Fallen for Rock

by Wells, Nicky

  ‘You okay there? You look like you’re about to do a Sally.’

  OMG.

  O.M.G. One of the only romcoms I had ever watched in my entire life, many years ago, on a rainy Sunday afternoon; and one that barely any of my friends knew, seeing as that we were mere toddlers when the film first aired…and there he was, reading my mind.

  ‘Yes. Yes. Yes!’ I exclaimed, momentarily unable to formulate a complete sentence, and Nate burst out laughing.

  ‘Really? How exciting! You crack me up. I don’t think I’ve ever had that effect on a woman before.’

  I swallowed hard. Damn, but where was all that saliva coming from?

  ‘No! What I meant was, yes. I’m okay.’

  Right. So I had uttered a sentence, but it wasn’t doing a great job of convincing him. He wasn’t buying what I was saying, I could tell from the way his lips curved into a little smile. Oh, and he had the most delicious little dimple on his chin. I wanted to reach across and touch it, kiss it. Stop it already!

  ‘I’m okay, really,’ I croaked. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just—I’m hungry.’ I grabbed my panini and took the most enormous, unladylike, un-Emily-like bite. ‘I haven’t eaten all day.’ I sprayed crumbs as I spoke and clapped my hand over my mouth in horror. ‘So sorry.’

  ‘No need to apologise. I like it when a woman likes her food. But you still haven’t told me your name.’

  ‘Mmm-lee,’ I mumbled around my food.

  ‘Mmmlee? That’s unusual. But I like it. Mmmm-leeee.’

  He closed his eyes and rolled his head while he deliberately mispronounced my name for the second time. He looked like he was revelling in a sublime taste of something special; a nice glass of wine, perhaps.

  He was teasing me. He was flirting. No, we were both flirting. I was flirting with a stranger in my lunch hour. I was doing a floozy act and enjoying myself. OMG.

  ‘Emily,’ I enunciated clearly once I could speak again. ‘My name is Emily.’

  Chapter Four

  ‘My name is Emily.’

  The sound of my own voice startled me out of my recollection, and I snapped to. I was still in the shower, and my hands and feet had turned pruney. I turned off the taps and opened the shower doors, fumbling for my towel on the heated rail. The room was so steamy that I couldn’t even see the mirror. How long had I been in there?

  I wrapped the towel around me and grabbed a second, smaller one to dry my face and hair. My lips tasted funny, all salty and sticky, as though I had been crying. I swiped the towel across them angrily before making a turban for my dripping locks. Of course I hadn’t been crying. What a ridiculous notion. Why would I have been crying? It was me who had ended the relationship, and it had been the right thing to do. Definitely.

  But the memory of our first encounter wouldn’t go away, now that I had allowed it space in my head.

  After I had finally uttered my proper introduction, Nate grabbed my hand and shook it formally.

  ‘Emily. Of course. Very nice to meet you.’ His smile was so wide, so genuine, that I nearly melted. I was putty in his hands afterwards.

  We talked for hours. Literally, hours. We sat there and talked, and I forgot all about work. Nate was the most fascinating person ever. He was perfect in every respect. He was gorgeous, handsome in a rugged way, with a clean, chiselled chin that dimpled delightfully when he smiled. Which was pretty much all the time. His eyes were a deep chocolate brown, and his hair was a shade lighter. It was on the long-ish side, but not unattractively so, and very nicely groomed. He wore an expensive suit, and he was charming from head to toe.

  I guess it was fair to say it was love at first sight. It certainly was attraction at first sight. At three p.m., I called the office and said I had been taken ill over lunch. I had never even taken a legitimate sick day, let alone a fake one, but somehow it seemed necessary. Inevitable, even.

  Fib accomplished, Nate and I held hands and walked out into the rain to the nearest Tube stop. We went to my apartment without even talking about what we were doing. We barely made it into my hallway, having given Mrs Bowden a cursory wave on the stairs, before Nate ripped my clothes off.

