by Lisa Swallow
I jump as Jem squeezes my knee under the table. “You okay?” he whispers and when he closes his warm hand around mine, I place the other on top. Who cares what they think?
Liam and Dylan chat, too. Are they deliberately ignoring us? I know Jem’s usually pretty closed off from people, but they could involve him. Perspiration begins along my back. Is it me? Do they not approve of Jem being with me?
Fortunately, Bryn appears and distracts everyone. He looks as fucked off as I feel. A girl is with him and the rest of the group switches their attention to her. She’s as skinny as me, and taller with dark brown hair shining in the light like she’s stepped out of a shampoo commercial. Maybe she has, she looks model material. This girl is perfectly made-up; and I don’t know much about dresses, but what she’s wearing looks like the kind you see reported in magazines when awards night chicks have their clothing rated out of ten. I’m fairly sure I can guess my score; the looks I was given as we paused for the inevitable pictures when we arrived said it all. As the girl approaches, I try to gauge her age. Teenage? Older? Her layers of make-up make my thick kohl and bright red lips look minimal.
Bryn sits, ignoring her.
“Who’s your new friend?” asks Jem.
Bryn gestures at the girl who perches on the seat next to him. “Mia. Mia this is… well, the guys.”
Mia smiles broadly. “Hey, everyone! How awesome is this?”
Young…
Mia’s oblivious to the surprised looks the other table occupants are giving Bryn and her. Bryn pours himself a drink and slumps back. Interesting date if they’re not talking.
“Can I take pictures?” she asks Bryn.
Bryn snaps his head around. “Pictures of what?”
“You guys. Everyone.” She leans in. “Kelly Holland is at the table behind. If I take a selfie, then she’ll be in the picture too.” Mia giggles.
I don’t know Bryn well, but I thought I knew him well enough never to pin him as a guy interested in someone like Mia. Her fingers and neck are covered in expensive jewellery and the red dress is one I’d label ‘barely decent’. I hazard a guess at spoilt, rich girl.
“Do what you like, but don’t piss anyone off,” mutters Bryn.
Mia kisses his cheek. “You’re so awesome!”
As Bryn shakes his hair from his face and rubs his cheek. Jem laughs. “Don’t worry, Ruby will have the pissing people off part covered.
“Yeah, I’m just awesome too,” I say snidely.
Mia purses her lips for a moment then tips her head at Jem. “Bryn told me about you guys, so cute that Jem Jones finally fell in love.”
Jem chokes on his water before turning a sour face to Bryn’s companion. “I don’t fall in love, sweetheart.”
“Oh, okay, well, you guys are so cute together. Ruby and Jem. Precious. Gems? Rubies? Get it?” She smiles at her obvious joke.
So cute. Awesome. How old is she? But all I can hear is Jem’s words about not falling in love. I thought we were over this; that we had what he termed our own version of love. We have mismatched ideas still it appears. This doesn’t help the insecurity caused by his recent whispered phone calls, which he claims are from the guys we’re sitting with now.
“Sorry,” says Bryn, “she has no internal filter. She’s a bit of a pain in the ass.”
“You love me really,” says Mia and pinches his cheek.
By this point, Liam and Dylan have joined in the stunned, silent staring at Bryn and Mia. If the Phoenix guys have no idea who she is then the media will get a story that happily pushes me off the radar.
“Quit it, Mia,” says Bryn.
Pulling her hair over a shoulder, Mia picks up a glass of champagne and surreptitiously looks around at the other guests as she drinks, mouth open goldfish-style between sips.
“Where do you know Bryn from?” asks Sky. “I didn’t know he’d started dating.” Dylan digs her in the ribs. “What? I’m only asking what everyone else is thinking.”
Mia sips her champagne. “Oh, we’re not dating. Not yet anyway.” Bryn crosses his arms. “He’s keeping an eye on me.”
“Ah, Bryn, the Babysitter!” says Jem.
“Fuck off,” he replies. “Do you seriously think an eighteen year old princess is my type?”
“Princess?” says Dylan.
“Eighteen?” splutters Jem.
