by KE Payne
*
“I’m sorry.” Robyn sounded genuine. “What I said earlier about Nic was thoughtless.” She’d followed me to the bathroom, leaving Brooke and Alex sitting in front of the Xbox, controllers in hand, shouting at the TV screen.
I sat on the edge of the bath, Brooke and Alex still visible through the doorway. The atmosphere had lifted again slightly, thanks to Alex’s intervention, but Robyn’s words still hung around the corners of the room like cobwebs, every occasional movement or thought process springing them back to life. But the excitement and exhilaration from before was gone. It was as though Robyn had invited Nicole into the hotel room and she was now in the hotel room with us all, draining the joy from us by telling us we’d had our moment of glory, and that now it was time to stop being so selfish and think about her.
“It’s okay.” I breathed in, wishing my chest didn’t feel quite so tight with anxiety.
“It was a lame joke,” Robyn said, coming further into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. “I got carried away. Should have known when to stop.”
“It has kind of put a damper on the whole day.” I gave a short laugh. “But then, Nic put a damper on it for me too.”
“Want to talk about her?” Robyn asked.
I did. I didn’t.
“No.” That was the coward’s way out, I knew. So I was a coward—nothing new there then.
“If you’re sure.” Robyn looked away as a shout of laughter came from the room.
The yeah, I’m sure died on my lips, to be replaced with, “I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“Me neither,” Robyn said, pulling her eyes back to me.
I stared at her.
“You as well?” I somehow doubted that Robyn had seen Nicole onstage earlier, though.
“Of course.” Robyn shrugged. “Because that out there was the first big thing we’ve done without her, isn’t it?” She continued, “And you’re feeling bad about it.” She smiled. “It’s okay. I feel the same way too. It’s only natural.”
“I guess.” I stared down at my hands. “I feel…disloyal.”
“To Nic?”
“Mm.”
“Because?”
I looked at her. “Because I enjoyed it out there tonight,” I said, “and I shouldn’t have.”
“Of course you should have enjoyed it, Tally,” Robyn said. “We’ve all worked our butts off to get where we were tonight.” She frowned. “And, actually, we could have caved after Nic did what she did. But we didn’t. If anything, we’re stronger than ever.”
“That’s the other thing that’s making me feel guilty though,” I said. “Because I think Alex is as good as her.”
Robyn thought for a moment.
“Alex is different to her,” Robyn said, “that’s for sure.” She looked at me. “She brings something new to the band as well, so I guess it’s normal that we’d think she’s good for the band too.”
The band of tension that had been compressing my chest loosened its grip a little.
“She was fantastic tonight,” Robyn said. “Everyone knows it.”
“It’s weird,” I said, “but at first I thought Alex just joined the band for her own personal glory.” I glanced back up at Robyn. “You know all that stuff going on at the studio and at the rehearsals?”
Robyn nodded.
“I really didn’t like her then.” I laughed. “But I was wrong,” I said. “I think she genuinely cares for Be4.”
“You think Nic didn’t?” Robyn asked.
“I don’t know.” I honestly didn’t. “I know she started to resent the fans.”
I knew Nicole disliked the fans for one reason: me. I knew she resented every single fan that wrote to me, followed me on Twitter, sent me presents, declared their undying love for me. That she loathed it every time a new bunch of flowers got sent to the studio for me and hated the girls that hung around after recording sessions, hoping for a selfie.
I knew she hated it, but I just didn’t know what I could do about it other than hand every bunch of flowers to either Brooke or Robyn, hide the letters from Nicole, and sneak out of back doors to avoid the waiting fans. I couldn’t have done any more—could I?
“I know she was jealous of them.” Robyn’s voice pulled me back to her. “But you know what?” she asked. “As well as thinking every fan out there wanted to sleep with you, I also think she wanted what you had. The adulation. The followers.” Robyn sat on the edge of the bath next to me, a smile playing on her lips. “You know what an ego she’s got. I mean, come on! It’s almost as big as mine.”
