This is something new: the personal touch?
“So, what has that to do with you, you ask? In actual fact, quite a lot. Believe it or not, our destinies are inextricably connected: every time you listen to music, watch a movie, make a call, email, tweet or text, our worlds are colliding.”
Colliding? I could be mistaken, but is he actually talking about us?
“My world is nothing without you. In fact, it is you who give it meaning.”
Is the ‘you’ in this speech, me?
“This has been a hard lesson for me to learn. So I’m letting you in on a secret; pretending to be someone you’re not is a worthless exercise. It has taken me some time to decide what I want, where my future lies and to be prepared to give everything I have to find professional and personal fulfilment. Now, it’s your turn. Here, tonight we stand on the threshold of greatness; but greatness does not come from running away or seeing complications as insurmountable obstacles, it comes from here, from inside. It’s what makes you the person you are. You want more. You deserve more. Each and every one of you has it within you to decide your fate… only you know what is right for you.
My God! This is a full blown apology.
“So learn from me. Be bold, take a chance, but never give up. If you have a dream, tell someone about it, someone who will listen; someone who sees in you what you dare not see in yourself, but make it happen. You have the power to change the world, one day at a time. Thank you for listening and good luck to you all, in everything you do.”
There is applause and he appears grateful, but he’s not hearing it. His mind is elsewhere. Only I know the depth of meaning in each and every, over-rehearsed word. He’s just bared his soul to me: do I really have the power to change the world, to change his world?
I return to my classroom and switch on my mobile. I have five unread voicemails, four from last night and one from this morning. I listen to them in the order they were sent:
10.15 pm:
I’m sorry Beth. Please forgive me ... I’m such a fucking arse hole! Please call me.
10.30pm:
I got your message. Good song choice ... Jar of hearts!
He is annoyed but I think more with himself than with me.”
Please don’t end it like this. I need to talk to you, to explain.”
12.30pm:
I’m out of my mind thinking about you Beth, answer your phone. I need to explain, please …
I hear his tired appeal and I’m saddened to think of him in so much pain, pleading.
Listen to the song I’ve emailed to you. I’m not good at this, but just listen.
‘No-one else could love you, half as much as I do now ...’ Those words stay with me.
5.30am:
I can’t sleep ... I miss you baby. Like your song said, I know you’re hurting and you have no idea how much I hate myself for being the one to make you feel that way.
There’s a bottomless sigh.
For what it’s worth, sent you another song. It’s not one I save for occasions like this because there’s never been an occasion like this - so don’t go thinking that. It’s for you, every word.”
I recall the song, “Please give me another chance …” I sniff back tears, wishing I’d been brave enough to answer my phone last night. But what if I had? Would he have gone all out to profess his love for me? This has been our moment of truth: no more games.
10.00am
I can’t do this. You have to let me apologise. We have to work this out ... I feel like shit. I’m such a fucking bastard. Beth ... I’m sorry. I’ve given it my best shot, I can’t find any more songs. I’m all out.
He sounds so despondent and I have to swallow deeply to contain my sobs. “And the reason is you ...” He saved the best for last.
With each voicemail, the depth of his regret and need for forgiveness becomes more tangible. I should have listened to them earlier, the fact I didn’t has made it necessary for him to deliver his apology to a packed theatre full of strangers, still keeping every word relevant to them and to me. I hurt inside and it’s not because of my own suffering but out of compassion for him.
In spite of the womanising, the mock courtship and the lies, he is my wish come to life. He’s the one I have been waiting for and the thought of ending what we have, even before it’s begun, is unimaginable.
I shut everything down and make my way to the refectory where parents and guests are being served refreshments. That’s where he’ll be.
Before entering, I brush back my unruly hair, straighten my skirt and project ordinariness. Within a minute of mingling with students and parents, I feel his eyes on me; he’s watching my every move. It’s like a sixth sense. We are connected. It’s not just sexual chemistry it’s emotional and, when he touches me, that connection become visceral.
I position myself next to him so I don’t have to look into those watery pools of cerulean light; his face is full of anguish and if I allow myself to look upon it, I will cry.
For once he holds off on the clever repartee, but simply holds my left hand behind my back with his right hand, out of sight; he’s being discreet or holding me fast, I’m not sure which.
“I listened to your speech.”
“You were meant to. It was all about us.” His grip tightens on my fingers.
“I don’t know what to say Ayden. I don’t have the energy to argue with you.” I glance around the room, there are congratulatory pats on backs and proud smiles, no-one would guess for a minute we are hand in hand.
“I’ve not come here to argue.”
I sense his eyes upon me, burning through my cheek bones all the way to my tormented soul.
“You look beautiful in your disguise. But I see you Beth. I see you now for who you are. I fucked up. I said I would. I don’t know any better. I’m sorry. Please look at me. It cuts me to the bone, thinking you can’t even bear to look at me.” I feel an anguished squeeze.
“I can’t Ayden, I have to work here and standing sobbing will do nothing for my reputation.” I try to smile, but nothing happens. For some reason, facial muscles don’t respond to signals originating in my brain: I can’t manufacture a smile out of misery.
