“It’s great fucking company to be in. At least there’s that,” Gavin said now, still unable to let go the tortured thoughts that had overtaken him at the party. And now they were in this cab, and he couldn’t stop from launching into his often repeated claim that he shared a cruel commonality with amazing singer-songwriters who had lost, or been rejected by, their mothers.
He continued to rant even as Sophie attempted to soothe him with the ritual of intimate touch they had established years ago, taking his hand and gently stroking the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist. He spoke of the history of music being littered with the absence of the mother, either by death or some sort of neglect, and how it served as the catalyst for artistic ambitions among so many. He told them about Paul McCartney’s mother dying of cancer when he was barely in his teens; Bob Geldof’s mother dying of a cerebral hemorrhage when he was six or seven, and a teenaged Bono’s mother dying of the same affliction after suffering an attack at her own father’s funeral.
“Do you think I don’t know these stories backwards and front already?” Conor asked. “I’m just as fascinated by what it all means but I don’t see any reason to go over and over it.”
Gavin didn’t want to stop, though. He was on a roll and quickly segued into Eric Clapton’s story. Clapton had had his mother in his life, only he didn’t know it for far too long as his grandparents acted as his parents and his mother acted as an “older” sister. Both Jimi Hendrix’s and Louis Armstrong’s mothers were neglectful and absent, leaving them in the care of family or friends.
“Then there’s John Lennon,” he continued. Lennon’s mother had been removed from caring for him when he was five years old. Though they still had a relationship with regular visits and she was even the one to buy him his first guitar, full amends for his erratic upbringing were thwarted when she was killed in an automobile accident. He had been seventeen at the time.
“Ah, perfect. Here we are,” Gavin said with forced brightness as the cab slowed to a stop.
He quickly got out and beckoned Sophie and Conor to join him. They stood across the street from the ten-story brick and sandstone apartment building known as the Dakota. A dry moat encircling the building was surrounded by a low cast-iron fence. Behind them leafy Central Park was a peaceful contrast to the four lanes of traffic still humming by at almost two in the morning.
“I always wanted to see the spot. Morbid, I guess,” Gavin mused.
“And why are we here?” Sophie asked.
“This is where John Lennon was murdered,” Conor replied flatly.
“Oh,” Sophie said, brow furrowed. She hugged her arms to warm herself as she looked up at the building’s gables. The protruding dormers, dark brown corner masonry, oriel windows, and intricate niches, combined with their purpose for being there, lent the Dakota a gothic feeling. In truth, it was a prestigious home to multi-millionaires.
The doorman at the main arched entrance eyed them with suspicion, and in return Gavin gave him a mock salute.
“And yes, it is morbid. Let’s go, Gav. You need to get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning,” Conor said.
Gavin laughed. “Con, if this feeling ever left me, even for a minute, I’d be only delighted. But it doesn’t and that’s why I’m a great fucking musician. So, I guess I should thank my Ma for that, shouldn’t I?”
“Stop giving into this,” Conor said. “You work yourself up into misery and—”
“I’d thank her if only I fucking knew where she was,” Gavin continued.
Before Conor could try some other argument, Sophie went to Gavin and held his face in her hands. She looked intently into his eyes and whispered, “It’s okay.”
He reached up to take her hands from him. “Don’t—”
“It’s all going to be okay,” she insisted.
Gavin froze as this declaration washed over him. Conor’s entreaties for him to let go this rant had fallen on deaf ears. But Sophie’s loving—maternal, dare he say it—approach made all the difference. She had witnessed him coming apart and rather than fleeing, she had given him the kind of assurance he so desperately needed. It made him feel both seen and accepted. In response, he crumbled gratefully into her embrace.
They stayed there on the street for a while longer, Gavin and Sophie holding each other tightly while Conor paced.
~
The sheer curtains that made the hotel suite so elegant also failed to block the morning sun and woke Gavin well before he was willing. He tossed and turned, too tired to get up to draw the heavier curtains and darken the room. Finally, he pressed his body against Sophie’s backside and squeezed her waist.
“Sophie, wake up. I have something to tell you,” he whispered.
“Hmm?” she moaned.
She turned around and her hair fell over her face as she leaned into him.
“I’m going to miss this,” he said. “Waking up with you. You’re so beautiful.”
“Is that what you wanted to tell me?” she asked and looked up at him sleepily.
He smiled and pulled the hair from her face. “No. I wanted to tell you that last night, well, I didn’t plan on letting you know how fucked up I was until after we were married. Now I’m afraid that you know all you’ll run back to California and I’ll never see you again.”
“No such luck, baby. I’m hooked on you and that’s for good.”
“You’re more than I deserve, darlin’.”
“We deserve each other, Gavin.”
“I don’t ever want to let you go.”
“So don’t,” she whispered and kissed him.
PART TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Dublin’s Trinity College was over four-hundred years old and the gray stone buildings were suitably imposing given the history they had seen. Sophie exited the academic registry offices, her vision unfocused as students passed by her in a blur. As registered students for the upcoming term, they all had some place to be. Sophie would not be joining them in the bookstore, loading up on course materials and fresh notebooks. She wouldn’t be angling for a good seat in lecture halls either. No, she wouldn’t be a student at all.
