by K. A. Finn
Gregg holds up a bag of sweets. ‘Sugar rush, my friend. Who needs sleep when you’ve got gummy bears? I’m not looking forward to landing after these babies.’
‘Are Dillon and Luke still here?’
‘Went home about an hour ago. Too many all-nighters finally caught up with them. So, you give out many autographs yet?’ Gregg asks as he pops another few bears into his mouth.
‘What? No. I haven’t. They’re my family. Hang on, have you?’
He nods. ‘Four. You know, I could get used to this celebrity thing. Had a few requests for tickets to our next gig too.’
‘Fuck sake. I’m sorry, man. That’s not on.’
Gregg shrugs. ‘Whatever. Let them ooh and ah over us. It’s Christmas.’
Shane nudges Tate on the arm and raises his bottle towards the door. Their uncle Eric is pushing through the crowd, waving frantically in their direction. Gregg looks over his shoulder then turns back to Tate. ‘You didn’t tell me you have a groupie in your family?’
‘If either of you leave me alone with him, I will kill you,’ Tate mutters under his breath before smiling widely. ‘Happy Christmas, Uncle Eric!’
‘Nice to see you, Tate. I hear congratulations are in order. Christmas number one for the fourth year.’
Tate glares at Gregg as he waves and makes his escape into the living room. ‘Thanks, but it’s only the second year.’
‘Are you sure? Ah. Never mind. Are you back for long?’
‘A few weeks. We’ve got the second leg of our tour starting in February.’
‘It must be so exciting travelling all over the world. I was only telling Dara the other day that he should have kept up the guitar lessons. He could have been part of your band. Imagine that. Two cousins playing guitar together in the same band.’
Tate takes another drink from his beer as that image plays out in his head. There’s no fucking way he’d ever have his cousin in the band. First, he’s family, so that’s a big no. Second, Dara had been a pain in his ass for as long as he can remember. Tate had grown up being compared to him and even to this day he still fell short. Dara’s a happily married successful lawyer. He’s a successful rock star with a string of very public, failed relationships. Apparently, being thirty-six and still unattached is a major life fail.
Tate swallows his beer without choking and smiles at Eric. ‘Yeah. Shame about that. That would have been great. How is Dara?’
‘He’s good. Made partner in his firm finally. Baby on the way too so it’s all very exciting.’
He ignores Shane sticking a finger in his ribs. ‘That’s great. Tell him I said hi.’
‘Wait one minute. I should show you a picture of the baby.’ Eric rummages in his pocket and pulls out his phone.
‘I didn’t think it was due yet?’
‘The scan picture,’ Eric replies. Tate’s acting skills come in a treat as he makes all the right noises when Eric shows him a black and white image of what looks like a kidney bean.
Tate breathes a loud and obvious sigh of relief when his dad joins them at the sink and Eric disappears into the living room.
‘Picture of the bean?’
Tate smirks. ‘You got it too?’
His father nods. ‘I was always terrible at figuring out what’s what in those scan photos. I remember with Bria and Shane I couldn’t tell if I was looking at the top or the bottom.’ He ruffles Tate’s hair like he’s done ever since he was a kid, ignoring Tate when he swipes his hand away. Rick grins as he grabs a bottle of wine and joins the others in the living room.
There aren’t any scans or baby photos of Tate. Well, not with this family anyway. The Archers adopted him when he was seven.
He always felt like he didn’t fit with the ideal image some of the extended family had in their minds. He hadn’t been the best academically and found himself in trouble more times than he would have liked. Part of it was acting up, trying to find his place in his new family. Part was genuine struggle.
When he joined their family, he was so far behind all the other kids. He caught up eventually. Hell, he’d more than caught up, but those initial years of suspensions and visits to the principal’s office had remained at the front of some of his relative’s memories.
So he took to the role of black sheep with enthusiasm.
His choice of career, his tattoos and piercings, his lifestyle... it was all commented on. They’d never said it to his face, but his parents had told him some of the remarks. At least he won’t have to see any of them until this time next year. Something to look forward to.
