Unplugged: A Blue Phoenix Book

by Swallow, Lisa

  No, no, no. This is worse. I want her to be the Honey who yells and screams, accuses me of not loving her and tells me she hates me. The woman I compared in my head to the calm, strong girl in Wales and she didn’t measure up.

  The next words to come out of my mouth sicken me, the one thing I should’ve said the first day the clarity hit. “I don’t love you.”

  “You do, Liam, you’re just confused.”

  Again, the wrong fucking reaction. Shit. I can’t be mean to her; be any worse than I have in the last two weeks, but what do I do? “No, I don’t. I’m sorry, this has to end.”

  Honey wraps her arms around my waist and my anxiety over an imminent attack changes to one of despair as she rests her head against my chest. I don’t know what to do, how do I stop this? I feel nothing for this woman apart from guilt.

  Guilt she’s playing on. This is the reason I didn’t end the wedding before the day arrived. This is the real reason I didn’t want to step through the doors today. I’m weakened by the emotion of my own, the tsunami of confusion that’s engulfed me.

  I grip Honey’s arms, and move her away. “Don’t do this.”

  The tear-filled blue eyes meet mine again, pulling at my resolve, dragging me back to the lost girl I wanted to help. “Please, Liam. I love you. Don’t leave me.”

  There it is. Honey’s fear of abandonment; her need to accept love from wherever it comes. I once tried to be that person, to help her fix this fucked up part of her mind but failed. If she did love me, the affair would never have happened. The random accusations that I didn’t love her; that I was fucking groupies because she wasn’t good enough wouldn’t have been thrown. One minute I’d be the love of her life, the next she’d scream poison and hatred. I accepted it because I wanted to help her change, only I got dragged into the same deep water drowning her, pulled under too.

  Honey doesn’t love, she needs. What she needs could never come from me.

  “I don’t love you,” I repeat. “I can’t make myself love you or pretend I do.”

  She searches my face for a glimmer of emotion, but I’m locked down now, blocking her out. Allowing her in would end me right now. When Honey doesn’t see what she wants, she chooses one of her two usual reactions and crumples to the floor. The sobbing begins and she grips her hair, pulling hard.

  I did this. I fucking did this and I want to feel nothing. I don’t want to need to comfort her and apologise; I don’t want to be the man who made things worse. But I am.

  I add to this when I walk away from Honey, because if I stay the weaker, soft-hearted Liam who wants to fix the people around him will appear. And if he appears, I’ll end up back in a relationship which would kill that Liam for good.

  CHAPTER 16

  JUNE 10TH 2014

  CERYS

  Birthday balloons cover the wall, banners, and Frozen paraphernalia adorn the small house. I know I will regret this. A crowd of four year olds from Ella’s school is set to invade this afternoon. This is the first real birthday party she’s had and her excitement level is off the scale. This is a good thing because there’s no card or present from her dad. Ella hasn’t mentioned this, used to him letting her down. I quietly seethe about the man who dragged us back here professing undying love for his daughter, who now lives across the city and he sees a couple of times a month. Craig manipulated me into coming back here then left. I found the courage to call his bluff; the man had screwed with my head and heart for the last time. Shortly after Christmas, we were over.

  One of the mums from school, Phoebe, has stepped in to help. Her long dark hair falls across her face as she leans over, carefully icing cupcakes in bright pink.

  “How many did you say were coming?” she asks.

  “God, I don’t know. Ten. Including that kid who bites.”

  Phoebe rolls her brown eyes. “Fun times... We need wine!”

  “Phoebe! I can’t be drunk while in charge of a children’s party.” Bloody tempting though.

  “Okay, well I’ve bought a bottle for medicinal purposes for when we’re done.”

  We share a giggle as I tip cheese and onion crisps into a large plastic bowl. Phoebe is one of the few friends I have outside of Craig and mine’s old social circle, and she’s been good to me since I hit single mother status.

  Ella emerges in one of her Disney princess costumes, blue satin and lace, with ribbons in her brown hair.

