by Isabella May
“Heather,” Georgina warded off a shudder and turned to the woman she was all too aware could be her future mother-in-law, like if she wanted her to be, which she most categorically did not, “why don’t we call you a taxi now, too? We’ll clean up here and handle this and you go home and chill out. You were never meant to have got involved in the commotion. An early night and everything will look good as new in the morning – we’ll be ready to start afresh.”
After I have ridden your son senseless this evening; drawing him ever deeper under my spell on that king-sized bed.
Chapter Seven
ALICE
There was nowhere quite like Somerset. Many were those who would ‘search for themselves’ in every conceivable dot on the globe, the further away, supposedly the more of their inner being they’d come to discover. Alice had seen them leave only to return sure as boomerangs. And now, just like everybody else who thought life would be better far away from the privilege of grass green roots, no matter where she found herself unpacking her ever-growing collection of suitcases, she yearned to go home. Glastonbury was calling; the earth wire in her veins, willing her to plug herself back into all that was familiar, that tactile earth of the cowslip-dotted Levels, September’s plump blackberry hedgerows and her beloved stables; grounded at last, able to breathe.
She needn’t ever have left this world. That was perhaps the only thing life in London – and beyond – had taught her. Just like the young boy, Santiago, in Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist, she’d had everything she’d ever needed – not only inside her, but overflowing from her cup and into her small West Country universe all along. For all her love conquests won, for all her red carpet appearances attached to the arm of a leading man, and for all the boxer shorts catapulted at her on the stage, here in Glastonbury she’d never stopped being the centre of attention anyway.
Butterflies circled her stomach as the bus bound from Bristol rounded the corner and began its slight descent into her home town’s High Street. She knew his bar was next to the bakery, but it had been so long since she’d been back to pay a visit, that she’d actually forgotten what side of the road the fat, greasy Lardy Cakes and Death By Chocolate slabs lined the windows. She needn’t have fretted, ‘The Cocktail Bar’, as it was unimaginatively, perhaps even ingeniously titled; glistened enticingly on the right, overshadowing anything the now trendy, overhauled, and all things organic-looking bakery had to offer. But it was decidedly closed. Bang went her plan to surprise River.
The number 376 pulled over next to the bus stop opposite the town hall, and on the doorstep of her favourite pizzeria in the whole world. She glanced up at the giant clock on the friendly building across the road, momentarily reminiscing on her roller boot disco days. Those iron hands were notorious for not being wound forward or back with the changing of the hours, but the aroma wrapping around her in a vortex of deliciousness, told her all she needed to know: Cagnola’s was open, it had to be lunchtime.
She pulled her case behind her, weary from lack of food since the plastic-tasting veggie breakfast platter on her flight into London, stopped to re-check her dark shades masked the equally dark circles under her eyes and went inside, asking for a table for one, as far away from the other diners as possible.
She mulled over the menu, as reassuring as ever, Cagnola’s stuck with what they knew. Perhaps her own life wouldn’t be in such confusing tatters had she done the same. She scanned the pizzas, quickly deciding carbs were the only way forward, ordered a Margarita and a Coke – scowling at herself for the crime that was the latter, but sometimes even Clean Eaters needed a dirty weekend – and called River, failing miserably to get through.
Shoot. So now what?
She could only guess he’d changed his number because of Lennie.
Eugh – the power of two unsuspecting syllables to make a girl wince.
Was there ever a name so synonymous with slime – excusing his excellence of the Kravitz variety, of course? Dodging him, not to mention the local press, was going to be a daily occurrence. Thank god she didn’t live in London. At least there was less chance of a ‘newsworthier’ photographer flooring it down the M4 to take a picture when they could kill several ‘birds’ with the same stone from Kensington and Chelsea to Islington.
