by Mandy Baggot
This show was getting real. She was going to have parents and grandparents, aunts, uncles, the diocese and Susan Clark, all here, watching, committing the scenes to video for uploading to social media. Her show. Her script. Mainly Ray’s lyrics. Palpitations pounded her chest.
‘We haven’t got a song about Candy Crush yet either,’ Jayden called.
‘My mum was playing it again last night,’ Rashid answered. ‘She’s like some super-gamer on that app.’
‘Mine too,’ Jayden agreed.
‘Allsort?’ Dennis asked, offering Emily his bag.
She shook her head as her phone bleeped the arrival of a text message.
‘The cavalry?’ Dennis said, trying to look over at her screen. ‘Someone who can tinkle your ivories?’
It was from Jonah.
Hiya! Change of plan for the Albert Hall show tonight. Allan’s got to stay later at work and give a pep-talk to his new minions. Meet you at the usual entrance at 7 p.m. Xx
The Christmas concert at the Albert Hall. The one thing that had kept her going through this week while she pretended not to wait for Ray to walk through her front door, if only to pick up his things. Usually the three of them, plus Simon, would have an early dinner, somewhere swish near the venue and get slightly fuzzy on mulled wine. Now it would be a Mug Shot meal and tonic water and a cab or the Tube on her own…
‘Right, Year Six, let’s have you all in the stable now,’ Emily ordered with a lot more confidence than she felt.
Sixty-One
Crowland Terrace, Canonbury, Islington
Why, oh why did inspiration have to strike when she needed to get ready? In her bedroom, half inside a black dress swirled with gold thread, hair untamed, fringe in her eyes, Emily put the pen between her lips like it was an already gnawed at chicken wing and started the music on her phone again. She had a whole verse of the adapted words to ‘Shallow’ that she’d loosely entitled ‘In the Stable’. Now she was getting flooded with words for the chorus. Who knew that in a few weeks she would have become almost adept at song-composition? It was extraordinary.
And then, above the strains of Lady Gaga coming from the phone speaker, she heard the sound of her front door opening. Jonah? Allan had managed to finish work earlier after all? She paused the song and shoved her other arm into the dress, hauling the fabric up and over her shoulder. If they wanted to go out to dinner now, when she’d already eaten, not a Mug Shot but a best-before-yesterday panini and a Peperami, she was going to be irritated.
‘Hello? Jonah?’ She put her feet into lovely shoes she’d found one day in Brixton – black crocodile print with a gold block on the toes – and picked up her hairbrush. She’d planned to pin it up, but she wasn’t going to have time for that. And no sound was forthcoming from the entrance. It had sounded like an unforced entrance, hadn’t it? Not a break-in. She stilled then, gripping the hairbrush tight. Should she stay here? Wait for whatever was going to happen next? Or…
She lost her breath when a shadow was cast in the doorway. A vision in black tie attire. Ray was standing there, just a few metres away from her, never having looked more gorgeous. There were already tears in her eyes, but she took him in anew. His height, his broad frame, the faint shadow of beard over his jawline, those exquisite eyes…
‘Hey,’ he greeted.
Hey. Simple. Absolutely the Ray she knew. Emily swallowed, feeling suddenly all kinds of self-conscious and not really knowing why. She hadn’t expected him. She had always expected him?
‘Hello,’ she answered. ‘I thought you were Jonah. Or Allan. Or…’ She was running out of people who had keys to her flat. She might be soon forced to say something sensible. ‘Have you come for your things?’ That wasn’t anything like what she wanted to say. She had envisaged this scenario a million times over between Ray’s last text and Idris Elba…
‘No,’ he said, taking a step closer to her. ‘I’ve come for you.’
Her heartrate picked up as he drew nearer still. She didn’t know what to say at all now.
‘If it’s not too late,’ Ray continued. ‘If I haven’t fucked it up. If you haven’t come to the conclusion that I’m actually as weak and pathetic as my last message to you was. Which I definitely am by the way, but I’m hoping I can make a change with that, you know, going forward.’
