Chapter Fifty-Eight Netta
Chapter Fifty-Eight
NETTA
‘It was all a set up,’ said Mo, shaking his head.
‘Lorena rang me and said she needed help with a track she was recording—wanted my input on the production. So, I went. I needed something to focus on, other than … you know.’ He tapped his forehead.
‘She suggested we go for a drink afterwards at this little bar downstairs from the studio and when we left, the place was crawling with photographers.’
‘She’d tipped them off herself?’
‘Yeah, she admitted it later on. I know it looked we’d been on a date or something but, honestly, I have no interest in Lorena.’ He rubbed at the back of his neck and caught Netta’s eye. ‘She’s no Netta Phillips.’
His comment hovered like a hot air balloon, straining against its tether to lift them above this strange, foggy situation they found themselves in. Mo held eye contact, but Netta quickly broke it, shifting her gaze down to her hands clutched together in her lap.
‘The thing is,’ Netta started, her mouth contorting against a sudden urge to cry, ‘I don’t think I’m Netta Phillips anymore, either. At least, not the one you knew in England.’
Mo took her hand in his. ‘What do you mean?’
A well opened in Netta’s core, hunching her body, her heart faltering in her chest. ‘I’m just … different now,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same again, after what’s happened.’
‘Oh God, Netta.’ Mo’s face was a picture of remorse. ‘I’m so sorry for what I did to you, I didn’t mean—’
‘Not you,’ managed Netta, her voice hoarse. She pulled her hand from his and he leaned back, as though sensing she needed space. ‘After I got home, I found out …’ She drew a deep, shuddery breath. ‘I was pregnant.’
Mo’s eyes widened. Struck silent, he pointed to his chest and raised his eyebrows.
‘No, it wasn’t yours,’ Netta said, shaking her head. ‘It was Pete’s. I didn’t know, but I was pregnant before I even left for London.’
Mo was silent for a moment. ‘Hang on, you said was? As in, past tense?’
Netta straightened and gave the tiniest of nods. ‘I had a miscarriage a few weeks ago.’ She pressed her lips together and fought the gathering tears, avoiding looking at Mo. ‘It was … awful.’
‘Netta, I’m so sorry.’ Mo reached out to hold her, but she shied from his touch, sure it would dissolve her to nothing.
‘I was so happy—completely terrified, but happy—when I got that positive test result, even though I knew it was Pete’s baby.
And when I lost it …’ Netta took a breath to balance her thoughts before she continued.
‘When I lost it, I felt so empty. Being pregnant just felt so right. Like I was finally in the right place after driving around aimlessly without a map.’ She looked up to meet his concerned gaze.
‘It made me realise how much I want a baby though. And it forced me to face up to the fact that I don’t have much time on my hands.
I’m forty now. I can’t wait any longer. I’ve started the process of doing it alone and I’m using the money from the gala to pay for it. ’
Mo was silent as he digested her announcement. ‘You’ll be an amazing mum, Netta,’ he said. ‘Perfect.’
Netta smiled her thanks. ‘I don’t think the perfect mother exists,’ she said.
‘But I know I’ll always do my best—if I’m lucky enough to get pregnant again, that is.
’ She took a sip of the glorified grape juice to regroup and shifted on the couch.
‘But if it doesn’t work out and I can’t have a baby, at least I won’t have to grow old regretting not trying. ’
Mo stared at the Ugg boot still dangling from his left foot. ‘I hope it works out for you. You deserve it, Netta.’
‘So, yeah. That’s that, I guess,’ she said. ‘What about you? You seem a bit different now, too.’
Mo kicked the Ugg boot off and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. ‘Yeah. You could say that.’
‘Tell me.’
‘My recording deal’s off the table, for starters.’
‘So not just a hiatus, then?’
His smile was sombre. ‘No. But big picture—it was my doing. I knew it would happen if I didn’t deliver, and I didn’t. Couldn’t. I can’t be bitter about it—it was my own call, really.’
‘What will you do now?’ Netta flicked the lamp on the side table on, its soft glow lighting the darkening room. ‘And what about the expansion of Play On? Is that off the cards now?’
‘I honestly don’t know what I’ll do next,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘Music is all I’ve done for nearly twenty years.
’ He settled back into the couch, the new lighting splashing shadows on his face.
‘But in terms of Play On … it turns out doing that interview about it was a great idea. We’ve done some more promotion and Mav’s been inundated with people wanting to donate.
We’re in the process of setting it up as a public charity and the expansion is full steam ahead. ’
‘That’s great, Mo,’ Netta said with a smile. ‘And maybe a career break will be a good thing for you.’
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But the thing is, my work’s kind of been what’s kept me going all this time. It’s been the division between then and now, if you know what I mean.’
