Cold Comfort

by Isobel Hart

  “I think you do,” I called him out, taking a big gulp of my wine for courage.

  He paused before answering. “I think I was jealous. You were getting so much attention. Every interview turned into a discussion about you, I couldn’t handle it. Then in the interview when he suggested I was wrapped around your finger – I just felt pissed off. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said what I did. I didn’t mean it.”

  “You hurt me.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Why can’t you handle me getting attention?”

  “I think you’re going to leave me. Won’t need me anymore.”

  “Why would I not need you? I’m far more likely to leave you if you act like a womanising arsehole. Did you fuck any of them?”

  “No. No, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “Did you do anything else with anyone that I should know about?” He hesitated, and my heart broke a little. I felt tears pool in my eyes.

  “I kissed a couple of girls. That’s it. I stopped it from going any further because they meant nothing. You’re everything to me.”

  “So because you were jealous of me getting some attention you went and got off with other women to punish me.”

  He nodded, looking miserable. “I told you I would fuck up. I don’t know how to control this relationship.”

  “Maybe stop trying to control it and start talking to me. Start telling me what you need from me to feel secure, to not need to go off like that with other women. Start respecting me. I don’t know if I can handle this if you can’t find a different way to let me know you’re unhappy with a situation. It was kissing this time, but what will it be next time you don’t like something I do? A quick blowjob, a fuck? I’m not a mug.”

  “I’m struggling with you becoming a celebrity. I want to keep you to myself.”

  “I never asked for any of this. I didn’t want fame. You put me in this position.”

  “That article, it just knocked me sideways. Everything I saw in you was right there. For everyone else to see. All the potential laid out across the page, and I felt like you were slipping away from me.”

  “You pushed me more like,” I responded, indignant now. “I wanted nothing more than to finish my degree and become a music teacher. I still want that. I did the interview for you, because Wayne said it was good for the single, good for the band. The promotion work, the appearances, all for you, because it would help Cold Comfort. I didn’t want or need any of it. And then you have the gall to get pissed with me because people praised me instead of you? I think that’s fairly pathetic. You went and copped off with other women just to hurt me because I’d done well? That’s low. How would you feel if I had done the same?”

  “Devastated,” he whispered. “God, Delilah, I’m so sorry. It was only a kiss. It meant nothing. It was just the cocaine.”

  “The cocaine is a problem too.” I held up my hand as he started to protest. “It’s just recreational,” I said, stealing his line before he could say it. “I know. I’ve heard you say it enough. Tell me, though, how often were you doing it before I arrived on the scene? Every weekend? Every other day? Every night? Be honest with yourself, does that sound recreational to you? It’s moved beyond that. Henry does a line before every appearance now.” His brow furrowed. “If it’s not already a problem it’s going to be soon. I don’t like the man you become when you take it. I don’t want a relationship with that man.” Cat deflated in front of me.

  “But I do want a relationship with this man,” I said, reaching out to take hold of his hand. “I want to go back to the UK and finish college, and I want us to try and make this work. I don’t need the limelight. If giving it up means not losing you, then it’s a sacrifice I’d willingly make. If it makes you that unhappy, then I’d do that for you… for us. But it’s conditional.” He looked up at me, hope visible for the first time in our conversation. “No other women and no cocaine.”

  He let out a long breath. “I can try,” he promised. “For you I will try.”

  I nodded as the waiter brought our plates in and placed them down in front of us. It felt like a fresh start. I just prayed I wasn’t getting my hopes up only to have them dashed again.

  Chapter 28

  Our first test arrived the very next morning when my UK article got picked up in some of the US press. The paparazzi were all over us during our early appearance that day, attention fixed primarily on me, and I could feel Cat becoming more and more tense as the morning went on.

  After lunch the band retreated to the studio to work on their album, while Eddy and I tried to dodge the press. We’d attempted to do the tourist thing and take a trip round Hollywood, but the press had other ideas, and in the end we’d called it a day and headed back to the hotel.

