“How is he?” says George, moving towards them tentatively.
“Bloody brilliant, mate,” Duncan tenderly kisses the forehead of the little squirming human. “But the best bit is, I think I’ve talked Fanny into retiring Sebastian. That tosser’s royally past it, and his prediction was completely wrong. We’ve got ourselves a baby girl!”
George smiles and looks down at the crying baby. Her face is wrinkled and red, and her mouth is wide open.
“How’s Fanny?” asks George.
“Incredible,” says Duncan, who is most definitely in love. George recognizes the symptoms now. “She’s having words with the dead dude, while they stitch her up. He’s getting off easy, I reckon,” says Duncan, as the baby’s cries reach an even higher pitch.
“She’s certainly got some lungs on her,” George says, trying to grab hold of her tiny hand.
“She bloody does, doesn’t she? She already takes after her mother,” says Duncan proudly.
“Sounds that way,” says George, desperately hoping that the one parent she doesn’t take after is him.
LEXI
August 22nd, 2010
Pacific Palisades, Los Angeles
Thirty-three. Lexi can’t decide if she is pleased to put thirty-two behind her or not. As a teenager she would take the opportunity of a birthday to reflect back on the year before and check off all the cool stuff that had happened—honor roll, yearbook editor, debate captain, beach volleyball finals, valedictorian. Thirty-two has been more like a trip to Disneyland at the height of summer. It began with high anticipation but before long she was waiting and waiting in hot, sweaty lines. There were rides. Some of them, like Space Mountain, were stomach-churning and whiplash-inducing and others were magical journeys, like flying over London with Peter Pan. She has definitely encountered her fair share of characters and eaten more cotton candy than she cares to remember. She has listened to certain songs as many times as hearing ‘It’s a Small World’ and she has wished occasionally that she could remain in one single moment until the end of time. But ultimately the year is over, and the day has ended, and the only thing left to do now is go to sleep in the car, remember the best bits, erase the worst and look forward to the next time. It’s only that Lexi suspects that nothing will ever match up to that Peter Pan ride again.
Tonight she has requested a quiet dinner with her parents to celebrate her birthday. Work has been wonderfully challenging but also exhausting these last few months, between setting up the new office space, inducting two team members, keeping Russell on task and liaising with clients, she finds she is always busy and takes her laptop to bed with her. Not such a bad thing considering her laptop is endearingly loyal and gives her plenty of warning when battery power is low.
She pulls up outside her parents’ house and turns off the ignition of her car. The house is dark except for a light in the kitchen window beckoning her inside. It scares Lexi to think of her parents dying—to imagine being the only one left without a sibling to share the sorrow. It occurs to her that one day this big house will be hers to move into. Will she live there by herself? Maybe she’ll become an eccentric old lady with ratty grey dreadlocks and bowls full of goldfish.
Goldfish.
Liverpool and San Diego.
George.
When is he going to stop interrupting her thoughts?
Lexi gets out of the car and walks the path to the door. The night is balmy and the air smells like ocean and honeysuckle. She opens the front door to a sudden explosion of sound—“SURPRISE!!!!!”
***
Lexi is still stunned half an hour into the party. At least this surprise is far better than the last one. Lance in his black briefs is by no means a treasured memory. There must be more than forty people crowded into her parents’ living room, drinking red wine and eating baked brie. Andrew comes over and hugs her tightly. They have been talking recently about him moving in with Carl and Lexi has been contemplating not getting a new roommate, but living alone instead.
“I’m going to miss you, roomie,” he says, squeezing her again.
“You’re not leaving the country,” she says, attempting to deflect the surge of emotion she feels when she thinks about how much Andrew and she have been through.
“No, but I’ve become accustomed to our squabbles and your foibles.”
“Mmmm, squabbles and foibles… sounds like a cartoon strip.”
