by Lily Morton
“I’m sure that’s an urban myth about the bollocks,” Sid says thoughtfully.
“Maybe, but you can bet your life that Mick Jagger is more interesting than you lot of girly fuckers. It’ll be Pilates next you watch,” he concludes in utter disgust.
At this point Mrs M who has been nodding off after singlehandedly drinking what seems like three bottles of wine, stirs and breaks in. “Ah, Mick Jagger,” she purrs drunkenly. “Now there was a man with stamina, and hung like a fucking horse may God bless him.”
“Pardon!” squeaks Lucy and there’s silence for a second which is broken by Sid breaking into loud peals of laughter. Eventually he calms down although he keeps snorting. The Pogues and Kirsty McColl are crooning ‘Fairytale in New York’ in the background and Mick points at me.
“Fucking loved you lot singing this the other night. Nelly you’re a bleeding genius on that fiddle love.”
“Thank you Mick,” I laugh. We’d sung it as the encore at the last gig before Christmas and it had gone down a storm.
“I miss those days,” he says meditatively. “Do you remember when we were kids there was always a big thing about what was going to be the Christmas Number One and all the big bands put out proper Christmas songs. There was none of that X Factor shit - just brilliant music.”
Bram laughs at him. “I wouldn’t call it brilliant music.”
“Bramley love, that music puts your shit to shame. You’re just jealous because you can’t write anything as good as ‘The Frog Chorus’.”
“Yes,” he says seriously. “Once I heard that I hung up my bass because where could music go after that?”
“You may sneer mate but I’ve seen your iPod. It’s got some right corny crap on it. I think you’ve even got some Barry White on there.”
“Take that back,” Bram says loudly over the laughter. “I have not.”
“You have, and Celine Dion. I think you listen to that, crying in bed at night. My heart will go onnnn,” he warbles. “Aaah!” This is because Bram has launched himself at him, and laughing he has fallen under the table.
“Okay,” says Seth ignoring the kerfuffle under the table, and getting to his feet he claps his large hands together. “Come on you fuckers, time for presents.” Everyone gets up happily and troops out of the room towards I presume the lounge except for me. I’m slightly panic stricken now because obviously I haven’t got any presents for anyone. I’d given little gifts to everyone at the last gig but that’s not nearly enough after accepting their hospitality all day. Sid has risen to his feet but he must catch the panic on my face because he draws me to my feet. “Actually I’m going to show Nell over the house,” he says to Charlie and Mabe. “You carry on without me.”
“Okay mate.” Charlie claps him on the shoulder and they wander out.
“No, you can’t do that Sid,” I protest. “It’s Christmas with your family!”
“Fuck them,” he smiles. “I have all year with them. I’m going to spend some time with you,” and then hesitation crosses his face. “Unless you don’t want to because if you want we can go with everyone else.”
“No, no,” I say hurriedly. “I want to see the house.”
A smile crosses his full lips and he holds his hand out to me. “Come on then but I’ve got to warn you it’s in a bad way.” I follow him through the downstairs rooms as he shows me a huge kitchen with space for a breakfast table and a settee next to some tall windows, and then various rooms which will be in turn a study, a laundry room and games room. Everything is either stripped down or in a state of total disrepair.
“Why is it so run down?” I ask as we descend into the cellars which apparently are going to be for a proper wine storage area and a gym.
“It belonged to an old lady who was rich but a bit eccentric and she died intestate so that rumbled on for years while the house went further downhill. I’d always liked it. I used to walk past it on my way to the tube most mornings and it always fascinated me.”
I trail my fingers over the rough brick and shiver slightly because it’s so cold down here you can see your breath in the air. He exclaims. “You’re freezing. Come on I’ll show you upstairs.”
As we make our way up the huge staircase he keeps a watchful hold on me. Seeing my glance he laughs. “With my luck you’ll plummet to your death through a bannister.”
“Your luck?” I question lightly. “A lot of people would say that you’ve got a lot of luck about you.”