  Well, he didn’t rip them, of course. He seemed to appreciate that my silk shirt was expensive, so he unbuttoned it very carefully. But I was undressed and naked in front of him in less than thirty seconds. Considering that we had met a mere three hours previously, in my book this considered ‘ripping’ my clothes off.

  We made love on the floor, right there. He had all the right moves. Oh my God, did he have moves! Our first union was quick, urgent, and breathless. He stroked me all over with his strong warm hands, and every caress fired up a million nerve endings. He lay on top of me and bent his head to my breasts, his teeth finding my nipples and tweaking, biting, sucking…

  I sighed and sank to the floor, still wrapped in my towels. The mere recollection made me go weak at the knees. Never had I been so ravished. I had been blown away. I had been addicted.

  Sometime later that first afternoon, I discovered the tattoo on his right shoulder blade. It was a small swirly pattern with a tiny guitar in the centre. I remembered tracing it with my fingers, thinking how out of place it seemed on this otherwise perfect man.

  ‘Do you play?’ I asked conversationally, not really terribly interested, simply voicing my surprise.

  Nate turned around to face me. He wrapped me in his strong arms and pulled my head to his chest.

  ‘I do. When I can. When I’m not at work. Or making love to beautiful strangers.’

  I smiled and stretched languidly. I was his beautiful stranger. I rather liked the idea. Something had gotten hold of my heart, and reason flew away with the wind. I wanted this man like I had never wanted anyone before, even if I never saw him again.

  ‘You already know that I work in a bank, but what do you do? For work, I mean?’ I steered the conversation back onto getting-to-know-you territory in hopes that perhaps we would get to know each other properly.

  Nate’s face darkened. ‘I’m an architect.’

  ‘An architect? Wow. That’s really cool.’

  ‘Is it? I don’t know. I thought so, once, but…’

  He didn’t finish his thought, and I didn’t press him. Maybe I should have. Maybe if I had understood him better, the whole thing—we—wouldn’t have happened, and neither of us would have got hurt.

  But I didn’t, not then, and we launched ourselves headlong into a relationship. Talk about getting off on the wrong foot altogether!

  I laughed wryly to myself. In hindsight, it was all so obvious. We had never been meant to last. I thought he was a nice, safe, educated career man who happened to be gorgeous and funny and highly attractive to boot. As it turned out, he was all those things except the ‘safe’ and the ‘career’ bits. Because while he did work in an architect’s firm, that wasn’t where his passion lay.

  It was ironic, really. He had started ‘gigging’ with a band in small pubs all over London to supplement his student grant. Over the years, his gigging had turned into a proper band with proper songs, and his ambition shifted. Where gigging funded his studies to begin with, now work was funding his nascent rock career. Had I but known!

  Nate, on the other hand, saw things in me that simply weren’t there. He kept telling me that I was exciting and exotic, a secret adventuress made to sing and dance and have fun. Worse, he indulged me hopelessly and didn’t expect much in return. He came to the opera with me, but never worried when I turned down a rock gig. He went to expensive restaurants with me, displaying exquisite table manners as though he had been born with the proverbial silver spoon, but on the way home, he would invariably nip into the nearest fish ‘n’ chip shop to eat a ‘proper’ dinner that would fill him up. He drank beer, but he always brought me expensive wines.

  ‘It was never meant to last.’ I shook my head, feeling wistful and disconsolate. I rose to my feet and looked at myself in the mirror. ‘We were stupid to think it could work, both of us
. It was a recipe for disaster.’

  And a recipe for disaster it had been, eventually. To begin with, our insatiable attraction to each other had disguised a lot of the glaring mismatches. But over time, his obsession with rock music had become a problem. For example, he started to bring his guitars round. He didn’t ask, he simply assumed it would be okay. But his endless practicing drove me up the wall, even though he put the amp on silent and wore headphones. The high-pitched twanging of guitar strings and the rasp of the plectrum set my teeth on edge. I used to feel torn between seeing the sexy side of him—toned arms, muscles ripping as he gripped and handled the guitar—and between feeling frustrated when he completely zoned out on me.