But how else was she going to get hold of River? She didn’t want to turn up unannounced at his mum’s house, not after the charade with the band several weeks ago when they’d flown over to the UK for the premier of the new movie their lyrics were providing the soundtrack for – she’d already forgotten its name – and Lennie had insisted they accompany him to Somerset to track down The Boy Gone AWOL. Luckily it was Friday, the bar was sure to be open to see in the weekend at some point today, but in all seriousness, how many hours could she spend picking at pizza and gelato? She barely had an appetite at the best of times. And then her jetlagged brain kicked into gear: Facebook and Twitter (a private message on both, of course). He must still be connected to his social media.
Lunch came and lunch went, the waiter did his best to flirt his way into an autograph, but Alice wasn’t even up for friendly small talk today. Still there was no sign of contact. She sighed, wondering what to do now. It wasn’t that her parents wouldn’t have her back at the farm in Butleigh, one of the quaint villages that fringed the town she’d always really called home. She just didn’t want them to know she’d ‘come to her senses’, not quite yet, they’d never been enamoured by her ‘alternative lifestyle’ and she had to be ready for the inevitable point scoring that would ensue.
“But you have a place in the Great Britain equestrian team, darling. Daddy’s pulled strings the likes of which you simply cannot imagine to grant you this privilege. Are you out of your mind throwing away that honour of representing Queen and country… for… for… for a place in one of those scruffy grunge bands? Oh, the shame with which you’re tarnishing the family!”
Alice had reduced her mother to a sherry-fuelled stammer several Christmases ago. But on January the second, she’d hopped on that National Express coach with River all the same, a new life awaiting them both in the Big Smoke.
Relations had improved somewhat over the years, of course. Her parents were not the type to hold a grudge by the scruff of its neck, but still, there the elephant in the room stayed before them. And she missed her horses too, both of which had long since been sold, her decision the nail in the coffin to the question of Folly Farm ever breeding again.
She began to run through the drinks menu once more, breaking yet again with orthorexic tradition – well it was technically the weekend, and if she did manage to find River later, she could hardly decline quintessential cocktail etiquette when she visited his bar. A Negroni – that would fill another hour here, especially if it came with a stirrer; and then perhaps a coffee, followed by a mineral water, diluting the toxins and hopefully taking her up to six pm. By which time the bar just had to be open. This wasn’t London after all, people hit on the booze here at five pm sharp, especially on a Friday; always on a Friday.
The jingle of the little gold bell at the restaurant door sounded too good to be true, but she lifted her head anyway, heart bizarrely pounding in a way it had certainly never done before at the sight of him, wondering how he was going to take this. Would he even trust her? She couldn’t blame him if he thought Lennie had sent her out undercover. If the shoe was on the other foot, she’d certainly suspect the same.
“Al, what are you doing here?” he said. “I just got your Facebook message and didn’t even stop to reply, just had to get here to see you as quickly as I could.”
The pull to his chest was like sinking into a freshly plumped up pillow that made everything suddenly very all right again. If only she’d seen that when they’d fooled around that night at the festival, how much heartache and drama she’d have spared herself, how many narcissistic idiots she’d have spurned.
“This is all so surreal.” He released her and stood back, as if to examine the cracks of seven al
bums.
“It’s a long story but it’s probably very similar to yours,” she said, signalling to the overenthusiastic waiter to take their drinks order, suddenly feeling twenty times more justified, C list celeb (well, according to the press that had been her official ranking), or not.
“I’ll have a Negroni,” she said, resuming her seated position, beckoning to River to join her. “And you?”
“Yeah… yeah… make that two,” River said, lowering his body onto the chair, his incessant goofball stare making her stomach repeat those butterflies, except now they were all simultaneously competing in the Olympic figure skating final.
She tore her own gaze away, embarrassed at her lack of emotional control. They’d known each other forever and a day, this was ridiculous, first date ridiculous. When she finally did lift her eyelids to resume communication, she sensed they were both utterly grateful for their on-the-ball cameriere, tray held high in his right hand, showcasing two gleaming amber tumblers topped with lemon slices mimicking surfboards – and token stirrers. This would take the edge off her unfathomable teenage persona, yet something told her she shouldn’t down it too quickly either.