“Not a real princess, jeez. You know what I mean, look at her!”
I cringe for Mia who appears to think the insult is hilarious. Is she stupid?
“He’s always so rude to me,” she says, “but I know he loves me really, otherwise why would I be here?”
“You just said why! I’m keeping an eye on you,” snaps Bryn.
“Keep telling yourself that,” she says with a smirk then catches the looks from Jem and Liam. “Oh, I’m winding him up! He’s used to it.”
“Weird,” mutters Jem too loudly, echoing what I’m sure are the thoughts of those around.
Following an excruciating evening of back-slapping amongst the music industry darlings and the fact only the obvious people win awards, including Blue Phoenix, and Jem decides we should go to the after party. I protest again; but Jem says there’s people he wants to chat to.
In the semi-darkened function room filled with the A Listers, I sit with the band on a plush sofa and stare at the contents of the low metal table in front of me. I give up on the water and start on the champagne. I don’t normally drink wine; but it’s closest and flowing the most. Jem disappears and I sit awkwardly with Liam and Cerys. Sky and Dylan have the right idea; they don’t hang around and leave straight after the ceremony. Skulking in the darkened corner, I’m not interesting to anyone around so I wait for Jem to return. This is a side of Jem’s life I’ve not seen before and hope it’s not one he indulges in too often. I wish the Ruby Riot boys had been invited too.
“Jem hates these too, but he wanted the press to see him sober,” Liam remarks as if reading my mind. “And calm; he’s calm when you’re around which is why he wanted you here.”
Calm? They haven’t heard us when we disagree over something. Hell, sometimes one wrong word, and we don’t talk for half a day. Jem’s been edgier over the last week too and my fear that our three months of Jem and Ruby’s happy place is on the wane increases.
“He said that?”
“In not so many words.”
Cerys reappears from the Ladies and tugs Liam’s arm. “I’m tired, can we go yet?”
“Having as much fun as me?” I ask, twisting my glass in my hand.
“It’s overwhelming,” replies Cerys. “But I guess you’ll get used to it once you’re up there getting the awards.”
I smile at her taking time to talk to me. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Oh, you will,” says Liam, “otherwise Jem’s going to kick some ass until you get recognised.”
If Jem doesn’t come back soon, he’s going to be the one getting his ass kicked.
Once Liam and Cerys go, I decide it’s time me and Jem left, too. If this was a normal party, I’d keep going but this fakery… no thanks.
Unable to find Jem in this room, I head to the hallway outside, past the bouncers. I hope they take a good look and allow me back in because they already stare as if I crashed the place.
Kristie heads down the hotel hallway toward me, her assets spilling out of her tight white dress, unsteady on her sky-high heels. She pauses when she reaches me, attempting to focus on my face.
“You looking for Jem?” she asks.
“Hi, Kristie. How are you?”
“Pretty good.” She rubs the pink lipstick at the corner of her mouth with a finger. “He’s back there. I just finished with him.”
However hard I try, I know my reaction to her words isn’t hidden on my face. “Right. Okay.”
“Interesting that he’s chosen you,” she continues “But then he’s always trying to put back together the broken little girls.”
“Rather than fucking ageing rock widows?”
<
br /> “How do you know he’s not doing both?” For emphasis, Kristie adjusts the front of her dress.
Fucking bitch. “Right. Sure.”
Kristie cocks a brow. “You know what me and Jem have in common?”
“I’m too polite to say,” I snap, my distrust of Jem morphing into anger. He said he wouldn’t fuck anyone else. He promised.
“More than he does with you.”
“Mm hmm.” I look past her, hoping Jem appears from the nearby bathrooms, but praying he doesn’t at the same time.
Kristie bends toward me. “Silly girl. Why would a man who cares about nothing care about you?”
“Then you don’t know Jem,” I retort.
“And you do?”
“Yes.”
“Ask yourself that question again.”