He grunts as his two nieces barrel into his legs, each one clinging onto him and squeezing tightly. He bends down and picks one up in each arm. ‘Should you two still be up?’
‘No,’ Shane replies. ‘It’s way past their bedtime.’
‘We can’t sleep until Uncle Tate sings.’
‘Ah now, we talked to you about this. He’s been singing for the last few weeks. He probably wants a break.’
‘Ignore your Dad. Of course I’ll sing. There should be a guitar in the annex. Can you grab it and bring it to the living room? I’ll be there in a few minutes.’
Both girls cheer and squirm to be released. ‘Do not drop the guitar!’ Shane shouts after them, but they’ve already disappeared into the crowd. ‘Please say it’s not an expensive one.’
Tate shakes his head. ‘It’s just a cheap one I keep here for entertaining the masses.’
‘You don’t have to do this.’
‘Are you kidding? Those girls are my biggest fans. The least I can do is sing a few songs for them.’
After singing quite a few songs accompanied by Gregg, Shane, Bria, and other random family members, Tate escapes outside to get some fresh air. He closes the door behind him and blows out a long breath as he checks his watch. Just past eleven. Most of the family had left for the night, but there were a few stragglers not willing to bid goodnight to the free food and drink just yet.
He zips up his jacket and sits on the tailgate of his Ford Raptor. He lies back in the load bed and rests his head on his hands as he listens to the waves crashing on the beach in front of the house. He missed the sound of the sea when he was away. Missed the comfort it gave him. His life was brilliant, and he wouldn’t change a thing, but it did take over.
He’s not proud of it but he’d fallen prey to the lifestyle over the last few years. Drink and drugs had helped keep him going through the long hours on the road followed by performing, then countless interviews and photo shoots. It wasn’t something that controlled him in any way, but, at times like this, with his whole fucking family in the house, he wishes he had something other than beer to take the edge off.
The rhythmic comforting sounds of the waves mixes with his exhaustion and he dozes off for a moment, only to be rudely awoken by someone coughing loudly beside his car.
‘No bed to go to?’
Tate opens his eyes and looks up at his cousin, Dara. ‘Must have nodded off.’
‘Doesn’t look too comfortable.’
Tate groans and pulls himself up. ‘It’s not.’
Dara hands him a pile of post. ‘Your mum asked me to give this to you in case she forgets. You not updated your address?’
‘Only for the important stuff. This is junk. Congrats on the baby, by the way.’
‘Cheers. I presume Dad showed you the scan picture.’
‘He did. He seems pretty excited.’
Dara nods. ‘You could say that. First grandchild and all that. So, I hear congratulations are in order for you too. Another number one single. Sell out tours. Screaming fans wherever you go. God you make me sick.’ He grins at Tate and they both laugh. Dara climbs onto the tailgate and sits beside him. ‘I remember when we took guitar lessons together for a few months. Did you ever think you’d end up here?’
‘No way. Any regrets giving up music?’
Dara shakes his head. ‘Dad keeps going on about it. Like if I stuck with it I could have been as good as you
are. I didn’t have the patience for it though. It’s something you either have or you don’t. Sort of like the ability to listen in Mr. Donnelly’s maths class.’
‘I don’t know what it was about that man. He walked into the classroom and my brain switched off.’
‘Might have been easier if he put you on a permanent detention. Would have saved him a few minutes every day.’
‘Don’t remind me. Mum and Dad must have spent nearly as much time with the principle as I did in detention.’
‘It was quite the family scandal at the time.’
Tate snorts. ‘Yeah, I’ll bet.’
‘You’ve shut them all up now though. You’ve got to be worth more than all of us combined. Bet that feels good to prove them all wrong, huh?’
‘I didn’t do all this to prove anything.’
‘I didn’t mean it that way.’
‘I know. We all worry a little too much about what everyone else thinks.’
