The mention of his name made me stiffen, but Lucy didn’t seem to notice. ‘He didn’t get back to me at all,’ she went on. ‘Bit rude.’
‘He’s out of the country,’ I said, as casually as I could.
She turned to face me, but didn’t say anything.
We were into the second verse of ‘Wild Horses’. It really was a pretty song.
Gavin was nursing a drink a couple of tables over. He was wearing jeans and trainers, but in his defence they were his smartest jeans and his cleanest trainers. The white soles looked showroom clean.
When I turned back to Lucy, she was looking at him and frowning.
Poor Gav. Lucy really wasn’t interested. I waited for her to comment on something he’d done that had annoyed her, but instead, she took the wine glass out of my hand, downed it, then strode over to Gavin.
I couldn’t hear what she said to him, but I didn’t need to. The look of amazement on Gav’s face told me everything. She pulled him to his feet, walked him to the dance floor and wrapped her arms around his neck. Gav’s expression had meanwhile morphed from abject disbelief to pure joy. He gingerly placed his hands around her waist, and the two of them started swaying to the music.
If I hadn’t witnessed the entire thing with my own eyes, I’d have never believed it. I felt ridiculously proud, like a mother hen watching her hatchlings find their feet.
When the song ended, and the band launched into their own material, Gav and Lucy stayed on the dance floor. They might not have been locked in an embrace any longer, but their shoulders and hips were angled towards each other even if their heads were turned towards the band.
After a quarter of an hour, as the set was coming to an end, I went to the corner of the room to ready the next playlist. But lead singer Sienna seemed to have other ideas.
‘And now, we’ve got a very special treat for you,’ she shouted over the noise of the crowd. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Miss Marcie Tyler.’
I froze.
What did she just say?
A roar went up from the assembled guests as a tall figure in a long black dress climbed onto the stage from the opposite side.
Jesus. It was really her. Marcie Tyler singing at my brother’s wedding.
She beamed at the audience. ‘What a good-looking bunch you are.’ She pointed at Pete. ‘Especially you, young man, but I gather you’re taken.’
Pete went red and everyone laughed.
‘Thank you for inviting me,’ she went on. ‘Now, let’s stop talking and crack on. I hear this one’s a favourite of the bride.’
Alice pumped one delicate fist in the air. I smiled – I’d make a rock chick of her yet.
The drummer counted four beats with his sticks and then the band launched into ‘It’s Too Late for Love’.
This was unreal.
Alice tore her attention from the stage and whipped her head towards me. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed.
I started to nod, but stopped myself. I couldn’t accept credit – Marcie’s appearance had nothing to do with me. Had it been Lucy, Gav or Mike?
That didn’t feel right either. None of them would have been able to keep it secret long enough, especially with the amount of wine they’d necked.
I tried to concentrate on the music. Marcie’s voice soared over the guitars; sweet and controlled, but always a hair’s breadth from running wild and breaking free. It’s why I always held my breath when I listened to her. And here she was, singing a few feet from me. Her shoeless feet planted on the makeshift stage, her raven hair shining like vinyl.
But the thought kept circling back, catching like a hangnail – who had pulled off the impossible and brought her here?
Every pair of eyes was on Marcie, but I suddenly had the eeriest feeling that someone was staring at me.
I turned away from the stage and scanned the edge of the room. A man in a tuxedo was walking towards me.
My heart almost stopped.
I knew that gait; that fluid movement. I would have known it anywhere.
It was Nick.
Hope fluttered in my chest.
He’d come.
The music receded and all I could hear was my pulse beating in my ears.
I blinked twice, terrified that he was a product of too much champagne. But he was still there when I opened my eyes again.
My heart knocked against my ribs and I found myself walking towards him, as if drawn by a string.
‘Oh my God,’ I breathed. ‘You’re here. And you brought Marcie.’
He nodded. ‘Yeah, I was staying with friends in Paris, but then I had a couple of interesting phone calls. One was from Lucy.’
