I opened the water, and drank some, which helped. Maybe it was just the overexcitement. Being hungover. But I couldn’t go back like this. Maybe just another ten minutes driving around. I opened my eyes, and squinted painfully at the bright hazy afternoon light. “Sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Tariq,” the driver replied. “What can I do, Miss, for you?”
I sighed. Such a nice man. “Tariq, listen. I can’t go back to the hotel just yet. Could you drive around for another fifteen minutes, then we could go?”
“Oh, Miss Lily, I am supposed to take you straight there.” He was frowning at me in the rear view mirror.
“Tariq, it’s ok. I’m feeling better. I just need a moment, ok?” I hated to do it, because I thought of him as a sort of friendly protector, instead of an employee, but I couldn’t let him follow someone else’s orders right now, even if they were from Tristan. I pulled out a twenty pound note. “Look, Tariq, here, take this. It will pay for your extra time, ok?” We were passing by the canal near Maida Vale. “You can just pull up here somewhere, and park. We don’t even need to drive. I just need a few minutes to rest. Ok? Please?” He looked uncertain, but he took the money, and pulled into an empty space by the canal boats and the water. It was very quiet here, all of a sudden, and I felt another burst of crying about to come on. I drank some more water to push down the impulse. No, I couldn’t stay in the car, either. “Tariq? Mate? I’ll be right back, ok? Just going to sit by the water. You’ll be able to see me from here. Be right back, promise?” And before he could say anything, I leapt out of the car, and followed my strange tunnel vision down to the canal.
The glare from the sun and the hazy white sky reflected sharply and painfully on the water, and split through my blackness, exploding my entire vision with light. Fuck. Migraine. Brain freeze. Insanity finally claiming me, I thought, and I sat down on the edge, legs dangling over the water, wondering if I really needed rocks to drown myself, Virginia Woolf–like, or if I could just hold myself down with sheer will. The pain in my head was intense. Tristan couldn’t see me like this. He’d know something was wrong. Maybe nothing was wrong. This morning. Oh fuck. Suppose Nick was right. I wasn’t tough enough to play the game. Like Trevor said, getting chewed up and spat out. I lay down, elongating myself along the decorative red bricks along the edge of the tow path, and covered my eyes with one arm against the sun, crossing my ankles. My back cracked from stretching out on the hard ground, and I let out a deep breath. I could just stay here, forever. Someone would give me handouts, some cardboard. Maybe I could blag a ride or a bit of roof space on one of the canal boats. I could change my name. Would anyone look for me? Alice? Nick? Tristan would forget me, that was clear. The line to tell him that I was just another worthless bitch was already forming. By disappearing, I’d only speed up the process marginally. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t going to last. Eventually someone would tell him something he’d believe and that’d be it. Or he’d just get sick of me. Oh, right, the career. The articles. The movie deals. Yeah. I could recount to people how close I was, once. They’d throw me some more money, shaking their heads, pitifully. Another loser at life. They would have done it better.
I lay there for a while longer. It felt good, the warm bricks against my back. The pity party was nearly over, I could tell. The near compulsion to screw everything up before someone else could was subsiding. There’d be trouble, a dead cert. But it didn’t need me to orchestrate it. I lay there a bit longer. Tariq would be worried. I didn’t want to get him into trouble. Tristan—I’d have to tell him. After the concert. I didn’t need to run off and confess and fuck him up. I was better than that. I just needed to keep myself together, alone, inside. I thought of all the people that would be there. Trevor wanting a showdown between me and Dave. Ah fuck. A million expectations. Someone was bound to be disappointed. For once, maybe it wouldn’t only be me.
