Never Change

by Anne Carol

  Now that we had Christine, I understood how overwhelming it must have been for Brooke and Don to take Emma on that first North American tour. We’d been on the road in England just four days, and I was already dreading the big tour across the Pond. Christine would be almost three months by then, but still, I knew it would be a lot of work. And the idea of flying an ocean away from my best helpers— Grandma Margaret, Aunt Ellie, and Jenny—made me shiver with panic. I needed to pack an extra bag of energy when we departed for New York.

  Thankfully we weren’t sleeping on the bus anymore. Not that we were getting much out of the plush hotel beds. The first night away from home, Christine was completely out of sorts and kept us up half the night. She wasn’t a fan of the hotel-provided crib, so she cried every time we laid her down. Then she made a mess which required a massive cleanup job as well as a quick rinse off. Once she was clean and dry, she fell asleep in David’s arms, requiring him to snooze propped up in bed. Consequently, he was grouchy the following day, and I was overly sensitive, a result of crazy postpartum hormones. It wasn’t our finest hour as a married couple.

  She’d slept a little better each night since then, and I was thrilled that tonight she stayed down until the morning light seeped in under the curtains.

  “Guess all the partying did her in,” David mumbled, stirring awake.

  I snickered. “She is kind of a party animal: eating, making noise, and creating messes all night. She’s a little rock star.”

  David chuckled. “Yep. She fits right in with this group.”

  “We should take her to an after party. Maybe she’ll conk out easier.” He was silent, which implied he wasn’t going for it. I moved over so my chin rested on his chest. “Not gonna happen, right?”

  “I don’t want her around all that rubbish. You know what goes on at those parties. And I can just see her being ogled by people I don’t want near her.”

  Groupies, I thought, and some of the more slimy photographers. He had a point. They’d snap a picture of her and sell it for thousands of pounds, which we wouldn’t see a scrap of. Not that we were money-hungry, but the idea of them using our child or us to pad their pockets grated on my last nerve.

  I was just about to open my mouth to agree with David when a familiar cry sounded. “Well, party girl’s awake,” I said. Before leaving the bed, I kissed David’s cheek. “Why don’t you rest a bit longer? I’ll get her.”

  “Thanks, love.”

  My hair finally looked decent, yet I groaned at my reflection, wallowing in self-pity.

  “What’s the matter?” David ran a comb through his hair as he balanced Christine against his shoulder.

  I lifted a corner of my blouse and pinched the extra flesh on my belly. “This. It’s taking forever to get rid of the blubber.”

  He met my reflection in the mirror and frowned. “Don’t start that. You’re beautiful, Beth. You just had a baby.”

  “I know. I just miss my old body. Having the doctor’s go-ahead for regular exercise will be nice.”

  “Hmm…and other things.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Oh, David.” I playfully nudged him. “You’ve been very patient.”

  “You’re worth it.” He kissed the top of my head. “We’ll make a romantic night of it.”

  “And hopefully the little girl will stay quiet for at least thirty minutes.”

  “She’d better, or I’m going to have a chat with her.”

  “Yeah, you do that,” I said, putting the finishing touches on my eyeliner. “For now, let’s just get through the rest of this tour.”

  We returned home a week and a half later, and I went in for my follow-up appointment. I was relieved everything looked good and that the doctor gave me clearance for normal activities. Getting back to exercising was important to me, but that wasn’t my first thought when I left the doctor. Romance was on my mind the rest of the day. I couldn’t wait for David to get home.

  “Please be a good girl and sleep for Mummy and Daddy,” I whispered to Christine as I lay her down that night. David was pulling some late sessions at the studio, and I prayed he’d get home soon. I was exhausted and didn’t know how long I’d last. Donning my favorite piece of lingerie, I waited on the sofa with a book and cup of tea.

  When he trudged in the door, I went over to greet him. His face perked up, sporting wide eyes and a goofy grin. “Hello, gorgeous.”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. “Hi, sweetie.”

  He backed up and looked me up and down. “Irresistible. I’m just going to peek in on Christine.”

