by Kiki Archer
Honey waited for the call to connect. Diana hadn’t been a bad mother. She’d been there as much as she could be, and they’d made some wonderful memories during time spent abroad, but there always seemed to be others around. She never had her mother to herself, constantly sharing her with the glamorous gang and people like Daphne. The eager voice on the end of the line stopped her remembering. She waited for the excited variations on “Hello, hi, you actually called!” to stop, before speaking with real emotion.
“Was that only twenty-four-hours?” she said.
“I know! It seems like a lifetime,” Meg was talking quickly, “but not in a bad way. It actually made me enjoy my day more. I wasn’t checking my phone every two seconds to see if you’d called, I just had that nice knowledge you would, and it’s made me smile. I’ve been smiling all day.”
“I’ve been asleep, but I’m sure I was smiling.”
“Really now?”
Honey laughed at the wickedness with which it was delivered. Meg was starting to flirt. Pulling herself higher in bed, she pushed a pillow behind her back. The time difference meant one was full of life from a day on the go, the other trying to chug the starter motor and get the ball rolling. She stretched her shoulders and focused, twisting the dimmer switch to softly brighten the room. “So how have you been? Busy day?”
“Busy day?!” The voice was disbelieving. “Your interview went live. Top banner, front page.”
“Oh yes, Liza mentioned it. But you, how have you been?”
“Don’t you want to know how it’s gone?”
“Not really.” The echoing silence on the line made her stop and she realised her mistake. “Except for how it affects you. Is it all okay?”
Meg’s answering laugh gave her permission to breathe again.
“It's been crazy. The Beacon has never had a response like it. But it's been crazy good though and I really feel part of the team. Finally.”
“That’s great. I'm pleased for you.” Pulling back the covers, Honey tucked the cordless phone into her shoulder and padded over to the tall window, peeping though the curtains at the twinkling view of the river still shrouded in night time yet alive with the lights from the boats. “I’m looking over the Chao Phraya River from the Mandarin Oriental in Bangkok.”
“And I’m in a penthouse in Clapham but don’t you want to know—”
“A penthouse?”
“Above a shop. Two-bed. Not enough windows. But that’s irrelevant. Your location doesn’t change how the story’s gone. Don’t you want details?”
“The world never stops turning, Meg. Life always continues.” She stretched up on her tiptoes. “I was there, remember? I know what I said, I know what you wrote. Nothing either of us can do now will change how it goes down.”
“It’s gone down well! You’re even more of a hero!”
“That’s good.”
“I thought you’d be frantic? I thought you’d be desperate for news?”
“The only time I was slightly anxious was when I realised there’d been a suggestion I was lying, so I dealt with it, and it’s done. What will be will be.”
“But it’s great!”
“Good.”
“Are you always like this in the mornings?”
Honey laughed. “I’ve always ignored the press. I’ve never been concerned about my public image. I sing songs. If people like them, great, if they don’t, oh well.”
“It’s really that simple for you?”
“Yes. Isn’t it for you?” She listened to the pause, imagining for a moment what it must be like to care so much about other peoples’ perception. She thought of Liza, constantly getting grief for her brogues and three-piece-suits, but wearing them all the same. Did she care about the banter? If she did then she hid it well.
“If you honestly didn’t mind what people said, what people wrote, then why would you choose not to read it?”
Honey pulled the curtain closed and scurried back to the bed. “Oooh, you’re testing me. I like this.” She tucked her legs under the plush covers and snuggled back down. “You’re saying I care too much?”
“Don’t you? Don’t we all? Isn’t it part of human nature to crave acceptance? To want to be liked?”
“You do know it’s five a.m. here don’t you? I’m all for late-night what’s the purpose of life chats, but I’ve got hair and make-up coming in a minute.” She paused. “Do you want to be liked?”
Meg laughed. “I’ve never been liked.”
“Oh, I doubt that!”
“I’ve never been popular. I’ve always been there, in the groups, in the background, but I’ve never been the memorable one. There won’t be someone sitting down right now with their partner, reminiscing over a bottle of wine about Meg Rutherton, the great fun, good for a laugh, happy go lucky girl from their past.”
“Would you want to be remembered like that?”
“What else is there?”
“There’s kindness, there’s intellect. You’re a great writer. Your name’s at the bottom of some interesting pieces.”
“I’m falling asleep as you speak.” The laugh was kind. “You, on the other hand, are responsible for many babies, many marriages, many happy memories. Your songs bring life. They bring emotion. They bring love.”
“Not to me they don’t.” Honey sighed and closed her eyes. Maybe Meg was right? Maybe she did care about her public perception? Maybe this image was too hard to embody, that’s why she turned a blind eye?
“Tell me about your secret smile song.”
Honey laughed. It was a question she’d been asked a thousand times already, but had yet to tell the full truth. She’d always say it was about inner confidence and the determination to succeed, rising up against the odds, smiling inside with spirit and daring. “It’s about an affair.”
“I knew it!” The pause was questioning. “You’ve had one?”