  Things got worse when he and the band decided to record an album. He talked about jacking in his day job, and that freaked me out. Next thing I knew, he disappeared in the studio for nights on end, and we didn’t see each other at all. His demeanour changed as well. He began wearing jeans and leather jackets more and more often, and his hair, when it wasn’t groomed, looked wild and…well, like a rocker. It was like Nate was two people in one. We were rapidly growing apart—if indeed, we had ever been really together—and the sex wasn’t making up for the differences anymore.

  Everything came to a head when he brought home the first demo tape and played it to me at full volume. I had a stinking migraine after a long and frustrating day at work. My head pounded so hard, I thought it would explode when the bass and the drums kicked in. Within seconds, there was a knock on the door, and a very upset Mrs Bowden demanded for that unholy racket to stop, immediately. I was embarrassed and mortified at having caused a disturbance, I felt ill and sick, and I simply lost it. I shouted at Nate, he shouted back, I hurled insults at him, he made scathing comments in return, and I asked him to leave. And never to come back.

  ‘Stupid. Really stupid.’ I was still looking at myself in the mirror. A fat tear escaped from my eye and rolled down my cheek. I wiped it away, but another took its place immediately. I hadn’t actually cried since the break-up. I hadn’t allowed myself to. Because breaking up had been the sane thing to do. Right?

  But now, things looked different. Looking back, I discovered I had loved Nate in return. And that I had very slowly grown to…well, not like, perhaps, but certainly appreciate the music that Nate was making. There was some skill there, and the demo wasn’t bad, just very loud, the way he had played it to me on that unfortunate day. When we had been good together, we had been really, really good. Maybe Nate had been right in seeing things in me that I didn’t see myself. Maybe… Maybe…

  I sobbed uncontrollably. I had got it all wrong. I had made a huge mistake. Somewhat belatedly, my heart swelled with regret and sorrow until it properly broke in two.

  Chapter Five

  For a second, I remained frozen in my steamed-up bathroom, my towels slipping and my hair dripping. The sensation of heartbreak, albeit three weeks late, was real, and by God, it hurt! It felt like somebody had stuck a dagger in my chest and sliced through my vital organs. The pain left me breathless, and stars danced in front of my eyes. I’d made a dreadful mistake.

  But! Oh, but!

  Inspiration struck me through the haze of emotion. A blinding light, a sliver of hope.

  ‘The tickets!’

  The tickets, indeed. They might yet prove to be more than ‘just’ VIP backstage passes. They might turn out to be my ticket back to Nate. For surely, surely, he would come to collect them, once he knew they were here, that he had won?

  Better still, surely he would be over the moon if we went together? He and I at a rock gig, like he had always wanted? I would have to make myself enjoy it, listen, go with it. I could always wear earplugs if it was too loud. I was sure I had seen some unobtrusive little see-through ones at the local chemist. Nate wouldn’t even know I was wearing them, especially if I left my hair down.

  ‘Details, details,’ I admonished myself impatiently. ‘You’re wasting time. First of all, you’ve got to get Nate back.’

  The very thought galvanised me into action. I rubbed myself dry and hung the towels back on the rail. Feeling increasingly frantic, I rushed to the bedroom to don my pyjamas. My wet hair flapped annoyingly around my face, so I grabbed a scrunchie to tie it up in a makeshift bun. I didn’t even brush it. There simply wasn’t time.

  I sat down on the sofa again, somewhat dizzy but hopeful and excited. In a few short minutes, everything would be all right. In less than an hour, Nate would be here, in my very flat, whirling me round in ecstasy both at having me back and at having won the tickets.

  ‘Steady now,’ I told myself. ‘Nice and easy.’

  I picked up the phone and dialled Nate’s landline. Of course I still knew it by heart. Nine-five-seven-three-two-zero-eight.

  The line connected, and I heard the ringing tone. I took a deep breath while I waited for Nate to pick up. Eleven-thirty on a Friday night—he would be home, wouldn’t he?

  The phone rang and rang and rang. No answer.

  I hung up and redialled, just in case Nate had been in the shower, or on the loo, or something.

  Same result. No response.

  Maybe he’s busy with someone else?

  The idea popped in my head unbidden, and I stamped on it.

