by Wells, Nicky
“She’ll ask the doctor to sign the discharge notice,” Rachel explained. “I did good, apparently. She doesn’t think I’m a danger to myself anymore.” She smiled sadly. “What a mess. Anyway…”
Rachel sat cross-legged on her bed and patted her side. “Pull them curtains again and let’s talk.” I did as instructed while she launched into her story again.
“His name was Alex. I met him in the library at college. No, this was before our time in Cambridge,” she clarified before I could query the statement. “Don’t interrupt me now. Right, so I met him in the library. I saw him across an aisle and I dropped the pile of books I was carrying. You should have heard the noise. It was like a tsunami.” She chuckled at the memory.
“Alex burst out laughing while the librarian was telling me off, and he came to help pick all those books up. We went for coffee, then dinner, skipping a few lectures… and that was that. We were an item. ‘Alex’n’Rach. Rach’n’Alex.’”
She sighed wistfully. “He was gorgeous. Delicious. Edible. He had dark brown hair that kept flopping into his face. Not like a toff.” She intercepted my look and punched me on the arm. “It was lovely. He had to keep pushing it back with his hand. And he had the most piercing blue eyes you’ve ever seen. They were like searchlights, and when he looked at you, it was like he could look straight into your soul. And when he was laughing, they seemed to be dancing. And when he was sad, they looked frozen and cold. I’ve never met anyone with eyes like that before or since.”
She gulped.
“He was tall, taller than me. He had the most gorgeous behind and…”
“Enough,” I laughed, “I get the picture. Spare me the graphic details.”
“I wasn’t going to give you the graphic details,” Rachel sulked. “I was going to say that he could wear Levi’s 501 as though he was born in them.” She grinned, and continued.
“So, we had this whirlwind romance. It was unbelievable. Heady. Exciting. I was swept off my feet, and he was the same. He was one year older than me, so he was in the throes of his final year when we met. But that didn’t bother him one bit, and we never thought beyond the end of the academic year.”
Rachel gathered her thoughts.
“That was a bad mistake. It turned out that he’d signed up for Voluntary Service Overseas for after uni. He was going to some remote place in Africa to help build a settlement and a well. When I realized that he was serious about going, I got really upset and we had lots of rows. He kept saying, ‘it’s only a year.’ And I kept saying, ‘but something might happen to you and I might never see you again.’ And so it went on for a few weeks.”
She paused.
“…and?” I prompted eventually.
“And? The morning he had to go, we had another big argument. I started it, I was so upset about it all. I can see now that I was being stupid and selfish, but we were both still so young… Anyway, he got on that plane without speaking to me again. But he wrote to me. He wrote me on the plane and when he got there. He sent a letter every day, and photos. He was missing me, and he was sorry and apologetic.”
“That’s good, right?” I tried to feel my way into her emotions here.
“It would have been. Except…” she swallowed.
“Except what?”
No answer.
“Rachel, what did you do?” I sounded like a mother.
“Nothing,” came the confession. “That’s it. I did nothing. I never responded to his letters. Ever. I didn’t send him a single one. I went back to uni for my final year, and I pretended he hadn’t happened. His letters became more and more sad. He couldn’t understand why I wasn’t writing back. He tried to call me a couple of times. And then it all stopped, letters, calls, everything.”
She halted. “I never saw him again.”
At that, she bit back the tears.
“It’s all right to cry,” I offered.
“No, it’s bloody not,” she disagreed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “They already think I’m a loony and seeing me in more floods of tears isn’t going to improve matters now, is it?”
She had a point.
“Anyway,” she continued softly. “That’s when it hit me. What I’d done. That it was all over. That’s when I went to pieces. In a big way. I nearly failed my finals. I thought my life was over.”
More shoulder shrugging and biting back of tears. “It took me a long time to realize that he hadn’t dumped me. That I had, in effect, dumped him.” Rachel gave a start and looked at me with big eyes. “You don’t think Jordan thinks I dumped him, right? That’s not what happened, is it?”
