Forget Me Not (Escape Contemporary Romance)

by Nina Blake

  What had happened to that young man? Was there still a bit of the lad deep inside him?

  ‘There could be CDs I like better than Abbey Road,’ he said. ‘My tastes might have matured over the years.’

  Claire shook her head. ‘This isn’t your mature side I’m seeing. When you were younger, you used to be a true rock aficionado. I bet that hasn’t changed.’ Knowing how to prove her point, she asked, ‘In what year did Abbey Road come out?’

  ‘1969.’

  ‘What was the name of the record label?’

  ‘Apple.’

  She held his gaze. ‘See what I mean.’

  Eyes narrowing, his lips upturned into a grin. He was warming up for a heated discussion.

  ‘But if you know the answers to those questions too, then doesn’t make you some sort of rock expert too?’ Stefan asked.

  She threw her hands up. ‘Who said I knew the answers! Okay, I’ve heard of Apple Records but I wouldn’t have a clue when the band put any of their albums out. The point is, I knew you’d have the answer at your fingertips. You’ve looked at some books on The Beatles. I bet you also read every word on each CD cover.’

  ‘Of course I did.’

  ‘And it’s all imprinted in your mind now. You always remembered every word you read. When it comes to rock and roll, you were always full of information, a fountain of rock trivia.’

  Stefan looked at her expectantly. ‘Is that meant to be a compliment?’

  ‘Actually, it is. Years ago, you were crowned Master of Rock.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Claire leaned forward. ‘We had friends at university and there was a series of quiz nights at the uni tavern, culminating in a grand final when you beat all the other contestants and won the competition.’

  He grinned, reminding her of the young man she’d met all those years ago. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Very. And so were you. From the start, you were determined to win. You played it cool, but there’s no doubt you were aiming for the main prize. You weren’t in it just to play the game.’

  ‘Why was that? Did I win a car?’

  She shook her head. ‘For you, the main prize was coming first. You weren’t exactly showing off, but you knew you had the knowledge and you loved entertaining the crowd.’

  He looked at her quizzically. ‘Me?’

  ‘You were young, Stefan. You didn’t put on a suit every day and charge your time out by the hour. You used to have fun. That was just a different side of your character.’

  ‘I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.’

  But that wasn’t what the look on his face was telling her. If anything, he looked perplexed, more so that she’d seen him lately.

  But this could mean something to Stefan. This was her chance to show him what he used to be like, the old Stefan who was fun and flirty and didn’t think it was stupid to enter a university rock quiz. He’d grown serious over the years but he hadn’t always been that way.

  ‘Actually,’ Claire said. ‘You don’t have to take my word for it.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I’ll show you.’ She stood, reaching across for their empty plates. ‘First, I’ll clean up and make coffee.’

  ‘You’ve been at work all afternoon,’ he said. ‘I should do that.’

  ‘No, I will. It’ll make a nice change. You can wait in the living room, relax, and read some of those books.’

  Stefan’s eyes lit up and he stopped objecting. He’d been the perfect houseguest so far, cooking and cleaning up after every meal. Just this once, he could be the one to be waited on.

  Claire cleared the table, smiling as she loaded the dishwasher and scrubbed the two pots. Normally she disliked doing the dishes but her mind was elsewhere. This was going to be fun. She could remember it like it was yesterday. Must have be seven or eight years, maybe longer.

  Claire stepped backward through the swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment, two mugs of steaming coffee in her hands.

  ‘You’ll have to clear the coffee table,’ she said, standing in front of it.

  Stefan hastily put down the book he was engrossed in, piling three volumes on top of each other to clear a space.

  He took the mugs and placed them on the coffee table. ‘The coffee smells good.’

  Claire rummaged through the cupboards, on which the television sat. ‘I’ll put on the video.’

  ‘What video?’

  She raised the item in her hand into the air triumphantly. ‘This one.’

  Switching on the television, Claire popped the video into the machine and joined Stefan on the sofa.

  He’d quickly come learn how to use the stereo and audio-visual equipment, telling her it was pretty obvious how it all worked. Claire had joked that it must have been because of the male-technical-equipment gene. His skills hadn’t extended as far as the computer so they’d put that aside to tackle another day when they had more time.

  ‘What’s on the video?’ Stefan asked.

  ‘You had a friend studying media and television, and he got such a kick out of watching you in action at the quiz nights, that he recorded the grand final. I think he knew you were going to win.’

  ‘Are you serious? You’ve got footage of this stuff?’

  Claire nodded. His arm slipped around her with ease, like it belonged there, and she slid closer. She felt warm and comfortable, just like she had when they’d snuggled on the sofa to watch television so many times before.

  How deeply she’d missed this.

  Sex was one thing; this was another. These little touches—his arm around her, sitting side-by-side, the way he spoke to her—showed he cared for her, gestures he reserved purely for her.

  Claire wasn’t expecting this, to feel this way simply sitting beside him on the sofa in front of the television. Millions of people around the world did it every night. It was so mundane.

  Yet the time they spent together made her feel wanted and special. Loved? Was that how she felt? Claire didn’t want to let herself believe it, couldn’t let herself fall for it when she knew that couldn’t be true, but she could pretend.

