Loneliness Trilogy Bundle Boxset

by Alison Cole

"Hullo?"

  "...Anna? It's your mum...ter get up...eady for church."

  "Mum, mum, I've dropped my phone!" I say.

  "You what? Chopped your...dropped your phone?"

  "Yes! I'm up. I'm getting ready."

  "...love you. See you at ...even at the church," says mum.

  "Okay. Oh, bother. Now my phone's dead!" Getting out of bed, I send Marcus a fast email, letting him know what's just happened to my phone.

  He emails me back right away, letting me know he has a spare phone I can borrow until I can get to the mobile store. He promises to bring it to the church before our wedding. Whew!

  I step into the shower and wash myself quickly. Shampooing, I remember to deep-condition my hair as my sister told me to do. She rings my doorbell at nine a.m. and helps me to dry my thick hair. Once that's done, she combs it and styles it into a loose French braid.

  I slip into my concert-wedding dress and her jaw drops.

  "No, do not try to tell me that's a maternity dress! It's too...too lovely!" she cries.

  "It's a maternity dress. I found it in a shop in the U.S. It's perfect for today," I tell her.

  She makes me turn around, modeling it for her. Stopping me from time to time, she makes small adjustments to it until she nods in satisfaction.

  "Oh, Johanna, it's perfect! You don't even look like you're five months pregnant. You're still so tiny. You're going to carry that little one high up."

  "I know. I'm already getting the heartburn," I tell her.

  "Make anti-acid tablets your best friend. Keep a roll in your purse at all times. Believe me, they help! Makeup. Now. Sit," my sister orders, pressing me down by my shoulders.

  I sit calmly, knowing that my older sister will make me look beautiful. My faith in her is perfectly justified. When I open my eyes, I gaze into the mirror, seeing a large-eyed woman with a delicate, healthy glow in her cheeks.

  "Lipstick. I'm going with this deep rose shade," she tells me. "Turn and face me."

  She outlines my lips then fills in the center. I look again and don't recognize myself! I look...sexy!

  I tell her this then suggest, "Maybe you should do my makeup for our CD photo shoot."

  She snorts in laughter. "Yeah, right! Won't you have professional makeup artists?"

  "I don't know. Even if we do, I want you to do my face. I trust you - look at what you just accomplished! Please?" I tilt my head and widen my eyes in the expression I know she can't resist. It works!

  "Okay, okay, I will."

  I don't tell her this, but she'll be getting credit on the CD liner notes.

  Chapter 9

  At the church, we all gather. I'm in one room with my family and Marcus is in another room with his. Finally, it's time for us to present ourselves to the vicar. Dad walks me down the aisle proudly with a beaming smile on his face.

  I look at Marcus and I'm breathless. He is absolutely sexy in that grey-on-grey suit! With his blonde hair, he looks so dashing. Looking to the pews, I see my mum wiping tears from her face as she smiles tremulously at me. She and my sister both wore leaf-green dresses. In keeping with the color theme, dad's tie is a light green-yellow.

  After the ceremony is over and I become Mrs. Marcus Hadley, we give each other soft, lingering kisses.

  "Okay, all! We have a dinner for everyone at our house. If you'll follow us, we can celebrate Johanna's and Marcus' wedding day!" trumpets my father soon after.

  We drive to mum and dad's house in a short caravan. I help my mum and sister bring the food to the door of the family room. Dad sets up a long table just inside the door, allowing us to be able to fill our plates without insect life invading the party.

  I hear the crinkling of gift bags and look at the source. My sister is arranging all the wedding gifts so that nobody trips over them. Marcus looks at me with a gentle smile. I smile right back.

  Sitting outside, we feast on roast beef Wellington, mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables. I'm spearing a bite of salad when my mum asks me what happened to my mobile.

  "I was waking up when you called me. I reached over for it and knocked it to the floor. It hit in just the worst spot and the window cracked. It's inoperable now, so Marcus loaned me a spare of his until we can get to the shops next week," I tell her. I give her the number, letting her know that I will be giving her the new number - I doubt I'll be able to port my old number to any new phone I get.

