The walk from my room to the kitchen takes several minutes, and after a few wrong turns through half-empty rooms, I find the place. The sparseness of the house strikes me, as if this is a show-home. There’s no lived in, comfortable feel to the environment and some rooms still smell of fresh paint. Dylan must have a number of properties, especially if he lives in the States part of the time. Either that or his half-empty house is a reflection on his life.
I pull my flannel shirtsleeves over my hands, and hover in the doorway. Jan busies herself setting out plates on the large oak table, and doesn’t look up until I’m brave enough to approach.
“Sky! How are you?” She gestures to a matching oak chair across the room and I obediently sit.
“I feel weird.”
Bringing a large, steaming bowl over to the table, Jan smiles sympathetically. “Weird situation.”
That’s putting things mildly. I peer into the bowl. Fresh pasta in a tomato sauce, mixed with vegetables and a strong smell of herbs. She adds a second bowl containing salad. My stomach rumbles appreciatively.
“What would you like to drink?”
Wine. “Water, please.”
Jan sets a plate, cutlery and large glass of sparkling water in front of me then sits in the chair nearby. The vast table fills the room, but doesn’t change the emptiness.
“Does Dylan live alone?” I ask.
“Sometimes, but often the band stays here. The house is large enough for all their egos.” She smiles to herself. “There’s a recording studio – well, two but one’s Dylan’s private place.”
My stomach twists. The band. “Are the others here now?”
“Liam and Honey are staying. The others are back tomorrow I think – they’ve things to finish before the tour.”
Honey? I had a friend at school who had a guinea pig called Honey. It wasn’t the brightest of animals.
“I bet they all keep you busy.”
“Hmm. Well, I don’t clear their mess up on my own or cater to their parties. I’m here in the day, and then I go home.”
Spooning pasta into my bowl, I take in the surroundings. Every minute I’m here, I’m on high alert. Fish out of water doesn’t even come close to how I feel. Small talk; I have to do small talk.
“Have you worked here long?” I ask.
“Three years. I considered leaving after the first year, but Dylan persuaded me to stay. I saw some stuff I wasn’t happy to see.”
The middle-aged woman pulls her lips tight; and whether she wants to tell me or not, I don’t want to hear.
“Life here is different now though; they’ve mellowed. Well, some of them.” She fixes me with a loaded look. “Like Dylan.”
I shift in my seat and focus on the pasta, twirling some around my fork. If I eat, I don’t have to talk.
“Did you know him before?” she asks.
“Before what?”
“Before he disappeared. Did he leave because of you?”
The pasta sticks in my throat. “No.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm?”
She stands and brushes imaginary crumbs from the table. “He had a different look when he first came back. He was still unhappy but he was brighter.”
No, not her too. What is this? Is Dylan getting everyone to guilt me into a relationship?
“Amazing what the summer skies and sea air can do for someone,” I say.
Someone behind giggles. “Sure is, summer Sky.”
I twist in my seat. The owner of the giggle and American accent can’t hide the surprise on her face when she registers me. My expression matches hers. Talk about rock star girlfriend cliché; here she is in glorious Technicolor with perfectly straight, long, blonde hair to match the perfectly white and straight teeth she’s flashing at me. Honey is impossibly elegant in tight, hip hugging jeans with silicone breasts straining beneath her tight leopard skin top. Oh, good God.
“I’m Honey.” She crosses and holds out a hand with talon-like red nails. “I’m Liam’s fiancée.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you, darling.”
Darling?
Honey strolls over to the fridge, hips swaying in a way suggesting she was or is a model, or she would like to be one. She pulls out a bottle of water, and delicately places her mouth round to drink.
“So you’re his summer Sky?” Is she mocking me? The saccharin sweetness in her tone has gone.
“I’m Sky, yes.”
“I think you did the right thing, darling,” she says. “You’re not his type. He’d get bored. Save yourself heartbreak because Dylan isn’t very… accessible.”
My scalp prickles at this bimbo telling me what I should or shouldn’t do. Is there jealousy from her here? No, she’s engaged to someone else.
