the top of his arm where it met and merged with the band that circled his right bicep. "It just seemed right at the time." He shrugged and turned to get back to the shifting and lifting, aware of her gaze on his body; the heat of her eyes following him. He was still in fairly fit shape, tried to get out and run everyday even if there was nowhere to lift weights in Izzy's house – however jogging up the steep hills, especially if he was pushing the pram proved to be a very good workout.
He realised that she was watching him as he shifted speakers, set up boards and sorted out the wiring needed on the mixer for the amps and pedals. She never took her eyes off him as he set up his keyboards and tuned his Fender. Her stare trailed him as he threw on his top to get the pram so Lara could sleep. It started to make him feel uncomfortable, awkward.
Thankfully after two solid hours of work the warehouse once again resembled somewhere they could practice and perform and not just an empty, overly dusty space. The mikes were sent up, his and Jim's guitars sat in their racks waiting to be used. Even Sandy has stopped fiddling about with his drum kit long enough for them to sit down for a moment.
"God, I'm starving," Sandy announced, shutting a lid with a decided bang. Ric scowled at him – how dare he potentially wake Lara with this clumsiness. "Shall I go out for burgers or order in pizza?" He stretched his massive frame and flashed them a grin. "Seeing as we don't have the lovely Julie to run and fetch for us anymore."
"I – um- bought a picnic lunch with us," Isabella spoke up – it was the most she had said all day and three pairs of eyes swivelled in her direction as she spoke. Ric flashed a smile at her and grabbed a wipe from the change bag, rubbing his hands clean – he was so going to have to start carrying these all the time, they were so useful!
"Come again my darling, did you say you bought food with you?" Jim smiled a charming grin and she smiled back with a nod. He watched the exchange with interest, pleased at the thoughtfulness of her gesture. It also explained why there was so much stuff in the car.
"Don't get excited, I mean it's just sandwiches from Marks, and some dips and stuff. Ric, it's the big silver bag in the boot – would you go and get it please?"
"Yeah Ric, go on fetch!" Sandy laughed. He shot him another scowl – didn't want the other guys to pick up and comment on his currently subservient position. Still, he thought as he wandered out, it was a thoughtful gesture of her to have someone thinking of their needs, just because they cared and not because they were being paid to do so – it made a change.
They sat on the sofas, the food spread out on top of one of the flight cases as a makeshift table – the few sandwiches turning into a delightful feast, especially after the intense workout he had endured. Thankfully the rest of the boys remained silent on the topic of the reunion between their lead singer and his ex-girlfriend, especially the addition of a child; who was happily asleep in her buggy.
"So what are you doing now?" He tuned into Izzy talking to Gus and Jim.
"We've got a video shoot in two days time – gonna' be an intense one, that's for sure. Remember filming broken?" He saw her nod. "Well, double – triple it even. 'Cause we didn't release a decent video last time, just patched something together out of tour footage EGA have gone all out on this, big budget stuff – pushing for another Christmas number one I think."
Ric sighed and shook his head. He hadn't talked about the video to her, in truth the topic gave him the willies – didn't like the idea at all, or what it involved. But everyone else was convinced it would be a hit and as he had learnt in the past year and a half – whatever sold the music was fair game. He leant over and grabbed his acoustic guitar that was propped up against the side of the couch, tuning it quietly as he listened to the drone of conversation, Angus and Jim explaining the storyline for the video that saw them aping a 'Phantom of the Opera' style production.
He grimaced – of course he got to play the Phantom and he had seen the designs for the makeup they had created. It was another clever gimmick at the hands of the marketing department. A modern day Phantom, discovered busking in a side street (how true was that) unmasked to reveal a horrendous disfigurement. He had argued at that fact, but as it had been pointed out – this was based on a story, not him. Either way the makeup he was going to have to wear made the scar on his face look incidental in comparison. He knew it would open up floods of comments from fans all over the world debating if they were his true features or not.
The video continued to show him achieving all – standing on a stage singing – the band playing behind – the crowd roaring and ending with a chandelier crashing from the ceiling, in a neat nod to both Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Weber. Either way he knew it was going to be one hell of a shoot – and would probably overrun the three days that had been booked for it. Three days without Izzy and Lara – it seemed an abhorrent thought.
He heard Isabella's gasp as the storyline was explained to her and looked up to meet her eyes boring into his, her hand over her mouth. She was shocked at the idea – knew how much he didn't want to draw the parallels that this video was obviously making. Her glance seemed to ask him if he liked the idea and he shook his head at her, mouth downturned – no he bloody well didn't!
"Right, let's play guys," he broke the lunch party up. "Need to run through a couple of tunes. Consequences first and then Light of Day."
"I can play Light of Day in my sleep, can play them all in my bloody sleep actually," Jim grumbled, easing himself off the couch and picking up his guitar with a yawn. Ric followed suit, settling the strap of his Fender over his shoulder, re-associating himself with the weight and feel, before softly counting the rest of the group in. Despite not playing together for three weeks it was as if they had never been apart – hadn't finished the tour. Jim was right, he thought, it was second nature and they ran through the song without stopping. He noticed that Isabella had shifted herself off the sofa and moved the buggy to the far end of the warehouse.
"How's it sound from down that end?" He spoke through the microphone, his voice amplified up to the ceiling and bouncing off the walls. She shouted back her reply, lost in the echoing space so that he had to strain to hear it, relying on her exaggerated thumbs up to lip read the words. As she confirmed their ability he launched into the opening bars of 'Light of Day' with barely a nod at the others.
It was so automatic, so overplayed that he didn't think about the words. This was their number one single, sung at every concert, played at every awards ceremony, copied and sung by a hundred music wannabes. He heard it being butchered by a busker only the other day and warbled out by a Crapstar hopeful last week. With all the publicity and promotion that surrounded it, he sometimes forgot about the origins, had lost the reasoning behind the song.