“Or a yummy new recipe ‘Honey—I’m making squabbles and foibles tonight!’ ”
“Or the names of your future children, ‘Squabbles! Foibles! Time for dinner!” They both crack up. Andrew, being Lexi’s first true love, will forever hold a sacred place in her heart, unlike her second true love, whom she is trying to hide in a dusty attic.
Lexi’s mother comes over with a tray of potstickers.
“Are you two ever going to get back together?” she asks innocently.
“NO!” they both say in unison.
“Ha! You thought I was serious, didn’t you?”
Lexi transfers her hug to her mother, almost capsizing the tray. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, honey, and I’m extremely proud of you.”
“You are?” says Lexi, heartened by her mother’s capacity to expand her view of Lexi’s happiness.
“Of course I am. You’re wonderful!” There it is. That confidence boost from her mom. No longer her sole navigation device, but she still drinks it up. “Look at all the great work you’ve done over the last few months. Even your father has started to use rechargeable batteries in his remote. Who would have thought?”
Meg rushes over, “Am I missing a group hug? Russell and Mildred were just telling me about their adoption process. I never realized getting a new cat was so complicated.”
“I know, they’re obsessed!” says Lexi, grabbing a potsticker and thinking about George again the minute she hears the word cat. Goldfish. Cats. Grapefruits. Babies. Kiss. The list goes on.
Lexi’s mother moves away with the potstickers, Andrew close behind.
Meg takes Lexi’s hand, “Look Lex, I’d really rather not be talking about this, tonight of all nights, but I want you to hear about it from me and not read about it on line.”
Oh God thinks Lexi. Something’s happened to George. Is he dead? Is George dead? Meg carries on, “The news came out today—I read it on TMZ just before we left. George is not the father of Fanny’s baby. Duncan is. Not that it makes a bit of difference, because I know he’s a prick and we hate him now. But I just thought you’d want to know…”
It takes a second for the news to register. He’s not dead. He’s not a father. He’s not with Fanny. She’s not with Lance.
“Are you okay, Lex? You look a little hot. Maybe you need some fresh air?” Those were the exact words George had said to her that day in the studio. The day he had led her outside. Led her astray.
“Yeah, I’m fine, Meggy… I just need—” Lexi’s sentence hangs in the balance. Unfinished. Incomplete. Waiting patiently for an ending.
GEORGE
22nd August, 2010
Stanford in the Vale, Oxfordshire
Oh, oh, oh squeeze me tightly
Myyyyy Graaaapefruit Girls
Myyyyy Graaaapefruit Girls
Even having to sing at Polly’s second wedding cannot mar the feeling of longed-for relief George has been experiencing since getting the test results back. He isn’t a dad. He doesn’t have to deal with Fanny for the rest of his life. He only has to be Uncle George. Duncan and Fanny are ecstatic. Neither of them wanted George to be the one. They named their daughter Sabine, at the final request of her mother’s dead lover. The lunatics are running the asylum.
Talking of lunatics, George cannot fathom that here he is, fifteen years later, singing “The Grapefruit Girls” to the grapefruit girls. He wouldn’t believe it if he’d read it in a book. Polly’s posse, commandeered by Amelia Hoffman, are sitting front and centre in the local church hall. They are all gazing up at George ador
ingly and singing along. Meanwhile, the triplets, dressed in two-foot tuxedoes, are accompanying him on the tambourine, triangle and recorder. Polly, bulging out of her original dress, is also beaming from the front row, while Martyn and George’s parents are all tapping their feet enthusiastically.
I wanted you, wanted you, wanted you
I needed you, you needled me
The Genius of the moment is lost on everyone but George.
Last week, just days after Sabine’s arrival, George had picked up the phone to hear his usually stoic mother sobbing.
“George… Polly’s at the hospital.” George had not spoken to Polly since his disastrous birthday dinner.
“Okay, calm down, Mum. What’s happened to her?” He was walking home when he’d taken the call. He remembers having to sit down on the curb. He remembers a queasy swell rising in his gut.
