Death of a Rock Star: A Boy in the Band Novella (9 page)

My phone buzzes. A text from Denton.

Dent:
You okay?

Me:
I will be. Going for a quick drink then heading home. Need to be alone

Dent:
You know where I am…

Me:
xx

I warned Dent not to come after me and bless him, he didn’t make a scene. I just need space. Room to breathe. My heart is racing wildly. I can’t let anyone see me like this. Falling apart.

As soon as I’m out of the Paps’ range I light up a cigarette. It’s a struggle. My hands are shaking so badly. Then I open my clutch bag and take out the blister pack of Xanax I found in Jamie’s bathroom last night. I press out one of the blue pills. I remember them chilling him out when he was in one of his blind panics. I need not to feel. I need to still this panic, right now. I press out another and drop the pills down the back of my throat. I try to swallow them dry, but they stick in my throat. I need a drink.

There’s a shabby old pub a few minutes down the road, just off the beaten track. It’s perfect. I don’t think any of the funeral party will be gracing this place with their presence. I’m starting to feel a little calmer as I swing through the door, even though I’m so completely out of place in my Versace dress. The old geezer bartender raises his eyebrows at me when I order a pint. The pills feel like they’re still caught in my throat, tantalising me with the promise of their mind numbing narcotics. To give the barman something else to raise his eyebrows about, I order two large whisky chasers.

I drink fast and hard and then order more.

A cool numbness is running through my veins. It suddenly feels like I’ve drank every drop of alcohol in this place. Usually I don’t like being so out of control. I’m always careful to stay one drink shy of losing it. Right now I couldn’t give a flying fuck. I want to feel nothing. Blackness starts to wrap itself around me, but it’s not filled with nightmares and regrets, it’s blissful and completely empty. I let it take me. I’m standing on a cliff edge with my back to the drop. I lean further and further back and then let myself fall.

Call it fate. Call it serendipity. Call it what you will. I still do a fucking double take when I notice Sylvie Smith slumped over in the corner of the pub as I raise my drink to my lips. What on earth is she doing here, in a dive like this? She looks slaughtered. How can she have got in such a state so fast? It’s what, just over half an hour since she fled the church? Her arms are folded beneath her face on the table. That beautiful swirl of hair, that tempting curve of her neck, that image glaring at me from the back of Jamie’s jacket are calling to me and yet telling me to run. I let my eyes feast on her. She’s like a fucking homing beacon to me. I’m drawn to her against my will, against all reason. It’s such a fucking cliché.

I know that the universe is having a huge laugh at my expense right now. It feels as though I’m being tested here. Like Jamie has a hand in this from the other side, or wherever he is right now, like he’s tempting me and waiting for me to fuck up and betray him.

Sylvie looks in a bad way though. She’s pretty much out cold. I can’t ignore her. I can’t leave her like this. I have to do the right thing. I knock back my drink.

My heart is hammering in my chest as I approach her. I feel like a fucking pathetic teenager, about to ask the girl of his dreams out on a date – a girl who’s a million miles out of my league.
This girl is virtually unconscious, get a grip Blake!

I sit down beside her, and she moves slightly, raising her eyes to me but not her head.

Holy fucking shit! Up close those eyes are breath-taking. They are a warm golden brown, the colour of honey. Even in her completely wrecked state they seem to be lit from within. It’s like I’m looking at the sun through them. The pain and sadness there are tempered by a vacant look I know all too well. She’s taken something. Fuck!

“Are you okay?” I finally manage to ask. My voice comes out all forced and nervous. What the fuck? Girls don’t make me nervous. Ever.

She holds my gaze, a slight crease forming between her brows. She looks almost puzzled.

“Did you take something?” I try.

She closes her eyes, and it’s like the room goes a million shades darker.

My heart is still hammering like crazy. I reach out and brush a stray hair from her face. My hand lingers there, over her. Up close her scent washes over me. It’s musky and dark and sends my mind off to dark places. Dark places where I can be with her.

“Hey. Can you sit up?” I say, nudging and shaking her slightly.

She lifts her head like it weighs a ton, and then she attempts to sit up. I help to lift her and lean her back against the stale upholstery of the booth seat. Her head is turned to me, and she’s squinting and blinking like she’s trying to clear her vision.

“What did you take?” I ask again.

She murmurs something that sounds like Xanax.

“How much have you drunk?”

Her eyes drift over to the empty glasses on the table. A pint glass and a shot glass. I pick up the shot glass and sniff it. Whisky. Cheap shit too.

“How much Xanax?”

“My bag.” She mumbles.