  By quarter past three I was standing in the hospital reception with my guitar. The staff were delighted I’d accepted the request to sing for the kids. I spent more than an hour just meeting some of them, the heartbreakingly visible impact of their illness on their small bodies humbling me and making me thank god for the health I’d been blessed with. They were so happy to meet me, and I felt the least I could do was make the experience one to remember.

  By half past four there was still no sign of Cat, and people were starting to get fidgety. Some of the press had got wind of where I was, and the hospital had given permission for one of them to come inside. “What made you decide to do this, Delilah?” he asked.

  “I was honoured to be asked. If the kids thought it would brighten their day for me to sing, then I was happy to do it.”

  “Where’s Cat? I thought he was coming too.”

  “So did I,” I admitted. “He must have been held up at the studio.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard what Cold Comfort are like when they get in the studio.” He snorted.

  “We need to start the rounds soon,” the nurse who’d shown me around said, shifting uncomfortably at needing to rush me.

  “Sure,” I said, feeling equally awkward. “Well, if you don’t mind it being just me then I’m happy to start.” Everyone nodded. I quickly got my guitar out of the case and sat down on the stool to tune it, trying to control my shaking hands. A small expectant crowd had gathered, and I scanned the faces, hoping to see Cat amongst them. I didn’t. But I did see Hardy. He was near the back, his eyes fixed on me.

  “If you’re ready, then,” the nurse said, and I realised with some embarrassment I’d been staring at him for the last five minutes. He smiled and nodded encouragingly, and I looked down at my guitar, trying to decide what to play.

  “Um,” I began hesitantly, then another look at Hardy made my mind up for me. “So most of you know the single I did with Cold Comfort, ‘Eternity’, but that’s a duet, so I can’t sing that right now because Cat’s not here. If you don’t mind I’d like to sing one of my own. It’s something I wrote when I was going through a hard time. I hope you like it. It’s called ‘One Small Step’.” With that I played my song, for the first time singing the words I’d written so long ago. Singing them to Hardy.

  I’m sorry, it’s too hard for me to stay

  Heard you went with that other girl, so there’s nothing left for us to say

  I’m sorry, I’m too selfish to just wait

  And hope that maybe you’ll wake up and believe in our fate

  My voice was strong and confident as I sang the words. It was liberating, and as I sang the final refrain I sought Hardy out and sang directly to him:

  So I took a step, and then one more

  I reached for the strength and I found the door

  Because one small step away from you

  Was one small step towards him too.

  I finished, feeling triumphant. It was emancipating to finally tell him how I’d felt all those months ago. All those times I’d been unable to sing the lyrics I realised now had been because I’d been waiting for this moment. The moment when I could tell him to his face.

  The applause when it came actually startled me.
Suddenly I was thrust back into the moment, aware of the sea of faces smiling and clapping and looking at me with delight. I lost count of the people who congratulated me on the performance, as the photographer clicked away beside me.

  “Who was it, Delilah?” a reporter asked. “Who broke your heart?” I swung my head to find one of the paparazzi beside me.

  “Excuse me,” I said, pushing to get through the crowd.

  “Was it Cat?”

  “What? No!”

  “Then how does it feel to have it happening again?” he called. “He’s with Tiff Johnson now when he’s meant to be here with you. Have you seen the pictures on Twitter? How does that make you feel?” At the words my face crumbled, my vision blurred and I felt lost and alone in a sea of strangers. I pushed blindly forward as the photographer snapped his pictures all the while. Panic rose in me, until a strong arm wrapped around my shoulders and steered me forward. I pressed my head into the shoulder of my saviour until I heard a door close, the noise suddenly diminished, and finally we were alone. I looked up and was enveloped by Hardy’s warm chocolate gaze. Watching warily as he wiped the tears from my cheeks with the pad of his thumb, I used the moments to store the small changes that had occurred in the time since we’d last been together like this. Small lines around his forehead and spidering around his eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” I finally asked.