‘And the other one?’
‘The other one confused me.’
‘Will you let me explain?’
He nodded and I closed my eyes. I had so much to tell him. So many feelings to express. But where to start?
I took a deep breath. ‘I know you’re leaving the country and that you and Marcie have a sort of thing.’
He grabbed my forearm. ‘Hang on a sec. What do you mean, “a sort of thing”?’
His hand was warm and his skin unbearably soft; I had to lower my gaze to the parquet floor. ‘I saw you,’ I whispered.
He tipped my chin up and forced me to look at him. ‘Zoë, what are you talking about?’
I swallowed. ‘You care about her – Marcie, I mean.’
‘I do.’
My heart sank, but I forced out a smile. ‘She’s a hell of a woman, so who can blame you?’
He took hold of my hand, his long fingers slotting around mine like they belonged there. ‘You’re right, I do care about Marcie. It wasn’t always the case, but we’ve rebuilt our relationship over the last few years.’
The last few years? ‘I don’t understand.’
He gripped both my hands tighter. ‘She’s my mother.’
‘Wh-what . . .?’
I must have blacked out for a moment, or been sucked into a parallel universe.
Had I heard him right?
‘Marcie is your mother?’
He nodded. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but only a handful of people know. The pregnancy was kept secret. She spent those months in the foothills of the Alps in Italy, far from the cameras, and then she left me with my father.’
‘Was Benedict your father?’
He shook his head. ‘My father is Italian. He fell in love with Marcie, but had to marry someone else.’ He looked uncomfortable and I didn’t want to ask any more questions. Then very quietly he added: ‘He came from the sort of family who considered rock stars unsuitable wives.’
A memory was stirring in my head. ‘Oh my God, your dad’s the bald count!’
He half frowned, half smiled. ‘How on earth do you know about him?’
‘When I went to Marcie’s house she mentioned she’d been given this amazing Jacobean chest by an Italian count.’
Now Nick looked alarmed. ‘Really?’
‘Not in relation to you, of course.’ We were getting sidetracked. ‘How often did you see Marcie when you were growing up?’
‘I only found out who my real mother was when I was sixteen.’
‘Oh my goodness.’
‘Yeah, that was my reaction too. With a bit more teenage angst and creative swearing. I didn’t want to know her, but I’d always been drawn to the music industry. I promised myself I would make it without her help, so I changed my name to Jones so no one would link me to either of my parents. Once I’d established myself at Pinnacle, she got in touch and asked me to help her out in London. Guess it was the right decision. It led me to you.’
He smiled and my knees buckled. ‘Oh God, I’ve been such an idiot.’
‘Like the Indian from Othello?’
I groaned. ‘Please say you deleted that message as soon as you heard it.’
He smiled. ‘Not a chance.’
‘Okay, but let me have another try at telling you how I fee
l.’
He pointed to the stage. ‘Don’t you want to see Marcie’s first performance in nine and a half years?’
‘No, I don’t,’ I said. ‘Because that’s not the thing that’s making me shake with joy right now.’
His voice was low. ‘Then what is?’
I clenched and unclenched my hands. ‘You’re the reason, Nick.’ I swallowed. ‘I want to cringe when I think of how I’ve treated you. I was rude, I snapped at you, I mocked you, but still you kept coming back. I was terrified of my feelings, so I buried them as deep as I could. I let the past rule my life and I was too scared to question what I needed to make me happy.’
A restless, nervous energy had taken hold and I barely had enough breath to get the words out.
‘But I know now, Nick. It’s been in front of me all this time. From the moment you accosted me in that cloakroom. I’m sorry it’s taken me this long – and God knows I don’t deserve you – but if you still want me, here I am.’
His eyes flicked away from me, and for a moment I thought he was going to tell me that we’d got our wires crossed, that he didn’t feel that way about me. I held my breath.