“No, and not in the mistress, steal-someone-from-their-partner way, just in a falling-in-love-with-someone-you-shouldn’t way.”
“She-Ra?”
“Yes.” She’d written it that summer. The ballad that saw her catapult from successful singer to international superstar. Driven by the excitement of She-Ra. The hidden whispers. The private jokes. The secret smile that swelled inside her every time she thought of the woman, with whom she knew there was no future, but the moment was theirs and they enjoyed it covertly. “You’ve felt it, haven’t you? That dawning realisation you’re into someone and they might be into you too?”
“No.”
“No?” Honey pulled herself back into her seated position. “You do know I’m into you, don’t you?”
“Oh right, sorry, I thought you were talking pre-us.”
“There’s an us?” Honey tried to hide the smile as she spoke.
“No, sorry, I thought…”
“I want there to be an us.”
The response from halfway around the world was quick and warm. “Thank goodness for that. I never know quite how to play it. I’ll often wear my heart on my sleeve then worry I’ve said too much.”
“You’ve dated a lot?” It was hard to keep from grinning. Meg was easy to tease.
“Hey! I’m the one sitting at the desk in my bedroom with a list of questions to ask you! I spent the whole day researching and rehearsing. What I wanted to ask, why I wanted to ask it, how you might respond.”
“Really? Like rehearsing what you’re going to say before a phone call? I used to do that.”
“There are just some things I’m desperate to know. You fascinate me, Honey.”
“And you fascinate me too.”
“Really? I’m actually a terrible bore. My flatmate, Jo, describes me as nondescript.”
Honey laughed. “And she’s a good friend?”
“I don’t have many. At least with her I know she’ll always be honest.”
“Oh Meg, you’re far from nondescript. I worry I’m nondescript! Being labelled as some style and fashion icon? It’s all n
onsense. Come on, ask me a question. I like being probed.”
“I thought you hated it?”
“By others yes, but by you…” Her tone must have encouraged as the questions came quickly.
“What’s your most treasured memory?”
“When Mum came home at night.”
“That’s the first time you’ve not called her Mother.”
“She was away a lot. I never slept properly. But when she came to me, and tucked me in tight, well… all was right with the world.”
“So Mum’s the person you had all to yourself, and Mother’s the person you share?”
“Maybe, but I’m not someone who dwells. I’ve led a very fortunate life, Meg. I’m someone who always looks for the positives, not the negatives. I’m peaceful. I like life as simple as it can be, a difficult feat given the nature of my work, but I have a mother and sometimes she’s my Mum.”
“That’s why you’re an inspiration.” The sigh was thoughtful. “I’m too hard on my parents. I resent them for being mean when I came out. It’s a huge blow being told the very essence of who you are isn’t what they wanted.”
“Do you see them much?”
“As and when, but I will.” The voice was smiling. “You’ve stirred me into making more effort. I definitely want to be a better person now I’ve met you.”
Honey warmed. It was a nice compliment. “So what’s your most treasured memory?”
“No! This is my list! Right, where was I? Question two. What’s your most terrible memory?”
“Really? You want to know that? Right, okay. Probably when Mother would leave for a show. She toured, she travelled, she took holidays.” Honey closed her eyes. It was all about Heath. Everything had always been about Heath. She’d often wondered if she reminded her mother too much of him, causing her to run, to stay guarded. “She struggled after my father died. She really did love him. Truly. Completely. That’s why she acts so blasé now about love. She doesn’t want it to hurt her. She doesn’t want it to hurt me.”
“I won’t hurt you.”
Honey’s smile was wide as the swell of warmth built deep inside her. “How can I feel you when we’re so far apart? It’s like you’re sitting right here next to me.”
“I feel that too. Let me ask you another.”
“Is that your defence mechanism? When things get too deep? Keep talking? Change the subject?”
The voice laughed. “No, I just have twenty-two more questions to get through.”
Honey smiled. “Okay then, fire away, as long as you promise we can revisit all these at a later date with your responses?”
“You’re on, snuggled up together, having these chats late into the night.”
“With wine?”
“Always with wine. Right, number three, if a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?”
“It’s still before six o’clock in the morning.”
“Too much?”
Honey laughed. “What’s your answer? You must have asked this for a reason. You’ve had time to think about it. I’ve only just woken up.”
“Okay. I’d maybe want to know if I was a good person.”
“Really?” Honey puzzled. “You don’t know that already?”
“Don’t we all doubt ourselves?”
“Not to that extent.”
“Oh.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me? Some deep dark secret?”
“No. Maybe I meant more in the vein of am I on the right track? Am I making a difference?”
“That’s not what you said.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, of course, I just—”
Honey jumped. The bang on the door was more than just forceful. “Yes?” she managed.
“Honey! It’s Liza! Open the door right this instant!”
Tucking the phone into her shoulder, she rose from the bed. “You heard that, right?”
Meg questioned. “Liza?”
The shout sounded once more. “Who are you talking to? Who’s in there with you?”
Pulling open the door, Honey looked at her flustered PA. “Yes?”
“Who’s in there? Don’t tell me it’s some Thai bride.” Liza bustled her way in.
