Storm Rising

by Rachael Richey

  Gideon propped himself up on his elbow. “Fresh air and exercise?” he exclaimed. “Do you know how energetic one of our gigs is? I’m on the move for a solid two and a half hours. Each night.”

  Caroline surveyed him with her arms folded.

  “And then go back to your hotel room and drink and smoke too much, no doubt, thereby undoing all the good you may have done.” She looked at him sternly. “And I’m quite sure you’ve been existing on junk food, too. Crisps and chocolate, knowing you. So, none of that here. You can help your father get the roast started while I’m at church.”

  Gideon rolled his eyes at her. “I thought you wanted me to go riding.” He grinned.

  She straightened his jacket on the back of the chair.

  “You’ll have plenty of time for both,” she said serenely, then blew him a kiss and left the room.

  Gideon grinned to himself. His mother was in her element. She had someone to organise. He stretched his long limbs, then threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. The morning was overcast again, and the clouds seemed to be threatening rain, so he hoped his father might abandon the idea of riding and just stick to the cookery. He rifled in his bag for some clean clothes before padding down the passage to the bathroom. He had a quick shower and a shave, then dressed in jeans and a dark green hooded sweatshirt. As he made his way downstairs, the enticing smell of slightly burnt toast wafted up to him, taking him back to his childhood.

  He found his father in the kitchen, seated at the table, with his glasses perched on the end of his nose, deeply engrossed in the Sunday Times.

  “Morning, Dad,” he said as he squeezed past him and flicked the kettle back on. Roger raised a hand to his son and carried on reading. When Gideon joined him at the table with a cup of coffee and some of the burnt toast, he folded his paper and surveyed him over his glasses.

  “Jet lag all gone?” he asked, not waiting for a reply. “Your mother thinks I should take you riding this morning.” Gideon said nothing. “Personally, I don’t really want to, so unless you’re very keen…?”

  “Not at all, Dad.” Gideon grinned. “She also told me we’re to cook the lunch. That actually sounds more appealing this morning.”

  Roger nodded in agreement. “Right, that’s settled. She gets these ideas about fresh air and exercise.” He shook his head. “We’ll tell her we went for a walk.” He picked up his paper again and resumed reading.

  Gideon smiled to himself. His parents never changed. For a couple of minutes the two men sat in a companionable silence, the one reading and drinking tea, the other munching contemplatively on some toast. Then Roger looked up again.

  “Have you decided what to do about Abi?” he asked directly.

  Gideon put down his toast and considered the question.

  “No. Not really. I guess I shall have to go and see her sometime, but I’m not sure I’m quite ready yet.” He leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

  Roger sat back and crossed his legs.

  “So if it wasn’t a sudden desire to seek out Abi, then what prompted your precipitous departure from the band?” he asked curiously.

  Gideon ran a hand through his long hair.

  “It was Abi,” he said abruptly. “I think. I keep dreaming about her, and it’s driving me crazy. But also things were just getting on top of me. I felt I was going mad. I had no privacy, no life outside the band, and to be perfectly honest, I don’t think I really like Simon and Chas as much as I used to.” He paused and looked at his father with a shrug. “Not sure I like Simon at all, actually. He’s very controlling, and it really gets me down. And then I remember what he was like when I first started going out with Abi. He never accepted her, even though he’d known her for years. I did wonder if he liked her himself, but I don’t think that was it. Having seen his more recent taste in women, it doesn’t seem likely.” He paused again, with a frown. “He even tried to warn me off seeking her out again. That’s not really the way a proper friend should behave.” He got to his feet and began to pace around the room, “Dad, d’you think I behaved badly? Was it really wrong of me to leave the band with no warning?”

  Roger gave a wry smile. “Well, in an ideal world you could have done it more gently, I suppose,” he conceded. “I suspect you may have to put up with some backlash from various quarters, but if your state of mind was such as you have described, then you really shouldn’t beat yourself up over it. You’re famous enough to weather the storm, even if it means some financial penalties,” he added with a twinkle in his eye.