  “Aren’t you going to wear the pretty dress Grandma bought you?” I ask.

  She pulls a face, mouth tugging down. “It’s itchy.”

  Good thing Craig’s domineering mother, Marcella, isn’t coming to the party then. The blue velvet dress with the white lace collar is pretty but not exactly, the thing a five-year old would wear in 2014. I set plates of food on the plastic tablecloth and Ella walks over.

  “Can I have a cake?”

  “Just one.” If I said no, she’d take one as soon as my back’s turned.

  Ella tucks into the freshly iced cupcake, smearing pink frosting around her face.

  “Do you think Uncle Liam will come?” she asks.

  I blink at her. How does she remember that?

  “I don’t think so, Ella,” I tell her.

  Her mouth turns down. “He said he’d come. He promised.”

  “I know, baby, but he’s busy.”

  “Who’s Liam?” asks Phoebe.

  “He’s a rock star,” says Ella, and then stuffs the rest of the cake into her mouth.

  Phoebe laughs. “That’s cute. Have you met a guy I don’t know about? I didn’t know you were into the local band scene although I’m glad you’re going out more. You could do with a social life.”

  “No, he’s a friend from home,” I say. “Ella likes him but we’re not together.”

  “Ah, I thought you were hiding something from me for a moment!” Phoebe nudges me with her elbow.

  I shake my head. “Nope. If I get a new man in my life, you’ll be the first to hear.”

  I can’t afford to go out. In fact, I can’t afford to do much at all. I think Craig’s mum has forced him into letting us stay in the house we once shared, for Ella’s sake, because she alluded to it the many times she’s ‘popped over’ out of the blue. Bad enough Ella is named after Marcella so I’ll always have part of her in my life, but she owns this house.

  Marcella also owns the house Craig lives in — rental properties to fund her early retirement to Italy. We used to see the widowed Marcella once a week; but now Craig’s gone, the torturous trips to her house are replaced with her equally excruciating visits to ours. Visits, which include endless stories over how wonderful her son is and hint that anything wrong between me and Craig is my fault. Marcella won’t accept Craig chooses not to see Ella and the undertone of our conversation is that I stop him.

  “But Liam said...” whines Ella. Is there something we genetically share that stops us forgetting about Liam?

  Thankfully, the doorbell rings, and the distracted Ella runs off to greet her first guest.

  Mid-way through the third ‘pass the parcel’ and third tantrum from a child who doesn’t want to let go of the newspaper wrapped bundle, and I’ve had enough. The wine is more tempting by the minute; the bottle of white beckons me each time I open the fridge for more juice. Three of the other mums have stayed and half-heartedly helped out. Their scrutiny unnerves me; and I feel like every part of my house and life are being sized up and noted.

  As I mop up spilled juice, I resolve that next year Ella will have her party at an indoor play gym, far away from my house, even if I have to save all year.

  “I’m taking a breather,” I whisper to Phoebe, “Find me hiding in the kitchen if you need me.”

  Phoebe rubs my arm. “You okay?”

  “Yes, overwhelming day. I’ll tidy some of this away.” I head into the kitchen with hands full of plastic bowls and plates.

  In a way, the noise is good because it drowns out thoughts about how Craig has let down Ella by not being here, and
my frustration of coping with this alone. Why did Ella have to mention Liam’s name? Since the card last month, he’s moved from hovering on the edge of my thoughts back into the forefront. I want to slap myself; I’m no better than the sixteen year old who lusted after a rock star. And he’s no more attainable.

  Although he is, because Honey is out of his life.

  Shit, Cerys, get a grip.

  The doorbell rings and I glance at the clock. 4 p.m. I hope that’s the first of the parents come to collect their little darlings. I pick up the box full of party bags containing sweets and toys and head past the screaming hordes to the front door.

  Phoebe gets to the door first; and when I come out of the kitchen, I see a hesitant and bewildered Liam standing in the hallway at the edge of the lounge, holding a gift wrapped in bright red paper. Taking the merest glance at him, I step back into the kitchen and stare at the box of party bags.

