by Suzy K Quinn
Cat puts long, bony fingers on my shoulder. ‘He hurt you. I get it. He’s a married man who used you for sex. That’s the bad part. But he also raises millions for charity. He called me every single day after Annalise went missing. He even asked me to go and stay with him.’
‘Of course – he wanted to keep you close. Of course he did. My daughter—’
‘This is starting to sound crazy, Lorna. I mean … you spying on Michael again. After all this time. It’s weird. It sounds like you’re having a total psychotic break.’
‘Talk to the police. Tell them—’
‘Tell them what? Michael’s my friend.’ Cat clicks open a Chanel handbag and passes me a card. ‘Here. Take it. It’s a card for my psychiatrist. She really helped me a lot.’
Liberty
The kitchen breakfast table is laid with hunks of wholemeal bread, a bottle of olive oil and roasted mushrooms. Skywalker eats a bowl of chopped-up steak on the slate floor, chewing slowly because his stomach is already full of dog biscuits.
‘So I’m hoping Michael and I can talk after breakfast,’ I say, watching Diane pour coffee.
‘About your mother?’
‘Yes.’ I pour olive oil on fresh bread.
‘Well, I’m sure—’ Diane smiles at the door. ‘Here he is. The great man himself.’
Michael strolls into the kitchen wearing a black V-neck T-shirt, suit jacket and tight jeans. His hair is shower-wet and he’s now clean-shaven.
‘And here she is.’ Michael jogs around the table and hugs me. ‘My little girl. Right here at my breakfast table. Unbelievable. A dream come true.’
‘I’d better get on,’ says Diane, putting gentle hands on my shoulders. ‘I’ve got more packing to do.’
‘Sit down at the breakfast table for once in your life,’ says Michael, scanning the breakfast offerings.
‘Michael, I have a day ahead of me you wouldn’t believe,’ says Diane. ‘My flight leaves after lunch. What’s the point of me watching other people eat when I have a million things to do?’
‘Well, you could eat something yourself,’ Michael laughs. ‘For a change.’
Diane puts hands to her skinny waist. ‘There aren’t enough calories in the day for breakfast.’
‘Come on. Our charming guest here wants you to stay. Are there any eggs, Diane?’
‘Michael. Liberty is vegan. I’m not going to put out food she can’t eat.’
‘Right.’ Michael scratches the back of his neck. ‘Uh … well, mushrooms look great.’
‘Hang on.’ Diane ties her apron string tighter. ‘I’ll put some chocolate croissants in for you, Michael. Okay? I know how you are with a hangover.’
Michael laughs. ‘A fussy bastard. Is that what you mean?’
‘You said it. Liberty, does this look all right for you? Is there anything else I can get? What do you usually have for breakfast?’
‘This looks great,’ I say. ‘Sometimes I have a fruit plate. But it’s okay.’ I think of Mum.
Michael seems to read my mind. ‘Do you need someone to drive you home today, Liberty?’
‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘I can catch the bus. I don’t want to put anyone out, and Skywalker is a pain in the back of a car. Paws everywhere.’
‘It’s a long way to go on your own, love.’ Diane tidies napkins. ‘Are you sure we can’t drive you?’
‘Don’t suffocate the girl, Diane,’ says Michael. ‘She’ll have had enough of that from her mother. If she wants to catch the bus, let her catch the bus. Liberty has a good head on her shoulders. And she’s sixteen years old. Practically an adult. She made it here by herself. She can make it back.’ He gives me a clumsy pat on the shoulder. ‘Let’s go for a walk after breakfast, shall we? See the studio? Have a catch-up?’
‘Yes. That would be great.’
‘You’ll love the music studio. It’s this beautiful little cottage out in the woods. You can see all my equipment – it’s a musician’s dream. And we can have a bit of a jam session and chat at the same time.’
‘Sure. Okay. Sounds like a great idea. And we’ll definitely talk today?’
Michael laughs. ‘Yes. Who’s your favourite musician?’
‘Joan Jett.’
‘Joan Jett, Joan Jett … she plays a Gibson Melody Maker, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘I have one of those out at the studio. You can play it. See how it feels.’
‘Wow.’