  After the feast is over, the festivities continue. I'm beginning to get tired, so Marcus sits me in a chair as we talk. My energy continues to flag, so he, my dad and Tim load the wedding gifts in the boot of his car, then he comes in for me.

  "Take a nap, darling! You look exhausted," says my mum.

  Thankfully, I thought to pack everything I would need for the next few days. Marcus drives to my flat and retrieves that bag then we go home.

  I take a nap after Marcus brings everything in. Wow, nice start to my new married life - a nap!

  The following Monday, we're in the shop, buying our groceries when we see Lisa. Looking at me and communicating a silent message, Marcus puts his hand on the handle of the grocery cart, prominently displaying his wedding ring. Lisa can't help but see that. Her eyes drop to his ring finger then steal to my left hand. She flushes a dull red then turns and leaves.

  "Whew. Thanks. Otherwise, I would have given her a piece of my mind," I whisper to Marcus.

  "You and me both. I'm glad she seems to respect that we're husband and wife now. If she gives you even one second's worth of trouble, let me know. I'll get the bloody police involved immediately."

  I notice that when Marcus is upset, his British accent becomes even stronger. I nod, just grateful that the obsessive young woman has gone. We continue shopping until we have crossed everything off our list.

  "What time is your practice?" he asks me.

  "Not until one this afternoon. D'you think we have time to pick up a few things from my flat?"

  "Not really. It's already getting on for eleven. By the time we unload everything and make lunch, you'll barely have time to get to the studio. Give me your key and I'll start bringing the smaller furniture over," he suggests. "I'm waiting to get my next assignments anyway, so I can get some of your things moved in and use my time productively."

  "I like that idea. Okay."

  At home, I give him my house key and we unload groceries. We have soup and sandwiches, enough to give me energy and keep my stomach happy - I have noticed I still have a strong tendency to developing nausea if I allow myself to get too hungry.

  At the studio, we practice the song we plan to record tomorrow. As we all wear headphones, we discuss parts where we need to refine our rhythm and tuning then work on these parts. We make detailed notes so that when we record, we'll know what we need to do. We stop when we hear a sharp knocking at the locked studio door.

  Tim answers. "Gemma, what the hell are you doing here?"

  I hear her muffled voice. "...find a job with a band...back and...with you?"

  "No. Under no circumstances will you ever get your old spot back. You wrote your own ticket out of the band when you exposed yourself at that last concert. What you did was wrong. Our band is not composed of stunts or has-been, washed up singers who think they need to expose their bodies for sales and ratings. Goodbye, Gemma. Leave. If you come back, I will call the police. Got that?"

  "Oh, God, no...want to play and sing! Promise...won't do that...Tim! Please!"

  Tim slams and locks the door. Marcus is standing next to him and, from where I'm standing, I see him raise his eyebrows in question.

  "Call them," Tim says.

  Marcus calls the police. They show up at the studio ten minutes later and Tim explains the situation.

  "We'll patrol around. I think I remember who you're talking about. Tall? Short hair? Slim and athletic?" asks the officer.

  Tim nods.

  "Okay, if we spot her, we'll make her leave. If she doesn't, you can swear out a criminal complaint and we'll arrest her."


  After that intrusion, we need to take a break so we can focus on the song. We calm down.

  Marcus sums it up best for all of us: "You do know that our band is light-years beyond what she represents, don't you? Put her behind you. She's ancient history. She wrote her own ticket by exposing her tits to audiences and you're about to start recording our second CD. She's washed up! You're not, so don't let the likes of her bring you down."

  I smile. "He's right, guys. Gemma's history and we're working on the present and future."

  The next morning, we're all at the High Street recording studio, ready and raring to go. I'm feeling nervous, but ready to record. I have snacks and plenty of water in my messenger bag. Marcus had to drop me off so he could do research and make phone calls for the series of articles his client has assigned to him. We set up our instruments and tune them according to the notes we took down the day before. The sound engineer looks through our sheet music and has us complete sound checks and a practice run-through.

  "You sound good, so I'm going to have you record the practice CD. We'll listen to that then decide what needs to be worked on," he says.

