by Lisa Swallow
A girl.
The sonographer warned there’s not a hundred percent guarantee the sex is correct, but in my heart, I believe she is. I don’t know why; I’ve always pictured this new life growing inside me as a girl. Dylan gripped my hand, his dazed expression worried me he wanted a boy, but I know his thoughts match mine: all that matters is a healthy baby.
Boy or girl, this child will be blessed with a father who would bring him or her the moon if asked. A man who loves and protects his wife the way Dylan does, who loves totally and fiercely, already shares this love with the new person entering his life.
He’s overprotective still, which I understand because of the Lily situation, but everything has quietened again. This is Lily’s pattern and worries me. It’s as if she knows disappearing under the radar for a while takes the heat off, but her weird obsession over Dylan, and now me, doesn’t falter. Dylan relaxes when she backs off, and as he’s experienced her scrutiny longer than me, I accept we’re safe.
The crazy lovechild lie still baffles me. Extensive investigations found nothing, no sign of any pregnancy or birth. No child. If I weren’t frightened by Lily, I’d pity her. What does she think her behaviour will achieve?
So far, the pregnancy goes well. I’m unimpressed about the tiredness. Dylan’s impressed by the fact pregnancy makes me want sex. Lots of sex. Sex and Dylan has always been addictive, but add in whatever body changes ramped this up and my frustration grows. This caused an issue originally. Forthright Dylan asked the doctor how safe sex is, and because of the miscarriage, he suggested we avoid for the first trimester. Convinced sex caused the miscarriage, Dylan agreed, and we had to be inventive instead. As soon as I hit what we felt was a safe point, he didn’t take much persuading.
Unspoken thoughts filled us the day we heard Ruby and Jem’s baby arrived. We should have our first baby with us now. I focused on the child growing inside me, moving around and insistent I know she’s there.
When I heard the news, I pulled out the toy Dylan brought home when I discovered the pregnancy last year. I spoke to my lost baby, told her I’d always love her, then kissed the nose before tucking the toy away in the back of the drawer.
I’ve met and chatted with Ruby a few times over the last few months and in a bizarre twist of events compared pregnancy side effects. She’s tough to talk to, but the vibe from her isn’t rude, just closed off. It takes a lot for this girl to trust. Dylan’s still wary of her, because he sees parallels to Liv, but I don’t. I see a happy Jem. A clean Jem. I see a man who’s alive in Ruby’s company, when a year ago I worried he’d be dead by now.
Ruby and Jem hide themselves away for a couple of weeks after their daughter is born. I don’t blame them; new parenthood is stressful enough without intrusion, and I intend to do the same. They have no family, and both commented in the past, there’ll be no nannies to help. This concerns me. They need a decent support network, and as far as I know, the only friends Ruby has are the Ruby Riot guys, and they can’t offer what she needs.
I’ve spoken to Cerys over my fears, and we both want to help how we can, but we need Ruby to allow us into her life. Hers and Jem’s relationship is intense, and their pasts filled with pain they haven’t yet dealt with. Is it wrong I doubt their future together? Yes, but I do.
Jem and Ruby are nothing like I expected on the day we visit them at their secluded estate. Inside the large bright room overlooking the gardens, Ruby rests on the blue upholstered sofa. She’s dressed the way she always is, hidden behind heavy make-up, not ready to let us in fully yet, even though she greets us with a warm hello. Jem greeted us, barefoot, scruffy clothes as ever, but with a brightness in his tired face. He sits beside Ruby and takes her hand.
The baby sleeps in a bassinet nearby, and it’s as if Quinn’s presence blocks out the tension often surrounding the couple, bringing serenity to the new family.
“Congratulations,” I say and return their smiles.
Dylan holds out a gift bag covered in pink flowers. Jem takes hold and looks inside. When he pulls out the tiny baby sleepsuits Dylan bought, I attempt not to laugh and fail. Dylan nudges me as Jem frowns.
“Sorry, it’s just this is so non-rock star.”
Ruby joins me with a small laugh, and the tension in the room breaks. “It is.”