I sat up, taking it really slow, praying that the pounding in my head wouldn’t begin again in earnest. I kept my eyes closed. Where were my sunglasses? Shit, I must have left them at Sarah’s, I thought. I drank a little more water. I’d go to the store, get some proper English painkillers. Fantastic. That would help. Put a little distance between me and all the thoughts, too. I finished the bottle of water, and tried to get up, moving away from the canal, in case I fainted. If I was going to kill myself, I at least wanted to do it intentionally, not by accident. I was still too dizzy. I stayed on my knees in the rocky beige dirt of the tow path for a minute, to get my balance, wondering if I should be praying. I could hear the lapping water against the boats, the small creaks of the rope. The stillness was overpowering, the quiet movements of the boats in the still water, the small pebbles pressing into my knees. I made myself hold my breath, immobile, an object instead of a living breathing hurting person. Getting on my knees before the universe. When I could stand it no longer, I took a long gulp of air, and watched my chest rise and fall, my legs dark against the dusty towpath. And then I could hear traffic again, a door closing, some people talking. I stood up, very slowly, and dusted myself off before walking to the car. Tariq was sitting, reading the paper, and looked up at me as I approached the car. His face seemed calmer as his eyes took me in, and I was glad, because I knew it meant I looked better. Less crazed.
“Hi Tariq,” I said. “Thanks for that. We just need to stop at a chemist, then you can drop me off at the hotel. Ok? Thanks again, I really appreciate it.” He smiled, and I opened the door and got in. Here we go, I thought, as he pulled away, and I stopped myself from wrenching the door open and going back to kneel on the towpath, listening to the water and the boats, wishing everything would be all right.
Chapter 16
I persuaded Tariq that I was fine to go in on my own, hinting that it might be a woman thing, which made him blanch and wave me in hurriedly. I felt bad doing that, but I didn’t want a chaperone. Maybe I needed one, but I wanted to ditch him temporarily. Besides, it wasn’t like I was buying painkillers in every store. You could do that. There had been a time when I tried it, just to see if I could, test the waters. It was so easy. In fact, it got even easier after the fifth store. The first few, I must have had a furtive, guilty look on my face, which was ridiculous. People took this stuff all the time. Period pains, toothache. Come on. They couldn’t tell what I was thinking.
So after a quick stop at Boots, where I was asked the usual question and gave the usual answer—“no, I am not taking any other medication”—we headed over to the Hempel. It was right in the heart of Notting Hill, nestled amongst the perfectly painted white townhouses and communal gardens belonging to the very wealthy. The city noises seemed to recede into the background, as though they had been asked to politely withdraw. The atmosphere was clandestine, by invitation only. We pulled in front of the five story townhouse, now hotel, the muted browns and greys and discrete engraved plaque the only sign, all inviting isolation and comfort. Tariq helped me out of the car, which accorded us some attention from the staff. A suited and booted man came over, simultaneously dismissive and solicitous. “May I be of some assistance, madam?”
Before I could say a word, Tariq had sprung into his role, pulling himself up, and continuing to walk me to the door, forcing the man to follow us. “Miss Lily is joining her party here, a Mr. Mustang. The room is of course ready?” I held on to his arm more tightly, intensely grateful for him running interference. I didn’t feel up to proving my credentials, but I obviously no longer needed to, because the minute the flunky had heard the name “Mustang,” he fell back, chastened. “Of course. Of course. Let me go ahead and get your key, Ms…” here he faltered, amusingly, “Miss, um, Mustang.” I stopped myself from laughing both at him and the ridiculous name. People were such sheep, aching to know where they needed to line up for the barn, where they fit in. Never mind.
Tariq opened the door for me, and let me hold on to his arm as he walked me in, where the two staff on reception were trying not to look interested in the new arrival, be
hind their desk of marble and wood, their neat little outfits homogenizing their individual curiosity. I turned to Tariq. “Thank you so much,” then more quietly, turning to face him, “you have no idea how much you have helped today. Do you have a card I can keep, in case I need you in the future?” He pulled out a card from his blue suit pocket and I slipped him another twenty. “You are very welcome miss. You take care now.” And he turned and left, and I felt suddenly twenty degrees cooler, in the presence of the staff and the muted carpets and colors of the hotel. I was about to say something, but realized a contained silence would be much more effective in getting me what I wanted as soon as possible without a lot of explanation. I straightened my back and turned to the man, and fixed him with a look. He understood instantly. “Let me show you to your room.” I nodded, and followed him up the curved staircase, letting my hand slide over the beveled wood rail. We reached what was called the first floor in the UK, and he walked to the end of the short hall stopping in front of the end door.
