Loneliness Trilogy Bundle Boxset (15 page)

I come out of a large, stone house surrounded by tall, old trees. Its spring, so the leaves on the trees are that tender, transparent green color. I’m carrying a tray with glasses and lemonade and I laugh as I see my husband lying on a blanket and playing with our daughter. She looks at me and her round face expresses happiness and excitement. Her curly, light-brown hair lifts in the slight breeze and I see her leaf-green eyes sparkling. Sitting next to them on the blanket, I give Marcus his lemonade and pull our daughter into my lap so I can give her my breast. She snuggles deep into my lap and wraps her little arms around me. One tiny hand pats and massages my full breast as she drinks deeply.

“She’s having so much fun enjoying this sun and warmth,” Marcus tells me. “I don’t think she cares so much for winter. Look at her!”

I do. She is truly a summer-weather child. Her cheeks are a delicate rose-pink and her eyes are sparkling. I sit her up after detaching her from my breast and bubble her. She lets out a loud belch and laughs at the sound. I give her a teething biscuit and she gums it, swallowing the mess she makes. Thankfully, I thought to put a bib around her neck so she wouldn’t mess up her outfit…

I stretch and wake up from my dream as I feel Marcus lifting me. It was so surreal.

“No! I’ll walk. I’m getting too heavy for you!” I tell him.

“You’re as light as a thistle, so don’t worry. You worked yourself hard today and you need to get your sleep. You’re going to bed now. I’ll finish my article upstairs then join you,” says Marcus.

I have to give in - he’s right. I am absolutely exhausted and I cannot keep my eyes open. After I brush my teeth, I slip into a long nightshirt and Marcus tucks me into bed. I’m back asleep in seconds. I vaguely hear him setting up in our room as he prepares to finish the last of his article.

The next morning, I’m up early and ready to go to the studio when Tim calls me on my new phone.

“Practice is canceled.” Tim sounds upset.

“Why? Is someone ill?”

“No. Someone saw Gemma trying to break into our studio - with a stolen car.”

“What? Are you having me on?”

“No! Tell Marcus to take you to the studio, but don’t get out of the car. Gemma bashed in the outside wall pretty good. It’s structurally unsound, so we need to find new practice digs and fast. I’m going to spend the day looking around town. We should have moved after we fired her. Damn!”

After I hang up, I tell Marcus what Tim told me. We hastily eat breakfast then drive to the studio. Tim was not exaggerating. Gemma smashed a huge hole in the front wall. The front door is hanging by one hinge and the window to the side is shattered.

“Oh, my God, she really did a number. Johanna, d’you see those posts and that rebar up there?” Marcus points to a spot above the door.

“Yes.”

“She smashed her car into a supporting wall. That post and rebar help to hold the roof in place. This building will have to either be condemned or completely rebuilt.”

Looking in, I could see the instruments inside. I also saw music stands and sheet music scattered in amongst the rubble. My heart fell. So much damage! What would this mean for our band?

A city engineer walked up to me.

“And you are?”

“Johanna Will - Hadley,” I corrected myself. I’m a member of the band that used this studio. How bad is it? My husband says it’ll either be condemned or rebuilt.”

“Condemned. Your bandmates are waiting for their instruments. Is there another entrance away from this side?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Okay, then, we’ll be sending in firefighters to retrieve what we can your music and instruments. Nobody else can go in! Under no circumstances,” said the engineer.

At my side, I felt Marcus nodding gravely.

“Too risky?”

“By half. Only experienced personnel can go inside. I’m waiting for a crew of firefighters to get here so we can get this equipment out.”

I collapse on the floor and cry. All our hard work was gone. Years of work. Gone. Forever.

End of Book One

Embrace You - Loneliness Book Two

Chapter 10

A
fter Gemma McCullough crashed a stolen car through the front of our old studio on High Street, our band, The Lonely Lovers, has been forced to find a suitable place to rebuild and start anew. In the crash we lost nearly everything we had accomplished so far. Fresh off a successful U.S. tour, we were working on our second studio album, and the first one that would be released internationally. The Lonely Lovers were nearly at the top of the world of rock and roll. But Gemma has ruined that. Our second album is but a pile of rubble, along with our instruments and the history that resided in little old High Street Studio. Now Tim, Linny, Laslow, Marcus and I are in the parking lot observing the wreckage and a local estate rag to find a new home for the band.

“Guys, I don’t know how long it’ll take for the police to find her, so I want to find a studio that’s with a bit more security than we had on High Street. I’m checking out several possibilities and hope to have some word soon. I’m most impressed by this studio that’s located in an old business complex not far from High Street,” Tim slaps the rag in his hand. “It’s out of the way, the parking lot is enclosed by brick fencing and an electronic gate, and it has a pair of cameras on the exterior. I called Nigel about it, he tells me that the Stones used to record there. It goes without saying that, if this had happened while any of us were inside…” Tim’s eyes flick to my rounded, pregnant belly.

