Don't Mention the Rock Star

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Don't Mention the Rock Star Page 19

by Bree Darcy


  “You must have dreamt it, sweetheart,” I said in my most soothing voice. “What would a rock star like him be doing here?”

  “Are you sure? It seemed so real.” Ryan touched the bandage around his head. “I must have got a harder knock than I thought.”

  I felt guilty about deceiving Ryan but couldn’t risk him mentioning it to anyone. Especially his father. I’d also figured I could ask him about the bullies by saying he’d muttered something in his sleep.

  “I suppose AJ did tell me he thought you were gorgeous, which I guess isn’t very likely.” Ryan smirked.

  I was glad to see his sense of humour returning, even if it was at my expense.

  “So when’s Dad coming?”

  This was the moment I’d been dreading, having to explain to Ryan that his father wasn’t getting a flight back. But he would definitely ring him later. And his grandparents should be here with Ciara soon.

  Disappointment flooded my son’s face. “I suppose Dad dropping everything to see me is just as likely as AJ Dangerfield being here.”

  Not wanting Ryan to see me upset, I hopped up to adjust the curtains, silently cursing Curtis for not putting his family ahead of his work schedule for once.

  The next morning a courier dropped a package at the hospital for Ryan. It was the latest iPod loaded with all of Danger Game’s albums.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Everyone was told they had to attend school that day but most of my classmates didn’t bother showing up. It was only me, Dweeby Dwayne and a few others.

  The girls insisted they needed the whole day to get ready for the ball. The local hair salons were packed with excited teens clutching magazine tearouts of the looks they wanted to emulate and discussing their ’dos, dates and dresses.

  I had no idea what the guys got up to – surely it didn’t take all day to shave, climb into a suit and fasten a bowtie?

  I personally couldn’t be bothered with all the rigmarole. My gown was a revamped version of the peach bridesmaid’s dress my mother wore to Aunt Beth’s wedding, my hair was down, with soft ringlets courtesy of a curling wand, and Nikki fixed my make-up.

  I spun around so Nikki could zip up my gown. She whistled. “Woah, you look fantastic. Dan won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

  Alas there was no fairy godmother getting Andy to the ball tonight. Instead he was playing a gig somewhere in the American Heartlands – Detroit I think. So Dan had kindly stepped into the breach. That thrilled my boyfriend, not. His latest letter had detailed instructions about dancing a minimum of three feet away from my date.

  Nikki let rip with her whistle again when Dan arrived, fifteen minutes early as usual. His hair was smoothed down with gel, his chin freshly shaven and he’d gone for a classic black suit and black shirt with a peach tie. He did look very handsome. I really should have insisted on him going with a real date. It wasn’t like he’d have a shortage of willing partners.

  “This is for you,” he said, handing over a white orchid corsage with peach ribboning on three strands of pearls.

  “It’s beautiful, Dan … you shouldn’t have but thank you.”

  “I didn’t,” he mumbled, kicking his toe into the ground. “Caprice dropped it round, it’s from him.”

  Oh. My heart soared at the thought of Andy being so sweet. Now I could take a piece of him to the ball.

  “What a lovely gesture,” Nikki said as Dan slipped it on my wrist. Then covering the embarrassed silence, she took a sip from her wine cooler. “Time to get this party started,” she squealed, tossing Dan a can of beer. “Might as well have a drink or two while we wait for my date.”

  “Here he is now,” I said, hearing a knock at the door.

  But it was Mrs Palmer.

  “Mum, what are you doing here?” Nikki yelped, hiding her drink behind her back. I quickly pulled the bottle from her grasp, pretending it was mine.

  “I’ve come to take some photos of my beautiful daughter,” she said, breezing into the lounge room. “You didn’t really think I’d let you go to your ball without seeing you off. And Kellie, you really shouldn’t be drinking at your age. I’m sure if your mother was here she’d tell you the same thing… Now let’s have a look at you girls. Ooh, don’t you look stunning. And who’s this charming young man?”

  “This is Dan, Scott Hunter’s son,” Nikki replied.

