Kiss Heaven Goodbye (18 page)

‘Come on, let’s go and be tourists,’ he said, taking her hand and leading her out of the pub and down towards the river they’d seen on the way in. Hand in hand they strolled along the banks of the River Avon, the weak sun warming the backs of their necks.

‘If you get a record deal, are you going to move to London?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Maybe. But only if you agreed to come down to the big, bad smoke with me.’

‘Really?’ she said, unable to hide her delight. ‘I didn’t think you were the settling-down type.’

‘Don’t take the piss, this isn’t easy for me.’

‘I’d jump at the chance,’ she said, her mouth closing in a determined line. ‘When I said I wanted to work in TV, I didn’t think I’d end up as a guide at Granada Studios Tours.’

‘Come on. You get to walk up and down Coronation Street every day.’

‘We’re bigger than all this, Alex. You and me. Why shouldn’t we be telly producers or rock stars just ’cos we’re not rich or privileged?’

He grabbed her hand in solidarity.

For all his bitching about Jez, Alex was about ten times as happy as he had been before he had joined the band; in fact that black cloud which had been following around in the dark months earlier on in the year seemed to have completely gone. Now happy was a constant state: he was happy writing music, happy going to gigs, happy on stage, although sharing anything with Jez was increasingly hard work. But for the first time in a long time, perhaps ever, Alex realised he was happy just being with another person. He kissed her, hard, sliding his hands inside her T-shirt, stroking her back, slipping his fingers into the waistband of her jeans.

‘Steady there, sailor,’ she grinned, breaking off. ‘Not before the big match.’

‘I think you’re thinking of boxers there.’ Alex smiled.

‘Same deal,’ said Emma, jumping up and pulling his hand. ‘Now come on, stud, let’s show all those screaming fans what you can do.’

Three hours later, Alex was ready to kill someone. Red-faced and sweaty, the band clattered off stage, cramming into the tiny backstage changing room. Outside, they could still hear the cheering demands for an encore, but Alex could not enjoy the ecstatic reception they had received.

‘You fucking wanker!’ he yelled, kicking out at a wooden bench. ‘What the hell was that about?’

Jez sauntered down the steps. ‘What?’ He smiled. ‘Can’t take the fact that the girls are more interested in me?’

Alex lunged at him, but Gav and Pete caught him first.

‘Al, it’s not worth it.’

But they looked as angry as Alex felt.

‘You really are a prick sometimes, Jez,’ said Pete, glaring at him. ‘This is a band, you know; we’re not your fucking backing group.’

But Jez just laughed at him. ‘Well that crowd out there seemed to enjoy themselves. Doesn’t matter who they’re looking at if they’re enjoying the music, does it?’

‘But you screwed with the music too, you dick!’ yelled Alex. ‘You could barely hear the melody over your bellowing!’

‘Ah, you’re just jealous,’ hissed Jez.

‘No, Jez, I am
not
jealous,’ snapped Alex. ‘I don’t want the spotlight. You can preen and pose all you like for all I care. What I do care about is when your pathetic ego gets between us and the songs. We
all
make the music, or hadn’t you noticed?’

Jez tossed his blond bob back off his face and walked back out of the changing room.

‘Wanker,’ said the normally mild-mannered Gav.

Alex wasn’t sure how long Jez had stayed behind at the club after he’d left to go for his walk with Emma, but it had been long enough. Clearly he had charmed the engineer into rejigging the sound in his favour. From the start, Jez’s vocals had dominated the songs, with Alex and Pete’s guitars being turned down at key moments so Jez wouldn’t be overshadowed. He had even fixed it so that the lights were on him for the whole set while everyone else was practically in the dark. Luckily they knew the songs well enough to play without looking at their instruments but it had still affected their performance.

Alex locked himself into the small toilet cubicle and splashed water on to his face.

‘Al? Are you in there?’ yelled Pete. ‘We’re going for a drink out front. Wanna come?’

‘Be there in a minute, yeah?’

He changed into his least-dirty T-shirt and packed his guitar away.
That’s it,
he thought as he fastened the latches on the case.
I’ve had enough.
Whichever way you looked at it, Jez Harrison was bad news and Alex could feel in his heart that Year Zero’s singer was going to get worse not better the more successful they became. He felt relief and anger, but most of all he felt sadness. He had ploughed himself into this band and it was depressing that he would have to start again.
But I will
, he thought defiantly.
My songs are good. I’ll form a new band where I don’t have to listen to the singer’s delusions of grandeur
. It was best to get out now while it still didn’t matter.