‘That was quite a speech.’
‘I mean every word.’
He nodded. ‘You’ve put me in a bit of a predicament.’
Shit. I was right. He didn’t feel the same way.
I swallowed. ‘I’m a big girl, just tell it to me straight.’
He held my gaze and the heat in his eyes made my heart stop. ‘You have no idea how much I want you right now.’
Every nerve in my body crackled. My dress felt too tight and the three inches between our bodies felt like an ocean. Sweet Jesus. I was going to die.
‘So my predicament is this,’ he continued, ‘there’s a priest dressed in black with a long grey beard who’s been staring at us this whole time.’
Why was he talking about Father Michalis?
Nick wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me tight against his body. ‘So, if you get excommunicated, I take full responsibility.’
‘For what?’
‘For this,’ he said, bringing his lips to mine.
Everything went still and all I could feel was his mouth against mine.
When he broke contact I shivered. ‘It’ll take more than that to get me excommunicated.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that a challenge?’
I nodded and his eyes darkened.
His arms circled my body and he wrenched me closer. Then he bent his head to mine again and the touch of his lips was like fire.
Uh-oh. My immortal soul was damned.
But it was going to be worth it.
34
I Feel the Earth Move
Two months later
‘God, I can’t believe you’re dating a publicist,’ said Lucy as she topped up both our glasses. About thirty of us were crammed in the Re:Sound office with wine and a portable karaoke machine – guess whose idea that was? – to celebrate record sales and our new secure future.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, offended. Swap the word ‘publicist’ for ‘Tory’ and you’d get an idea of her tone.
‘You always said publicists were dull.’
‘I’ve had my horizons broadened.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh aye, is that what the oldies call it?’
Jesus, since when did thirty-four count as old? ‘When you first saw Nick you called him sexy AF.’
‘Yeah, but hotness isn’t everything. Look at Gavin.’
‘I do look at Gavin. Every day. He sits opposite me.’
They’d been seeing each other for a couple of months and somehow Lucy – ten years my junior and never one to miss an opportunity to remind me – had now turned into a relationship expert. I didn’t really mind, though. My mood these days was pretty invincible, and not only because of a certain sexy AF publicist.
Our September issue had sold out in two days, and the Marcie interview had been syndicated around the world, producing some healthy bonus income. Even the Hands Down issue – which included the last interview with all five members – had become a collector’s edition. It had featured on both the BBC and Sky News to illustrate the break-up of the band. And on top of everything else, we had the first performance of the band as a four-piece – thanks to some impressive phone footage that Gav had shot when they’d come to sing for Lucy’s birthday.
Jonny’s solo career was still trying to get off the ground, but Hands Down as a four-piece were going from strength to strength. They’d been asked to sing the next Bond theme – a proper rabbit-out-of-a-hat masterstroke from Nick, resulting in him being able to keep his job in London.
Everyone around me looked happy. Gavin’s shoulders were permanently relaxed instead of looped around his ears, and I’d even caught him smiling to himself when he thought no one was looking. Mike had kicked his vaping habit and shed ten years. A two-week family holiday to the Algarve had also endowed him with a Jeff Goldblum tan and an expensive new golf habit.
I’d suggested we make tonight’s party optional fancy dress – which meant only three people had bothered. Rob had brought along a pair of bongo drums and announced he was Matthew McConaughey, while Gavin had slapped on a pirate’s hat and taped a clothes hanger to his cuff as a makeshift hook-hand. In comparison, my punk rocker’s outfit looked like I’d spent days on it: ripped tights under denim shorts and DMs, backcombed hair and black lipstick.
Simon was here, too. He’d come straight from work in his civvies and couldn’t understand why Gavin had greeted him with, ‘Gareth Southgate, cool.’ I’d had to explain it was because he was wearing a waistcoat; he’d never really followed football.
‘How’s the training going?’
Simon nodded. ‘Really well. I’m going for a run after this.’
