47. Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Seven
‘So, darling.’ Kia sat, long legs crossed, on the sofa in Cillian’s dressing room.
‘Everything’s arranged for the morning. We’ve booked a house in Belgravia, where the photographer will meet us at half-past ten on the dot.
Your outfit will be there waiting for you, as will mine.
The cars will pick us up at nine from the hotel, and you do remember what we need to say? ’
She sounded to Cillian like a kindergarten teacher prepping her class for the Christmas Nativity play.
‘Yes.’ His voice was a monotone. ‘We talk about how in love we are, we talk about how the wedding is likely to be spring next year. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.’
Kia’s eyes narrowed. ‘I hope you’re going to improve your attitude before tomorrow,’ she said, using the same teacher voice. ‘It’s important we get this right, and with the amount the magazine is paying us, they deserve for us to put on a good show.’
Cillian slapped his hands on the dressing room table. ‘That’s exactly the problem, isn’t it?’ he snapped. ‘It’s a show. You don’t love me. I don’t love you. We’re not even a proper couple.’
‘A harmless sham to propel you both to stardom.’ Brian, perched on a chair in a corner, shoved his vape in his mouth and clenched it between his teeth.
‘What’s it all for?’ Cillian’s voice rose in exasperation. ‘Why do we need to have a fake romance for the sake of our careers? Shouldn’t hard work be enough?’
Brian yanked the vape from his mouth. ‘Hard work? You think hard work can get you anywhere in this industry?’ He grunted.
‘Don’t be such an idiot, son. It’s who you know that counts.
You need to do what it takes to keep yourself in the papers, making headlines.
And getting engaged to a gorgeous international supermodel is the kind of thing that keeps you front-page news. ’
‘Except none of it’s real.’ Cillian ran a hand through his hair.
The door opened, and a runner poked her head around. ‘Two-minute warning,’ she said, her chirpy tone at odds with the atmosphere of the dressing room.
‘We’ll talk about this later,’ said Cillian. He ruffled his hair and checked his reflection in the mirror, practised a fake smile, and left the room.
The support act was overrunning when he reached the wings.
For a moment he stood watching. The guy was several years younger, arguably better looking, with a voice as good as anything Cillian could muster.
He peered out at the crowd beyond the strobing lights to where the screaming girls were lapping up every second of the pop songs being thrown at them.
With a jolt, Cillian realised he could be anyone.
The guy on stage now was as good as he was.
No one actually wanted him for himself or for his music.
He was a pretty face with a decent voice, and that was as far as it went.
Suddenly, it wasn’t enough. He’d been missing the point for years. He’d be forever grateful for the adventure he’d had, the fun times, the ego trip. But it couldn’t carry on.
The support act finally wrapped up. The compère made an announcement, and Cillian strode onto the stage. When the stagehand went to put the guitar around his neck, Cillian stopped him.
‘Not yet,’ he said.
He walked to the microphone, and without a word, began to sing “The Parting Glass”.
He thought of the joy of playing music with Nick and Alice.
He pictured Kitty’s happiness as they’d walked along the beach.
And he imagined May watching him play with a smile of approval on her face.
Cillian McDonaugh wasn’t singing for the hundreds of fans in front of him.
He was singing to May Tyler. She’d never hear it and had probably relegated him to her past by now.
It didn’t matter. The song was for her, and her alone.
You could hear a pin drop in the vast hall, and when he finished, after the expected cheering, there was nervous chatter as Cillian made no move to reach for his guitar.
‘I have an announcement to make,’ he said into the microphone.
The audience stilled. Phones turned on him. There was no going back.
‘Thank you all so much for coming. Thank you for all the support you’ve shown me over the years.
Thanks to my fans, I’ve had the opportunity to lead what many would consider a dream life.
I’ve toured the world, played to packed-out crowds, hung out with celebrities, partied, and earned a decent wedge of cash.
’ He paused. The audience was a sea of moving cameras. ‘And do you know what I found?’
A few smart-alecks called out, silenced when no one joined in.
‘What I found,’ Cillian said, his voice steady, ‘is that, for all the lifestyle is amazing, it lacks everything that’s important.
’ He waved a hand. ‘It’s exciting, yes, but my God, it’s lonely.
I never see my family. I’ve missed important milestones in their lives.
And as for friends? The only friends I have are people who want to ride on my coattails for free publicity or cheap champagne.
’ He cleared his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Brian gesticulating to him to stop. Cillian ignored him.
‘And while we’re speaking of friends, I should also address the other elephant in the room.
My fiancée, Kia Critchlow. Except, you see, she isn’t my fiancée.
In fact, she’s never even truly been my girlfriend.
Our so-called engagement is a publicity stunt to raise our profiles, keep us in the papers.
It’s fake. And I’m fed up with being a fake. ’
He still had the crowd with him, the phones shifting like a coloured sea.
‘I want real. I don’t care if I have to play music to ten people in a grotty pub in the backstreets of Plymouth. I want to play music that connects with my heart, and that hopefully will connect with others.’
Now panicked chatter and even the occasional sob broke out in front of him. In the wings, Kia had joined Brian. She stood with her hands held out, palms out, and a look of stupefied horror on her face. Cillian needed to wrap this up before they physically dragged him off.
‘Which,’ he said, ‘is why I’m here to say I’m done. I’m out. I quit. Thank you for the good times, it’s been a blast. Now it’s time for guys like the one you heard earlier to take the reins. Thank you, and good night.’
Backstage, pandemonium reigned. Kia’s stilettos clicked furiously across the tiles as she stormed towards him, her face scarlet.
‘How dare you humiliate me like that!’ she shrieked. ‘Do you have any idea what you’ve just done to my career? To our careers?’
Brian was right behind her, his face puce, vape clutched like a weapon. ‘You selfish little bastard. Do you know how many deals you’ve just flushed down the toilet? Do you know how much money I’ve sunk into you? And this is how you repay me?’
‘You’ve ruined everything!’ Kia screamed, jabbing a manicured finger at Cillian’s chest. ‘Every headline tomorrow will be about this. About how you made a fool of me!’
‘Please, son.’ Brian switched tactics, his voice breaking into a plea. ‘Don’t do this. We can spin it. We can fix it. Just say you were tired, say you cracked under pressure. Come on, you don’t want to throw it all away.’
‘Think about the future!’ Kia begged, tears streaking her mascara. ‘Think about what we could have had. The house, the parties, the world at our feet.’
Cillian stared at them both, their words bouncing off him like rain on glass. The noise of the crowd echoed from the auditorium. In the middle of it all, he was strangely calm. ‘I am thinking about the future,’ he said simply.
He turned away, pushed through the fire doors, and walked out into the cool night air. The chill hit his face like a slap. He didn’t look back. He knew exactly where he was headed.