He pushed through the dressing-room door and out into the busy club. Steeling himself to quit, he stopped when he saw Jez leaning on the bar looking pleased with himself, while Emma was deep in conversation with some old bloke in glasses.

‘Hey, Alex, come and meet someone,’ said Jez, putting his arm around Alex as if nothing had happened. ‘This is Rob Hatton,’ he added, catching Alex’s eye and giving him a meaningful look. ‘Rob’s from Argent Records.’

The man put out a hand.‘Good to meet you, Alex,’ he said.‘Emma here tells me you wrote a couple of the songs. I was impressed.’

‘Really?’ stuttered Alex. ‘I . . . well, I’m, uh, glad.’

Jez laughed. ‘Alex is more of a musical genius,’ he said in a stage whisper. ‘Brilliant in the studio, but I think I’ll handle the interviews, eh?’

Cocky bastard
, thought Alex.

‘I drove over from our London office to see the main act tonight,’ said Rob.‘ Good thing I got here a bit early.’

‘So did you like it?’ asked Alex eagerly.

Rob shrugged. ‘Half of what I heard was absolute shit, but there are a couple of pearls in there too. Particularly liked the last song.’

‘“Wonderland”? Yeah, that’s one I wrote . . .’

‘We
all
wrote,’ corrected Jez.

‘So are you interested, Mr Hatton?’ asked Emma sweetly.

‘I’m definitely interested, love,’ he said, looking her up and down hungrily. ‘But I want to hear more.’

‘Are you saying you’ll sign us?’ asked Pete hopefully.

Rob started laughing. ‘Slow down, kids. I’m saying I want the boss to come and listen to you northern monkeys, see if he hears what I hear.’

‘And what do you hear?’ asked Alex.

‘Cash registers ringing, son: the beautiful sound of money.’

‘Come on, Rob,’ said Jez, putting a pally hand on the man’s shoulder and leading him towards a group of excited-looking girls. ‘Let me introduce you to a couple of our biggest fans . . .’

‘Hey!’

Suddenly Alex was knocked sideways as Emma jumped on him, giving him a crushing hug.

‘Isn’t it brilliant?’ She grinned. ‘I
told
you!’

Alex hugged her back and laughed. ‘Yes, you did,’ he said. Her face was lit up with genuine pleasure at their good fortune, glowing with adoration and expectation for the future. And to think that only five minutes ago, he had decided to leave the band.

Life could change in an instant. He’d learnt that before. Although this time it looked as if things were going to take a turn for the better.

17

‘Just five more minutes,’ said Grace, pulling the cool white sheet further over her head. It had been a particularly hard shift on the
Highlander
that afternoon. August was the perfect time to visit Port Douglas, so the town was full of honeymooners who all seemed to want to take boat trips to the Low Isles and she had been rushed off her feet.

‘No, no more minutes,’ said Caro, standing at her bedroom door, munching a huge red apple. ‘You have to get ready.’

Grace grunted and waved an arm. ‘The taxi’s not coming for twenty minutes.’

Caro laughed.‘I can’t believe you’re going to the biggest, glammest showbiz party this part of Australia has ever seen, and you’re still in bed!’

Grace sat up reluctantly. She had been glad that Caro had decided to postpone her trip to India for a few weeks – ‘Can’t leave you alone with that strange man’ had been her exact words – but she could have done without her friend standing over her this evening.

‘All right, all right, I’m getting up . . .’ she said, swinging her legs on to the floor. She stood up – then immediately sat down again, clutching her head. ‘Whoa.’

‘You OK, honey?’ asked Caro.

Grace forced a smile. ‘Yes, I’m fine, just got up too quick. Been feeling a bit off-colour today, that’s all.’

‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’ Caro’s tone was serious.

The word seemed to drop to the floor and splinter into tiny pieces.

‘
Pregnant?’
laughed Grace nervously
. ‘
Don’t be daft
.
’

‘I’m not joking,’ said Caro. ‘You were sick on the
Highlander
again today, weren’t you? I heard you in the bathroom.’

Grace waved away the suggestion and stood up, trying to look more vigorous than she felt. ‘It was a bad prawn or something.’

