Chapter Twenty-Three
Scarlett checked out her clothes: black shorts and sheer tights, heeled boots, a pale blue silk shirt that hugged her breasts and hips, and a long black cardigan in case the whole outfit was a dog’s dinner and totally inappropriate. She drew black eyeliner on her eyes and slicked vampy-red lipstick across her lips. She wasn’t sure what had brought about the change in her sense of style, but she liked the way it made her feel: sexy and a bit alternative.
She knew she was dressing for Dylan and she was unsure whether she hoped to seduce him, or if she was trying to get him to see what he was missing. Louisa’s look of approval gave her the confidence she needed to pull it off, but even so, she was ridiculously nervous.
They arrived at the venue which looked more like an old hotel than a concert hall. The foyer was the size of a church, and she was surprised to see how many young women were queuing up to hear Dylan sing.
‘It seems he’s already made his mark,’ Louisa said, eyeing the gaggle of excited women heading for the cloakroom.
Scarlett gravitated towards a large poster of Dylan, which dominated the wall. It was bizarre seeing such a blown-up, sanitised image of him — he sported tight black jeans and a designer leather jacket. His tousled hair had been tamed, his generous smile replaced by a moody glower that made him look sulkily gorgeous, even if it did make her want to laugh. It was a bit too ‘put together’ for her liking, but still, she itched to trace her fingers over the image, remembering his skin on hers, his kisses and his loving words.
His other forthcoming gigs had been listed underneath his picture, and Scarlett scanned the calendar of events. By the looks of it, he was the support act for the all-girl band the Pretty Monsters for most of the winter. A spike of unexpected jealousy hit her. They were already quite famous, and were very pretty, rather than the monsters she would’ve preferred. Three out of the four of them had their various arms and legs intertwined with Dylan in the photo, and Dylan was laughing down into the face of a far-too-pretty redheaded ‘Pretty Monster’.
She sighed. Herewego againwith the jealousy — and he’s not even mine anymore.
The venue had been set up more like a cosy pub than concert hall, and as Scarlett grabbed an empty table while Louisa, balancing a bottle of wine with two glasses on a round tray, weaved her way around people and tables towards her. As soon as they’d seated themselves, the room darkened and Dylan strode onto the stage to a fanfare of music, his old guitar still welded to him.
He waved at the audience, mostly made up of women, and perched on a chair in the middle of the stage. It seemed absurd to Scarlett that the man who’d become so familiar to her so quickly, whose bed she had shared, whose body she had loved, was now, no more than a stranger across a room.
His face captivated her, as she took in the nuances of his jaw, his cheeks, his beautiful eyes that had looked at her with such longing. She wanted to run to him and throw her arms around him, beg him to love her, pray that she wasn’t too late.
Except, he wasn’t the same Dylan anymore, was he? And she had hurt him, much more than he’d deserved.
His voice cut through her thoughts as the whole room stilled and he became a whole lot more than background noise. Scarlett hung off his every word and glance, unreasonably hurt when he introduced a song she’d never heard before.
‘This is a song I wrote a short while ago, when I was feeling pretty low. I spent an evening with an old man who made me see that you have to make your own choices in life. For some reason, it makes me want to drink, which is weird because the old man was a homeless alcoholic and that’s certainly not a road I want to travel.’ He shrugged. ‘Or maybe it just reminds me of a time I would rather forget.’ He picked up a bottle from the floor next to him. ‘Cheers.’ He took a long swig then began to strum.
Scarlett focused on his words. A time he would rather forget? It was their time together — it had to be. And he was telling anyone and everyone. He must really hate her for how she’d treated him.
Cringing, she shrank down into her seat, wishing she hadn’t turned up at the concert but the strains of his song soon occupied her mind. It wasn’t a downbeat song, at all, but abstract and positive. Proof, if any was needed, that he was all mended from his broken heart.
She stared as he took another slurp of his drink and some of it overflowed and splashed down onto his delectable chest, and it hit Scarlett that he was a bit drunk — which was upsetting as much as it was surprising. He’d always insisted that he would never drink to excess, especially if he became famous.
He moved straight on to his next song, sweet and slow, making Scarlett’s insides curl with longing. He sang steadily, captivating the audience, even when he did little more than speak.
‘This is one of my favourite songs,’ he said, picking off the first line of the tune on his guitar. The audience collectively sighed in agreement and began to clap before he’d even sung the first note. ‘Quite simply, it has special memories for me.’ He took another glug of beer from the bottle that’d been replaced by a backstage hand — twice. His mouth twisted in concentration, as he quickly retuned one of his guitar strings and started strumming.
