Playing Along (23 page)

“But why can’t he be different?” George had asked bravely, knowing as the words left his mouth, that his father most likely asked his mother the exact same question about him.

LEXI
December 24
^th
, 2009
West Hollywood, Los Angeles

Lexi and Lance have been kissing on the balcony for at least five minutes. She is too drunk to gauge how long is too long and the last thing she plans to do is wake up on Christmas morning in the bed of a curly-haired stranger, no matter how white his teeth are. She manages to pull away.

“I think we should call it a day,” says Lexi, “Or should I say call it a night?” Is she slurring her words? Oh God, she’s slurring her words! He’s going to think she’s a slutty lush if she doesn’t pull herself together quickly.

“I’d definitely call it a night, Lexi. A
very
good night.”

“I like you, Lance. Your hair is so curly and your teeth… your teeth are so white. I mean how do you get your teeth so white? You must use some industrial strength chemical?” Lance laughs.

“I like you too, Lexi. I’m going to make sure Andrew gets you home safely and I’m going to get your phone number and call you. Is that all right with you?”

“Everything’s all right with me, Lance. Everything. Except I’ve crossed everything out of my dictionary. Everything and Perfect. Gone. For good. Promising is still there though. Promising is such a promising word. It’s one of my new favorite words.” Lexi picks up the blue cushion imprinted with palm trees propped at the end of the wicker bench. She wonders if anyone would mind if she laid her head down on it and went to sleep.

Lance looks at her amused and kisses her hand, “Merry Christmas, Lexi Jacobs.” And then he turns and goes inside.

GEORGE
24
^th
December, 2009
Stanford in the Vale, Oxfordshire

George is still up, lying on his bed, looking at the Thesis website. They’ve made some changes recently and he wants to check them out. The first thing that pops up is a video clip from the acoustic concert in LA. He clicks on it, thoughts of Lexi washing over him. Are there any angles on the audience? If he watches carefully, maybe he’ll notice the glimmer of recognition in his eyes when he notices her. A seminal moment captured on film. Something he can show his grandchildren when he’s 80 and regaling them with stories of his rock and roll youth.

“Your grandmother appeared like a vision…” he can picture them now, quirky little kids with scruffy hair and chocolate smudged mouths. A bit like Trevor. Unexpectedly the kid seems to have won him over. Earlier today, George had played Old Macdonald on the out of tune piano he used to practice on as a child, while Trevor had tapped along on his tambourine. Polly had walked in and caught them, smiling proudly. “Isn’t he precious?” she’d asked, and both George and Trevor had replied, “Yes!” at the same time. At least she’s managed to produce one decent boy out of the three. He has to give that to her.

The concert clip doesn’t reveal anything. He cringes watching himself perform, so clicks off and scrolls down to the chat room links instead. Doesn’t every fan contemplate if the band is ever on line? George knows that he used to do that, hoping he might inadvertently get into a conversation with Thom Yorke, about Thom Yorke. He doesn’t do this often, but occasionally he will go on the message board. He’s never posted anything, although he’s been tempted. The first message that pops up tonight says:

Happy Christmas, Thesis! George’s family is so lucky to have him singing round the xmas tree!!!! I’m jealous!! I love, love, love Thesis SO SO much. Radar3girl.

George grimaces. Radar3girl can remain in ignorant bliss. He goes on to get quite involved in an in-depth analysis of
Twelve Thousand Words
versus
Corners and Tables
. Bobsyouruncle7 thinks the first album is far superior while Dawnlicious rates “A Suitable Dawn” as one of “the most extraordinarily beautiful songs of all time.”

There is a tentative knock at his bedroom door. It can’t possibly be Duncan, he was drunk enough to have passed out hours ago. Polly and Martyn and the boys had left immediately after dinner. Amelia, thank God, had her own long-suffering family to return to. It must be one of his parents come to berate him about something. Why does he continually subject himself to this torture? The knock is more persistent the second time. George closes his computer and is just about to get up, when the door creaks open.

“You still awake?” Amelia’s sparkling torso appears in the gap.
Oh shit
thinks George. She’s even worse than his parents.

“I thought you’d gone home?” George looks at her warily.