‘Hey, don’t go blaming my seafood buffet.’ She kept hold of Grace’s hand and pulled her back on to the bed.‘Seriously, Grace. My mum’s a midwife and I know the signs: sickness, tiredness – and you never get tired. I’ve always thought you were battery-powered.’

Grace laughed, but inside she could feel a slow flutter of panic.
Am I pregnant?
she thought.
Would I know if I was?
Even as a teenager, she was never exactly sure when her period would come. She had a long, irregular menstrual cycle which meant she could never pinpoint when it would arrive. Even so, thinking back over the past few weeks, she had definitely missed one, if not two. And Caro was right: for the last couple of days it had been hell on the boat. Grace had tried to put it down to choppy waters, but the truth was it had been calm all week.

Caro was searching her face. ‘You’ve missed your period, haven’t you?’ she asked softly.

‘I’m a bit late, that’s all.’

‘Late or missed?’ pressed Caro. ‘Crucial difference.’

Grace forced herself to look at her friend. ‘Missed, I guess,’ she croaked, her throat dry. ‘But I’ve only been seeing Gabe a few weeks.’

‘A few weeks? All it takes is one night.’ Caro put her hands on her hips. ‘OK, let’s find out for sure. We’re going to take a test.’

Grace’s already sick stomach turned over at the prospect. ‘No, Caro, I’m fine,’ she said.

Caro fixed her with a severe look. ‘Take a test. In fact I’ve got one upstairs. I had a false alarm a few months back with Jago, that backpacker from Stockholm. Anyway, the test came in a two-pack.’

‘Caro, I’m just tired . . .’

‘Well if that’s true, you’ve got nothing to worry about, have you? Wait here, I’ll just be a minute.’

Grace walked through to the bathroom and looked at herself in the round mirror above the sink. All the colour had drained from her face.
Yeah, well things were going too well,
her reflection seemed to be saying
.

She wiped a towel slowly over her face. She
couldn’t
be pregnant. OK, for the first month of her relationship with Gabe, she hadn’t been on the pill – it had felt as if she was tempting fate, as if doing something so planned would put a jinx on the relationship. It had been so effortless, so spontaneous, going to a doctor for contraception seemed far too calculated and unromantic. But it wasn’t as if they hadn’t taken precautions. For all of Gabe’s staunchly Catholic upbringing, they’d used condoms every time they’d had sex. She felt her heart drop. Except that first time on the beach.

Caro ran back in waving a small pink cardboard box. ‘I think it’s still in its Best Before lifespan.’

Grace took it cautiously, then went into the bathroom. She was a practical girl and she actually found comfort in carefully following the instructions inside the box. It meant she could concentrate on this one task and pretend that the outcome would take care of itself.

Instructions followed, she walked back into the bedroom and handed the stick to Caro. ‘You read it,’ she said numbly.

‘Positive,’ said Caro, reaching out for Grace’s hand.‘Is that a good thing?’

Grace couldn’t speak. This wasn’t happening. It
couldn’t
be happening. Perhaps she was just ill, delirious. Perhaps she was still asleep in her bed, dreaming this nightmare.

‘OK,’ said Caro, jumping up and taking Grace’s dress from the wardrobe door. ‘Here, put it on. The taxi will be here any moment and we haven’t done your hair.’

Grace looked at her friend with disbelief. ‘And what? Have a laugh and a joke with Gabriel, pretending I’m not having his child?’

Caro shook her head. ‘Of course not. You have to tell him.’

‘What? No! I can’t. He’s due to fly back to New York on Friday.’

‘Grace, listen to me. You have to go tonight. You have to tell him.’

Exhaling slowly, Grace willed herself to keep calm.

‘Put some bright red lippy on,’ said Caro. ‘Pour yourself into that dress and you’ll be ready to face the world, I promise.’

Grace stood up.
Face the world.
That was the last thing she wanted.

Grace gazed out of the taxi window, staring at the dark sea as the car wound around the steep coastline. The party to celebrate the end of filming
Cast No Shadow
was being held at the director’s rented Balinese-style house in the lush hills behind Port Douglas. Grace had been more than a little surprised to receive the invitation; after all, she’d only been seeing Gabriel for a few weeks and would hardly have dared consider him her official ‘boyfriend’. Since that first night together on the secret beach, they had seen each other at least three times a week, but if Grace was totally honest with herself, there was a good chance this was nothing more than a holiday romance.