Scarlett recognised the notes immediately but was surprised that the audience did too. He was clearly making waves in the music industry. She tried not to feel jealous that the song she’d considered theirs, the song that he’d sung to her at the pub in Southwold, was now out for general consumption. She’d been there at its inception, listening to it over and over as Dylan played it with fabulous monotony. He’d sat on her sofa, strumming the tune, mouthing the words, nodding at a brilliant rhythm, or frowning over a line that wouldn’t fall into place. Only then did she appreciate the single-mindedness and the sheer talent of the man who had pursued her with bewildering, yet dogged, determination.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He sang about waiting for too long and needing to be absolved. It was about her, surely? It had to be. It was haunting and heart-rending and the audience was with him all the way, willing the last few bars of the song to finish perfectly.
‘So, I think it’s true. I’ve more than fallenfor you.’
Rippling applause greeted the last chord, and Dylan twanged his guitar once more for effect while grinning. ‘I’m going to take a little break now,’ he said, and the audience clapped harder. He certainly was the man of the day.
More than Scarlett’s emotions had wobbled at the sight of Dylan. Her whole body seemed to have turned into jelly. It wasn’t too late after all, he still loved her. She half rose to go to him, before she realised the spotlight was still on him. She sat down again and stilled, unable to take her eyes off him as he sauntered towards one of the tables, where a woman stood up, grinning and clapping furiously.
Not quite understanding the scene unfolding in front of her, she frowned in confusion, as the woman grabbed Dylan, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth to another round of clapping from her friends.
Dylan’s hands dropped to the woman’s waist, barely touching it as the kiss played out. Scarlett gasped in shock, pain snaking its way around her body, piercing every cell.
The woman was the unmistakable ex from Southwold — Cara — her hair shorter, flickier, flirtier. Scarlett instantly hated it.
Another act started playing and Dylan deposited himself next to Cara and her gang.
Scarlett, in a daze of misery, stared at him blankly. It seemed he had moved backwards, then, rather than forwards. Louisa clutched at her hand and held on tight while Scarlett sat there, frozen to the spot.
Undeniably the star of the show, Dylan seemed able to do no wrong where his fan base of doting girls was concerned, and he definitely seemed to be enjoying the attention. He slung his arm across the back of Cara’s chair and she laughed up at him, hanging off his every word.
The shock of it all ripped through Scarlett like a knife. It had been so fast, his transformation into a bona fide pop star: the Dylan she thought she’d known had obviously gone forever and she had to accept it.
In fascinated horror, she leaned in closer as Cara threw a possessive arm over Dylan’s thighs, leaning her elbows practically on his crotch as she chatted across to her friend on his right. No doubt, Dylan had a fine view of her cleavage, Scarlett noted, as he stroked Cara’s hair in a distracted way, like he had a cat on his lap. However, jealous as she was, she couldn’t help but notice how little of his heart and soul he seemed to be putting into the action, and her despair gave way to righteous anger.
How dare he throw her away so easily, when he’d tried so hard to make her love him? And he didn’t even seem to be suffering — not at all — proving that his feelings for her ran no deeper than the shallow stream outside her home.
She stood up, determined to leave, but the roaming spotlight flashed into her face, at precisely the same time Dylan glanced across the room.
As his gaze landed smack-bang on her, he did a comical double-take, his head swinging slowly around as his brain seemed to take a minute to register her appearance. The easy smile that she had been fantasising about fell into place, and he jumped up, unbalancing Cara who almost fell in a heap.
Their eyes locked. She could clearly see him mouthing her name, and she cursed under her breath. She didn’t want to speak to him — there was nothing left to say.
With her handbag in hand, she lurched towards the foyer, leaving Louisa behind, but he caught up with her as she reached the door, barring her escape.
‘Scarlett? Is it really you?’ Suddenly uncomfortably close, the sheer familiarity of Dylan confused her, the phrase,so near, yet so farspringing to mind.
‘Yes, I came to see you, but it was a mistake, I should have stayed away.’
‘Scarlett, Scarlett, you came to see me?’ He put his hand up to her cheek, smoothing her hair away, holding her head as he stared at her, his eyes beseeching. ‘You have no idea what it’s been like.’ His eyes fixed on her face as if he wanted to embed her image in his brain.
‘I have every idea. In fact, I saw how tormented you’ve been, only minutes ago.’
His brow wrinkled. ‘What, the songs?’
‘No, Dylan,’ she said patiently. ‘Cara. I saw you kissing her.’ She suddenly roused herself from the trance his eyes had put her in. ‘Didn’t I say this was how it would end — you getting drunk and going off with random women?’