  Gideon sighed. “I think that’s part of the problem,” he admitted. “I’m fed up with being famous. I want to be normal.”

  ****

  As Simon’s plane touched down at Heathrow Airport, he considered his options. His sole aim was to prevent a reconciliation between Gideon and Abi, but he had absolutely no idea how to achieve that. He pulled his hand luggage from the overhead locker and joined the queue of travellers leaving the plane. Predictably, the press had got wind he was arriving that morning, and as he made his way down the steps and onto the concourse, he was immediately aware of the flashing cameras and thrusting microphones, all pointed at him from behind the barriers.

  “Over here, Simon!”

  “Have you come home to find Gideon?”

  “Do you know where Gideon’s hiding?”

  “What happened, did you have a fight?”

  “Have NightHawk split up for good?”

  The questions came thick and fast, firing at him from all directions, and he did what he did best: he turned on them, stuck two fingers in the air, and swore loudly. He carried on into Arrivals and passed through customs with no problems. Then, having collected his bags from the carousel, he took a deep breath and walked out into the damp, dreary, November day. At once he was surrounded again by thronging reporters, but he pushed his way through them and forced his way into the nearest taxi.

  “Where to, mate?” asked the driver cheerfully over his shoulder, as he pulled away from the kerb and negotiated his way through the persistent media personnel who were edging out into the road.

  “Any fucking where but here,” snapped Simon rudely, running a hand through his sweat-drenched hair.

  The driver looked at him in the mirror.

  “Bit of a pain that lot,” he remarked. “You famous, then?”

  Simon gave an incredulous snort. “Ya think?” he said. “Yeah, but it’s not me they’re interested in. They only want Gideon.”

  “Gideon?” The driver raised his eyebrows. “Who’s that, then?”

  Simon sighed and rolled his eyes. “Lead singer of NightHawk,” he said impatiently. “He left the band suddenly last week in New York and has now vanished god knows where. I’m the drummer,” he added.

  The driver shook his head, “Oh, yeah, think I may have seen something about that on the news. Can’t say I’d really heard of them before. Probably not my type of music. I’m more of a country-and-western man meself. What sort of music do you do?” he asked curiously.

  Simon scowled at him. “Grunge,” he snapped. “Now take me to Newbury.”

  The driver raised his eyebrows. “That’ll cost you, mate. Close on a ton, that’ll be.”

  Simon sighed. “Just drive. I’m famous, remember? I can afford it.” And he sat back in the corner of the cab and closed his eyes. The decision to go to Newbury was probably fairly sound. His mother still lived there and, as far as he knew, so did Abi’s parents. He had no idea what he was actually going to do, but at least if he was back in his home town maybe something would come to him. Also, he could hide out at his mother’s house for a bit until all the media attention died down. He guessed Gideon had probably headed for his parents’ house, as well, and he decided that a little trip to the New Forest might have to be the order of the day, too, although he didn’t know exactly where they lived. He pulled out his phone and quickly tapped in a number.

  “Hello, Mum,” he said. “I’m on my way home. Be about an hour.” He pau
sed and took a deep breath. “No, everything’s okay. I’ll explain all when I get home. Bye.” He hung up before his mother could ask him any more questions.

  ****

  Judy bit her lip. Since her mother’s visit the day before, she’d been in a state of turmoil. She could hardly believe what she’d heard, and if it turned out to be true, she had no idea what she should tell Abi. She was supposed to be going to visit her at the weekend. Could she manage two whole days with her friend without mentioning something? Her mother had been quite clear that she must not do that until they knew for sure.

  She gathered up a pile of dirty washing and absently pushed it into the washing machine. She and Abi had always told each other everything, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut, but she did agree with her mother that nothing should be said. She nodded to herself. The only way round this was for her to postpone her visit to Cornwall until later. Then she could either legitimately tell Abi what they’d found out, or, if it turned out not to be true, she need never mention it at all. That was the answer. She would make up some excuse as to why she couldn’t go next weekend. Maybe leave it until later in the week and say the children were ill? No one ever doubted the validity of an excuse like that.