  Mr Hunter was a local realtor and well known for being rather dishy. I’m sure many of the housewives pretended they wanted to sell up, just to get Mr Hunter around to offer his appraisal.

  Mrs Palmer ran her critical eye over Dan again, who by now had offloaded his beer on to the mantelpiece and was beaming his best choirboy smile.

  “And how is your mum these days?” Mrs Palmer cooed. “Must be terribly difficult for you.”

  Dan rarely spoke about his mother and her battle with depression. And he certainly didn’t like to think other people might be gossiping about it.

  “She’s fine, thank you,” he muttered.

  “I’ll print some extra snaps and drop them into your dad’s office when I’m next in town. That’ll cheer her up no end, I’m sure.”

  Mrs Palmer propelled us towards the drawn curtains so she had a backdrop for her photographs. It felt terribly awkward, standing stiffly by Dan’s side, our arms resting unnaturally around each other’s waist. It didn’t help that she kept referring to him as my boyfriend.

  Thankfully Nikki’s date finally showed up complete with a mullet and shiny black winkle-picker shoes. Toby was the son of a family friend, so had experience in handling Mrs Palmer. Keep your hip flask of bourbon hidden and flee as soon as you could. After a few more quick photos, we hopped in his revving jeep and sped off.

  * * *

  Knowing I was scared about tripping over, Dan slipped his arm around my waist as we crossed the marble-tiled foyer of the Sunset Hotel. I wasn’t used to wearing high heels because I didn’t like towering over Andy. It didn’t matter with Dan though, even with stilettos I only came up to his chin.

  Greeting us outside the ballroom entrance was the organising committee, including head girl Marissa as well as Stacey and Diane. I watched them titter as a goth couple turned up, dressed in customary black. Stacey, who had modelled herself on a page three girl with big hair, trowelled-on make-up and her spray-tanned bust bursting out of her sequinned dress, treated them like the dirt beneath her glitzy gold strappy heels as she told them to find a table “somewhere up the back”. The “where no one will see you” was under her breath but it was clear she intended them to hear it.

  I tapped the goth girl on the shoulder. “You look great,” I said, realising I’d probably never spoken to her before. “Your dress is amazing.” Her floor-length velvet gown had an embellished bodice that matched her headpiece. I turned and smiled at her long-haired partner, who was wearing a top hat and knee-length coat. I made a mental note to find out where he hung out because he could definitely give me pointers about applying eyeliner.

  Dawn, in a midnight blue fishnet dress, waved at us frantically as we entered the ballroom to a blast of Whitney Houston. She had arrived early to claim a good table. Corey, who had already abandoned his bowtie and undone the top few buttons on his white dress shirt, was chatting with a couple of the football guys.

  I was happy to settle back and people-watch, storing up the images to write about in my next letter to Andy. One girl in a hot pink ra-ra skirt with black netting and lace fingerless gloves kept requesting Madonna songs. Another in a ruched emerald dress had such giant shoulder puffs that it obscured her date’s face as they posed for photos. Dweeby Dwayne had abandoned his thick glasses for the night and as a result stood chatting for several minutes to a cardboard cutout of a couple used for decoration.

  After our dinner of apricot chicken and rice – Dawn castigated the waiter for not offering a vegetarian option – we crowded on to the dance floor. We’d been forced to take ballroom dancing lessons as part of our sports program but only a few c
ouples attempted the waltz and foxtrot. Instead Dirty Dancing proved to be more our inspiration, as dancers ground their hips together. As the dance beats made way for schmaltzy love songs, couples – new and old – became entwined.

  Dan refused to dance with anyone else even though I told him I didn’t mind, especially as my feet were killing me and I had noticed several unaccompanied girls eyeing him off.

  As the evening wound down, it was time to announce the belle and beau. I had heard Stacey talking about it in the bathroom, as she reapplied her lip gloss. She was certain she’d be belle but wasn’t sure whether her boyfriend Ian would beat Dan in the male vote. “I’ve promised him a blow job out the back if we both win,” she crowed to Diane.

