by Tess Woods
‘I haven’t got an exact address. He’s based in the US. In Nashville.’
It took a few seconds, and then Louise’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. ‘Oh!’ she said a little too loudly for an ICU ward with a sleeping patient in it. ‘That’s why I knew the name, it’s Scott Gunn!’
‘Um, yes, it is.’ Jamie pressed her lips together and bit on them.
‘He’s literally my favourite singer in the world. Wow, that’s amazing!’ Louise smiled from ear to ear while she wrote ‘Nashville (Scott Gunn)’ on the form. ‘Sorry, it’s just, seriously, I’m such a huge fan. What a spin-out that Scott Gunn is Charlotte’s father.’
CJ’s eyes snapped wide open. ‘Scott Gunn’s my father?’
19 JUNE 1989
Jamie and Simon had been together for almost four months. Since that first meeting at the cafe, when she’d gone home with him at the end of his shift, they’d been inseparable.
Simon was everything she wasn’t — uninhibited, daring, spontaneous. He was wildly romantic, the grand-gesture type. Once she came out of a university lecture to find him waiting for her at the entrance clutching a bouquet of daffodils, her favourite flower. And on a whim, he used up most of his savings to book them a night in a fancy hotel.
He wrote song after song for her and about her, and he’d serenade her on his guitar before whisking her off to bed.
The sex was intense and exhilarating. Jamie came alive when they were together. She did things with him she would have been horrified by only months earlier, but everything with Simon was an adventure — a deliciously sexy adventure.
She moved out of home and in with him after only ten weeks together, a decision which shocked her just as much as her parents. And she hadn’t looked back.
He was six years older than her. She knew she wasn’t the first woman to live in his tiny rented studio but he made her feel like she was the only one who had ever mattered.
He brought her cups of coffee in bed when she was studying, and rubbed her feet when they were sore after her long shifts at the local delicatessen.
He was grungy and casual and she was poised and polished, but he didn’t try to change her, and it never occurred to her to change him.
They were dizzyingly in love.
‘Hey, have you heard of Malcolm James?’ she asked him one afternoon as they lay on his bed and she played with his hair.
‘What? Like the Malcolm James?’ he asked. ‘Alive Records Malcolm James?’
‘Yep.’
‘Of course I’ve heard of him. Who hasn’t?’
‘Guess where the James comes from in James-Stone?’
He leaned up on his forearm, his expression changing instantly from dozy to alert. ‘You’re related to him?’
‘He’s my grandfather.’
‘No shit!’ His eyes just about fell out of his head.
She giggled. ‘Want to meet him?’
‘Do I want to meet the man who launched the biggest record label in the country, the man who pretty much discovered every freaking music star in Australia? What do you think?’
Jamie felt the warm glow of making someone else happy. She knew how much talent Simon had and how big his dreams were.
She could hardly contain herself. ‘Well, he’s supposed to be retired now, although he never really retired, my grandfather. He’s still got his finger in every pie. He’s been in London for the last few months but he’s just back this week. I’m going to visit him tonight and I told him I’m bringing my amazingly talented boyfriend with me to audition for him.’
He sat bolt upright and ran his hands through his hair. ‘You actually did that for me?’
‘Of course. My grandfather will love you. I know it.’
‘This is too good to be true.’ His voice shook. ‘I’m meeting Malcolm James tonight — holy shit!’
She laughed, delighted.
‘So, have you met any famous people?’ he asked.
‘Lots.’ She couldn’t help but feel a little smug. It wasn’t often she got to gloat. ‘Grandpa had a massive sixtieth birthday party on Hamilton Island last year. He booked out the entire island and invited music industry people from all around the world. He flew Rod Stewart in to perform.’
‘Rod Stewart?’ He laughed. ‘See, I was right, you really are a princess. You’re music royalty. What other surprises have you got in store for me?’ He nuzzled her neck. ‘Hey?’
She shut her eyes and took in the scent of his aftershave, the feel of his lips on her skin. ‘I could probably get you a lifetime supply of dope from my parents’ backyard.’