The bold pronouncement she had made to her parents about transferring to Trinity from USC had been all bluff—though she hadn’t known it at the time. The idea had been legitimate, but ultimately unrealistic given the short timeframe for her relocation. Sophie told no one about having missed—by more than six months—the deadline to request a transfer, and forged ahead with the plan to move. She wanted so badly for the fairy tale of her reunion with Gavin to work out, complete with a seamless university transition to please her parents, that she convinced herself she would be able to talk her way into school once she was in Dublin.
The polite, but firm, admissions clerk had just put an end to that fanciful idea. She would need to wait until the following year to apply for the transfer. This not only changed the timeline of her studies but endangered the student visa she had planned to use as a way to stay in the country.
~
The women’s restroom was crowded and Sophie had to squeeze her way into a place at the mirror so she could check her hair and makeup. Gavin and a dozen others had taken over a large part of this pub’s beer garden, and it looked to be another long night.
This was only Sophie’s fourth day in Dublin and each evening had been spent at a pub, club, or someone’s house party. The pattern of drinking into the early morning hours with large groups of friends, followed by sleeping late meant Sophie hadn’t really absorbed the fact that she had moved to another country and was living with her fiancé.
As she looked into the mirror and reapplied lipstick, the day’s disappointment filled her again. She hadn’t yet told Gavin about the problem with school, partly out of denial, and partly because she knew he wasn’t exactly one to champion her education. He would rather have her all to himself.
Adjusting the deep cowl neckline of her gray Helmut Lang pullover, she saw out of the corner of he
r eye other girls watching her. Maybe they had seen her with Gavin, the local celebrity, and were curious about her. Or maybe they just didn’t like the look of her. Her blond hair was slicked back at the sides with the top pulled up high in a style emulating what she had seen in photos from Paris fashion runway shows. It was becoming clear after these nights out that local girls didn’t always put as much effort into dressing up for an evening out as she did. It was one of the many things she would have to adjust to now that this was her new home.
The route back to the outdoor area was a maze, requiring a trek through the dark, wood-paneled old-fashioned pub and out to the alleyway, but Sophie found her way. Gavin, however, was not where she had left him. His chair was empty and in the crush of people, she wasn’t able to spot him for several seconds. And then he was there, in the far corner, where the overhead hanging string of lights faded. But the glow of the ample heaters lit him, along with the woman he was speaking with. The distraught woman. The expression on her face could only be described as incredulous.
Sophie was startled by a sudden warm, intimate pressure at the small of her back. It was Conor. His touches were never casual, always lingered a bit too long.
“Sorry, just passing by,” Conor said and started to move on.
“Wait. Who’s that?” she asked.
He stopped and followed her stare. “Em, maybe you should ask Gavin that one,” he said.
That response wasn’t exactly comforting. Sophie lingered by herself as Conor quickly joined their group at the center of the garden. She watched Gavin and the woman from her distance. They were standing too closely together for this to be a casual encounter. She was pretty, with shiny raven-colored hair that fell short and wavy around her face. When Sophie realized that the girl’s blue eyes were watery, she started toward them.
“Hi,” Sophie said, touching Gavin’s elbow as she joined him.
“Oh, hey.” He replied a bit too quickly at the sound of her voice.
Sophie watched the woman expectantly and the three of them stood there silently for a long minute. “I’m Sophie Kavanaugh,” she finally said, offering her hand.
“Sorry,” Gavin said. “Sophie, this is Jules—Julia O’Flaherty.”
“Nice to meet you,” Sophie said.
“And you,” Julia replied and shook Sophie’s hand. “Ciggies always make me tear up,” she explained, waving away imaginary smoke.
Sophie nodded slowly. The number of cigarette smokers in the garden had been mercifully few that evening.
“Well, I better get going. We’ll talk later, Gav?”
“Sure. I’ll ring you, Jules.”
Julia nodded and quickly walked away.
“Who was that, Gavin?” Sophie asked.
“Just a friend.”
“Why was she crying?”
Gavin was lost in watching Julia walk away.
“Gavin?”
“Hmm?” He blinked and shook his head. “The smoke, she said, yeah?” Putting his arm around her shoulders, he steered her back to their tables, and Sophie opted not to further question him. A subconscious understanding that Julia represented something destructive kept Sophie from pushing the issue and risking finding out something she didn’t really want to know.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The house Gavin had purchased at Conor’s urging was on a tree-lined street in Sandymount, a town less than six miles south of Dublin City. With a brick-exterior, the detached three-bedroom home had been remodeled in recent years to add numerous skylights as well as a modern kitchen. The layout was European, however, as the reception room, study, and combined kitchen and dining room were all closed off rather than part of an open layout. Large windows in the kitchen overlooked a lovely, richly vegetated garden that ensured privacy.
