by Isobel Hart
Catherine looked at me thoughtfully. “Tell me a bit about yourself, Delilah. What is ‘Delilah’ all about?” She put my name in irritating quote marks, seemingly encouraging me to talk about myself in the third person. I worried the interview was going to be a painful experience.
“I’m just an ordinary girl from Cambridgeshire, that’s about it,” I admitted with a smile. I figured it was better she understood my ordinariness sooner rather than later.
“Oh, you live near here, then?”
“Used to. Not too far.”
“Is that how you met Cat?”
“No, I met Cat through Matt’s brother, Eddy,” I said, pointing towards my friend. “We’re at university together, studying music. We became close friends – then he invited me to spend the summer with him and his brother’s band.” I smiled over at him, and he grinned back at me.
“Spend the summer with the hottest rock band on the planet at the moment… huh, that must have been a hard decision,” she said with a laugh.
“Oh, I didn’t know who his brother was at the time. I was just grateful he was willing to let me come and be a hanger-on. I had no idea Matt was his brother.”
“Seriously?” She sounded incredulous.
“Seriously,” Eddy interrupted. “It was me who insisted she come.”
“Huh,” Catherine said, looking at me with her head on one side, as if I genuinely confused her in some way. “So, anyway, how did you get involved in the single? Why did Cat choose you?”
“I helped him write it, and then after we sang it together he thought I should keep singing it with him.”
“You co-wrote the song?” Again there was a note of surprise.
“Yeah. He’d already started it, and I helped him tweak it a bit.” I got the feeling she’d had me down as a pretty face and not much more.
“So have you written anything else?”
“A few things. I’ve only started recently. Before that I always played covers. Cat’s Steinway helped to inspire me.” I laughed.
“So we can expect an album of your own at some point soon?” She seemed more comfortable with this topic, as if she was relieved to be back on familiar conversational ground.
“Oh, I doubt it,” I said, pausing to think about her question. “I have to compose for my college course, and I’m happy to do it – to be honest I think now I’ve done it once, I’d just write for the pleasure of it – but I thought I might teach music when I finish my degree. Or maybe do a Post Graduate Certificate in Education. You know, do it properly.” She stared at me, eyes unblinking, as if I were completely alien to her.
“So you’re not promoting anything yourself? Why are you even doing this interview?”
“Because I was told it would help Cat and the band. It will help their single. And Cold Comfort’s manager said I should. Plus he said if I wear the clothes you’ve brought with you you’d pay me.”
“Ah, so you’re after some money to pay off your student debts?”
“No, it’s not for me. I thought it would help my Mama.” A startled laugh erupted from the photographer behind us, who’d been unobtrusively taking photos as we talked. The journalist looked over her shoulder and frowned at him.
“Let’s get this interview done, then,” she said. “Then we can have a look at these clothes and see if there are any you wouldn’t mind wearing.”
We talked for about an hour. After the initial awkwardness we both relaxed into it, and I found she was more thoughtful than it had first seemed. Her natural cynicism of my motives faded as we sought to understand each other better. The story of a normal girl with a love of music, mostly self-taught, who fell across the chance to make music with one of the biggest bands around at the moment, before falling in love (her words) with their notorious womaniser of a lead singer made a story she thought her readers would like. I seriously doubted it, but when she spoke about it she made the situation sound more glamorous and exciting than my recollection of events.
When the interview was completed to her satisfaction we looked at the clothes. I shunned anything I considered too revealing, opting for a pleated skirt and a simple sheer t-shirt for my first outfit, and a pair of black high-waisted trousers with a sleeveless roll-neck top, also in black, for my second. My make-up was simple and fresh, so I was reasonably happy by the time we were ready.
The photographer asked me not to pose, just to chat with him as he directed me what to do. Then I put the trousers on and we went inside to the music room because they thought that was where I would be most comfortable. I hoped Cat wouldn’t mind someone taking pictures in his home.