“I did, but I realized that I’d left my handbag behind so I’ve just popped back to get it. Blonde moment,” she says giggling, walking into the room and sitting herself down on the bed next to him, their shoulders touching. Amelia moves her hand to George’s knee.

“It does bring back some memories sitting here with you, doesn’t it?”

“Not really, because you never sat here with me, Amelia. I don’t think you ever stepped foot in here.”

“Oh, but I wanted to, George… I really wanted to.”

“Whatever. It’s late, Amelia. I’m sure your husband will be wondering where you are.”

“Let him wonder.”

“Okaay. But I’m also very tired and I’m going to—”

“Kiss me. You’re going to kiss me, George, I know that’s what you’ve always wanted. Ever since you were thirteen you wanted me, didn’t you? You probably spent long nights in this very bed dreaming about me. Well here I am. All yours…” She leans her head on his shoulder and smiles up at him, revealing a red smudge on her front tooth.

What the hell? Why does he always find himself in these situations with women he doesn’t want instead of women he does? Amelia must be delusional. As if he would ever touch her after what she put him through. He takes a deep breath.

“You’re right, Amelia. I did always want you. It hurts to admit how very much.” George turns towards her, and just as she’s about to try and smooch him, he pulls away. “Psycho girl. I can’t believe you even thought I was serious!”

He stands up, filled with a childish sense of satisfaction. Amelia looks suitably startled. “I should have known you’d be the type to hold a grudge. Your loss, George. I’m still the talk of the town. You know they say I used to give the best blow jobs north of Banbury.”

“Tell that to your husband, not me,” says George, taking in the tragic sight of Amelia, slumped on his bed in sagging gold sequins. What kind of a mundane life must she be leading? He hates to admit it, but sometimes revenge really
is
sweet.

“Do you honestly think you’re above us now just because you’re famous?” asks Amelia bitingly. “Well, news flash, George Bryce, you’re not
so
wonderful. Keane are much better than you.” And with that stinging insult, she huffs out of the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

LEXI
December 25
^th
, 2009
West Hollywood, Los Angeles

Lexi is finally back at home after a long day at her parents’ house and a drop in at Tim and Meg’s to deliver gifts. Her father had cornered her by the ham and asked her if she’d consider auditioning for
The Amazing Race
with him. “Your mother is begging me to choose her, but her sciatica would drag us down.” Meanwhile, her mother had bought her a lacy black camisole and an Italian cookbook. Both presents screaming,
if only you had a man to appreciate these
. Lance had already texted her first thing that morning, “Have a cool yule, Lexi. Quite the unexpected gift—meeting you…”

Meg had forgiven her for being in the same room as George Bryce and was newly invigorated by the appearance of Lance. “I told you it was all going to happen for you if you opened yourself up to it. The universe was listening.”

“Maybe you were right,” Lexi had said, “but don’t marry me off just yet. It’s only been one kiss.” Actually she thinks it was far more than one, but the problem is, Lexi doesn’t actually recall all the details of their night together because of the lethal green drinks the elves were passing around like lemonade. She’s already called Andrew to see if he can fill in the picture, but he’s not picking up. She’ll just have to wait for him to get home. She checks her phone again now. Russell has texted, “May the joy of the season rejuvenate you as you recycle love around the planet.” He has attached a picture of him and Mildred ladling out soup at a local homeless shelter. Russell really is an inspiration. Lexi, on the other hand, has spent the day embracing consumerism and now feels hugely guilty for it. She should have given her father homemade jam instead of cashmere socks. What kind of role model for the company is she? She’s definitely going to make some steely New Year’s resolutions and stick to them, but for the time being she makes herself a mint tea and settles down with her laptop.

GEORGE
25
^th
December, 2009
Stanford in the Vale, Oxfordshire

It’s after midnight and the run-in with Amelia has left George edgy. He decides to get a glass of water then maybe sit in the garden for a little while and stargaze, something he can’t do much of in London. As George passes Polly’s bedroom he hears muffled noises from inside. He opens the door slowly, hoping to find Duncan awake so they can plan their getaway the next day. Instead, he finds Amelia Hoffman crouched on the floor between Duncan’s legs, determined to prove one of her well-earned credentials. Duncan has Bob the Builder stuffed in his mouth. When he sees George, Bob drops and Duncan grins. Amelia is still on task.