  Just for one night. That wasn’t too much to ask, not after everything she’d been through.

  Tonight, she would relish every moment.

  Sliding her hand over his thigh, Claire leaned in closer. ‘Someone should press play.’

  Stefan nuzzled her neck, made his way up higher and nibbled her ear lobe. ‘Someone should.’

  ‘Don’t you want to watch the video?’

  ‘Actually, I do.’ He pressed a little kiss to her ear. ‘You’ve got me intrigued.’

  Claire reached for her coffee cup, grabbing it with one hand, the remote control with the other. Turning to look for his go-ahead, her finger hovered over the button.

  ’I’ll take care of that.’ Stefan pressed play for her, took the remote from her grasp and placed it on the seat on the other side of him.

  Claire leaned back into his arms, cradling her coffee mug.

  The video opened with a series of credits that may have seemed high tech a decade ago but looked extremely dated now. As far as Claire was concerned, they set the scene perfectly, summing up what that time had been like.

  Stefan appeared on screen. He was being interviewed by a friend.

  ‘That’s George Singer,’ Claire said. ‘He’s the one who made the video, the old buddy of yours. He got someone else to hold the camera so he could do this part.’

  George looked directly to the camera. ‘We are backstage tonight for one of the biggest events on the university calendar, the grand final of the Master of Rock Quiz. Here with me I have Stefan Porter, touted to be the next winner of the event. Stefan, this is a big night for you. How does it feel?’

  Stefan’s brow furrowed as he answered the question earnestly, playing up to the camera as George asked him a series of increasingly sillier questions.

  Claire glanced up to see Stefan g
rinning beside her. He was enjoying it. She had known he would.

  George turned to the camera. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we all know that behind every successful man is a good woman. Here, behind this man, is Claire Simons. Claire, can you tell me how you’ve helped Stefan prepare for this evening.’

  Claire giggled as she watched her shy reply back on camera. Beside her on the sofa, Stefan squeezed her tighter.

  ‘You were supportive of me even back then.’

  ‘It was a bunch of students having a quiz night, not the Academy Awards.’

  A shy smile crept to Stefan’s lips. ‘I think you should take this more seriously.’

  Claire slapped him gently on the thigh and was about to reprimand him when he shushed her; so, together, they watched the master of ceremonies ask question after question as the four contestants vied for the answers. At first, the competition was tight but it didn’t take Stefan long to pull way ahead of the others. He didn’t let his lead slip, continuing to buzz in ahead of the others even through to the end.

  Stefan leaned forward, his eyes riveted to the screen. ‘I can’t believe that was me. How did I know all the answers?’

  She shrugged. ‘Like I said, you were always full of useless information.’

  Turning to look at her, Stefan pointed a finger at his chest. ‘Useless? Hey, I was Master of Rock.’

  Claire laughed. How could she not? She’d forgotten how much fun he could be.

  ‘You’re just as silly now as you were then.’ She placed her coffee mug on the little table so it didn’t spill.

  ‘I think the Master of Rock deserves more respect than that.’ His eyes remained glued to the screen. ‘Hey, what’s going on?’

  The video showed Stefan, microphone in hand, whispering to one of the band members.

  It all came back to her. There had been a band that night, playing old rock and roll songs. Damn it, she’d forgotten this part, forgotten what happened next. She sure as hell remembered it now.

  ‘Stop it there,’ Claire said. ‘I think it finishes now.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ Stefan said, his attention completely on the unfolding video.

  Claire froze. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t watch, couldn’t go there again.

  But she also couldn’t move.

  On screen, a much younger Stefan put the microphone to his mouth and said, ‘Behind every good man, there’s an even better woman. This is for Claire.’

  Claire felt her shoulders stiffen, her muscles seizing up. She opened her mouth to speak but it was too late.

  Dear God, no. Not this.

  The band began to play and, on the screen, Stefan started crooning the words to The Beatles’ Oh Darling into the microphone. The camera followed him as he made his way over to the table where she was sitting.

  Claire remembered the moment, everyone looking at her, all that attention she hadn’t wanted. Remembered how that discomfort had melted away as Stefan had come closer. Remembered the overwhelming sensation that every woman in the room wanted to be her, that every woman envied her and wanted to have a man who loved her that way.

  Stefan’s voice became more guttural as he threw himself into the song.

  He’d loved her, Claire thought, loved her so much he couldn’t hide it, didn’t care if a room full of people saw it. She heard it in the passion of his words, saw it in the abandon of his actions, felt it through the reverberation of his voice, felt it in every cell of her body.

  But the words of the song weren’t true. She’d never told him she didn’t need him, had never told Stefan she didn’t love him anymore. It hadn’t worked that way. No matter how much she’d needed and loved him.

  It hadn’t stopped him from leaving.

  Through the television speakers, Stefan’s voice turned to gravel: deeper, throatier, and more emotional, as he sang that he’d never make it alone.

  That wasn’t true. It was a lie, a horrible lie. Stefan would turn out to be fine without her, living in his own apartment, going to work, spending weekends alone or with friends, or however he spent them.

