Evan loses his smile and his voice becomes serious once more. ‘Stephen Cauldwell thought you had real talent.’
I sigh. ‘None of this is much consolation to me. I’ve blown it. They’re hardly likely to have me back on the show now.’
‘No,’ Evan agrees.
We pull up outside my parents’ shabby block of flats and I try not to notice the peeling paint and the obscene graffiti. ‘We’re here,’ I say pointlessly.
We sit in silence for a moment before Evan asks, ‘So what now?’
‘I’m back to pulling pints at the King’s Head.’ I shrug my assumed indifference. ‘What about you?’
His arm slides towards me across the back of the seat. ‘Back to an empty apartment to have dinner alone.’
I want to do something. To hold him. To hug him. To make some sort of affectionate gesture. But I am useless at this kind of stuff.
‘I won’t be in England for much longer,’ Evan says. ‘Another week or so and then I’m back to San Francisco.’
‘I’ve heard it’s nice.’ Says she who has never travelled any farther than Ibiza.
‘It’s beautiful.’
I take Nathan’s hand—he’s looking distinctly put out that his ride has ended so soon. ‘We’d better go,’ I say. ‘Nana will be waiting.’
Finally, I pluck up the courage to reach across and kiss Evan on the cheek. I might even have tried something a bit more sexy, but I’m blissfully aware that our every move is being observed by my five-year-old nephew.
I shuffle across the seat towards the door. ‘Come on, Nath,’ I say. ‘Thank Mr David for the ride in his car.’
‘It was cool,’ Nathan says. Evan holds up his hand and my nephew high-fives him.
Nathan gets out of the car and I follow him, standing on the pavement with my hand on the door. This could be the last time that I see Evan, and I don’t want to leave him like this. Despite the luxurious surroundings of his car and his expensive clothes, somehow he looks so alone.
Neither of us say anything, but we look at each other for a moment with what might be longing or regret. And then, before my brain has had time to engage, my mouth says, ‘You could come up and have tea with us if you like.’
Fifty
My mum will have a blue fit with her foot in the air. I just hope she’s cleaned the flat today, otherwise I’ll be for the high jump, inviting home posh strangers without any warning.
There’s a playground in the middle of the flats and a group of kids are kicking the crap out of each other, and I wonder why my parents didn’t move out of here years ago when the area started to go down the pan. We climb the concrete stairs to my parents’ flat—the ones that always bear the faint whiff of stale urine.
‘This used to be a nice neighbourhood,’ I tell Evan, but I’m not sure that he believes me. ‘Years ago.’
I put my key in Mum’s door, and when it swings open, I’m relieved to be enveloped in the scents of home-baking and lemon furniture polish. Mum has, indeed, been doing the housework today. We troupe into the hall—Evan lurking self-consciously behind me. I bet he’s wishing that he turned down my invitation now.
‘I’ve brought a visitor,’ I shout in warning. She’s not one for surprises, my mother.
She’s in the kitchen, which is shining like a new pin. And, come to think of it, so is my mum. Some of her ‘best’ clothes have been brought out of mothballs, her hair is tightly curled and there’s a hint of make-up in evidence yet again. Looks like she’s ready for a wild night out—or in—with Mr Patel. This tea with Nathan arrangement was going to be my big opportunity to pump her for some more information about her secret love life, but with Evan here it looks as if I’m going to have to curb my curiosity for a bit longer.
Nathan rushes to hug his nana—who, of course, spoils him rotten. ‘How’s my soldier?’ she wants to know.
‘Okay, Nana.’ Having discarded his school bag, he’s already stripping off his coat. ‘I’ve been in a massive car!’
My mum looks to me for an explanation. ‘This is Evan David, Mum,’ I say bashfully, only just resisting the urge to shove him forward for inspection. ‘He gave us a lift home from Nathan’s school.’
‘Oh,’ my mum says, hand flying to the string of beads at her throat. ‘You’re better-looking in real life than you are on the telly, aren’t you?’
Why do parents stay embarrassing no matter how old you get?