‘You’re the perfect woman.’ He climbed on top of her. ‘Music royalty, free dope and sexy as fuck. What more could a man want?’ He kissed her deeply.
The taste of him intoxicated her. She laced his hair with her fingers. ‘Just don’t become a big star and forget about me.’
‘Never,’ he promised.
***
Simon’s palm was sweating against hers as they walked up the driveway.
‘Hey.’ She gave his hand a squeeze. ‘Relax. He’ll love you.’
He gulped and nodded.
She’d never seen Simon nervous about anything, let alone this nervous.
Her grandfather opened the front door and gave her a hug. ‘Come in, come in. Got your guitar with you, I see,’ he said to Simon. ‘Let me hear you play.’
Jamie and Simon sat beside each other on a couch, facing Malcolm who poured himself a whiskey before sitting down.
Each time Simon finished a song, Malcolm nodded, and with an entirely disinterested air, said, ‘What else have you got?’
After Simon had performed six songs in succession, Malcolm leaned back in his rocking chair and finished his drink. He put the empty tumbler down on the coffee table and continued to rock slowly, back and forth. He may have been acting nonchalant, but Jamie knew her grandfather like the back of her hand and his twinkling eyes gave away what his slow rocking didn’t.
Simon sat still beside her, taking shaky breaths.
Malcolm gave his long grey hair a scratch. ‘So you kids had any tea yet?’
Jamie rolled her eyes and cried, ‘Oh for God’s sake, Grandpa, stop torturing us. What do you think of Simon’s music?’
Malcolm laughed and addressed Simon, indicating with his nose at Jamie. ‘Born with a bee in her bonnet that one. Never learned the art of patience.’
Simon laughed nervously.
Malcolm stopped rocking. He fixed his eyes on Simon. ‘We don’t make decisions willy-nilly at Alive Records. We like to think of it as a marriage when you sign on with us. We’re in it for the long haul.’
Simon’s grip on her hand was so tight her fingers were turning blue.
Malcolm coughed a dry hacking cough. ‘Welcome to Alive Records. You, my son, are going to be the biggest thing to hit the Australian music scene in years.’
‘Um.’ Simon frowned. ‘Is that it? I’m getting signed just like that? There’s nobody else I need to meet or anything?’
‘I own the company, son. What I say goes. And I know talent when I see it. Consider yourself signed. Just like that.’
Jamie thought she might explode with happiness just by looking at Simon’s face.
‘Though, for a start, you’ll need to change that name. I can’t have a Simon on my label.’ Malcolm gave him a once-over and then leaned forward in his chair. ‘You look like a Scott. What did you say your surname was? Golinski?’
‘Gorenski, sir,’ Simon replied.
Malcolm was silent for a minute. ‘Scott Gunn. That’s what we’ll call you. Yes, I think Scott Gunn will do nicely. Do you like it? I like it.’ He winked at Simon.
Simon nodded quickly. ‘Scott Gunn’s fine with me.’
‘It’s more than fine, mate, it’s a winner. Scott Gunn sells millions of records. Simon Gorenski’s the guy who does your taxes.’
Jamie shook her head. Truly, her grandfather was the rudest person on the planet! She turned to apologise to Sim
on, but to her surprise, far from being offended, Simon was grinning from ear to ear.
‘I really like it, Mr James. It’s a great name!’
‘Be prepared for your lives to change,’ Malcolm said to both of them in his low, measured tone. ‘As soon as the ink’s dry on your contract, the boys at the label will start producing your first single. Pre-publicity will start immediately after that. In six months tops, you’ll be on your way. But there’s a price for fame, Scott, and believe me, you will get famous. Once the Alive Records machine gets busy, you’ll be everywhere. Are you ready for that?’
‘As ready as I’ll ever be, sir.’ Simon rubbed his hands together and grinned. ‘Bring it on.’
‘Are you ready for what’s coming?’ Malcolm nodded at Jamie. ‘You can’t be seen with him in public at all. You know how this industry works. If his fans get wind of a girlfriend, his career’s dead before it starts.’