  We record the practice CD in one run-through. Donning headphones, we all listen closely to the sound of the music, making notes on our sheet music.

  "Okay, are we all agreed about the changes we need to make? Johanna, sing out a bit more on the refrain after the bridge. You came in too softly and it was hard to hear you over the instruments. Linny, you keep the rhythm of the song, so keep it syncopated so that the rest of the band can come in when they're supposed to."

  We work on each part until it is perfect. It's nearly three p.m. when we're ready to start recording for real. I gulp down water to wet my vocal cords and put my headphones back on.

  It takes us four more tries, but we finally get the CD down perfect. As we listen to the different tracks, the engineers isolate the best parts, ready to make them all a seamless whole. We listen, growing more and more excited. It sounds so good! This second CD, called Lover's Quarrel, is going to be a huge hit.

  Finally, it's just after five when we leave. Marcus has just pulled up outside the studio when we pile out with our sheet music, bags and instruments. I climb into his car and we go home. I am bone-deep exhausted. Marcus has ordered in some Mediterranean food and we eat. I'm cuddling on the couch with my husband when I doze off...

  I come out of a large, stone house surrounded by tall, old trees. Its spring, so the leaves on the trees are that tender, transparent green color. I'm carrying a tray with glasses and lemonade and I laugh as I see my husband lying on a blanket and playing with our daughter. She looks at me and her round face expresses happiness and excitement. Her curly, light-brown hair lifts in the slight breeze and I see her leaf-green eyes sparkling. Sitting next to them on the blanket, I give Marcus his lemonade and pull our daughter into my lap so I can give her my breast. She snuggles deep into my lap and wraps her little arms around me. One tiny hand pats and massages my full breast as she drinks deeply.

  "She's having so much fun enjoying this sun and warmth," Marcus tells me. "I don't think she cares so much for winter. Look at her!"

  I do. She is truly a summer-weather child. Her cheeks are a delicate rose-pink and her eyes are sparkling. I sit her up after detaching her from my breast and bubble her. She lets out a loud belch and laughs at the sound. I give her a teething biscuit and she gums it, swallowing the mess she makes. Thankfully, I thought to put a bib around her neck so she wouldn't mess up her outfit...

  I stretch and wake up from my dream as I feel Marcus lifting me. It was so surreal.

  "No! I'll walk. I'm getting too heavy for you!" I tell him.

  "You're as light as a thistle, so don't worry. You worked yourself hard today and you need to get your sleep. You're going to bed now. I'll finish my article upstairs then join you," says Marcus.

  I have to give in - he's right. I am absolutely exhausted and I cannot keep my eyes open. After I brush my teeth, I slip into a long nightshirt and Marcus tucks me into bed. I'm back asleep in seconds. I vaguely hear him setting up in our room as he prepares to finish the last of his article.

  The next morning, I'm up early and ready to go to the studio when Tim calls me on my new phone.

  "Practice is canceled." Tim sounds upset.

  "Why? Is someone ill?"

  "No. Someone saw Gemma trying to break into our studio - with a stolen car."

  "What? Are you having me on?"

  "No! Tell Marcus to take you to the studio, but don't get out of the car. Gemma bashed in the outside wall pretty good. It's structurally unsound, so we need to find new practice digs and fast. I'm going to spend the day looking around town. We should have moved after we fired her. Damn!"

  After I hang up, I tell Marcus what Tim told me. We hastily eat breakfast then drive to the studio. Tim was not exaggerating. Gemma smashed a huge hole in the front wall. The front door is hanging by one hinge and the window to the side is shattered.

  "Oh, my God, she really did a number. Johanna, d'you see those posts and that rebar up there?" Marcus points to a spot above the door.

  "Yes."

  "She smashed her car into a supporting wall. That post and rebar help to hold the roof in place. This building will have to either be condemned or completely rebuilt."

  Looking in, I could see the instruments inside. I also saw music stands and sheet music scattered in amongst the rubble. My heart fell. So much damage! What would this mean for our band?

  A city engineer walked up to me.

  "And you are?"