“Not to her. It’s Pad. The boys were at a friend’s house. He’s fallen off a trampoline. I think he was unconscious. Your father’s gone with them to the A&E and I have Archie and Trevor here with me now, but I’m just so… so frightened, George. I don’t know what to do.”
“It’s okay, Mum. It’s okay.”
George had stood up and gone home and found his car keys. He had driven straight to his parents’ cottage in record time and spent the evening making his mum tea and taking turns playing Connect Four with Archie and Trevor. When it was time to put the boys to bed, George had been assigned tucking in duty.
“Uncle George?” Trevor had asked, staring up at him with questioning eyes.
“Yes, Trev?”
“If Pad doesn’t get better, we won’t have enough people in our band. Will you and Duncan be in our band?” George had laughed and ruffled Trevor’s dark curls.
“He’ll get better, mate, don’t worry.” It turned out, after an MRI and three x-rays, that Padstow had broken his leg, grazed his face and suffered a minor concussion. He was predicted to fully recover and be just as capable of creating mayhem as he was before. Trampolines and all bouncy surfaces were banned. George and his mother had hugged in the kitchen, while the other two boys slept, glaringly incomplete without their brother. George had stayed in the empty bed.
As he plays the final bars of “The Grapefruit Girls,” he changes the lyrics slightly to suit the occasion,
All those hours
Lover’s powers
Myyyy Graaaapfruit Girls
I thought love would never win
Until Polly and Maar…tyn
Everyone in the church halls rises to their feet simultaneously applauding and whistling their appreciation. George stands up from the piano, takes a small bow, salutes his nephews and blows his sister a kiss. He hops off the stage, leaving Archie, Padstow (left leg in a bright blue cast) and sweet little Trevor to bask in the glory. George’s parents rush over to him. His father pats his back fervently, while his mother gives him a hug.
“Very, very nice, son. Very impressed. Looks like those piano lessons paid off.”
“Thanks, Dad,” says George, realizing that his father truly doesn’t have any idea quite how huge Thesis are.
“George, dear, that was special. Look, it made me cry! It means so much to your sister and to us. Thank you.” His mother wipes her eyes with a small white handkerchief produced from her sleeve, and George has the unusual feeling, for perhaps the first time ever, that his parents are proud of him. Despite having played at the 02, Glastonbury, Madison Square Gardens, The Hollywood Bowl, he has an inkling that this gig at the church hall might go down in his history as one of the more momentous ones. He has spent so long searching for his parents’ approval. Who would have guessed that it would be Polly eventually leading him to it?
Talking of Polly, here she is in a synthetic cloud of white, holding two glasses of champagne. She hands one to George. “So, George… what do you think of your talented nephews? Do you reckon they might be following in their uncle’s footsteps?” George accepts this as a backhanded compliment.
“Blew me away, Pol. In fact I’d say they totally upstaged me.”
“They are good, aren’t they?” says Polly, who having experienced some real life drama, is now able to brag about her boys with a little more humility.
“Yes, they are. You’re lucky,” says George.
“I thought you thought you were the lucky one?” asks Polly.
“I’ve changed my mind,” says George, realizing what a steep learning curve he’s been on over the last few months. He’s almost afraid to look down.
“It doesn’t always have to be a competition, does it? Why can’t we both be lucky?” She holds up her glass of champagne and George holds up his.
“To luck!” he says, chiming his glass with hers.
“And love,” says Polly. “Who knows, George, maybe one day you’ll get married too?”
“Maybe not,” says George, wondering wistfully if Lexi is married yet.
“You never know,” says Polly.
“Yeah, Pol, I guess that’s right, you never do,” and it occurs to George that his sister, whom he used to categorize as one of the most clueless people alive, has just made one of the truer observations of them all.
LEXI
September 4th, 2010
Hollywood Bowl, Los Angeles
Lexi has run all the way from a parking lot on Hollywood Boulevard. She is having difficulty catching her breath as she now sprints up the steep hill to try to reach the entrance to The Garden Boxes. The concert has started. George’s muffled voice fills the sky amidst the stars and the tops of eucalyptus trees. She tries to breathe.