  Damn it, he hadn’t even wanted to keep in phone contact with her, hadn’t wanted to listen to anything that Claire had to say. He’d said he needed time. Without her. The old cliché. He’d made it clear that they’d had nothing to say to each other, not anymore.

  Stefan had made it alone just fine.

  He hadn’t cried himself to sleep every night, hadn’t forced himself to get out of bed in the mornings, hadn’t felt a weight in his gut every minute of the day.

  She watched as young Stefan dropped to his knees. He adlibbed. The words were spoken, not sung, in that deep masculine voice of his.

  Darlin’, you gotta believe me.

  The women in the audience swooned out loud, and as clearly as she remembered what it was like to be loved, Claire remembered what it was like to be despised.

  She was older now.

  Knew what it was like both ways.

  And she didn’t have to take this anymore.

  Claire had been fooling herself.

  What had she been thinking? How had she let this happen?

  She knew the answer, knew exactly how and why, but that didn’t make what she’d done any less a mistake.

  Hell, she finally understood what her mother had meant when she said she regretted not having kicked their father out sooner. She was right. If Claire had finished with Stefan earlier she wouldn’t be going through this now. She wouldn’t have reached rock bottom.

  Standing, her eyes down, she walked away.

  ‘Claire.’

  She heard her name but kept walking.

  ‘Claire,’ Stefan called more loudly this time.

  She didn’t stop until she reached the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

  Stunned, Stefan sat on the sofa, exactly where she’d left him, wondering what the hell was going on. He thought she’d been enjoying showing him this fun moment from when he was young.

  He knew what he’d seen on the screen—a young fellow with a bit of knowledge and a lot of gall. He could also see what was on the television now—a man serenading the woman he loved.

  But Stefan didn’t know who that man was or what had happened to him.

  He’d heard the song on the Abbey Road album just that afternoon and knew the lyrics, knew what was to come before hearing the words from his own mouth. On screen, he’d said he wouldn’t do anything to harm her.

  Well, someone had harmed Claire and worse than that; whatever had happened, she hadn’t recovered from it.

  He’d seen the pain in her downcast eyes as she’d walked away. She’d tried but hadn’t been able to hide that from him.

  Taking to his feet, Stefan strode to her bedroom door and found it closed, just as he’d expected. He lifted his hand to rap on the door and stopped in mid-air. What would he achieve by intruding? Claire had made it clear to him that her bedroom was her sanctuary, and though he’d made his way there uninvited last night, the circumstances had been different.

  Last night, Claire had wanted him.

  Tonight, she didn’t.

  Walking back into the living room, Stefan switched off the television and slumped onto the sofa. He looked at his coffee cup, his upper lip curling in distaste.

  The room felt different—empty—without her. There was the expensive leather sofa, the high-tech audio-visual system, the harbour view through the sliding glass doors. But what was the point of any of it without Claire?

  God, it was so hard to make sense of it all with no memory, and only the scraps of story he’d gathered so far; it was a huge jigsaw puzzle with too many missing pieces.

  He’d hurt Claire so badly that she couldn’t face him now.

  They’d been getting on so well, enjoying their time together, and getting to know each other again. He had liked the evenings best, had liked cooking and her reaction to the meals. He’d made Claire feel special and that gave him real pleasure. She deserved that and more.

 
; Food, flirting and fun—he couldn’t ask for more.

  Claire’s reaction tonight told him that wouldn’t be enough from now on; It wouldn’t be sufficient to cut through the pain.

  Stefan had to find the answer, find a way of making it up to her. Their marriage had been good for many years, so that hadn’t the problem. Things had only gone wrong for a year or two previous, a much shorter length of time. That was where the answer lay—in the reasons they’d drifted apart and become distant, perhaps even cruel to each other. There he’d find the answer he was seeking.

  Stefan wanted to go into her room—it had been their room once — take her into his arms, and make all her pain go away, but that wouldn’t be the right thing to do.

  No, he wasn’t going into Claire’s room tonight.

  But he wasn’t giving up either.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Claire had barely spoken a word to him all morning, but she had spoken to him, though only just.

  ‘I’m going out’, she’d said. No doubt Claire wanted to get away from him, but she’d been home when the phone had rung, had answered it and passed it to him. She’d seen Stefan’s reluctance to talk when he’d heard his father was on the line, but had shoved the receiver into his hand anyway.

  He’d been about to fob his father off with an excuse, but Claire had started mouthing words to him. ‘You should see him.’,

  Perhaps she was keen to palm Stefan off onto someone else or maybe she genuinely believed he should build up a relationship with his parents. All Stefan could say for sure was that Claire was the only reason he’d agreed to see the man.

  Stefan strode into the rooftop bar, immediately spying his father and put his arm out for a handshake. Wearing a relieved expression, James Porter stood up from his bar stool and shook his son’s hand.

  ‘I’m glad you could make it,’ the older man said.

  Stefan raised his eyebrows. ‘You didn’t think I would?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure and, to be truthful, I can’t say I’d have blamed you if you didn’t.’

  ‘Claire told me I should come.’ His father’s mouth fell open and Stefan continued. ‘I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her. She said I’d regret it if I didn’t see you. After all, you are my father.’