“How are you both… all?” I ask.
Ruby nods. “She’s pretty good. No problems, really.”
“Yeah, Ruby’s a natural,” says Jem and hugs Ruby to him.
“As are you.” She pokes him in the side.
These are different people to the ones I met before. I can’t equate Jem with the man who threatened me the first time we met or her with the sullen girl from the awards ceremony. My judgement of the couple is wrong; I don’t know them at all.
“We’re having a girl too,” says Dylan, and I shoot him a look. We agreed not to tell anybody the sex yet.
“Yeah? Reckon they’ll be good mates,” says Jem.
“Like their dads,” I say. “Has to happen.”
“Two girls and two dads like these? They’ll be locked in the house as soon as they become teens. Can you imagine trying to date Jem Jones’s or Dylan Morgan’s daughter?” asks Ruby.
I sit in an armchair near Ruby. “Jem’s protective, I bet.”
“Oh, yeah. He freaks out every time she cries loudly in case she’s sick, or if she sleeps too long, which is crazy. He needs to chill out.” Ruby says the words louder, and Jem shakes his head at her.
On cue, their daughter wakes, the tiny baby noises causing a hormonal rush of my own, joined by apprehension as I watch Jem cross and lift his daughter from the bassinet. As soon as she’s in her dad’s arms, the little girl quiets. He wraps the pink blanket around Quinn and holds her against him, suddenly oblivious to everybody and everything.
Tears fill my eyes at the scene, a confusing mix in my head. Imagining this is my baby, and Jem is Dylan, but most of all watching the most destructive person—to his lives and others—holding his new life in his arms and his new world together.
DYLAN
I follow Jem into the large, slate-floored kitchen. Every surface is covered in baby items, the tiny person taking over everything.
Supporting his daughter against his shoulder, he opens the fridge and looks in. “Do you want a drink?”
“I’m good.”
“’kay.” I stare at the weird sight and grasp at my emotions, attempting to figure them out. Jealousy? Joy? Nervous anticipation? How the hell does he do this father thing so naturally, the tiny bundle of baby in his tattooed arms, her head resting against his neck.
Surreal.
What the hell do men say to each other in these circumstances?
“How’s it going?” I ask and tip my head at the swaddled baby.
“Weird.”
There’s nothing weird about the love in Jem’s eyes as he looks down at Quinn. Jem alive after last year is one good thing; Jem filled with happiness is fucking amazing.
“You look good, man. Sorry I was rude about Ruby in the past.”
“Nah, she’s unique. Takes a bit of understanding.”
“Which is why you guys are perfect,” I say with a laugh.
Jem’s smile grows.
“What are babies like?” I blurt, then rub my head. “I mean, Quinn. What’s she like?”
“She’s Quinn. No idea what other peoples’ babies are like. Cerys says she’s calm.” I snort. “That was Liam’s reaction too.”
“I’m worried I’ll be crap at being a dad.”
He rests against the counter and shifts Quinn in his arms. “If I can do it, you can.” He’s half-serious. “Stay sober and follow your instincts.”
I can’t help it, but I chuckle. Jem frowns at me. “Sorry, baby guru.” I back up when his frown becomes a scowl. “Jem, I messing with you. It think it’s fucking awesome.”
He lowers his voice. “We have a rule. No swearing in the house.”
I blink at his serious face and bit
e the edge of my lip to stop an amusing retort he probably won’t find funny. That ends Sky’s theory about baby’s first word. “Sorry.”
I look back through the door where Sky sits and chats to Ruby. There’s more eye contact than usual, less tension. Sky’s spoken to Cerys about babies, but a new mother is who Sky needs to connect with. I watch them and picture us all in the future. What will happen? Will the kids be friends? Will this situation bond Jem and me again? Fuck knows we were broken long enough. I want us to be the brothers we once were to each other.
“How’s the pregnancy going?” asks Jem in another set of words I never expected from his mouth.
“Mine?” I rub my stomach. “Pretty good.”
“Funny. How’s Sky?”