Dara nods. ‘Couldn’t agree more. But that’s the fun of family, right? Anyway, I suppose we better head back in and help clear up. Gary should be finished talking to the tree by now.’
‘I’ll be there in a minute.’
Dara smiles at him and jumps down from the back of the truck. Tate watches him walk back into the house then lies back and looks up at the sky. He didn’t dislike Dara, but he had little to nothing in common with him anymore.
He holds up the bundle of post and shuffles through the letters. Most of it is junk but one letter in the middle stands out. The envelope has his name and parents’ address printed on it but there’s no stamp. He sits up and shines his phone torch on the print. It looks like whoever sent it used a typewriter.
He tears it opens and pulls out the sheet of paper. At the top of the page in the same typewriter print is a line of writing above a printout of a photo showing a woman with her arms around a young boy.
Is it your fault she’s dead?
He turns the page over but there’s nothing else. He directs his phone torch on the photo and his heart hammers loudly in his chest. What the fuck? That’s him in the photo. He’s a bit younger than he is in the first photos the Archers took when they adopted him. Maybe a year before so he’d be around six, but it’s definitely him. Did that mean the woman in the photo is his mother? He doesn’t remember his biological parents. He was told they died.
‘Is it your fault she’s dead?’
Saying the words out loud doesn’t produce an answer. If it is his mother, is it his fault she died? But he was only a kid, how could it be down to him?
He reads the words again. Who the fuck would send him something like that?
‘Hey! You too much of a celebrity to help? Tate? Hello!’
He looks up at his mum waving at him from the door. ‘What?’
‘Gregg is attempting to polish off the tray of leftover sausage rolls without you. If you don’t come in now, he’ll devour the lot, and then he’ll be sick. I’m not having a replay of last year. I’ve only just got the stains out of the rug.’
‘Yeah. I’ll be there in a sec.’
Tate wipes a hand over his face and folds the sheet of paper. He climbs down from the truck and stuffs it into his back pocket. Whatever the fuck is going on there is no way he’s going to mention this to her. The Archers gave him a family when no one else wanted him. Thanks to them he’s had an amazing life for nearly thirty years. That’s all that matters to him.
2
Tate stares at the phone on the couch and wills it to stop ringing. He closes his eyes and drops his head against the back of the couch when it does just that. But then it starts again. He curses and grabs it off the seat. ‘What?’
‘Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been ringing you for ages.’
Tate winces at Gregg’s shrill voice in his ear. ‘I was asleep until you woke me up.’
‘Are you drunk?’
He looks at the empty twelve pack of beer on the coffee table in front of him. ‘No. Just tired.’
Gregg snorts. ‘Is that so? Cause it sounds like you’re fucked. It’s only ten in the morning.’
‘I’m not drunk. Did you just call to get on my case or do you want something?’
‘Charming. I was calling to see if you want to grab a burger later.’
He rests his feet on the table, wincing as he accidentally knocks over a bottle which takes out all the others like dominos. ‘Fuck.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. Just dropped a glass. Listen, I’m just going to crash. I’ll catch you another time.’
Gregg snorts. ‘Yeah right. That’s the third time you’ve blown me off this week. What’s going on? You were a grumpy bastard over Christmas then just upped and left. Shane’s kids barely got to spend any time with you. They haven’t seen you for six months. Do you not think you could have maybe spent more than a pathetic two days with them?’
Tate peers into the bottle in his hand and tosses it on the couch beside him. ‘You done?’
‘Don’t be a dick, Tate. What’s crawled up your ass?’
‘I’ve been with you every single fucking minute of the day for weeks. I need space.’
‘Fine. I hear you loud and clear.’ Gregg ends the call. Tate stares at the phone then dumps it on the couch beside him.
Everything Gregg said adds to the impressive load of guilt he’s already buried under. He decided to leave his parents place and come home when he’d shouted at his four-year-old niece. It wasn’t her fault. She was excited to spend time with him after so long and hadn’t given him a moment to himself the whole day. When she asked him to read her a story, refusing to take no for an answer, he’d snapped. She’d run off in tears to Shane and he’d felt like a complete bastard.