When Russell had told her about the tickets last week, she’d made up a feeble excuse. “Oh damn, I’ve just joined a book club and that night is the first meeting. Eat, Pray, Love. Damn!”
Russell had looked at her strangely, “It’s only I thought you’d want to come along with Mildred and me, maybe bring Meg. We’re taking a picnic.”
Thesis were finishing off their North American tour and were playing the Hollywood Bowl on Saturday. Russell had been sent four VIP tickets, compliments of the band. Somehow George’s and Lexi’s almost love affair had eluded Russell, so he had no idea why Lexi might not want to be there. At this point, it also wasn’t crystal clear to Lexi herself why she didn’t want to be there, except the thought of seeing him again petrified her, like driving onto the off ramp. Unthinkable. So why was she thinking about it? Russell had held out the two tickets. They looked harmless enough. “Just take them, Lexi, in case you change your mind. We’re invited backstage afterwards. I’m sure the band would like to see you. Gabe often asks after you.”
Lexi had pocketed the tickets guiltily as if they were contraband. They had sat in her bedside drawer for a week. Would George want to see her? Surely she had just been the fleeting flavor of the month. He’d never contacted her again, but it is likely that he had heard about her engagement and felt equally slighted by her. She would never know the answers unless she asked him. As the week went on, the idea of asking him grew bigger and bigger in her mind, until it was no longer an idea but an imperative. She’d go to the concert. She’d see him backstage. She’d ask him if… she hasn’t yet decided what she’s going to ask him, but she’s sure it will be obvious at the time. Then she can truly move on. End of story. Closure.
Lexi reaches the entrance now and thrusts her ticket at a woman with a flashlight who directs her to a box not far from the stage. It’s a balmy September night but when Lexi looks up at George, she feels every inch of her begin to tremble. His beard has gone and his hair is shorter. He’s singing “A Suitable Dawn.”
Your fragile heart
So torn apart and I’m
Here now, here now
She tries to block out the words. Mildred and Russell are thrilled by her late arrival, welcoming her into their private box where they are eating brown rice sushi and drinking organic red wine. There are seventeen thousand fans behind her, all of their eyes fixed on the stage. Every one of them cau
ght up in the moment. Caught up in George and the band.
“What happened to Eat, Pray, Love?” asks Mildred, raising an eyebrow and pouring Lexi a glass of wine.
And I hear you, hear you
Lexi takes a needed gulp, “I thought I’d do that here instead.”
GEORGE
4th September, 2010
Hollywood Bowl, Los Angeles
The sky is studded with stars. Seventeen thousand people are chanting “Theeesis! Theeeesis! Theeesis!” George and the boys walk onto the stage and the crowd explodes into an exultant cheer. The lights are bright. George can’t make out a single face and that is exactly how he wants it from now on. He picks up his guitar and says into the microphone, “Good evening, Hollywood,” and the audience scream even louder. The atmosphere is evangelical.
A few weeks ago Gabe had come to George looking concerned. “George—I know you’ve got a lot on your mind and I don’t want to add to it.” At the time they were waiting for the results of the paternity test.
“Don’t tell me, another woman has stepped up to say she’s preggers with my kid? I’m turning into Wayne Rooney.”
Gabe had chuckled, “No, no. Not yet. But I’m just putting some things in place for the west coast shows. I have to send Russell and Lexi some comp tickets. I can’t just ignore the fact they live there and we’re still doing business with them.”
George had already thought about this. He had imagined playing “Third Row” while Lexi and her “man” husband were snogging in the third row.
“Not a problem, Gabe. I’ll be very grown up about the whole thing. I won’t start blubbering on stage. In fact, maybe we should change the projector images and put photos of Sabine up instead. You know, rub the whole baby thing in her face?”
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