Her bag is on the seat beside her. She glances down at it and then back at me. I reach down for it and she gives me a barely perceptible nod. I open it, and my heart almost stops. There amongst her girly shit is a folded up note, addressed to her in Jamie’s handwriting… on yellow legal paper. I know what that means. I try to ignore it, but to say my interest is piqued is an understatement. I look up at her, and she’s watching me through narrowed lids. I’m guessing it’s the effect of the Xanax though, not suspicion. She has no fucking clue who I am, or who I was to Jamie. Does she? I take out the sheet of pills. There’s two gone.

“Is this all you’ve taken?”

She nods. Thank fucking God! She should be fine. She’ll pass out and have one hell of a hangover tomorrow. She won’t remember a thing. Xanax on top of booze is a bitch like that. I wish I could wipe this fucking day from my memory, but right now I have to be the sensible one. I’m not the one in need of catching.

I think Jamie maybe is pulling strings from somewhere beyond this mortal coil. He’s looking out for her and I’m his man on the ground, his wing man. I have to be a gentleman about this and put my anger with her to one side. I have to get her home.

I grab her face and make her look me square in the eye.

“I’m going to take you home. Can you tell me your address?”

“Camden, Albert Street.” She slurs.

“Number?”

“Eight. Flat B”

So ridiculously trusting! I think how glad I am that it’s me she’s trusting and not some fucking weirdo.

“Right, let’s get you out of here. Can you walk?”

She shakes her head. Marvellous, I’m going to have to fucking carry her. The thought of her in my arms thrills and terrifies me all at once.

I call a cab. Now I have ten minutes to kill, waiting. Ten minutes of sitting here, watching her, thinking about how much I hate her, how much I want her. Ten minutes of exquisite torture.

She lays her head back and lets her eyes fall shut. She starts to slump over a little, so I pull her into me and let her ballast herself against me. I find myself lost in her face. It’s one of the occupational hazards of being an artist. Portraiture was my specialism at St Martins, so the human face fascinates me. I love the challenge of seeing past the façade. There are little tells in every face. The worry line between Sylvie’s eyebrows is still there even though she’s passed out. Her façade is very polished, very perfect, but it is a construct. The heart stopping fissures in those spectacular eyes of hers speak volumes.

I’m startled out of these thoughts by my phone ringing. It’s Darcey. I pick up but talk in a hushed voice so as not to disturb Sylvie.

“Where did you disappear to and why are you whispering?” Darcey demands. “What the fuck are you getting up to… or don’t I want to know?”

“Keep your hair on. I’m not getting fucked up or falling off the wagon. I’m being the knight in shining armour for once – although I’m not really sure why.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Look I haven’t got time for your shady, cryptic shit. You coming for drinks at The Castle?

“No. I’ve kind of got my hands full at the moment.”

“The bitch ex is missing too, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?”

“No.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Come on Darce, what would I be doing with Jamie’s ex?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe going off your track record over the past couple of weeks… fucking her?”

“That’s a fucking low blow Darcey. Give me some credit!”

“Sorry Blake.” She sighs, “It’s been a long afternoon.”

“Go get pissed.” I order her.

“Stay out of trouble and don’t get fucked up.” She orders back.

“I won’t.” The contradiction in my answer hangs heavy in the brief silence between us.

“I presume you need somewhere to stay again tonight?” She asks.

“If that’s okay?”

“Of course it is. Call me – when you’re through with your knightly shit.” She sighs, and then hangs up.

I go back to watching Sylvie.

In what seems like no time at all, the barman is calling over to say that the taxi I called is here.

I sweep Sylvie up into my arms. She weighs nothing. Her arms wrap around my neck and she buries her face there. I swear I feel her lips on me and I feel all sorts of things that I shouldn’t. That dark scent of hers is so fucking intoxicating. I don’t need any other drug. Just her. I want the walk to the taxi to last for ever.

I’m being carried. Why the fuck am I being carried? Everything is a blur. I can’t remember what it is I’m supposed to be doing. There is something, but my mind can’t quite get a grip on it. Strong arms are holding me. I feel flooded by a sense of ease. It could be that incredible smell that is making me feel calm and safe. It’s spicy and warm and wraps around me like an alcohol infused dream. An unfamiliar voice penetrates my reverie. It’s rough and deep but gentle.

I open my eyes and take in a face, an unbelievably stunning face. I must be dreaming. A pair of strange pale eyes meet mine. So beautiful! I’m in the arms of a beautiful dark angel; mirroring everything that I am, understanding every feeling that I’ve ever had, and have forgotten.

My salvation. My forgiveness. Now I can rest.