He opened it with a large old fashioned key, and we came into a Japanese styled living room with long floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the green of the garden courtyard. There was a low, glass covered table, framed in dark wood and metal, topped with a bonsai plant and a vase of fresh flowers, obviously recently placed there. The table was surrounded by a low L-shaped couch in brown leather, a few brown and black velvet rounded bolsters left in the dips between the pillows. The windows had gauze curtains with an embossed cherry blossom pattern and at the end, there were heavier brown velvet drapes that could be pulled across for more privacy. The other wall had two long casement windows, rounded at the top, which were letting in long stripes of sunlight across the wooden floor, whose brilliant polish was interrupted by two beige wool rugs that again had a kind of cherry blossom pattern outlining the edges. There were two black cabinets; one undoubtedly held the television and copious mini bar. It was shady, and calm and quiet and I instantly wanted nothing more than to be left alone. The bellman was about to show me the layout of the suite, when I raised my hand to stop him. “That’s fine, thank you—I’m sure I’ll find my way around.” I slipped him another of my dwindling supply of twenty pound notes, and he backed out, handing me the keycard and wishing me a pleasant stay.
The door shut with a loud click. The room was undoubtedly beautiful, but it was a mere stage to my stronger need to organize my emotions and thoughts before Tristan turned up. I walked into the bedroom, a door leading off the short hallway that also allowed access to the bath. Tall windows again overlooking the leafy courtyard, the king size bed covered with a chocolate colored silk spread, a collection of coordinating pillows arranged artfully by the satin covered headboard. Overhead halogens that one could dim with a control left by the bed, on the polished wood end cabinet. More flowers. It was all luxurious and exotically simple.
The bathroom was the in the same color palette—thick deep brown towels and mats against a backdrop of pale marble shot through with brown and gold veins. This must have cost a fortune to install, I thought, and instantly felt guilty about how much this room must have cost Tristan to book, that he had done it for me, for us, and that I was simultaneously doubting him and fearing for our future together while being a party to some of his deepest secrets, secrets which I wasn’t sure I had the right to know. Secrets which meant I was going to have to tell him some of my own. I sighed. There was no immediate way out of this one. I’d have a bath, and put it off, hopefully stop thinking. I spread out the bath mat, which seemed to have an impractical but beautiful silk border, and turned on the taps, pouring in some of the bath oil, instantly filling the room with the sweet and penetrating smell of sandalwood and rose. I peeled off all my clothes and left them in a pile, realizing I hadn’t even looked around for our bags. Our bags. Our room. The enormity of it all came crashing down on me. What had been an idea was now the reality, and tonight, at the concert, how much of our relationship was on display was not going to be entirely under my control. I tested the water, and then sank into it, feeling the water curving over my shoulders as I submerged my head and listened to the water filling the bath, echoing against the sides, my pulse thundering in my head as I held my breath and tried to relax.
I popped my head out at the last moment and caught my breath, watching the glossy oil coat my skin as I sat up to turn off the taps. Tristan. This was all about him, wasn’t it? And the revolution he had set off in my mind and body. My soul? God. I loved him. I adored him. He was everything I had ever wanted, more than I had ever even considered possible. It was though he was some long forgotten need that I must have known was there but was separated from. I lay in the bath, letting the water and the darkness soothe me. I was going to have to face up to this incredible need, desire, whatever it was, that I had for him, and try to remove myself from the insanity that was part of his world and the people that made it up. They would do their shit, and I would stand up for what I believed in, what I wanted. Hopefully I could manage to raise my voice above a whisper.