River initiated the drinking, Alice followed suit.
“Are you heading back to your parents, or?” He put down his glass and clasped his hands together, easing them midway across the table, something like a prayer, something like a businessman on the cusp of sealing a deal.
“Well, that’s the thing. You remember how they reacted all those years ago when we set off for London…? I’m not sure I can face the ‘we-told-you-so’ routine just yet,” she tugged awkwardly at her hair, “but on the other hand, if I’m back, I’m back. I don’t want to play stowaway until I die.”
“Do you want me to help? I can.” He reached further across the table now and reassuringly placed that clasp on her hands, drawing them together until she wondered if he was about to play that one-potato-two-potato game Daddy refused to relinquish until way into her teens.
She inhaled deeply, fighting back the tears, knowing full well that once she started, she’d never stop. But the tenderness of skin upon skin lingered, even moments after his hands were gripping his glass again, a trace of electricity surging back into her own body, as if there it had always belonged. This was crazy, why had she never felt like this with him before? All she knew is she had definitely never felt this way with any of the others, not a single Beverly Hills residing, Armani toting, Nobu dining one of them.
On the other hand, it could just be the jetlag, east to west was the worst. And yes, she’d experienced it before, but normally she’d have a chauffeur driven limo waiting to pick her up and take her somewhere like The Dorchester, or her sister Tamara’s spare Notting Hill pad. This time was different though. She and Tamara had fallen out over her last choice of boyfriend and his shoe fiasco; Glenn had only gone and stepped out in crocodile skin loafers, red rag to the staunchest of animal rights bulls. Which had had nothing to do with Alice, she was hardly his personal dresser, she’d been in Guadalajara at the time, he at an award ceremony in Palm Springs. Sodding typical that Tamara had stumbled across the pictures in the society pages at the rear end of Hello. As for her parents, they’d long ago withheld regular payment into her trust fund; the trust fund she’d found herself equally regularly dipping into to top up her fifty-per-cent-less-for-being-a-female salary that came with the band.
And then there was the not so small matter of Lennie blocking her credit card since she was in breach of contract.
In short she was destitute and homeless. But she couldn’t land all of this on River today, not until she’d told him the news that would shake his world.
“I’m okay, I’m fine, it’ll be…,” she cut off to blow her nose, eyes scanning the premises moments later in case anybody was sneakily filming her sad demise on their mobile phone.
“You’re not okay.” He shook his head at her. “But you will be, everything will fall into place, I promise. There is life out here after the band, you know? Look at me.”
She smiled a wobbly smile. He’d done amazingly for himself, especially when she considered his somewhat off-kilter single parent upbringing. The quirky Heather; Alice had always had a soft spot for her, in fact Heather and her veggie lentil hotpot were the very reason she’d stopped eating meat herself.
“I’ve got nowhere to—”
“Shh.” He put his finger to his lips. “You’ll stay in my penthouse at the Hotel Guinevere, at least for tonight. I’m fine with my old room at Mum’s. After that we’ll find you a nice apartment, or maybe the hotel has another large room going free. Either way, the last thing I am going to do is abandon you. We started this adventure together… we’ll finish it together… in style.”
He lifted his tumbler to suggest a toast. Alice’s hand trembled as she did the same, not so much through lack of sleep, but the unshakable feeling that River Jackson was in fact, the love of her life.
Chapter Eight
GEORGINA
Some people never really get over their first love. Blake was one of those people. For all her edginess, for all her Fierce Warrior nature, Georgina had long ago excused her brother for being a sopping Wet Blanket.
In part, she realised this was because he’d taken the concept of Alice and blown it up into an inflatable woman of a doll who embodied everything about the female psyche. There was no doubt that his feelings for Alice were more than lingering teenage lust, although even Georgina had to acknowledge that her natural white blonde curls and cobalt eyes on porcelain skin, not to mention the legs that went on for miles and miles, were enough to make any sister’s veins course with envy.