It was a few minutes’ walk from pubs, shops, and restaurants, but Gavin took pains to point out to Sophie that it was also very near the Strand. The wide sandbar leading to a seemingly perpetually low tide was better suited to runners and walkers than sunbathing or swimming, but it was definitely a selling point for living in the area. So was the fact that it was a reminder of the intensely romantic sunrise they had shared at the Strand back when they were in school and had stayed out all night.
Upon arriving at the house from the airport, Sophie was struck by its emptiness. Gavin had only stayed in it once before getting back on the road to tour, so all the amenities that made a house a home were missing. Gavin had acquired the essentials, which in his case included a large-screen television, a robust sound system, and a bed in the master bedroom.
Sensing Sophie’s disappointment in the vacant feeling of her new home, Gavin had suggested she be the one to decorate it, and she readily agreed. Up until this day, however, she hadn’t had the time to do the shopping required for such a project as Gavin kept her busy either in the bedroom or out on the town.
Now as Gavin slept, Sophie dressed and quietly let herself out of the house. She took the DART into the city, as she dared not try to drive on the “wrong” side of the road. If all went according to plan, she would be placing orders for delivery of furniture and the like rather than carrying much home, so taking the rail system seemed a perfect plan.
~
Sophie felt exceptionally accomplished by the time she got home in the middle of the afternoon. She had found what she was looking for at the shops in Dublin and had placed orders for a sofa and loveseat combo, an entertainment center, a dining table and chairs, area rugs for the hardwood floors, a bed frame, lamps, curtains, and various sets of pots and pans. She was further loaded down with bags containing supple throw blankets, ridiculously high thread-count sheets, and plush bath towels, bath rugs, and sweet smelling soaps. As a bonus, she even picked up a few colorful scarves to make bundling up in the cooling temperatures as fashionable as she could.
The endeavor made Sophie feel very grown up and she couldn’t wait to see it all come together. After finding out that her admission to school would be delayed due to her impetuous decision to move to be with Gavin, she needed to establish as much stability as she could, and the act of creating a home that was theirs seemed an important step in solidifying the commitment they had made so quickly.
She had dropped everything just inside the front door that Gavin could never seem to remember to lock when she heard voices coming from deep in the house. Moving toward the kitchen, Sophie heard a woman’s voice along with Gavin’s coming through the open door leading to the garden.
Hesitating at the outer dining area, Sophie felt an uneasy sense of Deja vu. Gavin stood with Julia O’Flaherty. And once more, she looked upset.
“This just isn’t making sense. Are you trying to say we experienced two completely different things?” Julia said, verging on tears.
“I don’t know what else to tell you, Jules. I feel terrible. I do,” Gavin replied.
Sophie hesitated, torn between wanting to continue to listen in and doing what was right. She took a deep breath and moved through the kitchen, stepping outside with them and forcing a bright smile.
“Hi, guys,” she said.
The tension was obvious. Julia looked down and let the growing ash of her cigarette fall to the ground. Sophie almost laughed out loud when she saw Julia was smoking. That excuse of hers last night about smoke bothering her eyes really was as bogus as it had sounded.
Gavin turned to Sophie stiffly. “Where did you get off to, then?”
“Oh, I did some epic shopping,” she said. “This place is going to look like someone actually lives in it really soon.”
He nodded distractedly. “That’s great, thanks.”
The silence stretched out as they stood there, and Sophie could not have felt more out of place. “I’m going to let you two talk. Nice to see you again, Julia,” she said and Julia nodded.
“Thanks,” Gavin said again.
The tone of dismissal stung Sophie and conjured up the not so long ago moment in the backstage room of the Palladium where Gavin had rejected
her. She turned and quickly moved back inside the house.
~
Gavin watched Sophie until she was inside and out of view before turning back to Julia. “Look, I don’t know what else you want from me here. All this is doing is making Sophie uncomfortable.”
Julia closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. “And we wouldn’t want that,” she said.
“I don’t see the point—”
“You never could be alone. When we were just friends I could see that easy enough with the constant stream of girls you’d go through. I knew that and that’s why I said to go on and do whatever while you’re on tour. But I didn’t think you’d get so desperate you’d get engaged.”
God, he had really fucked up. Not purposely, of course. But here it was. His fiancée was inside while his ex was out here haranguing him on relationship etiquette. The thing was, he didn’t really think he had done anything wrong.
“Jules, you don’t understand. I just never thought we were serious. You were on tour yourself and I had no expectations of anything once we were both back.”
“This revisionist depiction of things is rather convenient for you, isn’t it?”
Tears shimmered in her eyes once more and it felt like manipulation. He was weary of it. “Cut the crap. You didn’t once reach out to me in all these months. Why the drama now?” He saw her indignation waver under this truth. But then she dug deep to reveal the real source of her anger with him.
“You said you loved me,” she told him.
“I didn’t—”
“What? You didn’t say you loved me, or you didn’t love me?”
Gavin looked at her for a long moment before deciding that being brutally honest was the way to end this conversation. “Both.”
“Then I guess the word had a different meaning when you were fucking me, didn’t it?”
Tangled Up In You: A Rogue Series Novel Page 11