I keep my game face. “Yeah, I figured that might happen…”
Honey sashays towards me, stopping close enough for me to gag on her heavy perfume. “Still, make the most of your stay here. I doubt you’ll experience anything like this again.”
Her words irk. No, they piss me off. She’s suggesting I’m not worth this luxury and somehow below her; someone like me isn’t worth Dylan. Whatever the reasoning is behind her bitchy comments, the words have my back up enough to step into Dylan’s life a little. A two fingered salute to Honey. Just for a day or two. No more. Honest.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sky
Waking the next morning, and refusing to be intimidated, I shower, dress in my non-Honey clothes and seek out breakfast. The adrenaline kicks back in when Jan’s friendly face from the normal world is absent. There’s milk in the fridge and I don’t want to root around in cupboards for cereal so I settle on a glass full and an apple from the bowl on the kitchen bench. Now the excitement of books and baths has worn off, discomfort has pushed in. I want to go home.
I sneak back to my room, snuggle onto the day bed beneath the bay window and read a book about college kids in America - I’ve avoided all books with rock star heroes since Broadbeach. Several hours later, with a headache coming on, I summon up the courage to leave the room. I’m a guest, I should explore, and I need some fresh air.
Half an hour wandering the grounds and I definitely feel like I’ve been spirited to a different world. To navigate the whole estate would need a car; the house alone is twice the size of the hotels in Greece I stayed in with Grant and a lot more luxurious. The outside of the house contradicts the interior with the preserved brick facade and carefully restored windows. I pass a huge, sparkling pool overlooked by several wrought iron balconies, steps leading upwards. Why would someone have a pool in the English climate? Oh, yeah, status.
The lawned gardens stretch in every direction, the woods bordering the property in the distance. There’s other buildings further from the house - one looks like the old estate cottage and another a converted barn or stables.
I sit on a wall near the entrance to the house, attempting to take everything in. The quiet and lack of people around strikes me, something I’m unused to. I haven’t seen Dylan since yesterday, even though he’s on my mind the whole time. The anger towards him ebbed with the confusion on his face at what he’d done wrong. Then witnessing how Steve treats him added in sympathy. His life truly isn’t his own, and he doesn’t have many coping strategies in his struggle to step outside.
An expensive red sports car heads down the driveway and pulls up close by. I stand to leave, not wanting to meet the tall guy who climbs out. I back towards the stairs leading to the front door, debating whether to run inside or not.
Rolling his head and stretching out his shoulders, the stocky man snaps something at the driver. He’s broader than Dylan, with a mass of auburn curls falling across his face and shoulders. Tight black jeans, a baggy band T-shirt and combat boots finish off his image. Is this Dylan world of Blue Phoenix a collection of clichés? And if it is, what does that make me?
As he has sunglasses on, I’m unable to tell if he notices me hiding in the shadows. He pul
ls them off and strides over. I tense, waiting for a loaded comment but instead he grabs me in a bear hug, big arms wrapping around me and squeezing out my breath like a hairy boa constrictor. He holds me by the shoulders, chocolate brown eyes studying mine.
“Summer Sky!”
I wish people would stop calling me that.
“Yeah. Hi.”
“You changed your mind?” He raises an eyebrow.
“No, she didn’t.”
I jump at Dylan’s voice. His sharp tone reminds me of the Dylan I met when our cars collided, and the closed off expression from earlier remains. He’s dressed in his usual jeans and T-shirt combination, but for the first time he’s wearing a Blue Phoenix T-shirt. The head of his phoenix tattoo disappears under the sleeve stretching across the biceps I pictured myself licking on the first day. He’s in the Dylan Effect proximity and my nervousness doesn’t help the heavy breathing.
Dylan strolls down the steps towards the other man. “But you can keep your hands off, Bryn. She doesn’t do rock stars.” His eyes flick to mine. “Much.”
Colouring, I shove my hands in the back pockets of my jeans and examine the ground.