He was standing right opposite her now, barely room to swing a piece of tinsel between them. Emily hadn’t ever thought she would be this close to him again.
‘Damn, that sounded terrible.’ He sighed.
‘I don’t think you’re weak,’ Emily said boldly. ‘I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.’ A sob left her throat before she could stop it. ‘What you’ve been through…’
‘Sshh,’ Ray begged, reaching out and touching her hair. ‘I want to tell you about it.’ He paused as if deliberating what to say next. ‘I want to tell you everything but… we have a Christmas extravaganza to get to.’
Emily let out a laugh. Ray had said ‘extravaganza’ in the tone of Allan and she knew then that her two friends had somehow been involved in Ray being here. For the moment she didn’t care how that had occurred, she was simply glad he was here.
‘I know I don’t deserve it but… will you come to the Christmas show with me?’ Ray asked her softly, his fingers grazing her jawline.
‘Give me a minute,’ she said, her eyes mirroring his. ‘Is this Ray Stone, the self-confessed Grinch, asking me to go to the big band Christmas at the Albert Hall?’
He put his hand to his chest and breathed deeply. ‘You did just say I was brave,’ Ray reminded.
Emily laughed. ‘I absolutely did.’ She slipped her arms around his waist, drawing him towards her. ‘And I meant every word.’ She stilled in his arms, relishing being close to him again.
He brushed his lips against her cheek and she closed her eyes, the feather-light touch gentle, like a whisper of a promise. And then Ray stepped back, taking both her hands in his.
‘Are you ready?’ he asked. ‘I hear we’ve got seats right under where they release the fake snow at the end.’
Emily smiled. ‘I’m ready.’
Sixty-Two
The Albert Hall
‘Well, this has never happened before,’ Allan announced as they waited outside the iconic building to show their tickets and be searched by security.
‘I’m really, really sorry,’ Ray answered, putting his arm around Emily and shielding her from the cold wind that was curling around the perimeter of the building.
He was apologising because this was all his fault. They had pretty much been followed by photographers since they had left Emily’s apartment and now, as they waited to get into the hall, more journalists had arrived and there was snapping of pictures and questions he was doing his very best to ignore. If they didn’t get inside soon he was considering walking to the front and asking for a little VIP assistance, something he ordinarily hated doing.
‘Do you think we’ll be on the News at Ten?’ Allan asked, every statement he made being accompanied by a pout to whoever’s camera was trained on them at the time.
‘I really hope not,’ Ray said, moving forward as the queue surged a little.
‘It’s OK,’ Emily whispered to him. ‘You don’t have to worry about me.’
He was worrying about her. She was the only person he was really worried about, because she hadn’t asked for any of this attention and here she was, in the absolute thick of it. This was what he was going to bring to her life. Celebrity chaos. Was that fair? He brushed the thought away and looked to the Grade I listed building all lit up, its red bricks a-glow, the one star at the top of the Christmas tree they had walked past still visible. What wasn’t fair was even now he had told the truth it was still no better for him. The journalists were still here. Still wanting a story.
‘Ray, have you spoken to Ida about the allegations?’ a reporter called.
He closed his eyes and wished them all away. It was best not to say anything at all. I
f he gave any answer it could be turned against him. ‘Do they have popcorn at these things?’ he asked the group.
‘Ice cream,’ Allan answered. ‘Gorgeous ice cream. And I know you’re thinking, baby, it’s a little cold outside for ice cream, but believe me, under all those lights, next to all those people singing and swaying and getting festive, you’re going to want a vanilla tub in the interval.’
‘Great,’ Ray said with a nod.
‘And the other good news is,’ Jonah began. ‘I’m sure none of these reporters have tickets to the show.’
‘Let’s hope not,’ he answered.
*
Emily squeezed Ray’s hand as they found their seats about ten rows back from where the band were going to be playing. She loved coming to the Albert Hall. It was such a magnificent building with its plush red seats and ornate décor curling round its circular interior. The swags and bows in front of the boxes and the arches around the gallery all made it look like they had transported into an era long ago. It was grand and majestic and decked out with full-on Christmas lights. Emily really thought it was more spectacular than anywhere else.
‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’ Emily breathed, her eyes still tracking around the hall, looking at every little thing, soaking up every trace of its ambience.
‘It’s a beautiful building,’ Ray admitted. ‘And it has great acoustics.’
‘Have you played here?’ Emily asked suddenly.
‘God, no,’ Ray said straightaway, shaking his head. ‘No, you have to be pretty special to get a gig here.’
‘Well,’ Emily said. ‘One day.’
‘Yeah,’ Ray answered. ‘Maybe one day.’ He smiled at her. ‘Listen, Emily, there is something I need to tell you, before the show.’
‘I thought we were going to talk later,’ she reminded.
‘Yeah, I know,’ he said. ‘We are. It’s just…’
She didn’t know what he was going to say now. What could it be that it couldn’t wait just for a few hours? Surely they deserved to put the world on hold for a while and regroup, indulging in the Rat Pack’s Christmas finest.
‘The press outside,’ Ray began.
‘I told you. It’s OK,’ Emily reassured. ‘I get it. It’s part of your life and there’s nothing you can do about it. If it’s a choice between you being here with them outside and you not being here at all then…’
‘I know,’ he interrupted. ‘I get that. I appreciate you saying that but… the thing is…’ He swallowed before carrying on. ‘A newspaper has a photo of us, us on London Bridge… you know, when we…’
He didn’t even need to say the word ‘kissed’, because Emily was already reliving every single sexy second of it. Wrapped up in that magical, spine-tingling moment, she hadn’t thought about who could be watching. Hadn’t cared. She nodded her head now. ‘OK.’
‘OK?’ Ray asked her. ‘Because the way I’m splashed over everything at the moment they’re going to use it for something at some time.’ He sighed. ‘And although I’ve tried my best to keep it from being out there, there’s only so much I can do.’
‘You tried to keep it from being printed?’ Emily asked him. The seats were filling up now, the audience filing in and getting ready for the start of the show. A gentle Christmas instrumental was echoing around the concert hall.
‘Yeah,’ Ray answered. ‘I didn’t want any of my flack being directed at you. And… I didn’t want Ida to know you either.’ He stopped talking then, an unbearably sad expression on his face. ‘She’s with her mum now. She’s gone up to Leeds. Apparently, she’s got a place in a facility up there for assessment.’
‘That’s good.’
Emily didn’t know what else to say, so instead she slipped her hand into his and held on tight. ‘Have you seen this picture of us on London Bridge?’
‘Yeah,’ Ray answered. ‘Deborah showed it to me. I think the fact she slept with the editor at college one time is the only thing that’s stopping it from being published.’
‘And how do I look?’ Emily asked. ‘Front page material or just worthy of the tiniest of thumbnails?’
Ray squeezed her hand. ‘Full colour supplement, Miss Parker. Without a doubt.’
‘Good,’ Emily answered. ‘Then I’m sure my mother will absolutely love it.’
Sixty-Three
MP Free Studio, Islington
‘Oh, wasn’t it amazing?’ Emily exclaimed as Ray opened the door of the building and they stepped in out of the cold. ‘All those instruments! Those Christmas songs! Saxophones and trumpets and the over enthusiastic conductor. And don’t think I didn’t notice you singing along, Ray Stone.’
Ray smiled at her, shrugging off his coat and unfastening his bow tie. He hadn’t sung aloud, but he had mouthed the words. He couldn’t remember the last time he had ever sung along to a festive song. But in that arena, it had been hard not to get wrapped up in the moment when thousands of others all around were high on the heady atmosphere of the season. Plus, there had been Christmas trees and reindeers and every light show imaginable, all culminating in an outpouring of synthetic snow from the ceiling of the magnificent hall. Allan and Jonah had been in fine voice throughout the entire performance and had sung most of the way to the Tube station until they split to head home. Under the influence of two vanilla ice creams, Emily had told him that she really needed a piano and, apart from sneaking onto the stage at the Albert Hall and commandeering theirs, the studio was the best closest option.