“Busy, mate.”

“I can see that!” says George, slamming the door a little too loudly as Amelia bolts upright. He’s now stupidly woken his mum, who rushes out of her bedroom bleary eyed.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, Mum, great, everything’s okay. Duncan was just having a nightmare,” says George herding his mother towards the kitchen and shutting the door. Wait until Duncan hears who Amelia Hoffman
actually
is. An original grapefruit girl. Then the nightmare will be real. George hopes that Amelia will finish up pronto and slip out quietly. If his mother finds out, all of her worst fears about the band’s depraved lifestyle will be confirmed. And on her best John Lewis sheets.

“Tea, Mum?”

“That would be nice, George, thank you.”

“Happy Christmas,” he says, filling the kettle. His mum’s maroon toweling dressing gown reminds him of when he was a very little boy. Hiding in the folds of her long skirts. Holding on tight to the tie around her waist.

“Happy Christmas to you too, George. We’re all glad you came. It’s good to see you in person and not just read about you in the newspapers.” In the past, George might have heard that as an accusation, but tonight he can see in his mother’s eyes that maybe she actually means it.

“I’m sorry I can’t get here more often, Mum. Our life is so busy, it’s just hard…” George’s voice trails off.

“You used to dream about this, didn’t you? I’ll never forget all the piano lessons and that guitar from the charity shop falling to pieces. It was all you wanted.”

George thinks of Stardust, stashed carefully away in his empty flat. “I still have that guitar, Mum.”

“I told your father you were talented. He just didn’t want me to encourage it because he was so worried about your future.” George reckons that his mum has had to spend her entire marriage making excuses for his father.

“I know, Mum, I know,” he hears the front door close with a barely perceptible click and hands his mother the mug of hot tea.

LEXI
December 25
^th
, 2009
West Hollywood, Los Angeles

The Thesis website appears on the screen. Lexi’s been researching their current product line this week, in preparation for the introduction of the new ‘green’ items. Everything is moving forward now. Carl and Johnnie have drawn up the contract and Thesis Ltd have agreed to all the terms and conditions and signed. Gabe and Russell have spoken a few more times since, and made a plan for Russell and Lexi to make a trip to London in February. London in February?! So exciting! She’s never even left the States.

Since the video conference, Lexi has been stubbornly pushing thoughts of George Bryce into the background and concentrating instead on the thrill of developing the business. He has returned to where he belongs; a face on a video screen; an image on an album cover; an unattainable boy whose world she could never fit into. Just today, Meg had thrust last month’s
Star
magazine under Lexi’s nose, opened to a picture of George and that weird singer, Fanny Arundel, stumbling out of an after party the night of their concert. George is hanging his head, while Fanny is holding up two fingers to the camera. Lance, on the other hand, is a real person. Maybe even a prospect for her. Just like Russell had said—it’s about being open to possibility. It would help if she knew what his profession was, but with those clothes and those glasses, he wasn’t going to be a musician, was he?

Without warning, the Thesis home page begins to play. It’s the acoustic concert. Her concert. For a moment she is transported to the third row. Hearing George’s voice sends shivers down her spine but then she imagines going on a date with Lance. A quiet dinner by the beach. Maybe a moonlit walk afterwards. Hmm… Perhaps juggling work and a relationship is not so unthinkable after all?

GEORGE
25
^th
December, 2009
Stanford in the Vale, Oxfordshire

George is ready to leave. They have consumed one extremely large, extremely dry turkey and pulled twenty Christmas crackers. They are currently all seated by the tree again, wearing crumpled paper crowns, while the three boys play “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” on their instruments of choice. He had only agreed to stay after lunch because of Trevor.

“Uncle George, you have to wait and see me rock out,” Trevor had pleaded, waving his tambourine and jumping up and down excitedly.

“Okay, I’ll wait,” George had said, stuffing his Christmas presents into his duffle bag—a grey striped tie from his parents (“Your mother and I thought you might need to look respectable sometimes”) and Michael Jackson’s unauthorized biography from Polly and Martyn (“We still can’t believe he’s gone!”).