‘Whatever it takes for Simon’s dream to come true.’ Jamie smiled indulgently at her love.
‘Okay, good. Just don’t go getting all huffy with him when he becomes a heartthrob and women throw themselves at him.’
The prickles raced along her spine but she ignored them. ‘Of course not.’
Malcolm raised an eyebrow at Simon. ‘A word on my granddaughter, sonny. She’s the love of my life, this kid. Don’t break her heart and don’t get her pregnant. Do either of those things and, I promise you, the only place you’ll ever be singing is in the shower.’ He was still smiling but his eyes were steely. He lit a cigarette and blew a smoke ring in the direction of Simon’s face.
‘I’m crazy about Jamie, sir. I’d never hurt her. And getting her pregnant?’ He shook his head emphatically. ‘That’s never going to happen, you have my word on that.’
‘How can you be so sure, son?’
‘Don’t worry, Mr James, I’m sure. I’ve got no interest in having kids, at all. Not now, not ever.’
Malcolm’s eyes locked on Jamie’s and neither of them spoke.
She gulped under his stare.
Jamie and Simon hadn’t been a couple for long but she already had hopes that he was ‘the one’. Surely he was talking rubbish about never wanting children. He was focused on building his career — and they were both still so young, they had all the time in the world to think about having a family later.
She wouldn’t tell Simon just yet that she had a glory box under her bed at her parents’ house, full to the brim with baby clothes and accessories that she’d been collecting since she was fifteen. And she wouldn’t tell him that she already had her children’s names picked out — Charlotte and Josephine for girls, Heath and Oliver for boys. She locked those dreams away in the very back of her mind, in a place where they couldn’t be heard above the beautiful noise of Simon’s music.
2 MARCH 2018
The bright lights and the onslaught on her senses of the beeping machines, the wires attached to her, the clamp on her finger, the stench of disinfectant, the flashing heart monitor made CJ long for sleep again.
When the doctors had finally left her alone and the nurse had gone back to her station, and only her mum sat by her bedside, she’d shut her eyes and willed herself to sleep.
Sleep was magical. When she was asleep she didn’t feel any of the guilt. She wasn’t forced to look at her mum’s stricken face. She didn’t have to think about poor Nan. She didn’t have to remember what had happened with Finn and the video and the drugs and the police and what everyone thought of her. And when she slept she didn’t need to remember how Scott Gunn was her dad and how he had never been there for her.
She would have thought that finally finding out who her dad was would be a much bigger deal, that she would demand to know everything at once, that she’d be furious at her mum for never telling her about him. But she was so tired. And so very, very sad.
When she woke up again, her mum was still sitting in the same chair.
‘Mum, is Scott Gunn really my dad?’
Jamie’s expression froze. ‘He is, honey.’
‘Why didn’t he want me?’
Jamie opened her mouth to say something then stopped.
‘It’s okay you don’t have to tell me.’ CJ couldn’t bear the look of torture on her face.
‘No, you deserve to know. And I know I should have told you this before. I just don’t even know where to start, that’s all.’ She pulled her chair closer to CJ’s bed. ‘I can tell you anything you want to know.’
‘Does he know about me?’
Her mum looked down. When she looked up again she had tears in her eyes. ‘I found out I was pregnant with you when we’d already made the decision to break up.’
CJ closed her eyes. It was too much for her. Sleep. She just needed more sleep. It wasn’t that she didn’t have questions, she had hundreds, thousands, all crashing against each other. But she wasn’t ready to hear all the answers yet.
26 FEBRUARY 2000
Jamie never thought of him as Simon anymore. Scott Gunn wasn’t just his stage name, it was who he had become. And who he had become, was the biggest country music star Australia had ever known. Simon Gorenski had well and truly left the building many years before.