“I’m on the phone.”
Liza stalked around the apartment. “My call wouldn’t connect. Do you realise the time?”
Honey looked at the clock. “It’s two minutes past six, Liza.” She pulled the handset from the crook of her neck and wiggled it at the intruder. “It’s Meg. Say hello, Meg.” She kept the phone outstretched.
The voice echoed. “Hello.”
“Hello, but hurry it along. We’ve got a schedule to keep.”
“Svetty’s magic’s worn off I see?” said Honey, slowly realising the relationship between the two forceful women may be one of extreme highs and lows. Liza almost comatose on the plane on the way over, post stroking from Svetty, only to experience a huge come down as the soothing subsided and reality hit home that the holistic therapist had chosen to stay at Velvet Villa instead of coming with them. An option okayed by Diana but rejected by Svetty. Honey had tried to talk to Liza about it on the way over here, but she’d been in the throes of relaxation, claiming the rejection wasn’t of her, but now, looking at the tension in the shoulders and hearing the snap in the voice, she might have reconsidered. “You should call her, Liza.”
“We’re late! My call wouldn’t connect!”
“To Svetty?”
“To you!”
Honey turned her back on the flapping. “I’m sorry, Meg. I’m going to have to go.” She lowered her voice and smiled. “But I’ve loved this and I want to do it again. I want to know more about you, just everything, random things, important things, silly things, what makes you tick, what makes you cross.”
“Questions seventeen and eighteen.”
“What makes you smile, what makes you laugh.”
“Twenty and twenty-one.”
Honey laughed loudly. “Exactly, it’s been fab, you’re fab, this is fab. Everything’s fab.”
Liza looked stern. “Get off the phone, Honey.”
Honey continued. “Same time tomorrow? And the day after that?”
The voice was soft and heartfelt. “And every day for the rest of our lives.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Driving under the barrier and into The Alderley estate, Meg smiled at Old Sal, the security woman’s enthusiastic wave an early indication of approval of her anticipated arrival. Honey must have called ahead, let her know she was coming. Meg smiled again. The old woman was now giving a grinning thumbs up. There’d been an exchange no doubt, Honey making the call, Old Sal asking the questions. They wanted her happy. Everyone in Honey’s life wanted her happy; that had become undeniably obvious the closer she’d got to the singer, and after a week of late night phone calls she felt she knew her completely. They’d discussed childhoods, teenage years, hopes, aspirations and fears – no topic out of bounds, no topic left untouched. They’d fit perfectly into an ease of discussion, neither taking the lead or monopolising the conversation, both as keen to hear as be heard. And Honey was funny. She had a wit only seen in the observant, perceptive person, able to effortlessly amuse with anecdotes and banter.
Meg followed the short winding road, lost in her musings. It was the banter that had enamoured her the most, because it was simply so unexpected. Honey was gorgeous, talented and accomplished, all plenty to draw anyone in, yet it was the hidden personality that enticed more than anything. And yes, while Honey’s stories about sell-out world tours and ridiculous celebrity parties were fascinating, it was the quick-witted one-liners that drew her further into the infatuation. Rounding the final corner before the imposing house came into view, Meg questioned herself; was infatuation the right word? Was that how you’d describe the rush of emotion when the phone started to ring? The smile constant
ly creeping onto your lips whenever you thought of the person? The fact you’d laugh in a totally inappropriate setting when a memory skipped into your mind? Or was it the inability to spend a single hour without that person popping into your thoughts? Every sight, smell or sound relatable in one way or another.
Saturday night had been agony, watching Honey taking her seat at the judges’ table, knowing what it felt like to be seated ten metres behind, understanding the effort it took to step out looking that glam. The smell of the hairspray, the feel of the clothes, the air of excitement surrounding the show. Meg shuddered remembering the last time they’d kissed, Honey pressed against the dressing room door, both knowing the attraction was building and, yes, while she’d cursed her decision to go home and let Honey sleep in the car, it had actually served to raise anticipation levels further. The calls had become intimate, and not in a stilted phone sex way, but in a naturally progressive logical way. Of course one of their laughing innuendos would result in a sexual discussion. What turned them on? What made them want more? And Meg had been honest. It wasn’t the idea of seeing a woman in sexy clothes, trying to entice with fluttering eyelashes or wiggling hips. It was the idea of that intimate connection. The invisible pull finally having its way, joining you on every level.
Jo’s comment last night while watching the show of “Why haven’t you shagged yet?” only made her think about it more clearly. Lesbian sex wasn’t like straight sex. Straight sex: you could just lie there and it would happen. The man often the leader, the woman thinking – why not. With lesbians it was different. You both had to want it. Really want it, she reasoned. It was that slow build of growing desire that worked to make the actual act, when it finally happened, utterly explosive, utterly mind-blowing, an uncontrollable meeting of emotions culminating in an act of pure passion, pure love. Meg stopped herself. Was it love she wanted to make? Was she already that deeply involved? She nodded with vigour. Yes, yes it was. Totally, utterly, completely and without question.