Tristan smiled and leaned over to kiss me. “Good. I’ll still love you if you can’t sing, you know.”
AC smacked his head. “For fuck’s sake, Tristan, that’s not much of an incentive. Either way.” He took my hand. “Ignore him, Lily. A little too much Saturn in this one sometimes. Killjoy.”
Tristan stared at him, open-mouthed.
AC thrust out his arm and stuck his finger in between Tristan’s lips, moving it to punctuate his words. “It. Is. True. Chill. The. Fuck. Out.” He removed his finger, and placing it in his own mouth, swirled it around. “Not bad. I think I need another glass too though.”
I started to jump up to get the bottle and their glasses. AC put his hand on my shoulder. Tristan nodded to him. “Stay there, Lily. I’ll get it.” Tristan slid up off the floor, long legs unfolding. “Do you need a pillow?”
“Yes, please,” I answered. AC smiled, an approving little smirk on his lips.
Tristan came back with the wine and a couple of pillows. It was getting late, and you could feel the silence coming off the windows, almost as if the absence of sound was shaking the glass. The lights in the other bungalows and rooms were scattered now, and the overhead illumination on the pool had been turned off. It was very quiet.
AC drank some of his wine and put down the glass, and picked up the guitar again. “So which song? ‘Wuthering Heights’?”
I thought for a minute. “I don’t know. I guess I know the words to most of them. ‘Babooshka’? That’s a good one.”
AC smiled. “That is a good one. Tris? We can work this one out right?”
He was leaning back against the sofa, his eyes closed, his full lips slightly wet from the wine, his neck long and curved. “Sure,” he murmured. “You guys do this one. I’ll listen.”
AC nodded. “Ok.” He began something that sounded so much like the first three piano chords, even on guitar, and then ran out the tripping upwards notes that followed, and began to sing. In the middle of the third word, he stopped. I’d been sitting there, silent. “Come on, Lily, help me out here.” He gave me that slow smile he had, the warmth in his eyes liquid and intuitive. Both he and Tristan had eyes that seemed to have seen much more than the average person, wearing the scars of having existed in places most people weren’t able to survive. He nodded to me, as though I’d said yes out loud.
AC began again. The chords wanted to foretell something serious, weighted and measured. He started singing the first line, “She wanted to test her husband…” and I took a deep breath and joined in. “She knew exactly what to do.” And we were off. Thinking of the words took my mind off Tristan. I could almost feel his intensity, the concentration he brought to the music, to anything. Then the next verse was already there, the story and the song spinning together. Finally it came, the “uncanny how she,” the climax of the song. AC caught my eye and wouldn’t let go, and the feeling hit just right, the strange rhyme, and our voices, and his careful strumming on the guitar. “I’m all yours, Babooshka ya ya.” Foolish, serious words. We both let the notes carry as AC precisely hit the unexpected power chords at the very end. I could feel the hair standing up at the back of my neck as the sound finally died away.
I looked up at AC. He grinned at me, then looked over my head to Tristan. I turned to follow his gaze, and finally faced Tristan. He had this odd expression on his face, halfway between confusion and something almost like the tightness right before the tears. He bowed his head, his dark hair partially obscuring his eyes, before he ran his hand through his hair as usual, his lips a thin line. He blinked. He started to speak, then stopped, and just reached out for my hand, looking back over my head for AC.
AC played a little arpeggio. “I told you, mate. Not even the surface.” Then he bent down, the guitar flat on his thighs, and kissed the top of my head. “And you. You can sing. Who said you couldn’t?”
I looked at the window. More lights had been extinguished now. I wondered what time it was. A memory of another night, long ago, came without warning. A girl looking out the window on to a dark road, wondering how long it would be before a car came along once more, yellow headlights a quick triangle of light brightening up the darkness, the red lights the eyes swallowed up in the distance. Another set of words chasing her up to the cold, unfinished room, words always said so low. That girl had been days away then from escape, days away from packing up what little she had, and taking her chances far away, somewhere else. Trying not to look back.
