All the Forbidden Things

by Jones, Lesley

  “Sorry,” Billie puffs, and I look up to watch her as I contemplate the next line of the song I’m writing about her.

  “Those boxes were grimy. I didn’t want to be touching the baby after I handled them so needed a quick shower.”

  I realise too late that Cal’s eyes are still on me and not on his sister. He’s been watching me watch Billie.

  I honestly don’t remember the last time I blushed, but I’m confident that heat is spreading across my chest and rising to my neck and face, and I can only hope my stubble hides the change in colour my cheeks are probably displaying.

  Layla gives a wail, turning everyone’s attention her way.

  “She’s due a feed. I’ll get her bottle warmed up.”

  My eyes automatically track Billie’s movements to the fridge to where she retrieves a bottle, and then as she moves to the warmer plugged in on the worktop.

  “Wendy didn’t leave any more dinners. Looks like it’s takeaway tonight. Anything in particular you fancy, Bamm?”

  “You two eat together every night?” Cal questions.

  Billie turns. “Every night? I’ve only been here a couple of days, but yeah, we ate together last night. It’s not like it’s in my contract or anything though.”

  There’s an awkward silence as Billie takes Layla from Cal. I watch as he kisses the top of my daughter’s head before relinquishing his hold. It warms my heart that Layla is loved by so many people and will never be short of affection.

  Maybe I read Cal wrong and he’s not suspicious.

  “You wanna come home for dinner Friday night?” Cal asks Billie as she sits in a chair, lays Layla across her lap, and changes her nappy like an absolute pro.

  Billie looks up at me. “You don’t need me for anything Friday night, do you?”

  “Nope.” I shake my head and chew on my pencil as I respond.

  “Can I also borrow a car?”

  I want to tell her no, that I’ll drop her off and pick her up after. I want to ask Cal where my invite is. I consider gate crashing anyway.

  “Of course,” I say instead.

  Cal gives a nod of approval. “Okay, I’ll let Mel know.” He stands, gives me a chin lift, kisses both Billie and Layla, and says, “See ya later, kid,” before leaving out of the back door.

  We order Chinese, share a bottle of red, and once again, talk about everything and nothing. Billie has a tattoo behind each of her ears that I’d not noticed until today. A treble clef symbol sits behind one ear, a bass clef behind the other, and I question her about them.

  “They’re just little reminders of my parents,” she tells me while lying flat on her back, taking up half the length of my sofa. “Not that I need a reminder. There’s not a day goes by that I don’t think about them. It’s like, with those little symbols, they’re always there, close by, kinda watching over me.”

  She turns her head to face where I’m sitting in the armchair, my right ankle resting on my left knee, elbow on the arm of the chair, my fist propping up my chin. A million and one song lyrics I could write about her fill my head. “I’m sure that’s what they are doing.”

  I watch her chest move as she lets out a long, slow breath.

  “Who knows? Do you think there is an afterlife? I’m not sure. I mean, it’s a nice idea, but I’m not sure. Unless someone comes to me with absolute hard proof, I’ll remain sceptical.”

  She’s quiet for a few moments while I continue to take her in. I enjoy the silence. I feel content that it happens and doesn’t feel awkward, that she’s comfortable lying sprawled out on my sofa the way she is and talking to me about her parents.

  “Can I ask you a question?” She swings her legs around and sits up before tucking them underneath her and settling herself into the corner of the sofa.

  “Go for it,” I respond.

  “Do you have any contact with your dad?”

  Now it’s my turn to blow out a breath. No one’s asked me about Mike Young in a very long time. It’s been a while since I’ve really given him any thought.

  “Nope. He paid for my education and the cost of raising me, but until we won our first Grammy, aside from Christmas and birthday cards and presents, I didn’t hear a word from him after he walked out the door and left us. Not a phone call, not a letter. Just cards that said: ‘To Max, happy birthday, Dad’.”

  “Wow, all that time you got nothing and then he had the cheek to reach out after you won the Grammy?”