  Liam.

  I peek back around the doorway and the definitely-not-an-illusion Liam remains in the same place. He looks no different but why would he? It’s only been six months. As it’s a warm summer’s day, he wears a dark T-shirt, stretched across the defined muscles of his chest and no jacket. His bright, tattooed arms and red-haired ponytail have drawn attention from a few of the party guests and ironically, he’s quieted the riot over ‘pass the parcel’ prizes.

  “Uncle Liam!” Ella’s voice shrieks through the room.

  The bemused look he gives the chocolate-faced princess charging toward him softens his image. The warm smile he gives her squeezes my heart until it shatters into tiny pieces; the pieces I’ve fought to hold together because I know my mind will follow. The strength I need to hold myself together on a daily basis comes from closing out emotion; and the sight of my daughter’s face filled with excitement at seeing the man from Christmas, blows a hole in the defences so big I won’t be able to patch it in a hurry.

  Phoebe appears in the kitchen and shoves my arm. “Cerys! Is that who I think it is?”

  I put down the box and wipe biscuit crumbs from my blue top. “Liam? He’s an old friend.”

  “You have a member of Blue Phoenix as an ‘old friend’?” she splutters, making quotation marks around ‘old friend’ with her fingers. “You never said he was coming here today!”

  “I didn’t know he was.”

  “Hmm, judging by the lack of colour in your face, I’d say this was a surprise.”

  “Yeah.”

  Phoebe leans around the door too, then back to me. “Wow. Make sure you introduce me before he leaves.”

  “Of course.”

  “I mean, I’m a married woman and everything but... rock star!”

  I bite back a smile, remembering the conversation I had with him about lollipops and kittens. The guy crouched down talking to the five year old continues to ruin his badass rock star image.

  Hiding in the kitchen for the rest of the afternoon isn’t an option, especially since his arrival has paused party proceedings. I sidle out of the room and lean against the wall, tucking my trembling hands beneath my arms. The other group of mums whisper and stare at him as if he landed from another planet. The look on my face isn’t much different.

  Ella turns and points in my direction and Liam spots me. As he crosses the room, everything from Christmas crosses with him: the excitement of the unknown, the longed-for sensation of his lips, and the ache when he left. The emerald green eyes meet mine as he stands in front of me; the softness in his look holds a wariness too. I’m glad my hands are tucked away because my palms sweat. I’ve dreamt about this man; fantasised he’ll come back and see me, and that Christmas could carry on.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask him and his brightness edges away at my sharp tone. “I don’t mean... I mean, I’m surprised.”

  “I made a promise to Ella,” he says. “I thought I should keep it since I haven’t done very well at keeping my promises to people recently.”

  Honey.

  He’s turning my brain into liquid. I have no idea what to say. The shock of his arrival and his proximity are tearing me from the world of children’s parties. I continue my dumb staring.

  “How are you?” he asks.

  “Mmm.”

  “Mmm?”

  My heart thumps in my ears and I cringe at my behaviour. Liam’s misreading the situation because he steps back. From the corner of my eye, I see the other mums watching in what can only be described as stunned silence. This situation is ridiculous.

  “Did you want a drink?” I ask, eventually. “Or something to eat? Did you come far?”

  Liam surveys the remains of the party food. With a glint in his eye, he picks up the pink-covered cupcake. “These look like they’d suit me.”

  “Really?”

  “Sweet.”

  I look past him, not wanting to engage with the past. He walks through the door, bowls over my daughter with his attention, and then immediately mentions something from the night we kissed.

  He has an agenda.

  CHAPTER 17

  CERYS

  “The poor guy comes all the way here to see you and you leave him with your daughter, why?” asks Phoebe.

  “He came to see Ella,” I reply, pulling the cork from the longed-for wine bottle. Until everyone leaves, I don’t want to talk to Liam. I hope he realises how much the gossip mongers will love this and wonder why the hell he doesn’t care about press attention. He recently walked out on his wedding day. People will follow him. I knock back a glass of wine. The three mums remain rooted in the lounge; all the other kids have been collected but theirs, so they have no excuse to be here. No excuse apart from the man under their scrutiny.