  ‘If he’s busy, it’s because he’s in the studio and not at home,’ I assured myself. Feeling inspired by this idea, I retrieved my mobile and called up Nate’s number. I would simply leave a message on his mobile.

  The number you have reached is not in service. Please hang up and try again.

  ‘What?’ I stared at the handset in dismay.

  …and try again. The number…

  ‘Rrrrgh.’ I hit the disconnect button with a vengeance to silence the hateful voice. Where was Nate?

  ‘It’s okay, it’s all right, don’t fret. There’s nothing you can do. Calm down and wait until the morning.’ I stopped my pacing and flopped back onto the sofa. My eyes alighted on the VIP passes on the coffee table, and I sighed. I was so sure they would fix everything—if I only could get through to Nate.

  Wide awake but weary to the bone, I flicked on the telly and scanned through the channels. My mind was churning, and I couldn’t concentrate on the flickering images, so I muted the sound and picked up the phone again. If I couldn’t reach Nate, maybe I could speak with somebody else. Maybe, in fact, it would help to talk the whole thing through with someone.

  I scrolled through my contacts folder but nobody jumped out at me. Neither my office mates, nor my sisters, nor Mum would understand. They didn’t even know I had broken up with Nate. I supposed I could ring Becky, my best friend from school, but…

  I sighed. Becky and I had been best friends since primary school. But somehow, since I started working at the bank, we had lost touch. Becky lived in London, not far from my flat, actually; but it had been months since we last talked, and then we didn’t really have much to say to each other. I wasn’t sure if she even knew about Nate, let alone that I broke up with him.

  My dialling finger hovered eagerly, awaiting an order from my brain to connect, but I held back. I couldn’t ring Becky.

  I swallowed hard. Loneliness and despair engulfed me, and I shivered. What had happened to my life? Why was I was sitting at home all alone, with no one to talk to?

  It’s that job of yours, a voice whispered in my head. Becky’s voice, in fact. It was something she had said the last time we had had a coffee, eight or nine months ago, right after my big promotion.

  ‘It’s that job of yours. You’re always so busy, and travelling, too. You know, like a Big Important Career Woman. I feel totally inadequate beside you.’

  Becky had laughed to lighten the tone, and I had laughed to make her feel at ease, but secretly, I was hurt. And after that, I had accidentally-on-purpose kept forgetting to ring her.

  Was it that job of mine? Had I turned into some kind of career-obsessed monster? It wasn’t even that I worked for the money, although the pay was terrific. I simply lik
ed doing what I was doing, analysing companies, investing, moving their funds, managing their mergers. The thrill, the adrenaline, the risk. At least, that was what I told myself.

  I gave a sad laugh as an abyss opened up in front of me. Obviously, there were a few things I would have to fix in my life. I would have to make some changes. This wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t good. I would have to make amends, one at a time, and look at my priorities.

  First of all, I would have to fix my relationship. But with Nate out of contact, that would have to wait until the morning.

  ‘No point fretting,’ I reiterated. After all, now I was a woman with a plan, even if it had only one item on it.

  I unmuted the telly and flicked through the channels again. Quite suddenly, the handsomely-rugged face of Nathan Fillion filled the screen as I chanced upon a double bill rerun of Castle.

  ‘Yes!’ I punched the air. Castle was my one and only guilty pleasure apart from the classic eighties series Magnum, PI, which Nate had introduced me to. And Castle would soothe me nicely. I ran to grab my duvet and pillow off the bed and snuggled up on the sofa for a few hours of easy distraction until, hopefully, I would drift off to sleep and awake ready for action in the morning.

  Chapter Six

  ‘Come on, come on, come on! Answer your phone, please.’ I tapped my fingers impatiently on the table while I waited for Nate to pick up. This was my twelfth attempt on his landline, his mobile phone still being out of service. It was now nearly noon on Saturday morning, and I had been trying to get through to Nate since ten a.m. Still no luck.

  I slammed the handset into the cradle. Where was he?

  ‘One more time,’ I told myself. ‘I’m going to ring one more time and then…’