  She turned on the washing machine, then made herself a cup of tea. Robert was playing with the children in the conservatory, and she stood in the doorway watching them unobserved for several minutes. She couldn’t help comparing her life to Abi’s and feeling rather smug. She mentally chastised herself and went and joined the rest of the family, ready to enjoy her birthday.

  ****

  Abi slept late on Sunday morning. She and Chris had sat up talking until nearly two, and she finally crawled out of bed at ten thirty the next morning. The emotions that had been stirred up by the photo of her sixteenth birthday had led to a very disturbed night, punctuated by bad dreams and moments of waking sadness, and she was determined not to let it influence her day. She dressed quickly and ran downstairs for her first cup of tea of the morning. Accompanied by a slice of hot buttered toast, it hit the spot, and she began to feel a little more human. She curled her feet under her, leaned back in her chair, and flicked the remote to turn on the television. As she scanned through the channels, her attention was immediately caught by pictures of someone arriving at Heathrow, surrounded by reporters. Her first thought was that it might be Gideon, so she turned up the volume.

  “The drummer of the band NightHawk made short shrift of waiting reporters when he touched down at Heathrow earlier this morning. Simon Dean refused to comment about the whereabouts of his former band member, Gideon Hawk, and was then seen to board a taxi and head out of the airport. His current whereabouts are unknown.” The announcer paused and smiled conspiratorially. “So too are the whereabouts of Gideon Hawk, who hasn’t been seen since Wednesday of last week when he left his Manhattan hotel in a limousine. Hawk announced his sudden retirement at a concert in Central Park on Tuesday afternoon, much to the consternation of his fans and other band members. It’s suspected that he’s staying with friends in Martha’s Vineyard.”

  Abi muted the sound and gazed thoughtfully at the picture on the screen. It showed the band in Central Park earlier in the week, signing autographs among throngs of adoring fans. Gideon stood out, towering over the others, his dark hair swinging over his shoulders, his face moody. As he turned towards the camera, Abi gasped as she gazed into his piercing eyes. The pain she could see there was almost tangible, and her heart went out to him. Wherever he was now, she wished so much she could be there to comfort him. Someone had hurt him badly, and her whole instinct was to dive in and make him better. She turned off the television and got to her feet. She needed some fresh air to clear her head, so she called to the dogs, donned her jacket and wellies, and set off for the beach.

  The day was grey—damp, dreary, and typically Novemberish. Not at all the sort of day to raise one’s spirits, and by the time she’d clambered down to the shore, thrown a few sticks for the dogs, and made her way slowly back to the cottage, Abi felt no better. She kicked her boots across the room, stomped into the kitchen, and made another cup of tea. Even that didn’t seem to help, so she fetched a large bar of nut chocolate from the cupboard and started on that. As she ate, her eyes fell on the boxes from the attic, in their resting place under the stairs. Reluctantly she found herself pulling them towards her and starting to rummage. Carefully she laid out all the loose photos in—roughly—date order, cataloguing her relationship with Gideon from the day they met until the day he left to go on tour. The last time she had seen him in person. The last time she had spoken to him. Then she lifted out the pile of letters and laid them out in date order, too. She had been working her way through them from the earliest one but hadn’t yet plucked up the courage to read them all, particularly the very last one, dated in May ’96. That was four months after her last letter to Gideon had been posted. It was becoming very clear to her that he’d not received any of her correspondence either, and her head was spinning with the possibilities as to why that was. She felt she really couldn’t blame her mother for that one, but it seemed very unlikely that all her letters had gone astray. Maybe they were all still sitting in the office of the record company, never delivered. She thought that was unlikely, too. Cautiously she picked up a letter dated 12th January, 1996. She caught her breath, and tears pricked the back of her eyes. That date, so very nearly ten years ago, was etched firmly in her mind forever. It was just after that she had written her very last letter to Gideon. The one in which she finally accepted she must move on since he clearly didn’t love her any more. Gently she slit open the letter and unfolded the single sheet of hotel notepaper. Something fell out, as she did so, and fluttered to the floor. Slowly she bent to pick it up. It was a snowdrop, her favourite flower, pressed flat and preserved in its long sojourn in the envelope. Abi swallowed and bit her lip. Gideon had sent her a snowdrop on the very day… She sat down heavily on the nearest chair, her legs refusing to hold her up any longer. Her head was spinning, and memories came flooding into her mind with almost physical pain.