  "Johanna Will - Hadley," I corrected myself. I'm a member of the band that used this studio. How bad is it? My husband says it'll either be condemned or rebuilt."

  "Condemned. Your bandmates are waiting for their instruments. Is there another entrance away from this side?"

  I shook my head. "No."

  "Okay, then, we'll be sending in firefighters to retrieve what we can your music and instruments. Nobody else can go in! Under no circumstances," said the engineer.

  At my side, I felt Marcus nodding gravely.

  "Too risky?"

  "By half. Only experienced personnel can go inside. I'm waiting for a crew of firefighters to get here so we can get this equipment out."

  I collapse on the floor and cry. All our hard work was gone. Years of work. Gone. Forever.

  End of Book One

  Embrace You - Loneliness Book Two

  Chapter 10

  After Gemma McCullough crashed a stolen car through the front of our old studio on High Street, our band, The Lonely Lovers, has been forced to find a suitable place to rebuild and start anew. In the crash we lost nearly everything we had accomplished so far. Fresh off a successful U.S. tour, we were working on our second studio album, and the first one that would be released internationally. The Lonely Lovers were nearly at the top of the world of rock and roll. But Gemma has ruined that. Our second album is but a pile of rubble, along with our instruments and the history that resided in little old High Street Studio. Now Tim, Linny, Laslow, Marcus and I are in the parking lot observing the wreckage and a local estate rag to find a new home for the band.

  "Guys, I don't know how long it'll take for the police to find her, so I want to find a studio that's with a bit more security than we had on High Street. I'm checking out several possibilities and hope to have some word soon. I'm most impressed by this studio that's located in an old business complex not far from High Street," Tim slaps the rag in his hand. "It's out of the way, the parking lot is enclosed by brick fencing and an electronic gate, and it has a pair of cameras on the exterior. I called Nigel about it, he tells me that the Stones used to record there. It goes without saying that, if this had happened while any of us were inside..." Tim's eyes flick to my rounded, pregnant belly.

  I shiver in reaction. Marcus scoots closer to me and pulls me next to him, comforting me.

  "They have a description of the car she has and what her ugly mug looks like. T
hey'll catch up to her soon," says Marcus.

  "Right, well let's all get home and rest - it's been a long day for everyone. I'll check with the estate agent tonight to see if this studio is available for lease," Tim says.

  We bid each other farewell and part ways. Marcus and I ride in his little black Audi back to his flat. We still haven't coordinated the move to his place. The incident with Gemma has set back not only the band's schedule, but everyone's personal lives as well. Once we arrive at his flat, I call my landlady and give her notice that I will be relocating within 30 days. Marcus and I spend a quiet night in front of the telly, eating frozen meals and trying to forget the day.

  The next morning, I'm cooking breakfast when I get a call from Linny. We have received the first good news since the accident - Gemma has been found and arrested. An officer patrolling not too far from High Street spotted the stolen car in an alley and radioed it in. Within minutes, detectives responded and directed a manhunt that resulted in her arrest a mere two kilometers away in an abandoned warehouse. Linny also informs us that we need to be present at the police station since we were witnesses to the incident. He tells us to ask for Detective Wallace. I pass on the news to Marcus and hop in the shower. By the time I finish drying off, Marcus already has breakfast finished and plated for us. I'm a bit nervous about the whole ordeal and end up eating very little.

  "Ready?" Marcus asks.

  I hesitate. "Let's get on with it," I choke out.

  Marcus and I drive there as quickly as possible. We pull up to the massive, three-story precinct. We hurry through the main entrance behind an officer and his unruly detainee. An expansive, bland lobby is the first room we encounter. The yellowing walls are only broken by an occasional bulletin board and several off-shooting hallways that lead officers to their departments and criminals to their inevitable fates. The far wall is a bulletproof partition with half a dozen officers chatting on phones and barking at restless citizens. This, we figure, is the reception desk. Between the front door and the reception desk is about fifty old green chairs bolted to the floor. Some of the people sitting in these chairs are law-abiding citizens waiting on word about an unfortunate friend or family member. Others are the unfortunate ones, flanked by cops, their hands cuffed together and their legs cuffed to those of the chairs'.