His expression darkens. “They’d know fuck all then.” We come to a stop and he sighs. “No, that’s wrong. I have had a lot of luck. Not many bands make it big and here we are. Not many people can survive an overdose. Not many people can get out from under drugs and get clean. I know I’m lucky, it’s just sometimes it’s hard to see luck when people I care about are still in pain.”
He looks at me and I’m sure that he’s talking about Leah. “You can only deal with yourself Sid,” I say softly. “At the end of the day it’s not luck that got you clean it’s you, and that’s the only person you can think of.”
He presses my hand hard and then shakes his mood off. “Come on,” he tugs my hand. “I want to show you something brilliant.” Laughing slightly I follow him down the hall and up two sets of stairs to a set of French windows which he proceeds to swing open and then pull me out onto a balustrade and I gasp. We’re at the top of the house and whichever way I look there’s a panoramic view of London, all lit up in its night time colours of lime, yellow, blue and red. A fierce wind is blowing, making the hundreds of street lights in the distance flicker like tiny, white Christmas lights in the dark. The wind blows my hair around wildly and I move out towards the edge holding my head up to it, feeling it clean in my face. Sid exclaims and then his warm hand pulls me back sharply. “The balustrade’s a bit flimsy. Don’t get too close to it because it’s not safe.” I nod in acquiescence but I realise that although I feel wild, paradoxically I still feel safe which is totally down to him. I shiver and he draws me into his body so that he wraps around me from behind and I relax into his warmth. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” he whispers into my ear and it’s almost as if I can feel the sweet gust of his breath between my legs. I nod shakily.
“I’d never come down if this was mine,” I say and it’s true. There’s a sense of emptiness and peace up here amongst the twinkling lights.
“I come up here a lot,” he admits. “I like to think up here.”
“What do you think about?” I’m suddenly bold because he can’t see my face.
He tenses. “Well, at the moment, you,” he whispers and I still in surprise.
“Why?” I ask slowly, willing him to answer but he reluctantly drops his hands as if I’ve broken the spell.
“Well about which fucking awful drink you’ll bring here next,” he laughs, and I sigh inwardly because I’m not going to get my answer.
Taking his hand I let him draw me back into the attics and wait while he locks the doors. “Sid,” I say suddenly, thinking of a question that I wanted to ask him. “If you’ve been here for a few months why haven’t you got more done? I’d have thought that a rock star like you would have thrown money at it to make it happen.”
He laughs. “Because I’m doing a lot of it myself,” he says happily, and I stand stock still in amazement.
“You?”
“Don’t say it so disbelievingly,” he teases. “Yes, me. I started out helping the workmen out and then found out that I actually liked it. It’s quite therapeutic in its own way, and I want to live here for a long time so it should be me that does the work. In a fanciful way I feel like the house will appreciate it.”
I smile at him but a deep shudder runs through me. He snaps his fingers at me. “Come on, I’ve just remembered that I’ve got something for you.”
“For me?” I ask in mystification. “Where is it?”
“In my bedroom.” He draws me down the stairs to the landing on the next floor, which despite being huge has only a couple of
doors opening off it. He stops outside one of them and looks at me.
“Okay,” I say drawing out the word. “You’ve got something for me in your bedroom have you? You have no idea how many men have used that line on me.”
His eyes darken. “Did it work?” he asks in a low voice and my smile drops.
“Not so far.”
Not replying he grabs my hand and draws me through the open doorway, switching the light on as he does. I gasp because the room is huge and there’s been quite a lot of work done in here. He’s obviously knocked a few walls down and made one room out of a few bedrooms. A massive sleigh bed rests against one wall, facing floor to ceiling windows looking down onto what I know is the dark garden. Above the bed and covering most of the wall hangs a modern, abstract painting with bold, stormy strokes of greys, whites, bright blue and yellow. Two bedside cupboards flank the bed with wide, grey shaded lamps on them, and a couple of chests of drawers sit against the wall with loose change, guitar picks and bits and bobs emptied over them. A half open door shows what looks like a dressing room with racks of clothing hanging neatly. On the left I see a sitting area with two bright blue settees and a massive flat screen TV on the wall, and through an open door there’s a large bathroom with acres of gleaming tiles and a double sink with a claw foot tub next to another big window. You could lie in that bath and look at the night sky. I sigh but it’s the bed that draws my attention. It’s huge with masses of grey and white striped pillows, and the matching duvet and bright blue bedspread are still tumbled as if he’d just stepped out of his bed and left. I bet if I lay there now I would get a huge instant dose of his Sid scent, that mixture of citrus and spice and an undertone of something that’s just him.