  “My family, my mother, donated this children’s wing to the hospital. I was the one who suggested you might be willing to do this.”

  “You arranged this? You set me up because you wanted to see me? You exploited sick kids just to get some time with me?”

  “No, I took a chance that the big-hearted girl I knew would be willing to give her time for nothing to a bunch of sick kids who may not have much longer on this earth. I did it for them, but I won’t deny I hoped to see you too.”

  “Well, now you have. Did you like the song? I wrote it just for you.”

  “The song was beautiful, but it’s one of the saddest I think I’ve ever heard. I think it actually broke my heart.”

  “I know the feeling,” I said, sobbing. He pulled me into his arms and hugged me, and I let him until my sobs had calmed, my breathing approaching something resembling normal again. Then I pulled back and looked at him. “I shouldn’t be here… with you.”

  “Look, have a coffee with me. Just one coffee. Let me talk to you for ten minutes. Nothing else; coffee and a conversation. Please, Delilah.” There was a note of desperation in his voice. I hesitated, then looked at my phone – there were no messages from Cat. I opened my Twitter app and sure enough in Cat’s feed there were pictures of the band mid-party in the studio. I recognised all the signs. Tiff was virtually in Cat’s lap in most of the pictures. His eyes were glazed. Less than twelve hours after promising me he’d try, he’d fallen off the wagon. And with her too.

  I sent him a text; All deals are off. Hope she/it was worth it. Then I turned off my phone and swivelled to look at Hardy. “Coffee, that’s all. You’ve got ten minutes.” His face lit up.

  He led me out the office we’d been hiding in, the crowd having finally dispersed, and then down some stairs until we arrived in a car park. His car was a black Audi R8. “You got your trust fund, then?”

  “I got what I was entitled to. For putting up with that bastard as my father, and surviving despite an almost continually absent mother. Since then I’ve nearly trebled it,” he said as he opened the door and waited for me to climb in.

  “So soon… How?” I asked, curious.

  “I’m a venture capitalist. I invest in other people’s ideas, help them make their dreams a reality. Turns out I’m rather good at spotting potential. Well, you should know. You were my first.”

  “You didn’t make any money out of me,” I scoffed as he sped out of the car park.

  “No, but I saw the potential, bought you the guitar.” He grinned at me. “The rest, as they say, is history.” I turned to look out the window, noting the shops and many coffee shops we had already passed.

  “Where are we going? You’re passing all the coffee shops.”

  “There’s a place I like up in the Hills. I wanted to show it to you. They do the best coffee I’ve ever had.”

  “The Hills? That’s hardly a ten-minute coffee. You’re pushing your luck.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I promise it will be worth it.” I sat back in the seat and watched the scenery as we drove. “You were amazing earlier,” Hardy suddenly said. “Your voice is even better than I remember it, and that song. God, I don’t have words…”

  “Thank you. I’ve never performed it before. You inspired me.”

  “I’m so sorry you were ever made to feel like that. … I’m sorry I made you feel like that.” He turned the car into a driveway, pulling through some immense wrought iron gates.

  “What is this place? A hotel?” I asked as we pulled up in front of a massive house.

  “A house. My house.” My head swivelled to look at him.

  “Your house? What the hell, Hardy! Take me home right now.”

  “I will,” he soothed, “I promise. It’ll just be coffee – good coffee – and then I’ll take you home. If we’d gone anywhere public we’d have been disturbed. You’re too well known right now. I imagine after today’s shenanigans you’re all over the entertainment news. I’ve waited so long to talk to you I didn’t want anyone to disturb us. I’m sorry, I was being selfish. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, putting his hands out as I leaned my back against the door, trying to move as far away from him as I was able. “Just coffee, I promise.” I looked at him and saw nothing that led me to believe he was lying, then wondered if that was what all murder victims thought as they wandered into the murderer’s lair.