  She leant forward and picked up the last photograph in her timeline. It showed Gideon just about to climb into his van. He had paused with his hand on the door handle and turned to face her, the look on his face so loving and tender that she almost cried out. That had been the day he left to go on tour, the last time she’d seen him. Slowly and silently, tears began to fall unheeded down her cheeks.

  Chapter 13

  Friday, 9th June 1995

  “Abi, come on!” called Judy as she made her way across the playground towards the waiting bus. “You’re going to miss the bus. Hurry up!” She beckoned violently to her friend as she finally appeared, running, round the corner of the school building.

  “Sorry, Jude, sorry! I needed the loo. Couldn’t wait.” Abi grinned. “Must be the strain of sitting for three hours in an exam. Let’s go.”

  The two girls climbed onto the bus and wended their way to the back seat. Judy slid into the corner and shoved her bulging bag to the floor. Abi flopped down beside her and fanned herself with her hand.

  “Phew,” she said, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Is it usually this hot in June?”

  Judy shrugged. “Probably,” she said vaguely. “Always seems to be when we’re stuck indoors.” The GCSEs had begun that week, and the two girls had been subjected to a particularly hard day with Maths in the morning and English Literature in the afternoon. “What did you think of the English?”

  Abi screwed up her nose. “Hmm, not bad, I s’pose. Couldn’t really concentrate, though,” she added with a grin.

  Judy rolled her eyes. “Abs, you can’t go on like this. You mustn’t let Gideon ruin your exams. Maybe it’s no bad thing he’s going away on Monday. You need to concentrate.”

  Abi scowled at her. “How can you say that?” she demanded. “You do realise he’s going on an open-ended tour, don’t you? He could be away for years!” Her eyes began
to fill.

  Judy stroked her arm sympathetically. “It won’t be that long,” she reassured her. “Anyway, aren’t you planning to go and join him in the holidays?” Abi nodded and blew her nose. “There you are, then. Just get saving, and you’ll see him before you know it.”

  “Can you honestly see my mother agreeing to me going to America on my own?” Abi mourned.

  Judy considered. “It does seem unlikely,” she conceded. “But when have you ever done as she said?”

  Abi grinned and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Anyway, I’m sixteen, so can she actually stop me?”

  “Not sure.” Judy looked doubtful. “Maybe you could find someone to go with. Someone a bit older.”

  Abi snorted. “Yeah, right. She’d probably suggest Auntie Margaret or something,” she said with a shudder.

  Judy giggled, and the two of them continued to chat quietly until the bus reached their stop.

  Gideon was waiting at the bus stop when the girls arrived. Abi jumped down the steps and flung herself into his arms. He’d been away in London rehearsing, and she hadn’t seen him for nearly two weeks. He swung her round, laughing.

  “Hey, careful! Don’t damage me, I’m potentially worth a lot now,” he exclaimed, dropping a kiss on her nose.

  Judy heaved Abi’s bag up from the ground where it had landed, and Abi took it and slung it over her shoulder.

  “Where’re we going, Gid?” she asked, grabbing his hand.

  He looked down at her. “Well, I think you’d better go home and change first, don’t you?” he remarked, glancing at her school uniform. “Then we’ll go to the cinema.”

  Judy chuckled. She was well aware that Abi told her parents she and Gideon were going to the cinema whenever they went out, yet she was fairly sure they hadn’t seen a film for many a month.

  Gideon grinned at her, then turned to Abi. “Thought we might drive out to Donnington Castle. It’s lovely there in the evening.”