Therefore he trailed off with surprise when Isabella abandoned the buggy and her sleeping child, running out of the warehouse; letting the metal door slam behind her with a loud reverberation, no thought given to waking Lara. The rest of the band played on for another couple of bars before they too trailed off realising that Ric was no longer playing or singing, instead his eyes were fixed on the exit. He hesitated a moment, not wanting to follow her too quickly, but as the seconds ticked by and one minute became two and then three; he put down his guitar and walked over to the door.
"Ric," Angus called out after him, but he waved him off with an impatient gesture. He could guess what got to Izzy, but he was unsure why she had stormed out. He eased himself out of the door and saw that she was leaning against the car, her arms wrapped around her body, face looking at the cracked ground; tears pouring down her cheeks – dripping off her nose. "Izzy," he said softly as he approached, suddenly hit with the memory of how she had come and rescued him once when he was drowning in memories, remembering a song.
He lent against the car next to her, the November temperature chilling him after the relative warmth of the exercise of singing and playing. She didn't say anything, but shifted over slightly, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Hush darling," he whispered, "it all right." She started to cry even harder then and he wrapped his arms around her, drew her into a hug, letting her cry out all the emotion and feeling, the water wetting his shoulder as she sobbed and sniffed against the wool of his sweater. She shook her head, still mute, unable or unwilling to find the words to explain her actions.
"No it's not going to be all right – it is never going to be all right ever again," the cracked words finally coming out as a chocked whisper.
"Why not?" He pressed a kiss to her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo, her perfume and the unique undertone breastmilk and baby.
"Because we will never be like that again – we are now just two lost souls wandering a parallel path, destined to never truly be joined again. You are never going to just sit there and look at me sleeping and love me in the same way ever again!" He was stunned into silence by her words, for she had just admitted that she wanted his love, craved it – even though her lips spoke otherwise, she did love him – from deep within as he loved her. He gave a deep sigh, her body, tightly pressed against his moving with it.
"I might never look at you lying asleep in bed again, but there are other opportunities Izzy. Like you said, let's take it slowly, let things grow again in their own time." The words echoed in his ear and he could hear his ego and vanity growling at what he had said; demanding to know why he hadn't taken advantage of the situation – at least kissed her. Good idea! He tipped her face up to his, took in the eyes bright with tears, swollen red eyelids and a red nose and with a slight smile lightly placed his lips on hers. He knew he shouldn't, it was taking advantage of her vulnerable state, but for the first time she replied in kind. With a slight moan and shudder she kissed him back, not objecting when his tongue slid in between her lips but welcomed it and let the kiss deepen naturally. They stood there, clinging to each other like they were the only two people left on the earth, kissing for all it was worth.
Ric drew back first, reluctant to let go, but scared that he couldn't control himself further. He had started out intending to give comfort and reassurance, whilst satisfying his own natural craving. He ended up feeling lost and a little bit scared. Oh boy did she love him, deeply and truly – it was just the words that needed to come out now.
"Do you want to go home," he spoke softly as she came around, not wanting to speak about what they had just done, broken their own rules they had been living by. She shook her head. "I'll give you a lift. Just let me grab my jacket..."
"No Ric, no." She stopped him with her hand on his arm. "Please just get a taxi for me, back to Kensington – I will be fine. You have so much to do. I will call Tatiana, explain what's happened. She can come over after seeing you lot."
"Are you sure?" He looked at her carefully, her attitude a complete U-turn on what she had been saying and requesting. Obviously the kiss had rocked her foundations as much as his. She nodded.
"Yes, I'll be fine. Let me just get Lara and ..." She paused. "Oh god, Lara – I've just abandoned her with three of the biggest Neanderthals' in the world!"
"Now, that's unfair," he laughed at her description. "I wouldn't call Gus a Neanderthal!" She smiled at his joke, lightly hitting him on the arm as they walked back to the door, behaving like the Izzy of old. Inside pandemonium greeted them. Angus held a grizzling child, a look of panic on his face as he made shushing noises, walking up and down. Sandy sat at his drums; obviously trying to get as much distance between the crying child and himself as possible and Jim sat on the sofa making unhelpful comments. "Don't ever ask if you can babysit," Richard smiled as he looked at them, taking the hot wet child from his friend and cradling her against his chest, walking her over to the sofa where Izzy had gone, fiddling with her top and releasing her boob – sometimes a feed was the only way to calm Lara down. In seconds silence reigned again.
"I am sorry about that," Isabella apologised to the other men who seemed embarrassed by her actions, not quite sure if they were allowed to look at her or not. Ric smiled; at least they had the manners not to stare. "I thought she would sleep happily for another few minutes."
"Probably Jim's playing that woke her," Angus rebutted sarcastically, perching on the arm of the other sofa.
"Sandy's drum solo you mean," Jim defended himself.
"Shut it guys," Ric realised the teasing was escalating into the usual discussion. Sometimes it was like working with a bunch of children – he was gaining valuable insight in his new role. Lara's outburst helped though, it had detracted the attention away from Izzy and himself – their relationship. He knew it wouldn't last – he had turned up, out of the blue with the woman he had been lamenting for a year and a small child – questions were long overdue.
Half an hour later he had put his girlfriend and daughter into a taxi, sent it back to his flat; her flat, promises to be home in the early evening and call so she could cook. He shoved his hands into the pocket of his jean, enjoying the moments of solitude outside, ruminating on the kiss. The electricity and the sparks that had flown between them.
He knew that the guys would ask him what the hell was going on – was he back with Isabella. He knew his answer now – yes, they both loved each other and together they were going to move forward.