But Blake’s fascination with this ethereal creature happened to happen the exact Monday after their mother had scarpered back to Benidorm to ‘start a new life’ with one Miguel, aka. the fling from her best (and in those days, super late to the altar) friend’s week long hen do. Which was the precise Monday Georgina’s role in the household changed too; aged just nine or not, she had assumed the position of Mama Bear-stroke-one of the lads, unnaturally nonplussed by her mother’s hiatus for ever and ever Amen to warmer climes. Something inside her had always known this would be the turn of events. That way it came as no surprise when the love she carried for her big brother – and her father – became the unconditional love a mother is supposed to carry for her child. Overnight.
Blake had spurned every female opportunity for his Happy Ever After over the years. Women, including his ex-wife and the child they had created – the nephew Georgina would never get chance to play Auntie to – had come and gone, all because of River. The fact could not be disputed: had he not led Alice astray into the badass world of ‘rock ‘n’ roll’, Blake would have moved on with his life. He’d have watched with a strange kind of satisfaction from the sidelines as she’d settled down with another local guy, granted they’d still have a better career than he could ever dream of, an estate agent perhaps or a solicitor, but they certainly wouldn’t be publicity hungry, Brad Pitt cloned gazillionaires. She’d have popped out two point four children, lost her mojo and her looks because there was no longer a damned thing to prove in the small town comfort zone, and they all would have lived happily ever after.
But oh no, River’s determination to secure her a place in that wretched band had resulted in one thing and one thing only: Blake putting her on an even higher pedestal, this one made of gold, encrusted with diamonds, and ever more out of his reach. Her antics haunted him everywhere he went. Especially the staff canteen where she’d ‘grace’ the tabloids emerging from a tropical Barbadian beach hand in hand with her latest bit of stuff, or dazzling the crowds in a figure-hugging ball gown on a red carpet in La-La Land, a sharp kick to the stomach as he tucked into his bacon butty.
That was why it was time for revenge, and what sweeter way for revenge to play itself out than between the sheets.
“So what excuse did you make up this time?” said River, breaking her stream of consciousnes
s, a narrative she was rather enjoying along with the subtle dapple of daylight which was nicely warming up her pillow.
Georgina yawned and stretched her arms out of her side of the deluxe bed she’d grown all too accustomed to, a cat about to lick her paws. Last night’s activity had been epic.
“They think I’m overnighting at one of my former clients’ houses,” she said, opening her sleepy eyes and rolling over to face her lover, “there in the middle of the night to accompany him to the bathroom for a pee.” She circled River’s navel with her fingertip, “And there in the morning to shower him and make him breakfast.” She turned over to the bedside table, lifted the half-filled flute of Bolly and faced him again to bring the glass to his lips. River raised his eyebrows as he sipped and she took this as her opportunity to dive in for a luxurious (if slightly flat) bubble-fuelled kiss.
“Good. That is good,” he said when they came up for air.
He’d come clean with her last night about what had really happened during Blake’s visit, every bead of Champagne seemingly teasing out the smallest of details. She’d feigned her shock well, revelling in the amount of trust he was prepared to bestow on her so quickly.
Blake had mentioned he and Lee had called by with a ‘friendly warning’, that was the real reason she knew River was back on the scene just hours before Torgate, her path crossing with her brother’s as they’d met on their own garden path; one heading out to walk the neighbour’s feisty terrier, one about to flunk out on the couch with a breakfast of leftover cottage pie. But despite Blake’s hint, she hadn’t been at all prepared for the slightly bigger picture River had painted. She’d even started to feel sorry for River last night. Just for a couple of seconds anyway.
“I can’t believe it,” she’d finally said.
“Well, straight up, babe, it’s the truth,” River had downed his champers from the bottle before adding, “the irony being it was actually your dad and a couple of other painters and decorators who patched the bar back up again – a great job they did too – although thankfully he didn’t recognise me… or if he did, he did a very good job of playing dumb anyway.”