Ayden seems suddenly animated. “But haven’t you seen the photographs of us. They’re everywhere: magazines, newspapers on the Internet. You and me together - the word’s out. You’ve never looked lovelier and I’ve never looked happier.”
I try to release my hand, but he won’t let me go.
“I can’t do this anymore without you.”
I’m not hearing anything. All I’m thinking is photographs of me out in the public domain? The thought fills me with dread. “What photographs?” I turn to face him squarely. “What fucking photographs?” It’s no more than an undignified hiss expelled through clenched teeth.
“The ones of us in Hyde Park and then last night at the book launch. You look stunning Beth.” His face cracks into a proud smile.
I shake free of his hand. “I have to go Ayden.”
Gripped by the thought I’m walking away from him, he grabs me by the shoulders. God knows what we must look like.
“Go where? Go where Beth?” There’s a kind of controlled panic in his voice.
“I want to go home right now. Is Lester outside?”
He nods.
“Tell him to start the car. I’ll be out front in two minutes.”
“I don’t get it, what the fuck’s going on?” He grips me by the shoulders tighter, prompting me to answer.
“I can’t tell you here. I’ll meet you in the front car park. Just say your good byes and go!” With that I twist away and run to get my laptop, coat and bag. I can see my world falling apart and losing Ayden isn’t the half of it.
Two minutes later, I dive into the car and Ayden is already there waiting.
“Miss Parker’s apartment.”
“Yes Mr. Stone.” The car eases out through the school gates.
I throw my glasses in my bag, roughly pu
ll my hair loose from the clip and shake it free in the hope these straightforward acts of reveal will ease my anxiety somehow.
“So are you going to tell me what the hell’s going on?”
I want to tell him but I struggle to find the words: where to begin? “I can’t, not at the moment.”
“I know we’ve got a lot to talk about but this is something else, isn’t it?” He places his left hand on my face and I lean into it. God! How I’ve missed his touch. I close my eyes and I’m falling, safe in the knowledge he’ll catch me.
“Tell me Beth, what’s got you so upset?”
I look down. “I didn’t tell you the entire story, you know about the night when I was attacked at uni?”
He nods and lifts my chin so he can watch how the words form and leave my mouth.
“After the incident, the guy, he started to stalk me. I don’t know, but I just got this feeling he was watching me and, I even thought someone was getting into our apartment - things went missing or were moved. I thought I was going crazy.”
He strokes my hair softly, thoughtful and patient. “Go on.”
“It got so bad I couldn’t face going out or going home at night, I expected him to be there, you know, waiting for me. So that’s when Charlie and I changed our names. Back then, I was called Francis Parker. She was known as Charlotte Miller and changed it to Charlie, said it would help her career if people thought she was a guy.” I force a smile. “That’s why I’ve tried so hard to remain anonymous. So, when the press tried to take our photos last night, I turned away.” My thumb nail hits my teeth. “What if he recognises my face and comes after me?”
“He won’t baby, you’ll be fine. It’s just a couple of lousy photos. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“But what if ...”
“I won’t let anyone hurt you Beth.” He instinctively pulls me close and wraps his arms around me, sensing my need for protection: I take refuge in his warm embrace. I feel safe here, this is where I belong.
As we are approaching my apartment Ayden spots half a dozen or so press photographers outside the security door, mingling around in the cool night air. “Stop and reverse out, Lester. Just drive for half an hour and then we’ll come back.”
“Yes Mr. Stone.” With the skill of a racing car driver, Lester reverses the car back down the street and we speed off in the opposite direction.
Ayden takes out his phone, scrolls down his contacts and makes a call. “Bridgette, Ayden Stone. Yes, yes Good evening. I want you to set up a decoy for me. Yes. The press are hounding me again and I need some privacy, set something up.” He listens. “Yes, make it good. Yeah, that’ll do, The Ivy, down on one knee. That should do the trick. Put it out there. Thanks.”
“Who’s getting engaged?” I ask curiously, lifting my head to watch him explain.
“I am,” he sniggers and pulls me to him.
***
When we arrive back at my apartment, the coast is clear. The decoy was successfully deployed. I can’t wait to get inside. I’ve felt cold all day but now I’m shaking with an icy chill, dreading what the future might bring.
I attempt to pour out two glasses of wine but my hands are trembling and Ayden urges me to sit down.
“I’ve got to make some calls. I’ll set up round the clock protection and have someone come take a look at the security in this place. Are you ok?”
I nod and wrap my hands around the wine glass, its contents are warming me from the inside. I can’t catch every word, but there’s something about “24/7 and shifts ... locksmith, alarm…” I feel much safer knowing he has everything under control.
Out of nowhere the doorbell rings and keeps ringing. I place down my glass and look to Ayden who comes bounding into the lounge. “Who the fuck’s that?”
“I don’t know Ayden but be careful.”
Off he strides with me trotting behind. “Don’t worry about me Beth, I’ve been fitness boxing since I was thirteen, I can handle myself.” He opens the door and I can hear raised voices. Charlie?