‘Thank you,’ Evan says graciously. ‘It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs…’
‘Kendal,’ I remind him.
‘Amy,’ my mum replies coquettishly. ‘You can call me Amy.’
At least she didn’t say ‘you can call me Mum.’ I should be thankful for small mercies.
Then she edges forward and gives Evan an awkward kiss, which he responds to with equal clumsiness. I grin to myself. Nice to see that his smooth façade can slip occasionally.
‘I’ve asked Evan to stay for his tea,’ I confess. ‘Hope that’s all right.’
‘He’ll have to take us as he finds us,’ my mum answers, as if he’s not there. I know that any minute she’ll be rooting the best china out of the back of the cupboards. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
Evan and I nod vigorously in response. ‘Let’s go through to the lounge.’ And I tug him by the arm before he has a chance to disagree. Nathan is already installed in front of the television, any interest in our celebrity visitor long forgotten.
Mum has gone overboard with the furniture polish in here, and a cloud of artificial lemon scent hangs in the air. Which, of course, has started Nathan off with his wheezing. It sounds bad to me.
‘You need your nebuliser, young man,’ I tell him. As he’s just come out of hospital, I don’t want him going straight back in. We have to nip any wheezing episodes in the bud, and the nebuliser gives out a steady stream of medication that will get his breathing under control again.
Nathan gives me a resigned look and plods off to get it.
‘Sorry about this,’ I say to Evan. ‘Sit down. Sit down.’ I make a fuss of plumping cushions before I realise that I’m turning into my mum and stop. The first thing I would have done with my Fame Game winnings would have been to have bought her a new three-piece suite. ‘This won’t take long.’
Nathan brings the nebuliser back and we fiddle with setting it up. ‘Do you want to sit on my lap?’ I ask him.
My nephew nods, and I settle into the sofa while he climbs up and nestles across my legs. I hook him up to the nebuliser, putting the clear plastic mask over his mouth and nose, then I cuddle him into me. Nathan closes his eyes, almost instantly drifting off into sleep. He’s so used to this routine that it doesn’t phase him as it used to.
When I look up to smile at Evan, I can see that he’s turned as white as a sheet. Every ounce of blood has drained from his face.
The smile freezes on my face. ‘What?’
His expression is of pure horror.
‘What’s wrong?’
He’s so shocked that he can’t give me an answer. His mouth opens but nothing comes out.
I look down at Nathan. ‘It’s an asthma attack,’ I say steadily. ‘Nothing more. He’s only just come out of hospital, and I don’t want him going back in. This is just a precautionary measure.’
Still Evan says nothing. And then the penny drops—he thinks he’s going to catch something from Nathan that will infect his precious throat. A flash of irritation washes over me. Why does he think that everything has to revolve around protecting his bloody voice? Doesn’t he realise that people in the real world have worse problems to contend with than that?
‘He’s not sick,’ I snap. ‘He’s having an asthma attack. You’re not going to catch anything.’
‘I have to go,’ Evan says. He lurches out of his chair and towards the door.
I’m stunned at his extreme reaction to Nathan’s illness. A bit of wheezing doesn’t warrant this. What is wrong with the man? ‘Why are you acting like this?’ I say, baffled. ‘
He hasn’t got an infectious disease.’
Nathan rouses on my lap and I rock him gently. ‘Hush, hush.’
Mum is just coming in with a tray of tea. Evan nearly knocks her over as he bolts for the door.
‘Sorry, Mrs Kendal,’ he says hurriedly. ‘I have to leave. Sorry to dash off.’ And with that he’s out of the front door, slamming it behind him.
My mum puts down the tray of tea and looks after him, bemused. As I am. ‘What was all that about?’ she asks.
‘I don’t know,’ I say honestly. I lower my voice to a whisper. ‘Nathan’s asthma attack seemed to freak him out completely.’ I give a nonplussed shrug. ‘I can only think that he was frightened of catching something from him. He spends his life fretting about anything that might affect his voice.’
‘I suppose that’s understandable,’ my mum says, but she doesn’t really look as if she understands. ‘Oh well. I thought you’d dropped on lucky with that one, Fern.’