AC couldn’t have known what he was asking. Between Tristan’s decisive insistence and AC’s gentle intuition, the two of them could open up every wound I’d tried so hard to plaster over.
AC’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Lily? Are you ok?”
His eyes were green, so green. Like the Northern Lights on a cold, star-filled night, or forest ponds filled with moss, or the last of the light in the sky before a momentous storm. I rubbed at my eyes. “Yeah, yes. Sorry. Been a while I guess.” I tried a weak little smile. “Another one? Now that we’ve started, and all?” I felt Tristan take my hand, and squeeze it. I squeezed back. He knew. He always knew.
We sang a few more songs, and finally Tristan joined in, and it felt good. Weirdly good. We were just finishing up a medley of 80s classics, when Tristan looked at his phone. “Fuck. 3 a.m. Car coming at 7. Maybe a couple of hours of sleep?”
So we all hugged, and Tristan and I headed to the bedroom, while AC made up his little bed on the sofa. I washed my face, carefully avoiding looking at myself in the mirror. Too much had happened. I didn’t need to see the traces of it all scrawled across my face. I threw on the nightdress I seemed to be wearing to bed these days, and crawled in under the sheets, next to Tristan, who had already flung himself into bed, naked except for his silky underwear, uncovered. He was already half asleep, but he pulled me closer to him. “You have a wonderful voice,” he whispered. “You must sing more.” Then he turned on his side, his face on my shoulder, his eyes closed. “My mother used to sing to me, all the time. My father hated singing, once she died.” Then he rolled over on his back, his eyes suddenly open, staring at the ceiling. “He wasn’t all that keen on it before.” I knew how much it had cost him to say those words. I placed my head on his chest, and let it rise and fall with his breathing.
“These memories. That we think we are over. Dealt with. Then the ambush.” I sighed as I said it.
Tristan pulled me up to him, and then we were lost in a kiss, loss and pain and life there, his warm skin, his mouth on mine. All that couldn’t be said.
And there was a little cough. We broke apart, and looked at the end of the bed. There, standing in his boxers, the light from the living room making a halo of his tangled hair, was AC. Tristan sat up. “Mate? Are you ok?”
He came a bit closer to the bed. AC looked pale and blotchy, like he’d been crying. “Tris. I just can’t. The last night.” He coughed again. “Lils, it’s lonely out there. But say no if it’s too weird, ok? You’ll tell me the truth, right?”
There was something in his voice that brought back everything I’d been thinking. I couldn’t swallow. I couldn’t speak. So I lifted up the covers next to me. Catching his eye, I managed a little choking laugh. Then I moved my hand so I was holding up the covers next to Tristan.
Tristan flung down the covers all the way, exposing his long legs against the white sheet. “I guess it’s all decided then. Get over here.” And AC climbed in next to Tristan, who lay back down against the pillows and pulled me next to him, his other arm circling AC, who was clinging to Tristan like he was a life raft. We settled in, small adjustments. AC’s arm was next to mine, and he moved it so it was pressing against me, gently. Tristan was breathing softly beneath our skin, nearly asleep, holding us both up. I thought of how different AC’s skin felt, and how strange it was to feel them both at once, comparing. I remembered a picture from a book I’d had as a little girl, show
ing three lost children trying to sleep, leaning against a big tree in the middle of the forest, the dark line of the tall tree bisecting the triangle of their heads, huddled together for warmth, praying for protection. I hadn’t thought of that book for ages, but I could see all it now, the fraying blue cloth cover, the faded gold embossed printing on the cover, the picture of a cottage on the front, gripped in my hand as I felt asleep. Right before I fell asleep I realized I was holding someone’s hand tightly, and they were clasping mine.
* * *
The next morning and the wake-up call found us all occupying our own sections of the king-size bed, but the bleary looks we all gave each other once we realized where and who we were filled with a kind of contented understanding. A knock at the door made AC jump out of bed. He retrieved the coffee and croissants that Tristan had arranged for the day before, and between getting ready and packing up the guitars and suitcases, there was no time to talk. It was probably just as well. I wanted to think, to feel. I didn’t want to have to explain anything. I had a feeling that none of us wanted to break this strange fragile thing we had created.