In blows the whirlwind in one almighty gust. “Oh Beth, I just got home and started looking through today’s newspaper and I saw you there, with him.” She gives ‘him’ the kind of stare that would dissolve lesser men. “You were in Hyde Park, picnicing?”
I find her tone amusing. “Charlie, this is Ayden,” I look from one to the other, assuming they’ll shake hands, but Charlie is in no mood to make his acquaintance.
“Ayden, this is Charlie.”
He’s assessing the situation but makes no move towards her either. I sense a stand-off.
Her words leave her mouth like poison arrows. “Oh, you’re here are you, you bastard! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” My protective, older sister is venting like an overheated radiator.
“Charlie …” I try to calm her but she’s been building up to this on the drive over.
“Has she told you why she’s been hiding out for six years, what happened to her?”
Ayden looks horrified and nods no.
“Charlie no,” I implore.
“You’ve come along and swept her off her feet with your fuck me face and fancy clothes and now look what’s happened.”
“Charlie,” I call out. “That’s enough!”
She’s becoming emotional. “But he didn’t see you Beth.” Tearful, she turns to Ayden. “Do you know she never left the apartment for a month, she couldn’t sleep alone, she wouldn’t eat. It really threw her off balance.” She turns to me and takes hold of my hands. “I don’t want you to have to go through that again hon.”
“I know Char, but Ayden had no idea. I only told him half the story I ...”
“… Did you happen to mention the stalking?”
“No but I’m ...”
Ayden is visibly shocked. “ … I’ve organised round the clock security starting tomorrow morning, so nothing’s going to happen to you Beth. I’ll make sure you’re safe.” He pulls me to him and kisses my hair: a truce is established.
Charlie flops down on the sofa and addresses Ayden. “I’m sorry for being such a drama queen, but she’s my baby sister, you know?”
I move to sit beside her and we hug tightly. “Don’t worry. Ayden will look after me.” Affectionately, I brush away a strand of hair. “Do you want a glass of wine? It’ll take the edge off.”
“No, no thanks, I’ve got to drive back, besides I’ve got a date.” She shifts in her seat like she’s sitting on wet sand; who would guess such a vibrant, beautiful woman could be so easily shaken. That’s how special she is: no smoke, all fire.
“But I’ll stay here with you tonight if you want me to?”
“No, I’m fine. You go and knock him dead.”
“Well alright. If you’re sure you’re ok.” She gives my arm a sisterly squeeze.
“I’m sure.”
Ayden’s ‘excuse me’ cough takes my attention away from Charlie.
“I’m going. I’ll leave you two, to, you know …” He heads out of the room much too quickly. By the time I catch him, he’s standing by the security door with his overnight bag in his hand.
The events of the past twenty four hours have dinted my usually acute powers of observation, I’ve become desensitized and I’m finding it difficult to read his body language. Does he want to leave? Am I more trouble than I’m worth? Or is he waiting for me to ask him to stay? I don’t know.
“Ayden ...” I want to say something meaningful, but I can’t find the words. I’m too tense to even smile.
“I’d better go. You’ve got your Rottweiler to keep you company.” He nods in Charlie’s direction and forces a weak smile.
“Her bark is worse than her bite.” I force a half smile too. “But thank you.”
“For what, lying, making you feel like you’re nothing to me and for putting you in danger?”
“You weren’t to know about the photographs, you meant well.”
“And the rest of it?”
“That’s som
ething different. You knew exactly what you were doing then.”
The air becomes chilled between us, so much so I expect to see my breath crystallise and fall to the ground in a shower of ice.
“I suppose I had that coming.” He shrugs accepting my rebuke.
His hand strokes my face and I can feel the heat coming from his palm; I’m falling into it, it’s instinctive, but I catch myself, open my eyes and refocus.
“You can’t just assume that normal service will be resumed Ayden. You’ve hurt me.”
My words cause a twinge of pain. “I know. Are we over Beth?”
“I don’t know, I’m still too raw, too tired to think straight.” He reclaims his hand, leaving my cheek warm and the flesh tingling.
“Ok.” His heavy footsteps echo on the path and his hot breath plumes around him in the cold night air like a sail. He spins around, visibly troubled, distraught; looking as if he’s aged overnight.
“I say that, but it’s not ok that I haven’t had a chance to explain. It’s not ok that some psycho might be dreaming up a fucking plan to get to you. None of this is ok.” A twitchy hand tugs at his hair and grips his neck. “I’m not ok Beth.”
My words rush out, “I know, but I need time.”
“How long?”
“I’m not sure.”
He’s becoming more perturbed. “Speculate: an hour, a day, a week! How long?”
I hear myself shouting. “I don’t know Ayden, I don’t know!”
“I’m out on a limb here ...” His voice is a whisper.
“I can see that.” I place my trembling hand over my mouth.
He seeks out my eyes. “Tell me what I have to do to win you back Beth. Just tell me.”
His choice of words offends my sense of worth. Why is it always about winning? “I don’t want to be won Ayden. I’m not a trophy you can show off to your business friends and I’m not a promising acquisition you have to put in a bid for.”
“It’s only a fucking word Beth ... you know what I mean.” He’s reaching for his neck.
Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play Page 21