  I nod. “He left a note for me at the Four Seasons. Said that he happened to be in town on business and did I want to meet up for drinks the following night.”

  “And did you?”

  “I didn’t make it back to my room till four the following afternoon. I was partying a lot those days. It was right before my last stint in rehab.” I feel the need to explain. “I didn’t notice the note, didn’t wake up till three the next morning, showered, and went back out to party again. I finally saw the envelope propped against the phone on the desk about four days later.”

  “What did you think? When you read it, I mean?”

  I pull on my bottom lip and give a sardonic laugh. “I cried,” I admit.

  “Max.” She breathes out my name like a sigh.

  I shake my head in an attempt to banish the emotion. “I’ve never told anyone that,” I tell her honestly. “I was a mess at the time anyway. The note from him just tipped me over the edge. It hurt. Hurt to think that I hadn’t been good enough until that point.”

  Scared that my eyes will be brimming with all that I’m feeling, I slide my gaze around the room, letting it land anywhere except on her. “It still hurts, that rejection. I stayed high and drunk for a week, didn’t leave my hotel room and missed a couple of interviews and appearances. Cal and Lennon turned up at the Four Seasons, dragged me back to London kicking and screaming, and checked me straight into Winslow House … That was for my first stay, I don’t even want to remember the second time.”

  I could’ve not brought it up, but I don’t want to hide my past from her. Besides, I’m sure she’s aware of the whole sordid tale.

  “The mother and daughter escapade?” She smiles and shakes her head as she asks.

  I cover my face with both my hands. “Yeah, that escapade,” I admit.

  She chews on her bottom lip before asking, “Are you an addict?”

  This time, my eyes land squarely on hers. “No,” I state emphatically. “I was a fucking mess, and I needed to get my shit together, but I’m neither an alcoholic nor an addict. Things just got out of control for a while. Yeah, I’ve been to rehab a couple of times, but I’ve never been treated for addiction, never had withdrawals.” I swipe my hand around the room palm up. “You’ve seen how I live my life now, a glass or two of wine with my dinner, maybe a brandy if I have people over, but I’m the single dad of a two-month-old baby. She’s my priority now, not getting off my chops.”

  I don’t want her to think that I’m some kind of junky loser because that’s not who I am or ever was. I just partied a little too hard, for too long, back in the day. Although I’m ashamed of my behaviour back then, it’s also part of what’s made me the man I am today, somebody Layla will hopefully grow up to be proud of.

  Thankfully, Billie chooses to steer the conversation in a different direction. “It’s beyond me, ya know, how someone could just give up a child like that. I’m not even a parent, and I can’t fathom it. The worst part about what happened with Michael Bosworth is losing daily contact with Oliver and Amelia.”

  “You were assaulted, had your bones broken and a gun held to your head, and the worst part is missing the kids?” I question.

  She shrugs and rolls her eyes. “Okay, the worst long-term part of what happened. I only met Layla two days ago, and I’m already besotted with her. I was with those kids for two years. I loved them.”

  Her eyes are now brimming with unshed tears, and I really, really, want to go to her.

  “You’re so good with her,” I tell her honestly.
r />   She gives a small smile and plays with the tassels on the cushion.

  “Do you want kids of your own one day?”

  “Of course. Lots of them. My parents were older, so I wasn’t really planned.” She shrugs and smiles. “More of a surprise than unplanned, I suppose. But I always wanted more brothers and sisters, then they were killed, and I got Makenzie, or she got me, however you wanna look at it.”

  We’re both quiet for a moment, before Billie breaks the silence. “Aren’t we a bucket of chuckles tonight.”

  We smile at each other, and it’s there again, that arc of sensation passing between us while we just stare. I lose the battle to remain in my chair and am about to stand when she jumps up, stretches then flinches, her hand moving to her ribs.

  “Right, I’m exhausted. What time do you need me in the morning?”

  I want to ask her not to go. Ask her if she’ll stay. But I don’t.

  “Are they still hurting you, your ribs?”