  “Can you wait? I mean, I don’t want to risk waking her.” I raised my eyebrows.

  He winked. “Got it.”

  David was gentle as our bodies came together as one. I let myself slip under his spell as he showered me with his love. It was the perfect reunion.

  And our daughter slept the whole time.

  “So how was your romantic night?” Brooke asked the next morning over tea and biscuits. I’d strolled Christine over to her townhouse a few blocks away.

  I shook my finger at her. “Uh-uh, I don’t kiss and tell.”

  “Bet David was in a good mood this morning.” She giggled while my face heated.

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, Brooke,” I said, shooing her away.

  “Just take my advice and wait a while before getting pregnant again. Having two babies under two is completely exhausting. I’m thankful Emma still naps, or I’d be done by 6:00 every night.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I paused while I took a sip of tea. “Did you ever make a decision on hiring a baby nurse to help you on tour?”

  “Yes, and we’re looking now. What about you?”

  “I think I’m going to start looking, too. It’s just a lot to deal with while on tour.”

  Brooke nodded and backed up her agreement with all the new things Emma and Josh were doing. She would need another set of hands, and this time, I wouldn’t be much help. Christine was just starting to sleep six hours a night, something David and I rejoiced over. It seemed incredible to me that in less than two years, Christine would be walking, talking, and learning to use the potty on her own. Hearing about all these milestones was a reminder to enjoy every moment we had with Christine, journal about her, and take lots of pictures.

  We were able to get in a nice morning of conversation before Emma had a meltdown and Joshua got whiny. Christine was due to wake up and have a feeding, so I packed up our things and headed out. It was a sunny day in North London, a welcome gift for this California girl, and I took my time strolling home. We lived in a quiet neighborhood, tucked away from the craziness of the city, and four years after making England my home, I still admired the Victorian-style architecture and the charming atmosphere.

  Christine made a soft yelp, and I diverted my gaze from the front garden we were passing to the bundle in the stroller. “What’s the matter, baby girl?” I asked, reaching down to take her hand. She immediately clasped my finger and kicked her legs out, looking at me with questioning eyes. “You getting hungry?”

  She responded with another wail, this one lasting longer. Uh oh, I pray she doesn’t get too loud before we get home. This girl was destined to be a rocker chick with those lungs. I dug around her blanket for her pacifier, or “dummy” as David called it in his UK slang. She took to it right away, sucking on it hard but then spitting it out with an angry cry.

  “Oh, baby,” I hushed, halting the pram and lifting her to my shoulder to quiet her cries. “We’re almost home.”

  As I sung softly to her, I continued pushing the stroller, which wasn’t easy with one hand. I loved this stroller, which had been a gift from Margaret. It was one of those old-fashioned baby carriages with a bassinet and canopy, much like the doll carriage I used to play with as a girl. But charming as it was, right now I wished I’d opted for the new front carrier, which would have kept Christine nestled close to me. David used it every time we went anywhere as a family. Just thinking a
bout my man holding his daughter so protectively made my heart dance.

  Lost in my thoughts, I failed to notice someone following me. It wasn’t until I saw movement out of the corner of my eye that I became wary. I cautiously glanced from left to right, gasping when I heard a “click.” The tap-tap sound of footsteps trailed me as I sped up. It was a losing battle, so I finally turned around and shouted, “Leave us alone!” to the intrusive photographer. Of course, he snapped my picture, curled lips and scowl included. Great. Can’t wait to see that one on the newsstands.

  Christine started screaming in my ear, fueling my frustration. I wanted to grab the man and shake him, making him drop the blasted camera, but instead, I hollered, “Follow me home and I’ll call the police!”

  He backed up, holding his hands up. “Just wanted a few snaps. Think I got all I need.” With that, he gave me a devilish grin. “Thanks, Mrs. Somers. Gorgeous baby.”

  Seething, I hugged my distraught daughter closer and scrambled for home as fast as I could.