I gave her a don’t-be-silly-look. “Of course not. You mustn’t ever think that.” I stroked her arm for extra reassurance, and we held each other in a hug.
An hour later, she went home to Cardiff with her mum and dad, and I went back to Dan’s.
What a roller coaster.
What an insane turn of events.
This wasn’t what I had expected from the summer.
Suddenly, my best friend’s wedding was off the cards, which was a terrible and inexplicable pity. As a direct result, my best friend had had a tragic episode and had gone off to recover miles away from London, leaving me desperately sad for her as well as feeling lonely and bereft myself. My birthday party had seen my flat going up in flames, and I ended up living with a man whom I once loved and was trying very hard not to get attracted to again. At the same time, I had had this amazing thunderbolt-and-lightning experience not once but twice, with the same mystery man, whom I just couldn’t seem to be able to track down.
Where everything seemed to have been steady and ordered a few weeks back, now all the balls were up in the air, and I absolutely did not have the slightest idea where they would land.
My life had been turned upside down and inside out. And I did not like it, not one little bit.
PART TWO:
TRUE LOVE
Chapter Seventeen
“Please will you come with me?” Dan wheedled. “Please? I don’t want to go on my own.”
He waved the air tickets under my nose. “Come on. It’ll be fun! And innocent.”
I took the tickets out of his hand and looked at them thoughtfully. Two seats, business class, to Berlin. Leaving tomorrow.
Oh gosh. Why was everything so complicated at the moment?
It was just over two weeks since Rachel’s little swim in the Thames. She was still at her mum and dad’s, but I had spoken to her every day. Her parents had swiftly, efficiently and very discreetly canceled the wedding. She was reading lots and went for a swim every morning, partly to exorcise the ghosts and partly to get some proper exercise. She sounded a little better all the time.
My flat was nearly ready to move in. The builders needed only a few more days for painting and laying new carpets. And in all this time of staying at Dan’s, I had womanfully restrained myself from falling for my rock star all over again. I had worked hard at keeping things simple and innocent. Plus, of course, I couldn’t get the lovely Steve out of my head. If only choir rehearsals would resume sooner.
In the meantime, this. An invitation by the dangerous Dan to have a little mini-break to Berlin with him to celebrate his fortieth birthday. Business class travel, five-star hotel, the works. Everything that turned my head first time round, all over again.
Dan was still looking at me expectantly.
“Explain to me one more time why you can’t have a big party like you normally have? Are you running away from your own birthday?”
Dan sighed. “Look, I’ll be forty in two days. That’s a fairly big deal to the press. I am a bit of a celebrity, after all.” He gave a boyish grin belying his imminent descent into old age.
“Since when have you been adverse to a bit of media circus?” I gently teased him.
“I…” he shrugged helplessly. “On this occasion, I’d just rather avoid being plastered all over the papers with my age written in big fat letters. Who likes being called a sad ol
d rocker?”
I giggled. “You know full well that you’re neither sad, nor old. I didn’t realize you had a complex about your age!”
“I haven’t!” There was a vehement edge to his voice. “But you know what reporters are like.”
I winced. I knew exactly what reporters were like, for obvious reasons. “That’s an occupational hazard for me, and an unfair generalization. I’m not like that. Hey!” I had an idea. “I could write a piece about your birthday!”
Dan smiled and shook his head. “No coverage on my birthday, thank you, not even from you, sweet angel. I’ll just celebrate it in private, please. Although I’d like to do it with you.”
I disregarded the ambiguity in his last utterance and turned my mind to more practical matters concerning evading an ever-curious press.
“Surely they know already that you have a big round birthday coming up, they must be all over it by now?”
By way of response, he hit the play button on his answerphone. Message after message rolled by saying things like, Dan, hey, old boy! Tom-Peter-Mick-Chuck here from RockMag-RockRadio-RadioRocks-HardRockTimes… I gather it’s your birthday soon. Care to send us an invite/do an exclusive/come for interview? Speak soon.