  “Only when I stretch or overreach. The rest of the time they don’t really bother me.” She holds up her hand that’s in the cast. “That reminds me, I have a hospital appointment next week, Tuesday I think it is. I’ll need the morning off for it.”

  “Not a problem. I think I’ll be able to cope for just one morning.”

  I wink as I speak, letting her know I’m joking, then I watch as her mouth opens and closes a few times before she says, “So, yeah, anyway. Tomorrow, what time?”

  “Whenever you’re ready. I’ll just need a bit of time over in the studio at some stage. I’ve got something new I’m working on and want it sounding good enough to let the boys have a listen when we go down to Jay’s for Thanksgiving.”

  “Thanksgiving?” she questions.

  “Yeah, you okay with that? We usually stay four or five days, a week sometimes. You good with that?”

  “I’m invited?”

  “Of course. Even if you weren’t working for me, you’d be invited just because you’re you. You’ve been before, you know that.”

  “Yeah, I know, I just wasn’t sure if you’d want me there . . .” She trails off, and I’m confused by her tone.

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I don’t know, I just wasn’t sure if your mum would be going, or”—she shrugs— “your wife.”

  “Whit? Fuck no. Fuck that. Me and Whit are done. I’m seriously thinking about renting her a place while she recovers. I’ve no clue what I was thinking, inviting her to come and stay here.”

  Her eyes dance over my face, as I stare right back, trying to get a lock on what the frown she’s wearing means, but it passes and is replaced with a small smile.

  “Okay, well, yeah then. I love it at their place.” She clasps her hands together in front of her. “I’m excited. I’d love to own a property like that one day.”

  “In the country? I’ve always had you pegged as a city or a beach girl.”

  “Nah, not the city. I’ve spent most of my life in different cities. The beach or the countryside is where I eventually want to live. I’d really like a place where I could have horses, like the ranch my aunt has in California. Horses, chickens, goats, maybe a couple of llamas or alpacas. It would be nice if it were by the beach, too, so I could surf.”

  “You surf?”

  “Yeah. My dad has family in Australia. The first time I went out on a board was there. I was seven. It was right before we went to Bali.” She shrugs again.

  Bali is where her parents were killed.

  “I’ve been back a couple of times since with Cal and Mel. My cousins live in a great spot on a peninsula, so beaches on three sides, but it’s all winding roads and hills through the middle.”

  “A bit like Cornwall?”

  “I’ve never been to Cornwall,” she admits, shaking her head.

  “What? The girl who’d travelled the world by the time she was two has never been to Cornwall?”

  She smiles. It’s shy, sweet, cute and sexy. It’s sunshine, and it warms me in ways and places it shouldn’t. I should feel bad about that, and yet, I have zero fucks to give.

  “Nope, too busy getting on and off planes to take a road trip around my own country. I’ll add Cornwall to my bucket list.”

  I wonder what else is on her bucket list. Something instantly begins to bubble in my belly, and an inexplicable and fierce need to be the one to help her meet every desire on her list hits me. If I could, if it were the right thing to do, I’d give and show this girl the world. “Next year when the weather warms up, we’ll find time and take Layla to Cornwall.”

  “Thanks, I’d like that.”

  I return her smile, the one that lights my world.

  She turns to make her way towards the back door, away from me. I feel the loss of her company before she’s even out of sight. “I’ll watch you cross the drive,” I say to her back.

  “Thanks for the Chinese, Max. I’ll go out and get some shopping in the morning, and I’ll cook dinner tomorrow night.”

  “You cook?” I question in an attempt to once again stall her.

  She turns to answer when she reaches the door, and I’m there. I was right behind her, but now she’s facing me, and I’m directly in front of her. She looks up, her blue eyes searching my face, and I’m so fucking torn as to what I should do. What I want to do and what I should do are world’s a-fucking-part.

  Unable to resist the need I have to touch her; I reach out and lift her hood up onto her head.

  I’m touching her without actually touching her, it’s all I can allow myself to do. It’s not enough, though, I want more, and I think she does too. For now, this is what we can share.