  But it seemed poor Ian’s pants would be staying zipped as Dan was announced the winner. He squeezed my hand and sauntered up to the stage to receive his yellow sash. It looked like the tape used to mark off a crime scene. I was whispering to Nikki about how the title couldn’t have gone to a nicer guy when she nudged me. Mr Taylor, our year leader, looked over at me expectedly and Dan was grinning from ear to ear. “Move your butt,” Nikki hissed in my ear. “You’ve won, you silly cow.” With everyone’s eyes on me, including Stacey’s envious stare, I tottered my way up to accept my sash.

  Our first duty as belle and beau was to slow dance to Wonderful Tonight – the first song Andy ever sang to me.

  “You do look wonderful tonight,” Dan said.

  “So do you. I can’t believe we’re belle and beau. Stacey and Ian sure won’t be happy,” I said.

  “I think we make the best couple.”

  “Naturally,” I laughed.

  “No, I’m serious, Kell. We do make the best couple.” And Dan tilted up my chin and kissed me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “So you never got a chance to tell me properly,” Nikki said, winding her hair around her finger absent-mindedly. Now we were Skype experts, we used it all the time to chat to one another. “How was the chemistry with the Shrimp? Sizzling, I bet?”

  “It was hardly appropriate to be thinking about stuff like that,” I huffed. “My son had just been in an accident.”

  “I’ll take that blush as a yes, then.”

  I raised my hands to cover my burning cheeks, remembering all too well the way my body responded instinctively to Andy’s farewell hug.

  “So with my godson back at school tomorrow, when are you seeing that devilishly handsome rock star again?”

  “I’m not,” I replied decisively. “I don’t think it’s wise. Because guess what he told me just before he left – him and Siena have broken up.”

  “WHAT!”

  “They’re getting a divorce, that’s all I know. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, it’s not like they haven’t had their issues. But I’ve decided to stay well out of it.”

  “Because you can’t trust yourself with him?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Oh my!” Nikki exclaimed. “This is like a Disney movie.” She made the clapperboard motion with her hands. “Prince is forced apart from first love and snared by the wicked witch. Finally good triumphs evil and he comes back to claim his girl. Fade to-.”

  “Not wanting to disappoint you but in this version the girl decides to ignore the prince’s calls and goes to make dinner before picking up her husband from the airport.”

  “Boo! Hiss! That sounds like a stupid ending.”

  “Well that’s the sort of ending you get in real life.”

  * * *

  On the drive home from the airport, in bumper-to-bumper traffic after an accident in the tunnel, Curtis morphed into a cartoon villain, flatly refusing to meet Ryan’s principal to demand he do something about the teasing on the bus.

  Not only was he knee-deep in reports after being away in Melbourne, he also believed Mr Beamish was unlikely to act on the incident since it was outside school grounds. In fact, dobbing on the bullies could end up backfiring on Ryan.

  “I still think it’s worth talking confidentially to the principal,” I said. “Let him advise on the best way to handle it.”

  “I don’t have time to deal with this right now,” Curtis complained. “I’ve got a lot on my plate and I can’t afford to be constantly distracted by what’s going on at home. Remember it’s my job that puts a roof over our heads, food on our table, petrol in our cars and pays for all the little extras you take for granted like guitar lessons for Ryan, and ballet for Ciara.”

  “That goes to show how involved you really are, considering Ciara hasn’t taken a ballet class since she was nine.” I blasted my horn at a green Fiat that cut into my lane.

  “My point is there’s much more at stake for me to simply up and leave an important sales conference. That day, I inked a massive deal to put Yim calcium supplements into supermarkets all over the country. Whereas what was it you had to cancel … an interview with a swimsuit model or Big Brother evictee? No, wait, it would have been one of your days off. So tell me what important appointment did you have to interrupt to go to the hospital – a session at the gym or drinking coffee with your book club? Getting to hang out like that are the perks you get being the wife and mother and I don’t kick up a fuss about it. So I don’t expect you to make me feel guilty because as a man I need to give priority to my work.”

  I pulled into our driveway and yanked on the hand brake. “You know what, Curtis? The 1950s called, it wants its sexist attitude back.” Slamming the car door behind me, I threw him the keys. “Harold Hinter missed the end of his runway show last month because his partner called to say their bichon frise had bronchitis. Do you hear me, Curtis? He left the middle of a crucial fashion parade to be with Pooky and no one questioned it.”