‘I have a whole load of stuff out there, Liberty. Some real heirlooms. I’m a bit of a collector. I buy so many instruments. Last month, I bought Gene Simmons’s Axe Punisher bass guitar.’
My eyes widen. ‘From Kiss?’
‘Yep.’
‘Wow.’
‘When you and your band record your single out there, you can play whatever instruments you want. Can I still say single? Or is it track now? Singles are from the good old days of record players.’
‘I have a record player,’ I say.
‘No.’ Michael leans back, eyes widening. ‘Really?’
‘And a cassette player. I’m interested in all sorts of sounds. Every medium has a different feel to it.’
‘Just you wait until you see my stuff,’ says Michael. ‘It’ll be like all your Christmases coming at once.’
‘Do you have a drum machine?’
‘Come now, young Liberty. Of course I have a drum machine. I have five different drum machines – one of which is a cool little number from the Eighties that Scruff took on tour with him.’
‘That’s … wow. Wow.’
‘What’s mine is yours,’ says Michael. ‘I mean that. You can use the studio whenever you like. When I was your age, the band and I put our pennies together to buy an hour in a crappy room with egg boxes and tin foil on the walls. A lot of arguments, trying to get the material right in the time. But it was the first step, you know? Getting the sound down. After that, we conquered the world.’ Michael’s eyes go all teary. ‘Like father, like daughter. Right? Have you ever been in a music studio before?’
‘Never,’ I say. ‘Mum would never let me. It’s like … my dream.’
‘Well, that’s me,’ says Michael. ‘The man who makes dreams come true.’
Once upon a time …
My pale, unhappy face bounced up and down in the gym mirror, cheeks hollow, lips blue-white.
Stay slim. Stay in shape. Stay young and beautiful if you want to be loved.
It was a regular habit now, running on a machine in Michael’s gym room, exercising amid boxes of tiles and stacked-up plasterboard. My skinny arms and legs flailed around. I was not, and never had been, a natural runner. I hated the running machine and I hated exercising inside like a lab rat, but I was determined to keep my figure for my man.
I used to be a feminist. What happened?
Suddenly, my legs flew out from under me and I caught myself on the digital running display, hitting the emergency stop. This was happening more and more lately – head rush and near fainting during exercise.
I knew I was overdoing it, but the consequences of getting fat didn’t bear thinking about. Michael had told me over and over again how much he hated fat on a woman. His type was frail to the point of anorexic. Fat on women repulsed him, even though he himself was plump around the middle now the tour had finished.
As I struggled to get my breath back, I saw Michael, dark and looming in the wall-to-wall mirrors. He wore a black T-shirt, jeans and Ray-Ban sunglasses. His arms were crossed and his lips tight.
My whole body tensed. I recognized the signs. Something was up and I was to blame.
‘What?’ I asked, stepping down from the running machine.
Michael took off his sunglasses. He had that dark look again. Shoulders hunched over, eyes hard and cold.
‘I’ve been here the whole time,’ I said, voice going high and scared. ‘The whole time. I got up and came straight down to exercise. I didn’t even have breakfast—’
‘Your sister’s at the gate.’
‘Dee’s here?’
Michael nodded, jaw hard.
I shook my head. ‘She can’t be. She’s in New York.’
‘She must have got on a plane,’ said Michael. ‘I hear it’s quite the thing these days. Air travel.’
‘I didn’t tell her the address,’ I said, words rushed. ‘How could I? I wouldn’t even know how to get here myself. I swear to you, Michael. You won’t even let me call her.’
‘Well. She’s here.’
‘This is nothing to do with me. It’s not my fault, Michael. Please—’
‘The girl says she won’t leave until she sees you. If you want to associate with that press rat, be my guest. But pack your bags.’
‘Michael, she’s not a press rat. She wouldn’t have said a word about us. It was someone on your staff. It had to be—’
‘Don’t you DARE accuse my staff. Don’t you dare.’ Michael clicks his fingers at the door. ‘Go tell her she needs to leave. I want her off my property, Lorna. This is my home.’
‘Fine. Okay, I’ll tell her.’