Then the car was waiting outside, and I took another look around the room. To me, there were traces of magic in all the corners, across the unmade bed, its white sheets still shaped in the pattern made by our bodies. I was sure if I looked closely enough, I’d even be able to see the imprints of our warmth on the carpet where we sang together.
I blew the room a kiss and shut the door. Nothing was the same, and never would be again.
We said goodbye at the airport, under the eyes of the staff of TSA and the check-in desk at AC’s flight, and anyone else who might have noticed or cared on the way to getting their own flights. Tristan watched him head down the steel box ramp. AC turned and saw us looking, and a big smile illuminated his face, and made him seem bright, very bright indeed next to all the early morning passengers rushing to get space for their carry-ons, and he waved at us, and was lost in the flood of scurrying heads. I squeezed Tristan’s arm. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?”
Tristan looked down at me, his eyes slightly red. “Jesus, I hope so Lily. I fucking hope so.” He kissed me. “Come on, we’ve got our own flight to take.” His mouth moved close to my ear. “I didn’t think I could love you more.” He grabbed my hand, and we headed off to our gate. We were nearly there, when a fan came up to us, wanting an autograph. It was the first time I’d seen Tristan say no, even if it was with an apology about being about to miss a flight. We hurried on. At the gate, Tristan gave me the tickets, and put on his sunglasses. “I might as well enjoy the perks of the cliché. I’m really not in the mood. Do you mind, Lil?”
“Not at all. Gives me something to do. Let me.” I took the whole shoulder bag with all the ID and info in it from him. He still had his guitar, which would go in the carry on in first class. We checked in, and went through. I had one hand on his back, the other arm out keeping people away, I suddenly realized, in bodyguard stance. It amused me to think I’d been watching that closely, that I could just step into the role, despite needing at least another foot and a hundred pounds of muscle to really make a difference. Still. Don’t fuck with the mother bear. On the plane before take-off I texted Dave and asked him to get us a person to get us through and a car. “Tired” was the only explanation I offered. Let him make of that what he wanted, I thought.
We didn’t really talk during the flight. Tristan fell asleep for a while, his head against the plastic wall of the plane. I tried to tuck a pillow in by his neck. I stared at the map of our journey, looking at the outlines of the states, wondering how you could come so far, and then go even further than you’d expected. I tried to write a postcard to Hank. I’d gotten his name and address from the bus company. I’d never said goodbye properly, but I figured he knew why. I hoped he’d be pleased to know I still thought of him. Except I couldn’t think of what to say. I wanted to tell him everything, everything that had happened, but I knew I couldn’t do that. Even if he would have understood. I wished there was someone I could tell all this to, but there wasn’t. I put the card back in my bag. For later. When I could remember how to talk about things that didn’t cut quite so deep. I asked the stewardess for two glasses of cava when she came by on her regular round to stare at Tristan. I figured if I asked for two, I had a better chance that she wouldn’t spit in it. She looked at him again. “He must be tired,” she said quietly.
Quietly, or not, I didn’t want her to wake him up. “That’s right,” I replied. “Thanks for getting the drinks.” I tried to smile. So did she. Neither of us looked very convincing. When she returned with the two glasses, I had my own set of sunglasses on. “Thanks again.”
I looked at the map. We were about to go through Ohio. Another hour or so. I sipped at the cava. Tristan was starting to wake up.
“You ok?” I handed him the glass.
“Thanks.” He drank the entire thing. “That’s better. Can we get more? I’m all right. Bloody exhausted, I guess.”
I waved at the stewardess, and whispered to Tristan. “She wants you. Autograph?”
“Sure,” he squeezed my hand. “Hi,” he read her name tag. She stuck her boobs out a bit more. I didn’t think now was the time to mention to her that if they were any closer to my face, I’d have trouble breathing. “Maryann.” He held out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Thanks so much for looking after us. Can we get some more of whatever this is? And we’ve got a CD in here, if you want one.”