I shiver in reaction. Marcus scoots closer to me and pulls me next to him, comforting me.

“They have a description of the car she has and what her ugly mug looks like. They’ll catch up to her soon,” says Marcus.

“Right, well let’s all get home and rest - it’s been a long day for everyone. I’ll check with the estate agent tonight to see if this studio is available for lease,” Tim says.

We bid each other farewell and part ways. Marcus and I ride in his little black Audi back to his flat. We still haven’t coordinated the move to his place. The incident with Gemma has set back not only the band’s schedule, but everyone’s personal lives as well. Once we arrive at his flat, I call my landlady and give her notice that I will be relocating within 30 days. Marcus and I spend a quiet night in front of the telly, eating frozen meals and trying to forget the day.

The next morning, I’m cooking breakfast when I get a call from Linny. We have received the first good news since the accident - Gemma has been found and arrested. An officer patrolling not too far from High Street spotted the stolen car in an alley and radioed it in. Within minutes, detectives responded and directed a manhunt that resulted in her arrest a mere two kilometers away in an abandoned warehouse. Linny also informs us that we need to be present at the police station since we were witnesses to the incident. He tells us to ask for Detective Wallace. I pass on the news to Marcus and hop in the shower. By the time I finish drying off, Marcus already has breakfast finished and plated for us. I’m a bit nervous about the whole ordeal and end up eating very little.

“Ready?” Marcus asks.

I hesitate. “Let’s get on with it,” I choke out.

Marcus and I drive there as quickly as possible. We pull up to the massive, three-story precinct. We hurry through the main entrance behind an officer and his unruly detainee. An expansive, bland lobby is the first room we encounter. The yellowing walls are only broken by an occasional bulletin board and several off-shooting hallways that lead officers to their departments and criminals to their inevitable fates. The far wall is a bulletproof partition with half a dozen officers chatting on phones and barking at restless citizens. This, we figure, is the reception desk. Between the front door and the reception desk is about fifty old green chairs bolted to the floor. Some of the people sitting in these chairs are law-abiding citizens waiting on word about an unfortunate friend or family member. Others
are
the unfortunate ones, flanked by cops, their hands cuffed together and their legs cuffed to those of the chairs’.

We make our way to the bulletproof glass and tell an unoccupied officer that we are there upon request of Detective Wallace. Before the officer can pick up the phone, Linny and Tim sneak up behind us with a detective - presumably Wallace - in tow.

“Good morning,” Tim pipes.

“Let’s hope so,” Marcus says.

“Johanna, Marcus, this is Detective Wallace. He is in charge of our case. Laslow is waiting for us in the viewing room,” Linny says.

“Pleasure to meet you,” says Detective Wallace. “Shall we?”

We follow the detective back to a viewing room, which looks small enough with just Laslow in it. We pile in, shoulder to shoulder, and face the glass separating us from the interrogation room. Gemma is still being interviewed when we get there. Another detective, whom Detective Wallace informs us is his partner, sits across a metal table from her. He is in the process of questioning why she is in denial when they’ve found her fingerprints all over the stolen car.

Giving up on squeezing out a confession, Wallace’s partner quietly leaves the interrogation room and slides into the viewing room within seconds. Now Tim He tells them about her stunts during concerts and our response in firing her. Then, he tells the officer about her attempt to try to get into the group and his refusal to allow her back in.

The officer’s jaw drops and he points at us.

“You’re that group! You’re that alternative rock band, the…uh…The Lovely Loners! Gemma, the woman we arrested, she’s the one who flashed the audience last year. I remember ‘at”

Tim and I give strained smiles. “We’re The Lonely Lovers, actually, but you’re right and that’s her. She was probably just pissed that we refused to allow her back. We’re still looking for a new studio, one that’s a bit…safer. Officer, she has to stay behind bars because we don’t know what she’ll pull next time if she’s released,” Tim says.

The detective assures us that there is enough evidence to put Gemma behind bars and that he will stay in touch with us. We leave the station a bit relieved and ready to move on with our lives.

Marcus and I begin settling into our new married life and approaching parenthood. As we had planned, I give my landlady 30 days’ notice and we get my move done with little fanfare. The most difficulty we have is in deciding what needs to be tossed into the rubbish bin, what has to be sold, and what will go with me. I’m limited to loading and taping boxes while the rest of the guys and my family do all the heavy work. In Marcus’ flat, we’ve already decided what’s going to go where, so it’s actually pretty easy once we get everything upstairs.

I continue to see my midwife, Gwen Rochester, every month. She’s a short, round lady of forty years with gray-flecked, curly locks of auburn that sink to her shoulders. Her brown eyes flick and flutter as she weighs me and measures my growing belly. At my next midwife visit, she smiles as she goes over our progress.

“You and your little one are moving along normally. She - or he - is developing perfectly, so far, with a normal weight. Do you feel the kicking yet?” Gwen asks.