He’d apologised to her and she’d quickly forgiven him... well, as much as a four-year-old can, but he didn’t want a repeat. If either of his nieces were nervous around him or didn’t trust him, he’d never forgive himself.
He doesn’t even remember what excuse he used to explain why he needed to leave. Work was his usual go-to excuse. Whatever he’d said had done the trick and less than an hour after shouting at Tilly, he’d packed his bags and left.
Since that fucking photo arrived, he’s seeing things he knows must be memories, but they’re so unfamiliar he doesn’t know how to deal with them. The nightmares started the next day and with them came the end of any sleep. Every time he closes his eyes he sees the woman from the photo. He can’t make sense of the nightmares. They’re just flashes of images like snippets from a horror film – complete with lots of screaming and lots of blood.
He knows he should talk to his adopted parents about this, but he can’t. He’s given them enough headaches over the years without adding this to it. They’ve always been cautious about the attention his career choice brings with it. If they thought a fucked-up fan had not only sent him something like that, but hand delivered it to their house, they’d freak out. It’s not the first time he’s got something less than complimentary sent to him and it wouldn’t be the last. It is the first time it’s contained personal shit though.
He closes his eyes again but this time the intercom on the gate disturbs him. Tate take a ridiculously long time to stumble through the living room to the intercom.
‘What?’
‘It’s Eddie.’
He opens the gate and waits for Eddie to pull his car into the driveway. The tall, dark-haired man gets out of his shiny new BMW and saunters over to the front door. Eddie pushes past him and whistles as he walks around Tate’s kitchen.
‘Very nice indeed. I like it.’ He wanders into the sitting room and stares at the bottles on the coffee table and the floor. He probably should have picked those up before he let Eddie in. ‘I see you’ve been having a good time. I have to say, the life of the rich and famous isn’t overwhelming me at the moment. I was expecting... less drunken lout and more pampered rock star.’
Tate flops back into the leather armchair and rubs
his forehead. ‘Sorry to disappoint.’
‘I wouldn’t call it a disappointment, more of an eye-opener if anything. You look like you’re in a bit of a hole.’
‘I just got back from a few weeks away. I’m unwinding.’
‘Looks to me like you’re getting well and truly smashed.’
Tate doesn’t bother answering. If he says anything, he’ll just drag this conversation on for longer. He wants Eddie out of his house asap.
‘Not sure all this fame stuff is worth it. I’ve got a delightful afternoon planned with a stunning blonde I met last night. What are your plans for the day? Hiding in the dark and getting off your head on whatever you can find? Can’t say I’m jealous of your life, Tate.’
‘You’ve got to work on your sales technique. It’s shite.’
Eddie laughs and settles into the other armchair. ‘I don’t need a sales technique. The fact you called me means I’m walking away with your money in my pocket. Just not sure how much yet. To be honest, I thought you were done and dusted with all this. Haven’t seen you for what? Must be heading on three, maybe four months now.’
‘I’m just wound up after the tour. My body clock is fucked. I’m awake when I should be asleep and vice versa. Just need something to help.’
‘That I can do.’ He places a bag of pills on the table in front of him. ‘Try those for starters. If they don’t work give me a shout and I’ll bring round something stronger.’
Tate rubs his jaw and looks down at the bag. Fuck it. If they help him get a few hours without the nightmares hitting, he’ll give anything a try.
‘Fine.’
∞
Tate shouts and bolts upright in bed, gasping for breath. He scrambles to the bathroom and empties his stomach. Once his pitiful last meal is dealt with, he pulls himself to his feet and leans heavily on the sink. He closes his eyes but the woman from his nightmare reaches out to him. But he can’t help her. It doesn’t matter how many times she pleads, how often she begs, he can’t save her. He may not remember much about what happened, but he does know that much. Whoever the woman in the photo is, she’s dead.