That made me laugh.
“She saw how many followers you were getting,” Robyn continued, “compared to her, and she didn’t like it. She didn’t like that you were more popular than her, and she didn’t like the thought of all these people—girls in particular—wanting you when she couldn’t have you.”
I stared at her. “I never meant to hurt her.” I shook my head, annoyed at the tears that now stood in my eyes.
“I know.” Robyn smiled.
A silence settled between us before Robyn suddenly said, “So how many followers do you have now? Compared to me and Brooke?”
“A few.” My face warmed.
I never wanted that either. The so-called adulation that Robyn was speaking about. The fame was great, and I loved that fans loved our music—after all, that’s why we wanted to do it in the first place, to have our music heard—but the attention that came with it, occasionally unwanted, was sometimes hard to understand. For me, anyway. Robyn loved it, but then Robyn loved everything about being in a band.
Me? I just wanted to write music and sing it to the public. There were times when I longed for the old days, when we’d busk down on Brighton beach, snag a takeaway on our way home with our day’s takings, and go home. Just a handful of diehard fans on Twitter. A mention in the local paper if we were lucky. That made me sound ungrateful. I wasn’t. But, still…
“More than a few.” Robyn said. “Although still way fewer than Alex, am I right?”
I laughed and nodded, and knew Robyn was thinking about her next words before she finally said, “You know what else I think?”
“Hit me.”
“I think we all got Alex wrong.”
“Seriously?”
“Mm.” Robyn nodded. “I think she’s more old-school than I thought, and I think what you said just now is spot on.” She lowered her voice. “I genuinely think she wants to be in Be4 for the music, not for her five minutes of fame.” Robyn scratched her chin. “And that means I’m going to have to apologize to her at some point for being so horrible to her when she first joined us.”
I laughed. “You? Apologize? Can we have tickets to see that?”
“Piss off.”
“You’re right though,” I said. “About Alex. You know she wants to start writing some stuff with us?” With me. Alex had said she wanted to write with me. I looked at Robyn. I wasn’t about to tell her that, though.
Instead, my mind tumbled back to two nights before. My apartment. A snapshot of Alex and me, heads bowed over our guitars, came back to me with such startling clarity I felt a shiver of pleasure slither down my spine. The memory of how utterly content I’d felt at the time swiftly followed, and I hastily looked away, scared that Robyn would see the expression on my face.
“She told you that?”
“Yeah.”
“Could work, that.” Robyn nodded slowly.
“We have…similar tastes,” I said carefully. “Me and Alex.”
“Which means you’ll both want more guitar? Yeah, yeah.” Robyn laughed. “I might have guessed.”
“But even that makes me feel bad about Nic,” I said, sighing. “It’s like a merry-go-round sometimes.”
“You know…maybe you should go and see her,” Robyn said. “Nic. Maybe if you spoke to her…?”
I shook my head. “They told us not to see her.”
“I know what they told us,” Robyn said
. “But…”
I saw her shift her position.
“What?” I asked.
“I saw her.”
“Nic?” An ache trembled inside me. “When?”
Robyn’s expression told me she knew she’d said too much.
When she didn’t reply, I asked, “And how is she?”
“Doing okay.” Robyn turned her head, as if to make sure the bathroom door was still shut. “But she’s got some way to go yet still.”
Deep in the centre of my chest I felt the familiar pain, a constant reminder of what had happened to her.
“You think she’ll want to see me as well?” I asked.
“Why not?”
Plenty of reasons.
“Was she happy to see you?” I asked. “I still can’t believe you didn’t say anything. Does Brooke know?” The words tumbled out.
“Yes, she was happy to see me, I know, I’m sorry, and no,” Robyn replied, “Brooke doesn’t know either.”
A thought wormed its way into my brain. Maybe Robyn was right; maybe if I went to see Nicole and could see for myself that she was doing okay, then the guilt might start to fade and I could start to enjoy my successes. Robyn had been right about something else too: we’d worked ourselves into the ground trying to make Be4 a success. Now that we were there, wasn’t it time I started to enjoy myself?