Michael’s eyes softened then. ‘Listen – I’ve been through what you’ve been through. Remember? Family can be the worst of them. The very worst. You can’t choose your family. But you can cut them out now and move on with your life.’
There was a colourful splodge at the gates. As I got nearer, the splodge separated into a purple coat, bright red woolly hat and blue knee-high boots.
My sister.
Dee’s mouth dropped open when I got close. ‘Lorna. Jesus. Are you okay? You’re so thin.’
‘I’m fine. I’ve been exercising. Staying fit. Michael has his own gym here.’
‘Have you seen a doctor lately?’
‘I don’t need a doctor. I feel great. It’s just … I mean, it’s brilliant here. All my dreams coming true.’
‘Your accent sounds weird. You sound like Michael.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Yes, you do. You sound just like him. A little clone. What’s happened to my sister?’
‘You have to go, Dee. Michael doesn’t want you here.’
Dee started to cry. ‘I’ve flown all this way to see you. You look so … thin. Your cheeks … God. Worse than when you had the cancer. What is he doing to you?’
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I just told you. Things are amazing. I’m living with a rock star. I have everything I’ve ever wanted.’
‘Oh, come on, Lorna,’ Dee said. ‘Who are you kidding? This place is a building site, not a house. And he’s married.’
‘I know he’s still married. He and his wife are separated, but they can’t divorce because of the press.’
‘They’re not separated,’ Dee said. ‘He was at an awards ceremony with Diane just last month. I saw it in the papers.’
‘Michael has to do that stuff,’ I said. ‘You know, keeping up the married-man image. He doesn’t want to. He and Diane don’t have sex anymore. He doesn’t love her. He loves me.’
‘He’s brainwashed you,’ Dee snapped. ‘He’s keeping you out here like a little bird in a cage, while he goes back and forth to his wife. Why can’t you see it?’
‘Life with a rock star is complicated. It’s not like a normal relationship. If I want to be with Michael, I have to accept that.’
Michael’s words, not mine. But I didn’t have many of my own words left by then.
Dee reached through the bars to take my hand. ‘Your hands are so cold. And your eyes – you’re not yourself.’
‘I am.’ I snatched my hand back. ‘Look, I told you. I’m happy. I have everything I could ever want. You’re just being a jealous bitch.’
‘You don’t mean that,’ said Dee. ‘This is the first time I’ve seen you in months. You never call. I had no idea where you were. I had to stalk you to find this place and now you won’t even let me in the house. It’s like you died or something. He’s controlling you.’
‘No, not at all,’ I said. ‘But this is Michael’s house, Dee. I don’t get to choose who comes and goes.’
‘And you think that’s normal?’
‘I understand where Michael’s coming from. After that press story, he doesn’t want you here. He’s very protective of his privacy.’
‘Wait – what press story?’
‘Michael thinks you sold a story on us.’
‘No, I didn’t! I didn’t sell any story. I’d never do that.’
‘Well, something came out about us in the press. About how we got together after the New York gig.’
‘If you’re in a real relationship with him, it shouldn’t matter that the press know, should it?’
‘It’s more complicated than that. We have to be discreet until the divorce comes through.’
‘No,’ says Dee. ‘You need to be discreet because you’re seeing a married man, and that married man doesn’t want his wife to know about you.’
‘No. That’s not why.’
‘Lorna, do you think it’s normal that we haven’t seen each other in over a year?’
‘I wrote.’
‘Wrote? When? I didn’t get any letters.’
I chewed at my thumb. I had written. But I’d given those letters to Michael …
‘And now you won’t let me into where you’re living?’ Dee continued. ‘This is craziness. I think you need some psychiatric help. He’s done something to you. Taken away your brain.’
‘No, he hasn’t. I’m exactly the same as always.’
‘You’re not. You’re different. This isn’t healthy.’ Dee glances at the house. ‘He’s not healthy. Lorna, a girl went missing after being seen with him. A German girl. Look at this.’ She pulled a folded newspaper clipping from a patchwork bag and began to read. ‘Karla Muller was last seen with Ray in the VIP area at Glastonbury. Muller appeared to be intoxicated as she danced with the singer.’