She twisted from his grip, pushing him away but Dylan grabbed her arm again.
‘She’s not a random woman, she’s Cara — she doesn’t count. She just shows up to support me, and she was doing the kissing, not me.’ His eyes showed his confusion as she tried to leave. ‘Why are you leaving, when you came to see me?’
‘I’ve seen enough, thanks.’ She raised her arm, snatching it away from Dylan’s grasp.
‘No, you’ve got it all wrong.’ He waved towards the stage area. ‘I’m just trying to get on with my life.’
‘So I see. You’re doing a grand job — with your drinking and womanising. So, don’t let me interrupt you.’ She tossed her hair and lifted her nose in the air, trying to play the haughty, wronged woman, while in reality, she knew he’d done no wrong. She was just desperately jealous of Cara.
Dylan ran his fingers through his hair, eyes flashing as irritation kicked in. ‘Are you for real? Once again you’re drumming up excuses to walk away. You can’t cope with me because of your stupid drug-taking ex.’
‘My what? How dare you!’
‘Tell me this isn’t about him, and your life before I met you skewing the way you think? You had a crap upbringing, and your sister’s husband walked out on her when Elsa was tiny. You think it’ll be the same with us, so you take me out of the equation, to save you from being let down again. You think I’ll be the same as Sky—’
‘And it looks as if you’re shaping up nicely for the job.’ She bit back at him, her own eyes flashing fury and contempt.
He ignored her comment, catching her again around the waist and walking her backwards, up against the wall. ‘It’s because of you that I’m in this state.’
‘Leave me alone.’
‘No. I’m sorry, Scarlett, but for once, you’re going to listen to me.’ He took his hands off her waist, his legs straddling hers. She’d have to climb over them if she wanted to escape. ‘Can we rewind a little here, leaving aside Sky? You walked out on me, remember? Yes, I was angry, but couples have arguments. It’s the reason making up was invented. Couples weather the storms — they don’t just run away. I had to assume you wanted nothing more to do with me. And what — I’m supposed to stay single while you get to shag your rich captain?’ His mouth turned down in distaste.
The heat drained from Scarlett’s face. ‘What?’
‘I saw you with him.’
‘When? What do you mean?’
Dylan closed his eyes as if his patience was being pushed, and sighed. ‘I saw you kissing him, outside your flat. I came to find you.’ He framed her cheeks in his hands again, his gaze intense as he opened his eyes and fixed them on hers.
She forced herself to turn away, unable to risk him hypnotising her again with his piercing stare.
‘For fuck’s sake, Scarlett.’ He sounded defeated as he shook his head slightly. His grip relaxed and he sighed. ‘What the hell do you want from me?’
Scarlett pushed herself away from the wall, but as she tried half-heartedly to leave, Dylan’s knee pushed between her legs, and he pulled her into him and kissed her, hard and long. ‘Tell me this does nothing for you, and we’ll call it a day.’ He gave a strangled groan, and her body leapt into life at his lips on hers. She wanted to kiss him back, as he fired up her body once more from its temporary hibernation. She allowed herself a moment of luxury, tasting his lips, feeling his thigh press against her groin, heat gathering in her pelvis before she pulled away.
She was helpless in her desire, but physical attraction didn’t make a relationship. She should have ended it, once and for all, when she’d walked away the first time, before they found themselves on another path of self-destruction. Besides which, Dylan was half-drunk, so his reactions might not be typical of how he felt when sober. And what would the next step be, discovering his choice of drugs by the residue left on the toilet cistern, just like Sky?
‘Dylan, you’re back on in two minutes.’ A roadie beckoned him, crooking his finger, as if he hadn’t even registered that Dylan was in the middle of a passionate clinch. Or maybe the roadie was just used to such sights that he didn’t even think it rude to interrupt.
Dylan raised his hand, acknowledging the man, but he still kept Scarlett close. ‘Stay, just stay until I’ve finished, and we can talk about this.’ He didn’t wait for an answer, just hugged her briefly and left.
He was right, Scarlett thought, as she watched him return to the stage. She wouldn’t allow anyone to get close enough to make her happy, because that would mean they also had the power to make her sad. She was a rock and an island, she’d thought, and that was the way it would stay. It was all on her; she was the problem. Dylan would achieve his dream — indeed, he was already on the way to being the star he wanted to be — and she’d be happy for him, but he would do it without her. She was wrong for him.
She was wrong for any man.
She traced his face on the poster once more and, pulling out her phone from her pocket, she dialled Louisa’s number. It was time to call it a day.