  “I hardly think fashion is a normal business environment. For them it’s an emergency if someone wears the wrong shade of pink.” Curtis wrestled his luggage out of the boot.

  “Trust me, if you took an opinion poll, no one would begrudge a father leaving work because his child’s been hit by a car. Even people who scam little old ladies out of their life savings wouldn’t be that heartless.”

  “If you are trying to insinuate I’m heartless because I didn’t drop everything to rush to Ryan’s bedside – for a sore elbow and a couple of grazes – then don’t you dare. Now if you don’t mind, I’m home now and would like to spend some quality time with my kids.” He pushed open the front door and was quickly enveloped in a hug from Ciara.

  Later that night, with the kids engrossed in a horror movie downstairs, I took one more shot at convincing my husband to visit the school. Mr Beamish was more likely to listen to him, no doubt having written me off as an over-emotional mother.

  “Holyoakes claims to have a zero-tolerance policy towards bullying so they can’t just sweep this under the carpet,” I said, hanging up Curtis’ suits ready to take to the drycleaners. “It’s a serious matter, our son could have been killed. Please come to see the principal with me, I promise to make sure the appointment fits your schedule, I’ll check in with Pamela first.”

  Curtis unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it in the hamper. “I’ve already told you, I have no room in my schedule, not one spare second. We’re still sorting out the anti-anxiety mess with Vilatom, sports authorities are breathing down our neck over our supplements and I’ve got a Mumbai contingent landing on my doorstep first thing tomorrow.”

  He disappeared into the bathroom, before reappearing with a mouthful of toothpaste foam. “Besides you might find me agreeing with Beamish on this one. Ryan needs to learn to stand up for himself and not let these boys intimidate him.”

  I followed him into the bathroom as he spat and rinsed his mouth. “So you’re saying it’s your son’s fault?”

  Curtis extracted a piece of floss and slid it back and forth between his teeth.

  His calm demeanour only infuriated me more. “You, of all people, should know what it’s like to have a father who doesn’t care. You should be supporting your son one hundred per cent. No
t making excuses you’re too busy …”

  I could feel the rage building in my chest.

  “You know what, Curtis? One day you’re gonna wake up to find it doesn’t matter to us whether you’re here or not. The kids will have got so used to you never being around. If that’s what you want, then fine. But if not, I suggest you start being a part of this family. I am sick and tired of being the one who has to do all the worrying. I don’t want my kids being raised the way you were. Sent off to boarding school as soon as your parents could get rid of you. Don’t you see? You are one tartan pair of slippers away from turning into your father.”

  I was sorely tempted to tell him that some guy who didn’t even know Ryan, who hadn’t seen me for years, had been concerned enough to rush to the hospital to check up on us.

  Just to see what his reaction would be.

  Without saying another word, Curtis grabbed his pillow and pushed past me, heading for the guest bedroom. Whoever claimed the secret to a happy marriage was to avoid going to bed angry was obviously married to a saint.

  Despite having the whole bed to myself, I slept fitfully all night. Just before dawn I jerked awake, my heart racing. In my dream, Andy was drowning. Everything went dark and silent as he bobbed up and down in the water. He didn’t call for help or wave his arms. I knew he was in trouble but I couldn’t move to save him. Then just before he sunk beneath the surface, glassy eyes starring at me, his face changed to Ryan’s.

  * * *

  The next morning, after dropping Ryan right at the school gates, I snuck into work, feeling guilty about being away for a week. I’d missed wild child Jade Farrow going into rehab for “exhaustion”; comedian Marcus Howe rueing the tattoo of his now ex-girlfriend’s name; and boy band member Ray Tesch deleting his Twitter account after some nasty exchanges with a rival band’s fans.

  Zara pounced as soon as I walked in the door. “I’ve got an assignment for you this afternoon,” she said. “I presume you are with us all day?” She gave me a snarky look before tossing a press kit on my desk, knocking over a photo frame of my kids. “And how’s … umm… how’s your son?” she inquired.

 

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