Dee turned the clipping to show me the photograph: a pretty, brown-haired teenager with a nose piercing and sharp cheekbones, hanging on to Michael with her eyes half closed. She wore a Michael Reyji Ray T-shirt over a skinny frame. The thing I hated most about the picture was Michael’s eyes. They watched the girl like a wolf watches a sheep.
‘Girls throw themselves at Michael all the time. He has to be nice.’
‘And listen to this,’ Dee continued. ‘A member of Michael Reyji Ray’s staff told police that Muller left the festival with Ray.’
I leaned closer to read the article, jabbing at the text. ‘This is all bullshit. Press bullshit. Michael is tired of it. People always trying to take him down in the newspapers. It’s not Michael’s fault that these girls are fantasists. Imagining they’re madly in love with him.’
‘Were you at this festival?’ Dee asks.
My shoulders stiffen. ‘I don’t go everywhere with Michael. I’m not his ball and chain. He had enough of that from his wife. He prefers me to stay here. Out of the limelight. We’re not into publicity, showing off. What we have is real. All this stuff.’ I slap the newspaper page. ‘It’s fake. Made up. Listen, I’m sure that girl will turn up. You don’t need to worry about my safety. Michael looks after me. He is so gentle and loving and kind, Dee. Honestly. He can be the sweetest guy.’
‘Can be?’ says Dee. ‘Or is?’
‘He takes care of me,’ I insist. ‘I mean, sure, he has his moments. No guy is perfect. Everyone is a little bit afraid of their partner sometimes. But when we’re in a good place, I swear to God it’s like a spiritual connection.’
‘Okay.’ Dee crossed her arms. ‘If this is all normal and you’re in a beautiful relationship, open up the gates and let me in.’
‘You know I can’t do that, Dee.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Michael doesn’t want you here.’
Dee gives an outraged laugh. ‘And what about you?’
‘Please don’t put me in this situation, Dee. Where I have to choose between you.’
‘He’s putting you in that situation, Lorna. Not me. This is crazy.’
‘I’m happy with Michael. I love him. We’re going to get married and start a family and live happily ever after.’
Dee’s face changed then. Her expression became soft and her voice low. ‘Okay, Lorna,’ she said. ‘There’s not going to be a baby. There will never be a baby. Michael is married and all you are is the other woman. Okay?’
‘You’re wrong. You don’t get it. You’re measuring our relationship by an everyday yardstick, but Michael isn’t an everyday guy. It’s different. We’re soul mates.’
‘There will be no miracle happy ending here, Lorna,’ said Dee, choking up. ‘But if you won’t come home with me now, I’ll be waiting.’
‘I should go.’ I glanced back at the house.
‘He’s controlling you, Lorna,’ said Dee. ‘I see it, but you don’t. I’ll be waiting every day. Okay? Every single day.’
She reached through the bars and took my hand.
‘Dee, it’s okay.’ I tried to smile, but tears came. ‘Really it is. I’m so happy. Crazy in love.’ I glanced back the house and saw Michael at the door, arms crossed. My voice rose three octaves. ‘Dee. Dee, I have to go. Please don’t worry. I love you.’
Liberty
Michael’s music studio really is lost in the woods. It takes us maybe ten minutes to reach it via a winding woodland path, and with every step, the summer sun grows dimmer above thick trees.
‘This is your studio?’ I ask, looking over the cottage, shadowed by giant fir trees. The little building has blacked-out windows, like a limousine. It looks weird, the soulless modern panes in olde worlde sugar-cube crumbling walls. And it’s so far away from everything. I can barely see the main house anymore.
‘You were expecting something different?’ Michael asks.
‘Yeah, kind of. I thought your studio would be like square and glass walls and metal beams and stuff. Totally modern.’
‘Music lives better in old buildings,’ says Michael. ‘Places with soul and character. I have a real soft spot for this little cottage. It was the farmhouse that came with the land. The big place was built afterwards. But I always loved it out here. It’s totally secluded; you wouldn’t find it unless you knew where to look. I wouldn’t even need soundproofing if these owls didn’t hoot away at night.’ He hesitates. ‘You know, this cottage burned down once upon a time. I wonder if your mother ever told you about that?’