“Play something for us?” Catherine asked. “Something of yours?” I thought for a moment and then played the music to the song I’d written, not willing to share the words yet even though they asked. The music flowed through me, and I closed my eyes, lost as always in the pleasure of playing. Then they had me do the same with a guitar, while the photographer moved around me taking photos. When they said they had what they needed, I was shocked.
“Really? I feel like I hardly did anything.”
“You’re a natural,” David told me with a smile. “The camera loves you. You have the look of a young Elizabeth Taylor. Has anyone told you that before?”
“My Mama said it, but she’s always been a little biased where I was concerned.” I smiled.
“Well, if you decide the music isn’t working out, you could always model. I’d love to take some more pictures of you.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said with a laugh, “but I’m not sure I care about clothes enough.”
“You have the sort of body that rocks anything you put on, and you don’t have to care about the clothes. You just have to wear them. Anyway, if you change your mind, here’s my card.”
“Everything okay in here?” Cat asked, making us all turn to where he stood watching from the doorway. I hadn’t heard him come in. He was scowling, first at David and then at the card in my hand. Catherine and Steph both immediately sat up straighter as he walked into the room, their chests pushed out and stomachs sucked in, preening themselves. He completely ignored them and walked straight over to kiss me.
“We’re done, apparently. I hope you didn’t mind us using your music room?”
“You can do what you like, sweetheart,” he said, pressing another kiss to my forehead. “Did you get what you needed?” he asked Catherine as he wrapped me in his arms.
“We did. You’re a lucky man, Mr Colton. She’s quite something.”
“That she is,” he agreed, grinning down at me. “Well, if you’re okay, I’d better get back to the boys. I just wanted to check.”
“I’m fine.” I smiled, touched by his concern. He pressed a parting final kiss to my forehead before turning to go. We all couldn’t help but watch him exit, transfixed by the sight of his tight muscular body as he loped across the room, one hundred percent alpha male. I thought I saw the women gasp for air after he finally left the room.
“Can I make any of you a cup of tea before you go?” I asked once they seemed able to focus on something other than Cat. Catherine blinked at me for a moment, as if trying to remember where she was. I could sympathise; he had that effect on me too.
“That’s sweet of you,” she finally managed to gather her wits to say, “but we need to get back to London. I want to get this written up as soon as possible whilst it’s fresh in my mind, so I’ll pass for now, thanks. Maybe next time?” I laughed, and when she asked why, I explained it was funny they even thought there would ever need to be a next time. “Oh, I think we’ll be meeting again,” she said with confidence. This time she was the one who laughed.
Eddy and I walked them to their car, where Catherine surprised me with a hug before she opened the door and got in. “See you soon,” she said again, and I smiled. Then she started the engine and pulled slowly away.
They’d only just driven out of sight when a post van turned into the driveway, driving quickly towards us and stoppin
g feet away from where we were standing. A security man intercepted the driver as he got out, pausing to sign for something before taking hold of the small envelope and walking over to us.
“A recorded delivery letter for you, Ms Thomas.”
“Call me Delilah, please,” I said with a smile, taking it from him. I looked down at the plain white envelope. The address looked to have been a computer-generated label, and there were no other identifying features except for a postal mark which told us nothing other than that the origin had been local. I slid my finger under the flap and tore it open, pulling the single piece of high-quality note paper out from inside the envelope, quickly scanning the first line:
Delilah, I never properly understood the concept of ‘sweet sorrow’ until I saw you again yesterday.
Chapter 25
The words swam in front of me on the page as my eyes blurred with tears. I quickly blinked to clear them and started reading once again as the voice inside my head screamed at me to tear the letter up, that I was mad to allow Hardy back into my life in any way.
Delilah, I never properly understood the concept of ‘sweet sorrow’ until I saw you again yesterday. That you could appear still more beautiful than the last time we were together is unfathomable, and yet you did. You are. You take my breath away.
Seeing you but not holding you or touching you was agony – my cross to bear, I fear. I’ve made mistakes, it’s true; not sharing what I knew of the nature of the relationship your mother had with my father was one. Trusting people I thought were friends was another. But believe me when I say my mistakes were not as dark as they were painted to you.