‘Come on,’ Emily said as Ray opened the door to Studio Two, his favourite. ‘Admit it. You enjoyed it tonight.’
He flicked on the lights, glad no one was here, and smiled at her. ‘It was fantastic,’ he admitted. ‘I do actually feel a little festive.’ He whispered. ‘But don’t tell anyone.’
She laughed. ‘That’s good.’ She stepped in after him and began gazing around at his workspace. ‘Because I need your help finishing my new song.’
‘Have you even started it?’ Ray asked, throwing his coat down on the sofa.
‘Yes, I have actually!’
‘Does it have the words “cook” and “book” in it?’
Emily’s mouth dropped open. ‘So cheeky! That was my very first tentative step into songwriting.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Ray apologised. ‘Let’s hear it.’
‘Can I have my pianist?’ she asked.
He looked at the sleek black grand piano, its stool a place where he had felt so comfortable for so long now. Swallowing, he took it in afresh, its body gleaming under the studio lights. Was he going to come through this operation OK? Would he still be able to reach those notes he was famous for? Or was this the end of the road, the time where Sam Smith really did takeover all the airplay and stadium tours…
He shook himself and strode forward. He had to live for the moment. That was what life was about. ‘Come and sit with me.’ He pulled at the leather seat and sat down, beckoning Emily to join him. And then he began to play, something he had been working on before this current nightmare had started.
‘The last time I sat on a piano stool with you, you made me sing in front of a bar full of people,’ Emily reminded, brushing hands over the front of her dress then plumping down next to him.
‘I remember,’ Ray replied, playing quietly, but looking at her, and not the keys his hands were caressing. ‘It was the most intimate public moment of my life.’
‘It was…’ Emily began.
He was holding his breath now, wondering what she was going to say. What did he want it to have meant to her?
She sighed, deeply. ‘It was at that moment I realised I was falling for you.’
Her eyes met with his and suddenly his fingers weren’t finding all the right notes now. One finger was simply pressing down on middle C, over and over again. Oh, so slowly, slower still, until he stopped.
‘Ray,’ Emily started.
‘Wait,’ he breathed, taking his hands off the keyboard and turning a little so they were almost facing each
other. ‘There’s one more thing I have to get out there. About what I said in that message I sent you.’ He had rehearsed this in his mind a hundred times today. Be honest. Say the words. The truth can’t ever really hurt you.
‘What is it?’ Emily wanted to know, her beautiful eyes studying him. ‘You can tell me anything. I want you to know that, now more than ever.’
But it still felt uncomfortable inside of him. Because no one knew how it was going to turn out. He took her hands in his. ‘The reason I said I couldn’t play with you for the show… the reason I was going to get another pianist… is because… coming up…’ He took a slow breath. ‘For a while… I’m not going to be able to sing… at all.’
His throat was aching with the stress of this conversation and he desperately wanted to clear it… which Dr Crichton had all but banned. He paused, taking another breath, before carrying on.
‘I’ve got to have an operation.’ He quickened his pace. ‘Basically, my vocal cords are pretty shot and my specialist wants me in as soon as possible.’
‘Oh, Ray!’ Emily exclaimed, squeezing his hands in shock.
‘And I don’t know what I’m more afraid of, you know. Having an operation, like my mum did… and not coming out of that hospital again. Or making it through the operation and not getting my voice back.’
‘Ray, you have to think positive. You’re going to be fine,’ Emily reassured.
‘Statistics say you’re probably right. My dad and Brenda believe statistics but… I’ve got a ghost in my mind telling me that shit happens and… currently shit happens to me.’
‘Well, what’s the very worst thing you can imagine happening?’ Emily asked him.
It should have been obvious but somehow it wasn’t. He needed to think. He needed to give her the answer he truly believed.
‘That I’ll die,’ he answered. No life at all was definitely worse than a life without his career. His view of the world had never been as skewed as his mother’s. Life was precious. Life was something you held on to no matter what your struggles.