  I’d avoided the subject long enough. David was enjoying his supper of bangers and mash, while I ate my salad—picking at it, rather. I wasn’t hungry. My appetite disappeared back on the street where the paparazzi had stolen my privacy. The nerve of that guy.

  “Are you going to tell me about it?” David asked, meeting my far away expression.

  “What?”

  “What’s got you so upset?”

  I looked away, huffing. “Mind-reading again?”

  “Beth, I know something’s wrong. Whatever it is, please tell me. I’m going mad here.”

  I closed my eyes and exhaled. “Someone took my photo today when I was walking home from Brooke’s. He followed me.”

  David dropped his fork, making a loud clinking sound. “What?” he shouted. Christine, sitting her in baby swing, started crying. He immediately got up and went to her, while I explained what happened.

  “Those tossers,” he growled, now toting Christine back to the table. She was still quietly crying, so he stroked her back. “Sh…sh…it’s okay, pumpkin. Daddy’s got you.”

  “I’m sorry, David. I hate worrying you.”

  “It isn’t your fault, love. Unfortunately, we have to take precautions. I’ve never insisted on a minder for the short walk to Brooke’s but—”

  “I’ll drive, then.” I was so glad I’d finally mastered the art of driving on the left side. There was no way I wanted a bodyguard following me everywhere.

  He grimaced as if he could read my thoughts. “Well, this makes my decision easier.”

  “What’s that?” I stabbed at the lettuce, feeling my appetite return.

  “I hadn’t mentioned this because I wasn’t sure about it, but I’ve been asked by a well-known, respectable journalist to do an interview for a national magazine. She’d like the article to include pictures of our family. I think, given what happened today, we should do it.”

  “But won’t that make things worse? I’m surprised you’d want our pictures out there.”

  He shrugged, keeping a hand on Christine, whose eyes were drifting shut. “People will get our photos one way or another. The fans are curious, and sometimes you have to give them what they want.” I raised my eyebrows and he continued, “Remember that without our fans, I wouldn’t have a career.”

  “True. So does this mean you’ve changed your mind about my photo shoot?” I grinned.

  “You had to bring that up, didn’t you? Having a formal picture of our family is different from those rather seductive photos of you in that glossy.”

  “Seductive? Oh, please.” I waved my hand at him.

  “I don’t want to argue about this, Beth,” he stated with a stern face. “I’ll phone the journalist straight away if you’re keen on it.”

  “Sure. I think it’d be good.” After finishing my salad, I collected our dishes and rose from the table. As I walked to the sink, I turned back and winked at him. “One of these days you’ll admit you’re proud of my photos.”

  This journalist must have been eager to get David’s story because she arranged the interview the next week. Since she was coming to our home, I spent several days tidying up. David had given me the rundown on Lana Masterson, and now I was starstruck. Known widely for her rock star interviews, her lengthy portfolio dated back to the Beatles’ era. David named off some of the interviews she’d done: Paul McCartney, Mick Jagger, David Bowie, Elton John, and several others. I couldn’t believe David would soon join that elite list of rockers.

  The dreary weather outside wasn’t about to spoil my excitement that August morning. I cooked up a quick breakfast while humming a Duran Duran tune, and then floated into the nursery to check on Christine. I stopped when I caught David diapering her while singing “Brown-Eyed Girl.” My heart melted as she cooed up at him. There was no question she was a daddy’s girl. He was so gentle with her, carefully snapping up her onesie and then tucking her into his arms.

  “We need to pick out a pretty dress for our picture, little lady,” he murmured, kissing her forehead.

  “Better not dress her until the last minute,” I said, interrupting his moment. Intuition told me he would dress her up, thinking he was helping me, only to have her spit up all over herself before Lana arrived. I’d learned some things about babies the hard way, and I had a pile of stained shirts to prove it.

  “I know, Beth,” he said with a sharp tone. “I was just picking one out.”

  “You’re a great dad.” I walked over to him and kissed his cheek, softening his scowl. Mr. Defensive. I held out my arms to take Christine. “I should feed her.”