Allow me to speak with you. You name the time, the place, whatever it takes to have the opportunity to put things right between us. All I ask is for a chance.
Yours always,
Hardy
He had written his number below, assuming correctly that I had changed my phone. What he didn’t know was that I knew his number by heart, having spent all those months staring at his details, willing him to call me or text me. Most of the time he hadn’t.
My eyes blurred again, and this time the tears fell, hitting the page and washing his words into swirling patterns of blue.
“Delilah, what is it?” Eddy asked, concerned. “Who’s it from?”
“Hardy.”
“What has that bastard said now?” he growled. I handed him the page, then turned and walked back into the house. When I glanced back Eddy was peering down at it, his face fixed in a scowl as he tried to read the handwriting, its small cursive script difficult for his damaged eyes to see.
I ducked in through the doorway and walked towards the kettle, defaulting to the most reliable method I knew to comfort myself – having a cup of tea. What most concerned me was that part of me was undeniably attracted to the idea of hearing what he had to say. That he still held that sort of sway over my feelings was disconcerting. I pushed tears angrily from my cheeks, determined not to allow him any control over my life any longer. He had caused me enough hurt in the brief time he’d known me. I’d moved on, and he needed to accept that. Seeing him would not help anyone, least of all me.
“You’re not thinking about going to see him, are you?” Eddy asked as he stepped into the room, blinking rapidly from the contrast of light in the dim interior, his eyes wide like saucers as he stared at me.
“Eddy…” I started and then stopped, wondering how to put my anger over Hardy’s intrusion into my life once again into words. He immediately misunderstood my hesitation, jumping to conclusions.
“You can’t let him hurt you again. He’s not good for you.”
I started to cry, putting my hand up to halt him and explain. “I…” I started again.
“What the hell?” Cat said, walking into the kitchen and taking one look at my wet cheeks before jumping to his own conclusions and scowling at Eddy.
“It’s not what you think,” I said quickly.
“I think I heard him say ‘he’s not good for you’,” he said, pulling me into his arms as he glared at Eddy over my shoulder.
“He did, but he wasn’t talking about you. He was talking about Hardy. I got a letter from him just now.”
“What the fuck? I’m going to kill the fucker. Show me,” he demanded, pulling away from me and looking between the two of us. I nodded at Eddy, and he pulled the page from his pocket. Cat snatched it from him, frowning as he scanned the words. By the time he reached the bottom his face was like a storm cloud. He tore the page in half, and then in half again, continuing until it was in small pieces. Then he very deliberately walked over to the bin and dropped what remained of it inside.
“That fucker is taking up too much of our time right now. He needs to get over himself, fast, or he’s going to get himself in trouble. Wayne!” He didn’t bother to open the door but just assumed his voice would travel. It did.
“Yeah?” Wayne responded, poking his head round the door.
“Get the flights booked. We leave for the States tomorrow,” Cat informed him without even looking at me. “New York to begin with. Don’t book anything for the first couple of days – I want to do some sightseeing with my girl – but then after that get us booked up to perform wherever you think best.”
Wayne nodded, clearly delighted with this turn of events. He spun on his heel before pausing with his hand on the handle. “Who’s going with?”
“The band, Delilah…” He looked over at Eddy. “You wanna come, mate?”
Eddy looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. I needed him there. “Yeah, count me in,” he said, smiling at me.
“Okay then,” Cat said, looking pleased with himself. “Let’s get packing. Tell the others, will you, Ed?” With that he grabbed my hand and pulled me back to our room.
I was worried when he said nothing to me about Hardy’s letter. Every time I broached the subject he cut me off or kissed me. He seemed determined to pretend it had never happened. The only sign he was in any way upset by it was later on when he tore a strip off the security guy who had taken the letter from the postman and given it to me. The guy looked gutted by the time Cat had finished with him. I wanted to intervene on his behalf but as I stepped forward Matt placed a hand on my shoulder and told me to ‘leave it’. I did, but it didn’t stop me feeling bad. It wasn’t the poor man’s fault.