“Bad luck, man.” The sound of Bryn clapping Dylan on the back follows, and their voices retreat into the house.
Why am I pissed off I wasn’t included?
*****
The rest of the day I float around, like a ghost haunting the place, invisible, hovering at the edge of their life. I make frequent trips to the kitchen in the hope of finding Jan but never do. Occasionally I hear male voices carrying along the hallways from other rooms, raucous laughter and shouting. There are also girls’ voices, and I picture a room full of half-naked groupies. Jealousy isn’t something I’m permitted when I’ve rejected him.
This isn’t for me. The lifestyle of the rich and famous equals boredom. Bird in a gilded cage, I traipse from room to room trying to decide what to do. Clouds roll in outside, the end of the English sunny summer’s day, and the rain starts. Running out of options, I make a quick sandwich from the cold meats and salads I find in the fridge before retreating to my room.
One day down, two to go?
I take a wrong turn again; this place is a bloody maze. Dylan’s lack of variety in decor doesn’t help navigation. Maybe breadcrumbs from the sandwich will help find my way back to the kitchen next time, like Hansel and Gretel lost in the woods. I pick at the edge of the sandwich as I prepare to back out of the opulent sitting room I’ve stumbled upon.
“Hey, it’s the little lady herself.” A man’s voice carries over the low music coming from the huge speakers across the room.
From my position, I can see long legs in dark denim jeans and bare feet, a tattooed arm resting on the edge of the sofa. His head is behind the white leather cushioned chair and he leans forward, face obscured by long, dark curls. His hair is longer than Bryn’s, matching mine for unruliness. Pushing his hair back with one hand, he takes a good look at my figure, slowly and deliberately.
“Sorry,” I say and turn to leave.
“What for? Come in! Jacinta’s around somewhere, she’ll get you a drink.”
Something about this man bothers me. Not because he hasn’t told me his name, but because along with his over-enthusiastic tone, he appears tightly coiled, like a rubber band ready to fly across the room.
“I’m okay. But thanks.”
“You are Dylan’s Sky?” he asks.
“I’m Sky.”
“Where’s Dylan?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh? Are you his Sky or not?” He drains the contents of the glass he’s holding and dangles his arm over the side of the chair. The glass hovers between his long, fingers; fingernails painted black.
A soft click of the door from the opposite end of the room alerts me. A tall girl wearing a short, tight silver top covering very little of her ample chest, and a skirt I’m sure is actually a belt, crosses the room. She only has eyes for the man, and positions herself on his lap.
“I’m Jem. This is Jacinta. All the Js.”
Jacinta turns her head as if only noticing I’m in the room. Her eyes are vacant; she’s somewhere else. Drugs? I shiver, and my thoughts must be apparent because Jem gives a sardonic grin.
“You can have some of what she’s having?” he asks.
“No thanks.”
“I meant champagne. Do you like champagne?”
I shake my head, not wanting to stay in this room. Jacinta slides her hand up and down Jem’s thigh, and he pulls her sleek black hair to one side and kisses her neck.
“Get Sky a drink, babe,” he says and shifts so Jacinta has to move.
She stands and he slaps her backside as she walks away. If I thought Dylan was an arrogant wanker when I met him, he had nothing on this guy.
“I’m okay.” I hold up the sandwich. “I’m going to eat this and…”
“Sit down then.” He stands and strides over.
His request is more a demand. I’m pissed off with my inability to retort to this guy. He scares me and now he’s close, the smell of whisky surrounds him, and his edginess disturbs me further. I’m convinced that if I try to leave the room, he’ll follow. Reaching out, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ears, and I jerk at his touch.
“Dylan’s summer Sky…”
Run. Get out. Leave the house. This guy’s intentions aren’t good. Something’s wrong - something I don’t understand. To evade him, I bump my backside onto the white leather sofa behind. He keeps close, and sits on the glass coffee table opposite.
“Tell me, Sky, was Dylan always your favourite Blue Phoenix guy?”
“I didn’t know who you were before a couple of weeks ago.”