I was impressed. ‘Your third this week – and it’s only Thursday.’
After his hospital scare, Simon had embraced a healthier lifestyle and was training for the London Marathon. I’d never seen him so much as run for a bus, but his new exercise regime seemed to make him happy. He certainly seemed calmer and more grounded than he’d been when he’d first arrived in London all those weeks ago.
He leant over and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Right. I’m off, Frixie. Catch you at Pilates.’
He’d joined Alice’s studio and the two of us went together once a week. There was a moment when I’d worried he’d go full Eat Pray Love on me and give up caffeine, carbs and capitalism, but his love of Starbucks, steak sandwiches and stock markets kept him on the right side of that particular line.
I watched him go and thanked my lucky stars that our friendship had weathered our weird summer. After I’d got together with Nick, I’d been concerned that Simon would fall back into a dysfunctional relationship with Jess, but he’d been surprisingly lucid about the importance of staying single.
I’d even had good news from Jess herself. A couple of weeks after my brother’s wedding, she rang and asked me to set up a meeting with Marcie. They spoke on the phone a couple of times, then Marcie invited Jess to her Oxfordshire estate. The two women spent a weekend together, which culminated in Jessica agreeing to check into rehab, finally understanding that she needed treatment for her performance anxieties and reliance on drugs and alcohol. Marcie had insisted on picking up the tab and both of them seemed to find a sense of peace in the arrangement.
Peals of laughter erupted by the door. Someone new had arrived and I craned my neck to get a better view. Whoever he was, he was wearing a clingy electric-blue shirt and low-slung leather trousers held up by a rhinestone belt and witchcraft. From his height and gait, it had to be Nick, but I could only see the back of his head. He appeared to be wearing a long black wig, made of hair that you’d usually find blocking your plughole. Good God, it was shiny. The fluorescent tube lighting bouncing off it made my eyes hurt.
Then he turned round and it was like an orchestra had struck up.
The top three buttons of
his shirt were undone, exposing a slash of golden skin and an oversized crucifix. Strands of hair were falling into eyes that were ringed with jet-black eyeliner. He should have looked ridiculous, but he didn’t.
Sexy AF didn’t come close to covering it.
I swallowed as he walked towards me. His eyes were spellbinding. The black kohl brought out all the different shades of green in them. I was almost too embarrassed to look.
This was crazy. I’d had sex with the man. Multiple times.
He had a question on his lips. Whatever he was about to ask me, the answer would be YES.
Join the Flat Earth movement? Sure.
Prove the moon landings were faked? No problem.
Front a Liberty X cover band? Fit me up for a headset mic.
Before he could reach me, Lucy was standing between us.
‘Are we going to start this karaoke or what?’
I refocused on her and tried to shake off my lust fog.
‘Um, sure. Why don’t you go first?’
Nick reached my side and snaked his arm around my waist. He nodded at Lucy, who stared at him, open-mouthed. How had she only just noticed him?
‘Are you okay, Lucy?’ he asked.
She nodded, her mouth still not fully closed. ‘You look like a rock star.’
Well, it was an improvement on her ‘dull publicist’ assessment from earlier.
When neither of us answered, she continued, ‘Seriously, Nick. Do you have rock star DNA or something?’
I froze and felt Nick stiffen too. I hadn’t told a soul who his mother was. The only other person who knew about Marcie was Justin, Patrick’s partner. And that was enough, for now.
Nick recovered first. ‘I went through a glam rock phase growing up. But doesn’t everyone?’
Lucy seemed satisfied with his response. Not that she would have believed him if he’d told her the truth.
‘Why don’t you pick the first song?’ He told her. ‘I’ll play back-up bongo drums.’
Lucy skipped to the karaoke machine, which was set up in the corner on top of the photocopier.
Nick leant forward and whispered in my ear. ‘You look sensational in that outfit.’
Love Songs for Sceptics Page 33