A shout from inside the room drew my attention to the door. It sounded like Brooke and Alex’s GTA marathon was hitching up a gear, and suddenly I’d had enough of talking about Nic. I wanted to go back in and be with Alex, and the thought overwhelmed me. I wanted to be in her presence, to feed off her happiness and positivity after spending the last ten minutes or so wallowing in negativity.
“So will you go and see Nic?” Robyn asked.
Another shout, then laughter, long and loud. The pull of Alex was too much.
“I’ll see.” I stood and made for the door, knowing that the best thing for my own sanity was for me to try and dredge up enough courage to go and see Nicole, and finally lay some ghosts to rest.
Chapter Thirteen
Croft House wasn’t as I’d expected it to be, although I’m not sure exactly what I did expect it to be. A looming, imposing hulk of Victorian granite? Bars on the windows? Pinched white faces pressed to the glass? Guards on duty everywhere? I wasn’t sure, and even though there was a certain institutional look about it, Croft House really wasn’t as intimidating as I thought it would be when I finally spotted the pleasant, small building that came into view through the passenger window as my cab passed through its wrought-iron gates and made its way down its winding gravel path.
I’d managed to summon the courage to go there. It had been surprisingly quick to arrange too, just two short phone calls, an agreement from Nicole, a day and time set, and a satnav address emailed to me. No one knew other than Robyn. I don’t know why I hadn’t told Brooke, and I hoped she wouldn’t be upset; perhaps I’d tell her after I’d seen Nic. I didn’t know.
My driver turned his cab into the car park and pulled up under a tree. Not looking closely at the fare, I handed him some notes and sat quietly while he rooted around in what looked like some sort of money pouch for my change, grateful for those few precious moments that allowed me more time to compose myself. I watched a small, speckled bird through the windscreen as it hopped from branch to branch on a tree in front of the car, suddenly wishing that I could stay there and continue watching it, rather than having to go inside and be confronted by the reality of Nicole’s downfall. Finally, with a flurry of wings, the bird left the sanctuary of the branches and flitted away. I craned my neck to watch it for as long as I could, and then, with a grunt of acknowledgement, the driver handed me back some change, and I knew it was finally time for me to suck it up and leave the safety of the cab.
The warmth of the sunshine, after the chill of the cab’s AC, was welcome. I stared up at the clear blue sky and wondered if Nicole got to go outside much. I was being ridiculous, I knew. Croft House wasn’t a prison. But there was still a small part of me that thought Nicole probably had been locked up in her own prison for quite a while.
I shot a look to the double-fronted main door, with its rusting studs and ornamental handle, and realized I was holding my breath. I looked back to the tree, half hoping the bird might have returned. It hadn’t. With a heavy heart, and an impending sense of dread, I walked towards Croft House.
*
The receptionist was pleasant. Middle-aged, with an open, expressive face that said, Welcome, but don’t mess with me. I looked at her name badge: Annie. No surname. I guessed the personal touch was deliberate; after all, I kept reminding myself, Croft House was not a prison. Nor was it a hospital, but as I approached the reception desk, I couldn’t help but smell a slight hospital tang that made me think I might see someone wheeled out on a trolley with wires attached to all their bits and pieces at any moment.
Remember to smile. Try not to look so worried.
I smiled.
“I rang on Monday?” I cleared my throat. “I’m here to see Nicole Kelly.”
“If you could fill out this form, please.” Annie pushed a clipboard towards me. “And I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to empty your pockets.” She smiled slightly. “It’s usual practice.”
“Sure.” I nodded, delving into my trouser pockets.
Once I’d emptied them—a packet of mints which Annie immediately took from me, and a chipped supermarket trolley token which I’d had no idea had been in there—I filled out her form and handed it back to her.
Then I waited. And waited.