I become aware that he’s quietly leaning against a wall while I look my fill, and I flush, hoping that what I’m thinking isn’t written on my face. “Not made your bed, lazy?” I say trying for a lighter moment and he grimaces.
“I had to do that every day at rehab. Haven’t done it since.” He walks purposefully to a battered, old trunk at the bottom of the bed and rummages through it, until he exclaims in triumph and emerges with a very large, squashy parcel and two smaller ones, all wrapped in bright Christmas wrapping and adorned with ribbons.
“Oh no.” I step back and hold up my hands. “No Sid, you haven’t bought me something have you? It’s too much.”
“Shut the fuck up!” He draws me to sit on the bed and thrusts the gifts into my hands. I perch there nervously and when I inhale I know I was right. I’m saturated in his smell. “Open the little ones first,” he says enthusiastically, and I can’t help but smile at him because he looks like a little boy.
“Okay.” I rip off the wrapping. Inside is a pair of the most beautiful soft, black, leather gloves that I’ve ever seen. Turning the label over I see the Harvey Nichols tag. “Sid these were expensive.”
“Shut up,” he says bossily. “Don’t talk about money to me. They’re so soft and warm inside. Look, they’re lined with cashmere.” He opens the glove for me to see and I nod faintly. “Now open the other one.” I pull at the wrapping and out slithers a beautiful black, chunky knit beanie and scarf, both bearing the Burberry Prosum label I note. “They’re beautiful,” I say softly and he grins bashfully.
“Your hands are always so cold honey. I don’t want that anymore, so humour me. Now open the big one.” He’s clearly nervous now which in turn is making me jittery. What has he bought me and how much has he bloody spent on me? I slowly pick at the tape and unravel the ribbon and then give in and rip open the parcel. The wrapping falls open revealing a flash of teal green suede and I open that out and absolutely lose my breath. He’s bought me a coat you see and I could cry. It’s a beautiful single breasted trench coat falling to just below knee length, the colour of an evergreen tree, with a wide belt to wrap around my waist. I reach out and touch the fabric, relishing in the sleek feel of the suede and then I see the label. “Burberry London!” I say in consternation. ”Sid that must have cost a bloody fortune.”
“No, no,” he says, immediately trying to forestall me. “I saw it in the shop and I just had to have it. Look stand up,” and he pulls me up, grabbing the coat and pushing my arms into the sleeves. He points to an ornate carved, silver mirror by the side of the bed that takes up most of the wall, the positioning of which earns him a sidelong look, but then I still as I look at myself. The coat suits me so well, the fabric clinging to my thin figure lovingly, and the colour making the colour of my eyes pop and my hair and skin glow. It makes me look like one of the models you see parading down the catwalk. Sid fastens the belt around my waist and then stands behind me and stares. “Jesus, I knew it was you but you look utterly beautiful sweetheart.”
“It’s too much,” I whisper.
“No it isn’t,” he says harshly “It’s not even nearly enough. You were fucking freezing in that rag Nell and I won’t have it. I would walk barefoot to stop you being cold. Burberry,” he flicks my sleeve. “That’s a drop in my ocean. It’s like loose change to me so don’t make this a big deal.” I brush my hand lovingly down the sleeve, already planning to sleep with it under my mattress so that Molly doesn’t steal it and he looks hesitant. “Do you like it?” he asks in a low voice and I whirl around.