Jem appears from a doorway down the hall and stops dead as he sees me talking to Kristie. She’s saying something else, but I’m not listening. Kristie practically said he’d just fucked her and now here he is appearing from a room in the direction she came from. Catching site of someone behind me, Kristie air kisses a false goodbye and teeters away. I step to one side and rest against the wall waiting for Jem to reach me.
“You okay?” he asks warily as he approaches.
I check out his clothes for disarray and step closer. Jem’s clothes are intact but he smells the same as the woman who stood in the same spot a minute ago.
“You fucking, asshole!” I yell and shove him hard in the chest before he tries to touch me.
“What the fuck? What the hell have I done now?”
“You mean who have you done!” I shout.
Jem grabs my arm and steers me to a quieter part of the hallway. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“How dumb do you think I am?” I hiss, trembling. “You disappear for ages and then her!”
“What?” Realisation dawns in his eyes. “No! Jesus, Ruby.”
“You smell of her! You fucking bastard! Why bring me here at all if you were going to spend the evening with your fuck buddy!”
Before he can answer, I stomp off to the elevators. “And don’t fucking follow me!”
Jem makes the wise choice, and I’m alone in the elevator when I head up to our suite.
Chapter Thirty
Ruby
I wake the next morning with a dry mouth and headache, the extra champagne I drank when I got back to the suite last night seemed like a good idea at the time. Stumbling out of bed, I head to the kitchen area, passing Jem on the sofa, who’s sleeping under a white hotel blanket. The tears threaten again; but I cried enough of those last night, my aching chest a reminder of how much.
How could he? Jem promised we were exclusive, I didn’t think things had changed. If anything, I thought we were stronger.
This is the real Jem Jones and he’s a still a fucked up mess if this is how he’s going to behave.
“You calmed down yet?” he asks as I reappear with a glass.
He’s naked apart from his briefs, tight abs tensing as he bends down to pick up his jeans. He pulls them on and pushes his hair from his face. My shocked silence hides my level of pissed off.
“Calmed down?” I say with a short laugh.
“Yeah. What the fuck was that about? Do you really think I’m going to hook up with another chick when you’re nearby?”
I grip the glass. “When I’m nearby? Oh, so when I’m not nearby, you do?”
“Don’t twist my words, Ruby! Seriously, you think I fucked her?”
“Yes.”
Jem’s brow tugs down and so does his mouth. “Is that what you think of me? Three months and I’ve not been near anyone else. I don’t want to.”
“Right. She lent you her perfume, did she?”
Jem opens his mouth to respond then changes his mind, blowing air into his cheeks instead. I expect anger but he looks tired, like he can’t be bothered.
“You know what? I’m not going to have this discussion with you. If you’re going to behave like a jealous teen the first time someone hits on me, then this won’t work.”
I step back. “What?”
“I’m Jem Jones, it happens. If you can’t deal with it, then that’s your problem.”
If I had anything in my mouth, I’d choke at his arrogance. Ensconced in our life of every day work and home life, away from his public persona, I’d shaped him in my mind as my Jem. Does he exist?
“What’s going on with you?” I ask. “You’ve been odd for the last week. Have you had enough of us?”
“I’m stressed and you’re not helping. This isn’t helping.”
“Stressed about what?”
“Nothing. I’ll deal with it.”
“Why not talk to me about it?”
“I don’t want to.” He grabs his t-shirt. “Just because we’re in a relationship doesn’t mean I have to tell you everything.”
His words are a blow to the chest. Why is the Jem who hides back again?
“So you didn’t screw Kristie?”
“No! So stop behaving like a high school kid and trust me.”
“If you can’t confide in me, we’re not as close as I thought!” I shout.
“You’re as close as I want you.” He stands. “I’m going to order breakfast. Do you want anything?”
Conversation over as far as he’s concerned, he pulls the hotel menu from the low table nearby. That’s it? He thinks this is dealt with?
“I’m not hungry,” I retort and head to the shower.
****
We cross paths as I come out of the bathroom and he goes in, not speaking. I’m genuinely not hungry; the rough edges of our relationship apparent all of a sudden. Why can’t he trust me enough to confide what’s bothering him?