The messages came to an end and I sat in contemplative silence while Dan ran a hand self-consciously through his hair. “See?”
“Wow,” I said at last. “That’s quite something. What are you going to do with all of these? Isn’t it bad publicity to ignore all these folks?”
Dan shrugged. “The label is dealing with them. So…in fact, I must disappear. I’m sure the paparazzi will be camping outside the day after tomorrow.”
“So I’d be doing you a favor?” I suggested. Dan nodded.
“You’d rather go with me than the rest of the band?” I asked.
“Yup,” came the dry reply. “I wouldn’t want to do this trip with anyone else but you.”
Gulp. Why?
“And you’d like to pay for everything?” I double-checked. Dan nodded again.
“Because you’d like to. As a treat for your birthday.” I deadpanned. Dan nodded patiently once more.
“And there’d be absolutely no strings attached whatsoever?” There, I had delivered the killer blow. Dan took it in his stride, nodded yet again.
Not good enough.
“There’s to be no expectation of funny business, rumpy pumpy, hanky panky or any of that. None at all?”
Now I had rattled his cage. “No,” he finally spoke. “None at all. But what do you need by way of assurance? Should I wear a chastity belt?”
I giggled. “Of course not. Although that would be quite a picture…”
“Then why are you doing this?” he asked.
“Doing what?”
“Making it all so excruciatingly plain? Harping on about how we definitely can’t have sex?”
Aha, methinks he might have had an agenda after all.
“Because…because it was hard to let you go last time. And because I’m not going there again. And because this could be really awkward without ground rules. And last but not least”—I took a deep breath—“because I don’t want you messing up my mental health again.”
Dan flinched.
“Was it really that bad last time?”
“Yes. No!” I didn’t know how to explain. “You know I loved it all, loved you. But we put all that behind us and… Well, I don’t want it all getting messy.”
He digested this for a moment.
“Okay,” he held up his hands in defeat. “I admit…I thought…perhaps…maybe…just once…”
I knew it.
Dan looked at me gravely. “Don’t give me that I knew it look,” he demanded. “I’m not that obvious. But will you please come?”
Those puppy dog eyes again.
“Yes, I will,” I finally agreed.
“Great!” Dan enthused. “Here, let me show you where we’re staying.” He spread out a glossy brochure over the table. Humboldt Hotel, I read. Five Stars. Close to the Ku’damm. I gazed at sumptuous suites, exquisite dining rooms, a spa, a swimming pool, a fireplace lounge…
“This is yours,” Dan pointed at one of the photos. “And I’m staying here.” He pointed at another. Two rooms.
“I’m stunned,” I confessed. “When did you organize all this? And why Berlin, of all places?”
He grinned. “Oh, a few days ago,” he said airily. “I knew I wanted to go away but I couldn’t work out where, so I closed my eyes, opened an atlas at random and stuck a finger on the page.”
“And you hit Berlin,” I breathed. “Incredible. How very fortunate.” I wasn’t quite buying this.
“I didn’t, actually,” Dan admitted. “I hit a place just to the north of Berlin, but it didn’t look like there was much there, so I figured I was meant to go to Berlin instead.”
“And so we’re off tomorrow?”
“We’re off tomorrow,” he confirmed once more.
Well, what else could I say?
“Yippee!” I burst out. “This is so exciting.”
Obviously, being an office slave rather than a loaded celebrity, I had a few things to take care of before we could leave. Like convincing my boss, Rick, that I had to have a few days off. Yes, to accompany rock star extraordinaire Dan Hunter on another trip. No, not to write a feature about, this time. Just for fun. No, not for that kind of fun. Rick relented, as I knew he would. He had raked in millions from my coverage of Tuscq’s revival tour, he could hardly refuse a favor for his old friend, Dan Hunter.