She beamed. “That would be great.” She was back in moments with four of the little bottles of cava. She opened two and poured them, and gave the others to Tristan. She gave him a big wink. “Don’t tell on me now.”
“As if I would.” He was signing the CD. “To Maryann. Thanks so much, sweetheart. Really appreciate it.” He blew her a kiss. I thought she was going to faint.
We sat there, plastic cups in hand. “That was nice of you.”
“Not really,” Tristan said laconically. “Going through the motions, to be perfectly honest.”
I didn’t say anything, but he took my hand, and pointed out the window. “Above the clouds,” he hummed.
“It looks pretty from up here.”
“All the nonsense, down there. And then… Are you sorry you came along?”
I looked at him, wide-eyed. “Never.”
Tristan smiled then, for real, but his eyes were intense. “No going back once you’ve been on tour.”
“No going back. I wouldn’t want to, anyway. Even if I could.”
He intertwined his long fingers with mine, and raised our hands to his lips, and kissed my fingers where they were linked with his. “Stay with me, Lily.”
“As long as you want me. Maybe longer.”
He kissed the tip of each finger. “No matter what.”
“Everything matters.”
He turned to look at me. It was the first time I’d ever seen real uncertainty cross his face. He studied me, as his eyes hardened again, ever so slightly. “It does.” He took in a gulp of air, dropped my hand, and looked away, out the window. It was almost as though he was talking to himself. “There’s more to this. I know that. I won’t ask you to do what you can’t.” He shifted his entire body until he was facing me. “But I will ask you to be honest with me.”
It hurt to not be touching him. But I knew what he was doing. I would have done the same. “I can’t lie to you. I don’t want to either. I’ve…” I stopped. Just words.
“What?” Tristan’s face was serious. “Tell me.”
I shut my eyes. I couldn’t keep all my thoughts straight, with him staring at me like that. “You were there. You know.” I grabbed at the cup, and sipped at the contents. Tasteless. It could have been anything. I forced my eyes open and stared back at him. “The song. Singing. Sharing the bed. It meant something to me too. Whatever it is.”
His eyes we
re endless. “And AC?”
I smiled. “You want words. That’s so unlike you. Wouldn’t you rather hear me now and see if I keep to my word? That’s what you’ll do anyway.”
Tristan couldn’t help the twitch that teased at the corner of his mouth. “My god, Lily. You weren’t supposed to figure me out like this. Ok, fair enough. But now I want words. Tell me.”
I drank some more, and tried to think of what to say. Everything coherent was gone from my head. “Tristan. I’d love to say this beautifully.” I swallowed. “But we’re on a plane, and I can’t think, and oh, fuck. I don’t know. Tris. I love you. For real.” I felt my voice drop to a whisper. “It scares me a little. A lot. Fuck.” I looked at my hands around the empty cup. “Now it’s a speech. I want you to be happy.” I lowered my voice even more, until I was practically breathing the words. “Fuck it, he needs you. I need you.”
He repeated his question. “And AC?”
I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say. “I care about him.”
“That’s all?” That piercing look had returned. There wasn’t a place to hide from that.
“I…he…understands you.”
“And does he understand you?”
“Sometimes. Maybe yes. It seems that way.”
“And how do you feel?”
“About him?”
Tristan inclined his head. I was about to speak when the announcement from the captain came over the speakers. We were on our final descent into JFK. I peered around Tristan to look out the window. Only ocean. I’d barely noticed that we had been losing altitude. The stewardess came around to check we were following the instructions, and we gave our bottles to her. She tried to touch Tristan’s hand. He smiled, politely, raising an eyebrow at me after she left. We adjusted our seats, returned everything to its original position, buckled in. I leaned into the seat back, trying to pretend I liked flying. Or this part of it.
Tristan’s voice was a low whisper. “How do you feel about him?”
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