Every second stretched by agonizingly and each minute that ticked by made me want to go back out into the sunshine of the car park and look for the small bird again. I turned in my seat and gazed out of the window, feeling suffocated, and nervous, and dreading having to see Nicole all over again. Would she look ill? Or would she look just the same as when I’d last seen her, standing in Regent’s Park, yelling at some kid in a baseball cap because he’d nearly hit her with his football?
“Tally.”
I snapped my head round and there she was. Nicole. It had been two months, two weeks, and three days since I’d last seen her (yes, I’d counted them all) but seeing her standing in front of me made it seem like we’d just said goodbye that morning. Not that we’d ever got to say goodbye, though. When it all happened. When Ed just took her away, installed her in Croft House, and told me, Robyn, and Brooke that Nicole needed a break.
“Nic.” I stood.
“Thanks for coming over.”
“I would have come before,” I said, “only…”
It was all so formal, I wanted to scream.
Nicole shook her head. “I know.”
I nodded, afraid to speak. “Yes.” I managed. Pathetic.
We hugged, but it was the dry, cold hug you give someone you hardly know, our bodies barely touching. Not the sort you give your once-best friend.
“We’ll go to my room.” Nicole dropped her arms from me and started to walk away. “We can talk in peace in there.”
I followed her, passing by Annie, half expecting her to stop me and strip-search me.
Croft House is not a prison.
The inside was as nice as the outside. As we wandered together down a long corridor, I was struck at how light and friendly the place was, sort of like a hotel but at the same time, so not like a hotel. I liked the pictures on the walls: seascapes, even though we were in the Midlands, and paintings of hot-air balloons, for some strange reason. All very bright and optimistic. Positive. There were sayings too, quotations from people whose photos I didn’t recognize. Perhaps, I thought as Nicole opened a door to one of the rooms, they were previous patient-guests.
“So what do you think?” Nicole stood in the middle of her room and cast her arms out. “Not quite The Ritz but it’s okay.”
“It’s nice.” I nodded and looked around, to the walls plastered with photos and drawings. To her noticeboard with newsp
aper clippings. To her iPod dock, her TV, DVD. Her Xbox. Everything a teenager should have in their room. I thought about the Xbox in the Chelsea hotel. The fun and laughter we’d had with it. The normality.
Nothing about this was normal.
As Nicole cleared a space for me on her sofa, fussing over the cushions on it, and telling me to ignore the messiness of her room, all I could think was, You’re seventeen. Seventeen-year-olds shouldn’t have to go to rehab. Seventeen-year-olds shouldn’t have to have their lives monitored for them 24/7 in case they do what you did to yourself. Seventeen-year-olds shouldn’t…
“Coffee?” Nicole asked. “We have all mod cons here.” She pointed towards a Nespresso machine on her desk. “Makes the best coffee since Luigi’s. Remember Luigi’s?”
“Whatchoo laydees want, eh?” I exaggerated Luigi’s accent. “Cappoocheeno? Best cappoocheeno thees side of da river, eh?”
Nicole laughed. “I miss Luigi.”
“Me too.” I laughed with her.
“You don’t still go there?”
My laughter stopped. “No.”
Luigi’s had been our place. The place Nicole and I would go to all the time. Two teenage girls, free in London, money no object. We’d shop, I remembered, until we were exhausted, then head to Luigi’s place, just a stone’s throw from Harrods, and have anything we wanted from the menu. Including his cappoocheeno.
“Why not?” Nicole asked. “You used to love it there.”
“Dunno.” I shrugged. “Guess it sort of lost its magic after…”
“After I went loopy?”
“You didn’t go loopy.”
“Whatever, Tally.” Nicole turned away, but not before I’d seen her face darken. “So you want one?”
“Want what?”
“A coffee.”
“Oh. Yes.” I frowned, unsettled by Nicole’s sudden change of mood. “Thanks.”
I watched her as she busied herself with her coffee machine, unsure whether I should talk some more about Luigi’s, or whether it had been that which had changed her mood in the first place. Maybe she didn’t want reminding of that time in her life. Before…all this.