In less than eighteen months from that first meeting with her grandfather, Scott had gone from being just hers to being everybody’s — a public commodity through and through. They’d moved from his tiny Carlton flat to a penthouse apartment in a gated South Yarra block with 24-hour security to keep overzealous fans at bay. When they had first met, they caught buses and trams to get around. These days she drove a Saab and he had bought himself a Lamborghini.
There were lots of perks — the designer clothes she adored, having a chef so they never had to cook after work, exotic holidays when he could squeeze in some time off. But none of the perks excited her as much as they excited him. She was, after all, Malcolm James’s granddaughter. No matter how much her parents had tried their damnedest to give her a childhood away from a life of excess, she’d spent enough time in her grandfather’s world for it to have become a part of her world too.
But for Scott — the albums, the tours, the fans, the money — it was more than a dream come true. He’d worked hard to afford his first Gibson guitar and to land the small pub gig he did every Friday. Now he recorded his albums in a state-of-the-art home studio he’d had custom-built; he owned a Fender that once belonged to Hendrix; and he played to crowds of up to thirty-thousand at a time.
Scott looked up from his guitar as she walked into the studio. He had dark circles under his eyes and she could smell the bourbon on him from across the room.
‘Sounds good,’ she said quietly, sitting next to him on the modular lounge.
‘Do you like it? It’s about you.’ His voice was scratchy.
She smiled a tight smile. ‘That’s what you say about all of them.’
‘Because it’s true.’ He dropped a kiss on the tip of her shoulder. ‘You’re my muse.’
She used to believe that.
‘You were late home last night.’ She sighed. ‘Again.’
‘Yeah, late gig.’ He avoided her eyes. ‘Boys wanted to get a drink after.’
‘Just the boys? No women wanted to join you, then?’
He grunted. ‘Not this again. I’m too buggered to have this fight today. Come on, Princess. You know there’s nobody but you.’
She swallowed hard. ‘The thing is, Scott, I don’t. I don’t know that at all.’
‘What do I have to do to make you believe me? I’ve told you a million times, you can come out with us if you’re worried about me playing up, but you never want to.’
‘It’s no fun for me to go out with you and have to pretend we aren’t together. And then stand by and watch as women throw themselves at you, which has happened every time I’ve gone.’ She stopped, then added, ‘You know I don’t fit in with your friends anyway.’
‘You don’t even try to fit in.’ He put the guitar down. ‘What’s going on? Have you just com
e in here to pick a fight, Jamie?’
She knew she’d pissed him off. He only ever called her by her name instead of Princess when he was annoyed with her. But it was too late to back down.
She’d stayed up until four o’clock that morning when she’d finally heard his key in the lock and she’d quickly turned out the light and pretended to be asleep when he came staggering into bed with his clothes still on.
It was during those early hours of the morning, alone and upset, that she’d made the decision to confront him.
Her period was late, her breasts were swollen and tender, and earlier today, while he was still sleeping off his night out, she’d vomited for the first time. She’d taken a home pregnancy test that was negative. So she’d gone to the doctor to have a blood test instead. If her instinct was right, she needed to have this conversation with him before she found out the result of the test later today. It was actually the conversation they should have had years ago, if she was honest with herself.
She’d gone over the speech dozens of times in her head already this morning. She’d even practised it in the bathroom, just before she’d walked into the room, and now she couldn’t remember a single word.
She stared at the second hand on the wall clock — tick, tick, tick — while she struggled to compose a sentence.
She swallowed. ‘Scott, I’m not happy. I want things to change.’
He frowned. ‘What things?’
‘Everything.’
‘What? Everything needs to change just because I was home late last night?’
‘No.’ Now the speech came rushing back to her. ‘I want everything to change because you’re always home late. Because I never know where you are or who you’re with or what you’re doing with them.’
He sighed. ‘Why can’t you just trust me?’
‘How can I just trust you after I opened a magazine to find photos of you snorting a line of coke off a stripper’s stomach?’ The hurt from the day she’d discovered his betrayal formed a knot in her gut. It was eight months ago but it still felt just as raw. She’d always had her suspicions, worries, but to have them confirmed was a whole different story. She wondered if the pain would ever go away.