Sky walks into the kitchen, and she stops and stares at Quinn, then glances away. “Is it okay if I get a drink for me and Ruby?”
Jem points at the fridge. “There’s the weird juice she drinks in there. Or I can make a coffee? Take Quinn for a sec.”
He holds Quinn out to Sky whose eyes widen. “I don’t know…”
“Come on, you need practice,” he says with a tease to his tone.
Sky takes Quinn in her arms and cradles her, looking down at the sleeping baby. Instead of smiling the way most women I know normally do when they hold babies, her mouth stays still. I don’t need to read Sky’s thoughts at this moment: she’s looking at Quinn and imagining our baby who should be in her arms instead.
Her expression softens. “She’s beautiful, Jem.”
Jem grins. “I know what people say about us and how we’ll fu– mess this up, but it won’t happen. This changes everything.”
“Right.” Sky stands awkwardly, and Jem doesn’t take the hint she wants him to take Quinn back. Her pained eyes look to me, and I step up to the role I don’t want, taking the baby from her.
I’ve no idea how to hold a baby. What if it wriggles and I drop it? She’s warm, so fucking small and vulnerable, eyes tightly closed. The same emotion washes over me. My baby isn’t here. I glance up at Sky who has her hand on her stomach and I mouth “Are you okay?” She nods, but she isn’t.
“What flavour does Ruby like?” asks Sky as she turns to the fridge.
“Any.”
“Cool, okay if I grab one too?”
“Sure.”
Sky leaves the kitchen with two small bottles of dark purple juice, and I hear low voices as she talks to Ruby again.
“Sky’s gonna need practice,” Jem says with a laugh. “Didn’t look too comfortable.”
I look at the tiny, warm bundle then back to her dad. “I guess.”
“What’s wrong, man? You’re edgy.”
“We lost a baby,” I blurt and have no idea why I’m saying this to Jem. I told Myf but nobody else and never intended to tell any of the guys.
“Fuck. I didn’t know. When?”
“Few months back. Early miscarriage. I told Sky she wasn’t ready to see Quinn. Our baby was due next week.”
Jem stares at the floor. “Shit, Dylan. That sucks.”
And this is why I couldn’t say anything. Jem doesn’t mean to sound dismissive, I know, but what did I expect? How can he understand enough to offer more than those words? Maybe his new fatherhood fooled me into thinking he would.
I straighten. “Yeah. So that’s why Sky’s weird.” I hand Quinn back to Jem who holds her tighter than he did before.
“Don’t know what to say,” he mumbles.
“Then say nothing. Don’t mention this to anybody else.”
“Won’t.”
After initiating a conversation I didn’t want, I walk away. Sky and Ruby’s relationship developed over the last few months, and I grow to like her as I see her similarity to Jem and how much she loves him. An unlikely friendship, which will cement when our child joins the five of us.
On the way home, I hold Sky’s hand as I navigate the slow traffic.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Are you?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad we visited,” she says.
“You are?”
“Minor freak-out, but I expected it.” She looks out of the window. “Now let’s focus on our baby.”
“We need to buy more stuff.”
She reaches over and places a hand on my forehead. “We? Are you feeling okay? Did you just say you wanted to come shopping with me?”
“Yeah, as long as it doesn’t last more than an hour.”
She smiles at me and pulls at her shirt, looking down. “I need new clothes. She’s getting bigger.”
We’re having a girl. With the news comes a new round of disagreement over names. I want her name to be unique and beautiful like she will be, but apparently my ideas of unique and beautiful don’t match Sky’s.
“Sure thing. We’ll go tomorrow.” I lift her hand to kiss it.
“Always tomorrow,” she whispers, and the world outside feels safe again.
24
OCTOBER
DYLAN
Life is fucking awesome.
Our baby is due in less than two months and my album recording, my other baby, travels along smoothly.
Steve snarked and dropped heavy words about legal action if I drop Phoenix before my contract ends, but I don’t intend to. I promised I’d be back to record the new Blue Phoenix album next year. Bryn and Jem are cool about the situation, but Liam’s opinion differs, and he voiced his thoughts I’ll drop Phoenix now. I assure him this is a one off and the band is my priority, joking we’ll still perform when they need to push us out in wheelchairs.