That evening the party started late, but it was hard-core. I had been preparing to go to bed after an evening of packing and then composing in the music room, when Henry and Dougie arrived home with a crowd of hangers-on. They were mostly women and looked pleased as punch to be inside the Cold Comfort estate. They wore short skirts and tight tops pulled low to reveal – on the whole – enhanced breasts. Their hair was heavily lacquered and their make-up layered on thickly, creating an almost grotesque modern version of an Elizabethan woman. I found myself staring on more than one occasion, only to meet a defiant pout in return.
The cocaine came out and Cat dived in, more heavily than I’d seen him partake before. Again I was offered, and again I declined, choosing to stick to my beer instead. As the minutes slipped by, the rate of consumption increased and the inhibitions proportionately decreased. The laughter felt forced, almost hysterical, the conversation irrelevant and meaningless as they all spoke across one another, no one listening as their minds darted between topics. I found it exhausting and depressing.
Cat remained beside me on the sofa, but another girl positioned herself on his other side. I saw him look at her and smile. His expression was glazed and unseeing, but it was all the encouragement she needed. She smiled triumphantly at me over his head, placing a hand onto his thigh. When he did nothing to remove it I’d had enough. I stood and slipped quietly from the room. Only Eddy noticed my departure and called out a goodnight as the door closed behind me.
I deliberated when I reached the top of the stairs which room I should sleep in. I had been with Cat in his room for the majority of my stay, but given the likely outcome with the girl I didn’t want
to cause a scene if they arrived together. My heart broke a little at the prospect, but I promised myself I’d confront him about it in the morning when he’d be able to focus on what I was saying. I tightened the guards around my heart and hauled myself back off to my old room. I had just snuggled down under the duvet, wearing the band t-shirt Cat had lent me, when I heard my name being bellowed in the corridor outside. I didn’t respond.
“What are you doing in here?” Cat demanded as soon as he burst through the door a couple of minutes later.
“I didn’t know if you had other plans for tonight,” I replied, sitting up and jutting my chin out defiantly. “You seemed happy to let that girl touch you up, and I’m not into threesomes.”
“Stop being a silly bitch and get yourself into my bed. She was just a stupid slut. She means nothing to me. She was giving Henry a blowjob by the time I left.”
“She means something to me.” I pulled the duvet back up to my chin and lay down, ignoring him, only to feel it being ripped from me a moment later.
“No fucking way. You sleep with me, end of,” he said, yanking me from the bed and slinging me over his shoulder as he stormed out of the room and down the corridor.
“Put me down,” I screeched.
“I will,” he promised, depositing me heavily on his bed. His eyes looked wild as he stared down at me. “You’re mine, Delilah. You sleep with me,” he said again, before climbing in behind me and pulling my hips against him so I could feel his erection. I protested, but it was half-hearted. I found myself grinding against him as his hand came up around my body and fastened onto my breast under the t-shirt, teasing the nipple until I groaned. My head fell back against him as he ran the same hand down my abdomen and between my legs. He paused to play with me and then before I realised what he was doing he had slipped his hand under my knickers and swiftly inserted his finger inside me. I groaned again. A second finger quickly followed, and then a third as his movements became fast and needy.
As the sensations began to build he suddenly stopped and flipped me onto my stomach. I protested again, but he just lifted my hips and forced my legs wider apart with his knee as he fumbled with his belt and jeans. I heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper and the snap of latex, and a moment later he had ripped off my knickers and was pushing hard inside me. It was swift and unyielding. He grasped my hips and began to pound into me with long, fast strokes. With each thrust he pressed against the same spot inside he’d reached with his fingers, and my pleasure quickly built back up. This time he continued, pushing me far beyond, until my orgasm overwhelmed me. Even as I pulsed around him, my body weakened and trembling, he never slowed, continuing to hold my hips as he fucked me hard.