‘He’s not a boyfriend, Mum. He’s a…’ My voice tails off, as I have no idea how to describe my relationship with Evan David.
‘How’s Nathan?’ she asks, giving a nod in the direction of her grandson.
‘He’ll be all right,’ I say. ‘I hope. What were you thinking of, using so much furniture polish in here when you know that anything like that can start him off? We need to open some windows in here for a few minutes.’
‘Sorry, love. I’d no idea that I’d used too much. My mind is on other things.’
Like Mr Patel? I want to ask.
My mum sneezes—a particularly loud one that wakes Nathan up. She does it again and then grabs a tissue from the box by the sofa and gives her nose a hearty blow.
‘Sorry, love. Sorry.’
‘Please tell me you’re not coming down with a cold, Mum.’
She looks sheepish. ‘Do you know, love, I think I might be.’
I give her a dark look.
‘My throat has been sore and my nose has been blocked up all day,’ she admits. ‘That’s probably why I couldn’t smell how much polish I’d used.’
‘You might be infectious,’ I say huffily. ‘I’d never have brought Nathan round if you’d said you were feeling under the weather.’
‘I didn’t think, love.’ It seems as if my mum isn’t thinking about much these days.
I could swing for her. How could she put Nathan at so much risk? And what about Evan David? Here’s me assuring him that he isn’t in a house full of germs when it seems I might have been completely wrong.
Fifty-one
‘How’s the voice today?’ Rupert asked. There was an anxious note in his question.
‘Not great,’ Evan confessed. ‘I’ve had a dry, tickly throat all night.’ They were due to go to the studio this morning to record another track with the indie band, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen. Rupert had swung by the apartment to collect him, but in this state Evan was going nowhere. ‘I’ve had Dermuid mix me some juices high in vitamin C. Hopefully that will help.’
His agent frowned with concern. ‘You look very peaky.’
Evan hated to admit it, but he felt very peaky, too. He hadn’t been able to get warm in bed, and he was still feeling shivery. His limbs ached and his eyelids felt heavy.
‘It’s been a long time since you’ve had a sore throat.’
Evan sneezed.
‘Or a cold,’ Rupert added.
‘This is disastrous.’
‘I’ll cancel today’s recording,’ Rup said, reaching for his phone. ‘The guys can get on with some other tracks that don’t feature you. That’s not a problem.’
‘Send them my apologies,’ Evan said. ‘Tell them we’ll get the rest of the tracks done before I leave for San Francisco.’
Rupert looked sceptical about the last bit, and Evan had to admit that it was more wishful thinking on his part than a realistic suggestion.
His agent spoke into his phone, altering arrangements, making all the right noises. It was at times like this that Rupert earned his commission. When he turned back to Evan he said, ‘Tomorrow is more of a problem.’
The next evening, Evan was scheduled to sing at a big blowsy charity evening in aid of child poverty. Everyone who was anyone had been cajoled, bullied or blackmailed into attending. It was a cause that he felt desperately committed to, and he didn’t want to let the organisers down. The evening had been logged in his calendar for more than two years—he couldn’t possibly go down with a cold now.
‘You’d better call them and warn them that I might be a no-show,’ he said with a heavy heart.
‘They’ll be devastated.’
‘Don’t you think I know that?’
He could kick himself for catching this bug. After all the precautions he took to protect his voice. Precautions that had served him quite well until now. In all his years as a performer, he’d cancelled only a handful of performances through ill health. He knew that Fern had said that Nathan’s condition was not infectious, but he did have his suspicions as to where this sudden cold had come from.
It was almost as though Rupert managed to read his mind. He said, ‘You managed to catch up with Fern yesterday?’
Evan nodded.
‘Did it go well?’
‘At first,’ Evan said.
‘That doesn’t sound like an entirely positive result.’
‘She has a child.’
Rupert shrugged. ‘That tends to be a fairly common occurrence. Particularly in the females of the population.’
‘He’s sick.’
‘That’s what comes from playing with other children.’
‘No,’ Evan said. ‘He’s very sick. I went back to her home with her…’
Rupert raised an eyebrow.