I need this. To be me, to have the control and freedom to do and return to the person underneath the image. Over the last two years, my life’s changed. I broke away from the world’s stranglehold; with Sky’s support and faith, I can do this. Never underestimate how the strength of another person can push you hard enough in the direction you need to go. Sky pulled me out of my tailspin, and I stopped looking backwards. Sky believes in me. In us. The future— our future—and that’s where I’m heading.
The interest in Dylan Morgan’s solo project sends ripples through the music industry, but rumours about the split die down as I’m seen with the guys; stories of animosity and arguments don’t stick. Jack produces a different sound to Phoenix; he worked with Chainsaw Babies recently on their now-acclaimed albums. I’m sure some industry pundits wait for my efforts to be a spectacular failure, but I’m confident this will be awesome.
One downside is my producer’s pre-existing commitments. Jack is booked out by the time I’m brave enough to commit, but the prestige of working with me stops an outright “no” from him. This forces me to Europe to work with him, on and off between his other projects; otherwise, I’ll need to wait for him to return in the New Year.
Sky laughs at me pursuing people when they should be the ones chasing Dylan Morgan. But hey, if I want the best, this is my only choice. Besides, this album needs completing before our baby arrives. If I don’t finish in time, the album release will be pushed back, which isn’t an option with promotion already booked. By January my sole focus will be my new family.
My family.
My heart swells at the word each time it comes up in conversation or my mind. The new start I’ve watched Jem experience. I’m impatient for her to arrive, and as Sky grows, so does my excitement. My incredible, amazing Sky carrying our child and our future. She takes pregnancy in her stride, although Sky voiced worries I wouldn’t find her attractive when her body changed. What’s more beautiful than the woman who you love more than you can express carrying a new life, a part of us?
Sky’s cool about my trips to Europe and refuses to let me use the pregnancy and protectiveness as an excuse to stay behind. If she ever felt the need for me to stick around, I would drop my visits to the studios in France in a heartbeat.
I return from one of those trips, a long week away from Sky. I hate when there’re miles between us and so does she, but there’s nothing for her to
do if she joins me. My time working when I’m there leaves room for little else; more intense than usual with the time constraint. Here, she has Tara who occasionally stays, or Sky visits Bristol. I love she has a friend who has no interest in the benefits of a rich, famous friend and I’d hate to think Sky’s lonely.
I play some of the new tracks to Sky, as we sit in my personal studio; the place only she’s allowed to visit. She rests back on the tatty sofa, legs across mine, and I massage her feet as she listens intently.
“This is different, Dylan.”
“Good different?”
“Mellower.”
“You like?”
“More than Blue Phoenix, yes.”
Pride replaces the anxiety. Sky loves the songs, the creativity I lacked on the last Phoenix album poured into them. My heart is back in the music, and if this passion shows to Sky, my harshest critic, others will recognise it. I played a couple of tracks to Jem the other day, and he gave the thumbs up too. There’s a strange relief in the people closest to you loving your work.
“I think it’s funny you still won’t listen to the band,” I say and swap to her other foot, digging my fingers into the arch.
“I’ve listened to some.” She shoves me in the shoulder. “Only the earlier tracks because I half recognise them. I think.”
“You’re hilarious. Two of our songs are in Rolling Stone magazine’s all-time Top 100, you know?”
“I’m not saying they’re bad, you’re talented, Dylan. There are reasons I don’t like listening to the band.”
“Because you hate our style?”
Sky laughs. “No. Because I don’t like the aggression in your early tracks. Then in later songs, there’s something else… I can hear your struggle, Dylan. That’s why I don’t listen, it hurts my heart.”
“Oh.” I stop massaging her feet. “I never knew you felt like this.”
“The angry stuff I understand. You were a bunch of teens, but the later albums say too much about you and the place you were in.” She indicates the speakers where my new song, “Evermore,” filters through. “This is the new you.”