  I nursed her while we ate breakfast, and I couldn’t help but notice a twitch in David’s jaw. Is he nervous about the interview?

  “You anxious, babe?” I asked, reaching over and caressing his hand. “You seem tense.”

  He shrugged. “I just hope she doesn’t delve too much into my addiction and rehab. I’d prefer she stick to music.”

  “David, you know she’ll ask about your personal life, so just be honest. It’s better to have the real story, in your own words, than a bunch of lies reported by a trashy tabloid.”

  He stared at me. “You won’t be ashamed?”

  “No, of course not. I’m proud of you, and I think your story could give others hope.”

  “Proud, eh?” he smiled, but then grew serious. “Look, I know it wasn’t easy. I put you through hell.”

  “Ancient history, David. I mean, I know it’s an ongoing struggle, but you’ve done well. Tell your story, own it.”

  He took my hand and squeezed it. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

  When Lana and her photographer arrived, David answered the door holding eight-week-old Christine. He couldn’t wait to show her off in her dusty pink smocked dress, with a bow atop her smattering of brown hair. I stood off to the side, ready to greet them as they entered.

  No surprise Christine got all the attention the moment they stepped in. “Oh, look at this beauty!” Lana gushed in her thick British accent. “Hi, sweetie!” she said, taking her little hand and shaking it. Christine gave Lana a tentative smile, one of her latest developments.

  “It’s all right, pumpkin,” David said, kissing her cheek.

  “Oh, she’s just precious. Looks like her daddy.” He beamed as Lana—a petite woman with a silver bob—touched his forearm and said, “I feel so privileged to be allowed this interview, David. Thank you for finally agreeing.” She gestured to the lanky man with her sporting a salt and pepper beard. “This is my photographer, Ed. Ed, David Somers.” David and Ed shook hands.

  Lana then faced me. “And you must be Beth.” She held out her hand to me, but said to David, “She’s a beauty, David.”

  “Thank you.” My face heated as I shook her hand. I liked her. She was so different from some of the crooked journalists we’d encountered. I had every confidence she would tell David’s story tastefully.

  After she introduced me to Ed, I excused myself to fetch the tea
and cookies I’d prepared. Once I set down the tray, I took Christine from David’s lap, ignoring her fussing. As I walked the sniffling infant into her nursery, I whispered, “Shh…we need to let Daddy talk to the nice lady.” The little stinker was glued to his hip, but I didn’t want him distracted while he underwent his interview.

  Christine was starting to enjoy books and music, which thrilled David and me to no end. Wanting to keep her awake and happy until our family photos were taken, I sat in the rocking chair and read Peter Rabbit to her. At the conclusion of the story, I noticed her eyes drooping, so I rose from the chair and turned on the cassette player. The Bee Gees sang “You Should Be Dancing” while I swayed Christine around in my arms to the upbeat music. Just when the chorus came on, I heard the door open and then a “tsk” from David.

  “Really, Beth? Disco? You’re corrupting our daughter.”

  I glanced at him with a smug smile. “It’s better than that screaming noise you call music.”

  David approached us and reached for Christine, cradling her. “You know this means war? I’d love to see what she likes better.” He smiled down at her. “What do you think, little lady?”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I snarked, “Did you come in here just to harass me, or is there another reason?”

  “Summoning my girls for pictures.” He lifted Christine to his shoulder, smoothing out her dress.

  “You already finished?”

  “About halfway through, but Ed thought it’d be better to get photos while Christine is still awake and happy.” He rubbed her cheek with his finger. “Because sometimes we get a little cross, don’t we?” he said in a syrupy voice he often used with her.

  She blew bubbles into David’s shoulder, and I laughed. “Careful, you’re about to get baby spit all over your shirt.” Drool trickled out of the corners of her mouth, and he quickly wiped it away. Something about the way he took care of Christine made me warm inside. He didn’t back away from the unglamorous tasks of changing diapers, wiping drool, or cleaning spit-up. I took his hand and squeezed it, winking at him.