  “It’s cold out there,” I tell her quietly.

  She licks her lips. I watch. My hands are still on either side of her face, holding on to her hood. I pull her towards me and brush my nose over her cheek, to her ear. I breathe in the scent of Billie Wild and hold back a groan. Instead, it’s she who makes a noise. It’s a sound somewhere between a sigh and a whimper, and my dick’s instantly hard.

  “G’night, Bamm.” I kiss her cheek. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite,” I say with my mouth still pressed against her soft skin.

  She doesn’t move for a few seconds, and when she does, she spins around with her head down and jogs across the drive, giving me a small wave before going through her front door and closing it behind her.

  “I’m in so much fucking trouble,” I whisper as I close my back door.

  Billie

  He winked at me.

  He kissed my cheek.

  Max Young winked and kissed my fucking cheek.

  I almost did handstands and backflips across the drive to my front door last night. Instead, I walked awkwardly, and probably a little stiff-legged as I felt his eyes on me the whole way. I couldn’t even look back when I waved, as I’m sure the absolute pure elation I was feeling would've been recognisable all over my face. So, I calmly closed my front door, leant back against it, fist-pumped the air, and stamped my feet in a little happy dance.

  This morning, I don’t want to appear too eager to get across to the main house to see Max and Layla, but I am buzzing as I get myself up and ready for the day.

  I have my “Ma & Pa” playlist blasting through the sound system. It’s full of the songs my parents loved, and I’m singing along to the lyrics of “Dreams” with Stevie Nicks as I brush BB crème over my face. Without trying to look like I’ve made more effort with my make-up than any other morning, I sweep highlighter over my cheeks and beneath my brows, which are in desperate need of a wax and tint, before swiping my usual tinted balm over my lips.

  I pile my hair on top of my head and use a curly tie to hold it in place. My hair, too, could do with some attention, so once I’m done, I search on my phone for the hair and beauty salon in Belsize Park I’ve always used when I was home. Luckily, they have an online booking system and can fit me in for a cut, blow-dry, lash and brow tint, and brow wax. But the only appointments I can make work are on
Friday night, meaning I’ll have to cancel the dinner plans I made with my brother. So, I send him a text, asking for a rain check, and he calls me almost the instant I hit send.

  “What’s more important than dinner with your big brother, kid?”

  “Hair, lashes, and brows. I’m desperate, and the only appointments they have that I can make this week are on Friday evening. Sorry,” I add after a moment’s pause.

  “S’all good. Just thought Young was being a dick and making you work.”

  “Nah, he’s being really flexible about my hours and paying me twice the going rate.”

  “What a hero.”

  “Wow! Sarcasm much? What’s your sudden beef with Max?”

  “I have no beef with Max. I just . . .” A huff carries down the line. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

  Not exactly sure what that was all about, and I don’t have the time to get into it now, but I will be revisiting this conversation with my brother when I do.

  “I’ll talk to him today about next week’s hours and message you what nights I’m free.”

  “You okay staying there? I meant what I said yesterday.”

  “I know you did, and I’m fine, honestly. This little flat is cool; I like having my own space.”

  “Okay, but if you wanna make a night of it when you come for dinner, your bed’s here for ya.”

  “I’ll see. If I’m gonna be looking after Layla the next day, I won’t be drinking much. Babies and hangovers don’t mix.”

  “You’re preaching to the converted. Hangovers and any kind of responsibility don’t mix, and yet we all do it occasionally.”

  “Hmm, well I won’t be, not on a school night anyway. Right, it’s almost nine, I need to get across the road to my dick of a boss who overpays me and lets me take whatever days off I want and start work. I’ll talk to ya later.”

  “Wow, sarcasm much?” He throws my words back at me before adding, “See ya, kid.”

  I end the call but stare at my screen for a few seconds. I felt a bit of a strange vibe coming from my brother yesterday, and now, him calling and asking if Max wouldn’t let me have time off Friday was all a bit weird.