‘To meet her mother.’
The other eyebrow shot up to join it.
‘It’s not how it sounds,’ Evan assured him.
‘Is this where you’ve picked up this infection?’
‘I don’t know,’ Evan admitted. ‘Fern said that he was having an asthma attack, but, jeez, Rup, he looked like he was about to…’ He was going to say ‘die’, but the word wouldn’t come out. ‘He looked very ill. It freaked me out.’
His agent waited patiently for further explanations.
‘I got out of there as quickly as I could. Nearly knocked her mother over in my rush to the door.’
Rupert chuckled.
‘It wasn’t funny,’ Evan said. ‘I made a complete arse of myself.’
‘No change there then,’ Rupert offered, and both men exchanged a wry glance.
‘Why did you never have kids, Rup?’
‘I’ve never stayed in one place long enough to get anyone pregnant,’ Rupert said, trying to make a joke of the issue. ‘It’s difficult to make adult relationships when you’re constantly on the road. Even worse when you bring kids into the equation. Children aren’t conducive to our type of lifestyle. That’s why I’ve never embraced the idea of family life.’
‘My own reasons are more complicated,’ Evan said, and he stared away into the middle distance thinking about the pain he’d nursed to himself since his sister died. There was no doubt that he wanted to become closer to Fern—there were emotions he felt when he was around her that he assumed had been closed off to him. But could he risk becoming so close to her child? The thought of that filled him with emotions that he wanted to keep closed off. He couldn’t afford to go spiralling into this paranoid apoplexy every time the boy started to sniffle. How conducive would that be to making a go of a relationship with his mother?
‘I know,’ Rupert said. He patted Evan on the shoulder. ‘I haven’t forgotten that.’
‘You’ve given up a lot for me, Rup, haven’t you?’
Rupert looked discomfited. ‘And you, in turn, have made me a very rich man.’
‘Are we rich?’ Evan wanted to know. ‘Sure, we’re wealthy—but is that the same as being rich? I have more money than I can ever spend, cars that I don’t drive,
houses that I don’t live in. But what about the things that really matter in life? Do I have any of those?’
‘You have a lot going for you,’ Rupert responded with a typical display of fervent loyalty.
‘I hate to admit this, but I was frightened of the child—of Nathan. He looked so damn vulnerable. It scared me shitless. And what scared me even more was the closeness of the family. Fern and her mother were both so besotted with him and with each other in a family knockabout way. I’ve never done that before. My own family was…’ Again the words ran out. ‘Well, you know.’
Rupert pursed his lips to show that he did know.
‘I can stand in front of thousands of people and perform, but that close little unit gave me a severe attack of the jitters. I don’t know if I’d be up to the job of taking that on.’
‘But you are thinking about it?’
‘It’s got my head spinning, Rupert.’ He raked his hands through his hair. ‘Am I too old to be having a midlife crisis?’
‘I would say this was the perfect age.’
Evan smiled. ‘That’s very reassuring.’
‘Well,’ Rupert said, ‘you can spend the whole day thinking about it. Uncle Rupert advises that you go straight back to bed. Don’t move. Don’t speak. Rest your body. Rest the voice. By tomorrow you might feel very different.’
And by tomorrow he might feel exactly the same—and that worried Evan immensely.
Fifty-two
I need a hot bath and some cold wine. The first might prove to be a problem because I don’t have a bath, let alone any hot water, as the boiler’s on the blink. The second might be a problem because the fridge has been on the blink again, too. So a cold shower and some warm wine will have to be the solution to all my problems.
Hauling myself up the stairs to my flat, I realise that I’ve reverted to dragging myself through my life and resolve to do something that will revive my flagging energy levels. Something, of course, that doesn’t involve relaxing, as I have no time for that. I’m exhausted from looking after Nathan, even though he’s really no trouble, bless him. Joe is having a great time at his job this week, and they’ve said that they want to give him more work—maybe even something permanent. It does him good to have a break from full-time caring and, of course, the extra money doesn’t hurt.
Welcome to the Real World Page 22