  “You are scaring me,” I admitted.

  “Call your friend – Eddy, is it? Tell him where you are. I’ll give you the address.”

  “Okay,” I nodded slowly. I switched my phone on, ignoring the texts and missed calls from Cat that started to flood my phone, and called Eddy.

  “Delilah, oh my god where are you? I saw the footage from the hospital… are you okay? Where are you?”

  “I’m with a friend. I’m going to have coffee, but I’m going to give you the address so you don’t worry about me.” I didn’t add it was so that I didn’t worry about me either.

  “What friend? What’s the address?” I repeated the details after Hardy said them to me and could hear Eddy scribbling them down. “Who is it, Delilah? Cat’s been going out his mind. He lost it after he got your text.”

  “Well, he should have done what he said he would, then, shouldn’t he? Maybe he should have spent a bit more time with me and a little less with Tiff Johnson. I’ll be back in about an hour,” I promised. “Just don’t give the address to Cat. Promise me,” I added when Eddy was initially silent.

  “I promise,” he breathed. “Are you with him? Is he here? Are you really okay?” he asked, sounding worried now.

  “I’m okay. I’ll be back in an hour. I love you.”

  “I love you too, D. Look after yourself.”

  “I will,” I promised.

  I disconnected the phone and then turned back to look at Hardy. “You’d better get going. You’re on the clock.” He leaped out of the car and ran round to my door.

  “Walk round the side there,” he said, pointing at the side of the building. “There’s a patio with an amazing view. Make yourself comfortable while I organise the coffee.” He sprinted off indoors, while I made my way to where he’d pointed. As I rounded the corner I literally gasped at the view. An infinity pool led away to the rolling hills beyond.

  I was still standing staring at the spectacle in front of me when Hardy emerged with a tray of coffee. “Do you like it?” he asked, placing the tray on the patio table and coming to stand beside me.

  “How could I not? It’s incredible.”

  “Good.” He looked pleased with himself. “Still milk no sugar?”
he asked, pouring us each a cup of filter coffee.

  “Yes, thank you.” I sat down opposite, taking my cup when he passed it to me. “So, you wanted to talk?”

  “I wanted to explain. I’ve planned for so long what I would say when I had a chance, but now you’re here, in front of me, I find myself oddly speechless.”

  “Well, we can just drink our coffee. There’s not much to say, really. Your father bought and paid for my mother. You wanted to do the same for me. In the meantime, while I was waiting for you, you were off doing whatever with Clarissa…” I trailed off.

  “Is that what he told you?” He looked angry now. “He paid for your mother’s favours, that much is certainly true. I tried to persuade her once, after you and I got together that first time, to leave him… to take you away. But she wouldn’t. I even offered to repay her debts to him, but she said she didn’t want to be beholden to yet another man, or let you get caught up in what she thought of as her mess.” That sounded like my Mama. “But I never, never suggested I would use you that way. Jesus, Delilah, how could you think that of me?”

  “Your father said it outright. Suggested he might renege on the deal and keep me for himself because he liked the look of me. Mama was scared for me, and that’s why I ran. I couldn’t risk it – I didn’t know what to believe.”

  “I swear to you, Delilah, on my life, on my mother’s life, I wanted nothing more than to love you.”

  “Love me? What about Clarissa? And whoever else. All those times you couldn’t come to the UK for the summer, but you could hang out with her… and the others. I remember the sorts of things people got up to at those parties. You asked me to wait for you, and I did. Turned out waiting was a one-way thing.”

  “Delilah, if I could change anything it would be some of those choices I made then. I was so stupid. Young and stupid. I risked the one thing I really cared about for some instant gratification. I won’t make excuses for what I did, but I never had full intercourse with another woman in the time we were together. In my head that meant I was faithful to you.”

  “Not in mine,” I said, letting him see exactly how hurt I was.