  “Isn’t it nice of Uncle Liam to visit you on your birthday?” I announce loudly, taking the party bags to the mums.

  “Oh, is he your uncle?” asks Julie, a deceptively friendly woman with short blonde hair who I know is the centre of gossip in the mothers of the group.

  Ella doesn’t respond; engrossed with Liam who sits on the floor next to Ella, politely focusing on the new books she shows him. Again, his natural ease around my daughter strikes me as odd for someone who barely interacts with kids.

  “Anyway! It’s getting late and I need to get tidied up!” I announce, handing out the bags to nearby children with brick-like subtlety.

  Once I hurry them out of the door, I turn my attention back to the kitchen where Phoebe hovers with her glass of wine. She watches me as I shovel rubbish from the kitchen counter into a bag.

  “Ella’s not his, is she?” she asks.

  “No! Jesus, Phoebe! I’ve never had sex with the man! We’re friends.”

  Phoebe sips her wine, but the expression meeting me over the top of her wine glass is one of doubt. “Then why are you behaving oddly?”

  “I’m worried people will think the same as you. Did you see the expression on Julie’s face?”

  “The three witches? They’ll have it all over Facebook tonight. I hope they didn’t take pictures.”

  “Crap, I never thought about that.”

  “He couldn’t take his eyes off you, Cerys,” she says quietly. “When everyone was busy and you were with Ella, I saw how he looked at you.”

  “What do you mean?” I pause in my tidying.

  “I mean, this man came to see you, not your daughter.”

  “I doubt it,” I mumble.

  “I know, none of my business.” She drains her glass. “I guess from your cagey behaviour you have something to talk to him about. I’ll leave you in peace.”

  Phoebe walks out of the kitchen and claps her hands, calling her son, Jordan. The brown haired boy sits on the sofa devouring the contents of his party bag. Grasping the plastic bag in his hand, he waves at the distracted Ella and leaves with his mum. Not before Phoebe blows me a kiss and indicates Liam with her head.

  This leaves me, Liam, Ella, and a lot of unanswered questions.

  I retreat to the kitchen as the front door closes and pour another glass
of wine, ignoring the remaining mess of party aftermath. Sentences run through my head of what I’ll say when he inevitably comes into the room. I’m dazed by the fact he came but also hold the frustration that he never contacted me. I need to close him out; he can’t do this.

  The noise of the TV travels through to the kitchen. A few moments later, Liam walks into the confined space of the room.

  The man who re-entered my life at Christmas holds a presence I’m sure affects other girls as well as me. Especially, if he looks at them with the misplaced affection I see in Liam’s eyes. I’m unused to seeing men with so many tattoos, especially across biceps like his. I don’t hold his gaze but stare at his long fingers, the ones that touched and caressed me so gently. If I look at his arms, I can avoid looking at his face and the mouth I remember on mine.

  Liam steps closer.

  Crap.

  I turn to gather half-empty paper plates and throw them in a white bin bag.

  “How are you, Cerys?” His Welsh accent holds an edge of American, the amusing drawl he used around Ella at Christmas to make her laugh is there.

  “Fine, thank you. You?” I place the last plate in the bag and look around.

  “Better than I was a few weeks ago.” Liam rests against the Formica counter and stretches his long legs halfway across the room.

  “I heard about that.” I want to elaborate on ‘that’ and mention his failed wedding day but the wary look on his face edges the questions away. “Been back in Wales long?”

  “Just today. I’m staying back in London,” he replies.

  “Oh, okay, are you going for a home visit?”

  He picks up a paper cup and puts it into the bag I’m holding. “I wanted to see the girl who needs to know I haven’t forgotten her.”

  “Ella is definitely happy you came.”

  Liam doesn’t respond, but the connotation behind his words is in his intense look. “Sorry I took so long to reply to Ella’s letter. It got lost in the Blue Phoenix fan mail.”

  “She’d forgotten about you.”