Next, I boxed up my various belongings that had made their way to Dan’s house and arranged for them to be couriered to my flat while I was in Berlin; I would move straight back in upon my return. Dan’s housekeeper very kindly agreed to be at the flat to take delivery of my sofas and other new furniture in my absence.
Last but not least, I called Rachel to fill her in on all these developments. Refreshingly, when she heard my news, she turned into the old, perceptive, challenging Rachel instantly.
“What do you mean, you’re off to Berlin with Dan?” she bellowed. “Are you insane?”
While I should have felt ever so slightly insulted, it was lovely to hear my friend on top form again.
“’Course I’m not insane,” I protested. “It’s just an innocent trip.”
“Dan doesn’t do innocent, and you know that full well,” Rachel admonished. “I’m astounded that you two have cohabited for so long without crumbling. Or…” she paused. “Am I too late?”
“No, you’re not too late, and no, we haven’t crumbled. This is all totally platonic.”
All I got was a snort.
“You know I’m a bit of a slapper, and I’ve always advised you to go for it,” Rachel said earnestly. “But do you really think this is a good idea? And what about the lovely Steve?”
“What about him?” I said defensively. “I haven’t even met him yet. I can hardly betray him, can I?”
“No,” Rachel conceded. “You can’t betray him. But you can betray your idea of true love, and your conviction, and your thunderbolt-and-lightning.”
I sighed. “It really isn’t going to be like that, I promise. We even have different suites.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you always had separate suites,” Rachel reminded me. “Only you never used them.”
One-nil for Rachel. Oh God, she was right. I faltered, but only for one second.
“Dan gave me his word. Of honor. There will be no funny business.”
“You believe him?” she challenged.
“I do. And I trust him. Implicitly. He’s never, ever given me cause to doubt him, or done anything that he hadn’t warned me about.”
“Also true,” Rachel conceded and let me off the hook. I came off the phone jubilant. This verbal grilling was a great sign; I was almost one hundred percent certain that I had my best friend back. Things were looking up.
Chapter Eighteen
There was a light drizzle when
the taxi deposited us at the Humboldt Hotel the next day. Dan had been true to his word. While we both had beautiful and extravagant suites, they were nowhere near each other. Mine was on the sixth floor, and his was on the eighth. There would be no clandestine midnight openings of magically unlocked interconnecting doors.
I eyed the four solid walls of my suite with mixed feelings. Obviously, I didn’t want temptation, obviously I was totally, totally over Dan, and obviously I was still holding on to my Steve-moments, but this brought back so many memories that I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed at the similarities and dismayed at the differences.
Depositing my pink carry-on suitcase in the wardrobe, I took a quick tour of the suite. A bedroom, a small sitting room, a sumptuous bathroom with a spa bath and surround shower. As always, Dan wasn’t stinting, bless him.
I was eyeing myself up critically in the mirror when there was a knock on the door followed by Dan’s impatient voice, “Hurry up, woman, we’ve got a city to explore.”
I snapped to and we were off.
Dan’s excitement was contagious. We fair skipped out of the hotel together and walked up the Ku’damm, taking in the traffic driving on the right side of the road, the big plane trees lining this major boulevard, and all the fancy shops. I was worried that Dan would drown me in extravagant gestures, but all we did was window shop and look at the sights. We stopped at a bakery-cum-coffee-shop where Dan ordered two coffees and two Pfannkuchen, which I assumed would be pancakes but turned out to be doughnuts. They were still warm and freshly rolled in sugar and absolutely to die for.
“My clever book,” Dan announced, unexpectedly brandishing a guide to Berlin, “tells me that these little delights are known as ‘Berliners,’ which translates into ‘doughnuts,’ all over Germany. Except in Berlin, these darlings are actually called Pfannkuchen, which the rest of the world would translate as pancake.”
My mouth must have been hanging open in shock because Dan nudged me playfully and said, teasingly, “Do close your mouth, darling, we are in polite company.”