I was lying there, beginning to feel the effects of the warm water and the sweet-smelling bath oil, when I heard the key turn in the lock. Obviously I hadn’t double locked the door as well as I thought, realizing I should have put the chain on if I had really wanted to keep everyone out. The water was cooling anyway—how long had I been there? Half an hour? An hour? It was time to face the music, literally, and I was going to have to do what I wanted, which was need him, look after him, be there to look into his eyes whenever I could. I wasn’t even sure why I had panicked before, as I heard his voice call my name, and his rhythmic footsteps come closer. It wasn’t like I had a choice. There was no way I could say no, not now.
I closed my eyes.
The bathroom door swung open, and I made myself look up. And there he was. Slightly sweaty, disheveled, hair partially in his eyes, his long legs heading up to his torso, which was now adorned with a tank top that announced “XMM presents…” And there, at the very top, was his brilliant smile, making it all ok. I smiled back at him, feeling that strange bubble of warmth come over me.
“Hey love.” He bent down to kiss me like it was the most normal thing in the world, to come into a hotel suite and say hello to someone in the bath, when that someone was me, and I reached out a wet hand around his neck. We kissed, softly, friends saying hello, lovers reminiscing, the link completed. All that in a minute, his warm lips so much larger than mine, soothing rather than invading. How could this be the same person I’d been so frightened of just an hour before? It must be me, I thought. He’s fine, everyone’s fine, I’m the one who’s a bit off. He broke off the kiss and squatted down, stirring the bath water with long fingers.
“Hi.” I suddenly felt incredibly shy.
“Nice bath. I bet you thought you needed one. I hope you’re washing off Trevor and not me.” He laughed. “How’d you get on, anyway? He’s weird, isn’t he?”
I hoped Tristan would add something else, but he just waited for me to answer. I had to agree. “He is pretty strange. I guess it went well. A bit intense. But it was a two cigar interview, I hope that’s a good sign.”
“Two cigars, huh? Well, you must have gotten him talking.” He squinted at me, as though he was looking for something. “He and I have a lot of history.”
Oh god, here it was. Not yet. Deflect. “He’s invited us to lunch Sunday. Said he’d finalize it with you tomorrow night.” I tried to look as though that was fine.
“Did he now? Well he must like you—or he wants one more chance to scare you senseless.” My expression must have changed to one of horror, because he reached into the bath to hug me. “No, no, sweetheart. It’s fine. He did scare you, didn’t he? Never mind. Whatever he did, we can undo. It’s ok, shh.” I’d started to cry again, grabbing on to his shirt.
“No, Tristan, I’m sorry. It’s fine. I’m fine. I don’t want to get all emotional. You’ve got the concert tomorrow…” I untangled my arms from around his neck and submerged my head un
der the water and came up, dripping.
Now he looked worried. “You’re still coming, aren’t you? I want you to be there.”
I nodded. “Of course. I’ve got to be there to write it up anyway, or Dave will guillotine me.”
Tristan grimaced. “Oh fuck Dave. And the article. I know you’ve got the job, and I’m after publicity…” and he paused. “I want you there. We’ve got a lot to talk about, I can tell, but it can wait. Just trust me, ok?”
I looked at him. How did he come up with these things? “Trevor wants to watch me blow off Dave.”
“Ah, fuck both of them. Do what you want. I want you to watch just me, so I can look out and see just you. Somebody real. Somebody who doesn’t only want a piece of me.”
Was I real? Shit, he needed me. I had to pull it together. “Ah babe, you’re too much. Too much. I want all of you, not just pieces. I’m sorry I started crying. I guess I feel a little too real today.”
“What did Trevor tell you?” His eyes bore into mine.
I hesitated. Shit. What was I going to do now? I couldn’t lie, but I couldn’t get into this. Not now. I dipped down under the water again. When I came back up, Tristan was frowning.
“Lily, it’s ok. Really. I’ll ask him myself.”
“Don’t ask him before the concert,” I blurted out. “This is important to you. Deal with all the past shit after, ok? I’m fine. It’s fine.”
Access Restricted (The Access Series) Page 15