Jem’s glazed eyes widen, and then he frowns. “Oh, really? You too?”
“What?”
The plate is balanced on my knee, and I stare down at the sandwich. I don’t know what he’s doing or why, but I hope to hell Jacinta comes back soon.
“He believed you?”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
Jem shifts closer, knee touching mine, and he places a hand on my thigh. In ordinary circumstances, I’d give him a mouthful and stomp out of the room but my brain has locked my body into fear. Why?
“Do you know we used to share girls?”
“Okay!” I say loudly, and stand. The plate drops to the floor. Reverie broken, I sidestep him. Not wanting to hear what he’s telling me is enough to switch my brain back on.
“Sometimes, we’d swap,” he continues. “Like, if he met a girl first but I wanted her, we’d trade. We keep tally and he owes me big time.” Jem giggles; increasing my fear, he’s high.
Jacinta approaches with two glasses of champagne and Jem’s mouth curls. “Where the fuck’s my drink?”
She blinks at him. “You asked me to get her a drink.”
“You got yourself one too but not me!”
The dark edge to his tone frightens me more than Jacinta; she gazes at him blankly.
“Fuck it, I’ll have champagne.” He grabs the drink and knocks back the contents in two gulps before shoving the glass back at her. “Now get me a fucking bourbon.”
Through the whole exchange, he hasn’t taken his eyes off me. I shuffle towards the door, away from the broken plate. He remains seated on the coffee table, his coiled muscles and predatory stare terrifying me. My sarcasm and wit fail at the exact moment I need them.
“Enjoy your stay, Sky,” he says and snorts softly to himself.
I didn’t like Jacinta when I saw her, but I’m certain her interruption wound back whatever he intended to do.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
He allows me to leave.
Dazed, I retrace the steps from before, wanting to find my way back to the bedroom as soon as I can. The situation has more than freaked me out - meeting Jem was a slap in the face to the Sky who was considering testing Dylan’s world for a few days.
I step through another door, into another situation. The dec
or of the room matches the entrance hallway with black marble pillars stretching to the ceiling, stairs heading upwards towards the next floor of the house. A swimming pool fills the room, a jacuzzi bubbling quietly at one end.
This house is a dream house but also a place from my nightmares - identical hallways lined by identical doors - and now I’m living a bad dream.
Natural light pours through the windows, over the occupant of the pool. My shoes squeak on the grey marble tiles alerting the swimmer. Dylan. He stops swimming and pushes a hand through his wet hair.
“I g-got lost,” I stammer and back off.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Sky?” He swims over and pulls himself onto the edge of the pool, water trickling down his sculptured chest the same as the day by the sea. Why do I forget how eye-poppingly sexy this guy is?
He wipes water from his face. “You okay?”
“I’ve changed my mind. I want to leave,” I tell him.
“I thought you said you’d got lost.”
“I have. In more ways than one. I think I want to go home…” I hate the way my voice wavers; I hate I let Jem get to me, and most of all, I hate I agreed to stay here.
Dylan pulls himself to his feet while I attempt to avert my eyes from how his blue board shorts cling to his anatomy. Or how when they’re wet, they sit that little bit lower on his hips, revealing that little bit more of the ‘v’ shape Grant never had. I attempt and fail.
“Sky, stop perving and tell me what’s wrong?”
His attempt at humour lightens me a little. “I don’t feel right here, Dylan. This place - I’m not comfortable here.”
“Something’s upset you. You’re shaking.”
“No, I’m not.”
Dylan grabs my hand and pulls it towards him. “Yes. Look.”
I try to pull my hand away, but he closes his tightly around mine. “Did security not know who you were and get heavy? I told them about you…”
I shake my head. “No. No. Honestly, Dylan, I’m okay.”
Water drips down his face. “Okay.” Dylan leans over to grab his towel from the floor.
I don’t know why, but I’m expecting more, but once I close him out by telling him I’m okay, he returns the favour. “I’ll go then…”
Summer Sky: A Blue Phoenix Book Page 17