“Like it? That doesn’t even remotely describe it. I adore it. It’s so beautiful, thank you Sid,” and throwing my arms around him in a tight hug I go to kiss him on the cheek but at the last moment he turns and almost in slow motion my lips meet his. For a second that feels so slow it’s like a year, nothing happens, and then he makes a growling noise in his chest and his lips open and he runs his tongue over my bottom lip almost as if he’s tasting me. We stay that way for a second and then I moan and open my mouth and the kiss turns into something that I don’t think either of us are prepared for. Our mouths move against each other slowly, our tongues tangling and we can’t stop. I feel his breaths striking my cheek and his hair brushing silkily against my face, and then his hands come up to cup my skull firmly and he changes the tempo in a second with a fevered groan. Holding my head he drinks my sighs and panted breaths as we wildly kiss for what seems like hours. When we come up for air my mouth feels swollen and sensitive, my nipples are hard and I’m throbbing so badly I need him to ease it. He stares at me for a second, our erratic breaths mingling. His eyes are slits now and his cheekbones have sharp flags of colour along them. I know I should stop this. This isn’t what either of us should be doing and it will complicate everything, but then all those thoughts disappear like paper in the wind as his hands move down caressing my back as he goes in long strokes that make me arch and moan, until he reaches my bum which he cups and with a forceful pull he settles me against his massive erection and we both groan, “Fuck Nelly, fuck,” he mutters, his hot breath striking me.
“I know,” I groan, writhing against him. I’m far gone now and beyond reason. All I want is that huge cock that I can feel against me, inside me. I want him over me and inside me, and accordingly I start to tug at my coat. “Off,” I moan and he frantically obliges me, tossing it cavalierly onto the bed.
“Fuck,” he gasps. “I want you naked. I’ve got to be inside you now. I need to fuck you so bad.”
“Yes.” I cry out in relief when he lifts me so that I can wrap my legs around him, and then he takes the couple of steps necessary and lowers me to the bed, coming down over the top of me and settling his weight against me. He hits me in all the right places and I move against him, wriggling and writhing until he starts to move his hips and grind against me.
He raises his head. “I wanted to take this slow Nell. I dreamed about taking hours but I can’t wait. I’ve got to have you now. I don’t even think I can wait to undress you love.”
“Oh, don’t wait.” I tangle my fingers in his hair and bring his face down to me for a lush kiss. A distant part of me is noting that he said he’s dreamed of me but I can’t think straight anymore. Not with his cock hitting my clit and his tongue in my mo
uth. He grunts into my mouth. His hand slips on something on the bed and he swears and levers up, pushing the offending fabric away from him but at the last minute he stills and he grabs the fabric of what I see to be my coat, drawing it to him where he stares at it. “What’s the matter?” I choke, grabbing his hips and trying to draw him back, but I’m sensing abruptly that this isn’t going to happen.
“Shit!” he says suddenly, making me jump. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” and he jumps off me and strides rapidly away to come to a rest in the centre of the room, his back to me and his hand running repeatedly over his hair.
“Sid?” I hate the nervousness in my voice. “What’s the matter?”
He stills and it might be my imagination but I think that I see his shoulders slump before he turns to me. All the passion has fled his face and he now just looks tired and a little bored. “We can’t do this. I’m sorry,” he says abruptly.
“What? Where did that come from?”
“We can’t sleep together. It wouldn’t be right.” His voice is a monotone.
I’m getting angry now because it’s almost as if I were forcing the issue when we both know that we had an equal role in pushing this. “Why wouldn’t it be right?” I ask in a small voice getting up and forcing the material of my dress down. My fingers are shaking and seeing that he makes an abrupt movement but stops himself and runs his hand through his hair again.
“I’m sorry but this just isn’t happening with you of all people.”
“What?” I manage to choke out because with his words and tone of voice it’s like he just punched me. He couldn’t have made me feel less, even if he tried.
He shrugs jerkily then he points at the beautiful coat. “Jesus. I bought you a coat but I’m not fucking you as a thank you. I can’t do that anymore.”
I can’t understand where this has blown up from – it’s like falling into an alternative universe. “Wow,” I say through lips that don’t seem to be working properly, they feel so cold. “You’ve managed to make me feel like a stalker and a whore all in the space of a few minutes. Well done.” I pause and then I can’t help letting my pain show and he moves towards me again, but I put up a hand to stop him. “I’ve had the best of the best make me feel worthless over the last few years, but somehow I didn’t expect it from you. Well, now I know better. It’s just another lesson learned, so thank you. I won’t forget it.”