The last few weeks he’s been cagey, not only the phone calls; but Jem’s hiding something and now he’s admitted he is. I pushed down my insecurities, but the way he looks at me has changed. The guard is back up in his eyes. Are we getting too close? Is that what’s bothering him?
Is Kristie who the whispered phone calls have been to? I don’t want to be one of ‘those girls,’ especially considering the way Dan stalked my life, but my urge is too strong. When the water starts trickling in the shower, I grab Jem’s phone. He doesn’t lock the screen, which is a pretty stupid move because if he lost his mobile his life would be accessible to anyone.
He doesn’t have a lot of people he messages. Bryn, Dylan, Steve, Liam, and occasionally Tina, the PR girl.
And Marie. Not Kristie.
A desperate need to know the truth overriding my guilt, I scroll through the messages. They’re similar in tone.
I look through the others.
is another from Marie.
Jem’s are typical Jem. Two or three words indicating he’ll call when he can. Nothing intimating his feelings. One in particular kicks me in the stomach.
****
Jem
The steaming water runs over my skin, washing away the aching of a night sleeping on a too short sofa, and I want to stand under here forever. Life gets better, and then it gets hard again. People are so fucking complicated, Ruby has everything I can give her. Why isn’t she happy with that? I’m okay with what she gives me.
Accusing me of sex with someone else. Not trusting me. And she wonders why I don’t share what else is going on. Why the hell would I want to fuck Kristie? Yeah, Kristie came on to me, couldn’t understand why I’d be faithful to Ruby, but I didn’t do anything, for fuck’s sake. After a few minutes of Kristie pressing herself against me while I explained I didn’t want her, she got the message, shoved me to one side, and walked away.
Have I backed off from Ruby recently? Yeah, probably a little; but that’s because my head is fucked again, and I’m trying to contain everything. If this pours out, and Ruby can’t cope
with the fucked up Jem Jones returning, things will get worse, so I keep him contained. If I let Ruby in and she rejects me when I need her most, my life will go full circle. Best solution? Don’t need her. Don’t need anyone. I haven’t spoken to Bryn or Dylan about this, and I’m running out of excuses not to go and see Marie.
What sort of a person doesn’t visit his dying mother?
Chapter Thirty-One
Jem
A tense morning with Ruby isn’t the best start to a day that’s going to be a test of the new life I’m trying to hang onto. Another night unable to sleep hasn’t helped either. Ruby’s interfering, asking me what’s wrong. Since when did we go back to the ‘talking about how we feel’ crap? Everything has been discussed and dealt with, why rehash? Ruby’s not coming into my safe place. This has pissed her off because breakfast again involved slamming around of cups and bowls, and silence. I left without saying goodbye and hope she’s in a better mood tonight.
The hospice is in Reading, a short drive from London; but I intend to make it there and back in one day. If I do, I can pretend to myself it never happened.
Sure, Jem.
Since Marie contacted me a couple of weeks ago, the walls between my childhood memories and reality have crumbled. She left when I was twelve, and I haven’t seen my mum since. I vowed to myself I would never see her again or allow myself to be hurt on that level by anyone else.
Is there any bigger hurt in the world than not being good enough for your own mother? A part of me yells Ruby would understand, her mum left too; but I can’t talk to her about this. I just can’t.
Each rehab stay, a counsellor has attempted to get me to open up and acknowledge the power this has over me still. I’m not fucking stupid, I know I’m screwed up by my childhood; but ripping open that wound isn’t helpful when my stability is shaky in recovery. So, I refuse. The past should be buried. Forgotten. Over.
So why the fuck has the past become my present?
As I sit in the car, outside the single-storey building, I stare at the gardens full of yellow and white rose bushes that I bizarrely notice match the ones in my garden. I’m dragged back to memories of helplessness, and confusion, of wounds piercing so deeply the damage severed my nerves and left me unable to feel again. Recently this has changed because Ruby crosses my mind; the irritation over this morning’s argument includes a small part of wishing I was with her instead. I shake the thought away. See? I’m allowing in emotion and here’s a reminder of why I shouldn’t.