Netta brushed her fingers against his shoulder and his muscles tensed under her touch. She withdrew her hand. ‘You mean, what happened with your mum?’
He nodded. ‘These past few weeks have been pretty bleak.’ He smiled wanly at the floor.
‘It’s like I’ve got this huge, gaping crater inside me and, stupidly, I’m just realising now that work was what was holding me safe, you know?
Stopping me from falling into it and disappearing completely.
’ He paused and reached for his wine glass.
‘Telling you about Mum—’ He brought the glass to his lips and drank a quick mouthful.
‘The thing is, I wanted to tell you about her. I felt so close to you that weekend, and I didn’t want to be fake with you.
I wanted you to see me—the real me—because if you’d been feeling the way I was, I wanted it to be for real.
I didn’t want you to think I was who I pretended to be. ’
He tipped the rest of his wine into his mouth and held it there for a second before swallowing. ‘But after I said it out loud, something broke. It was like someone had taken a wrecking ball to some foundational thing in me and I was being taken apart, piece by piece, and I couldn’t stop it.’
‘Did you find out her cause of death?’
Mo nodded sadly. ‘Overdose.’
‘And have you told Mav about the diary? And the truth about your mum? Her addiction and … everything?’
Mo nodded. ‘I did. I told him everything. I even showed him the diary. It was hard, but he—he took it better than I thought he would.’
‘What did he say?’
‘In a nutshell? That it wasn’t my fault. I should’ve been honest with him ages ago. He thinks we should see a counsellor together. I said I’d think about it.’
‘You haven’t talked to anyone yet? On your own, I mean?’
‘I made an appointment,’ he said, twirling the stem of the empty glass between his fingers.
‘And?’
‘And I cancelled at the last minute.’
Netta pressed her fingers to her lips and nodded softly. ‘That’s why you’re here, then.’
Mo turned to look at her, his eyes searching her face. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You want me to fix you.’
‘No. No.’ He shook his head. ‘That’s not why I’m here.’
‘Then why are you?’
‘Because—’ Mo took a deep breath. ‘Because I think this—you and me—is the real thing, Netta. Without you, I feel like the hole inside me is even bigger. I’m so lost, but with you I feel like I’ve got a light to guide me.
’ He paused and took her hand in his. ‘I’m so, so stupidly in love with you.
I’ve never felt like this about anyone. When I was with you, in London …
it was the happiest I’ve ever been. You’re—’
‘Stop.’ Netta’s eyes brimmed as the truth behind his words flashed red. ‘Just stop.’ She put her wine glass on the table and stood, still wearing one Ugg boot. ‘I can’t do this,’ she said, gesturing between them. ‘You and me … in another world, we could be so perfect, but …’
Mo stood. ‘Could be?’
‘You’re not ready.’
‘But I’m here, telling you I want to be with you,’ he pleaded. ‘I’m ready, Netta.’
‘No,’ she said sadly. ‘You’re telling me you need to be with me.
It’s different. No bandaid is ever going to fix what’s inside you, Mo.
Not music, not fame, not money and not me.
You have to find a way to forgive yourself for what happened, or you’ll never be able to let me—or anyone—love you properly. ’
‘What are you saying?’
Netta took a step towards him and placed the palm of her hand on his cheek. ‘I’m saying that even though we’ve got all the right ingredients, being together now would be like taking the cake out of the oven too early.’
Mo sighed and hung his head, his lips brushing against her forehead. She melted into him, folding herself into his body. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, clinging to her like she might vanish at any moment. ‘But I love you, Netta.’
‘I love you too.’ Her voice was muffled by the warmth of his chest, her heart bruised as she listened to the steady thump of his. ‘But love isn’t just a feeling, Mo. It’s a verb. We have to be able to do it. And I don’t think we can. Not yet, anyway.’
He squeezed her tight and buried his face in her hair.
Netta felt tears prick at her eyes, the floor falling away, leaving her floating.
Alone. She gripped him tighter, wanting so desperately to be absorbed by him, to sink deep and fill the hole she knew was consuming him.
But she knew she couldn’t. All that would happen was that she’d be consumed too.
‘I don’t think I can let you go,’ he whispered.
She wrapped her arms tighter around his body, her hands pressing into the reassuring solidity of his back, her head still heavy against his chest. ‘Don’t then,’ she said. ‘Stay tonight.’
He drew a deep breath. ‘And then?’
‘And then we put the cake back in the oven.’
She took his hand and led him to the bedroom.
They stood at the end of her bed and she raised her face to his.
As his lips finally met hers, she closed her eyes, urgency vibrating between them.
Kissing him, feeling his hands in her hair, felt like endless sunshine and her heart’s last beat all in one.
Its sweetest moment before it inevitably crashed to the floor and shattered.
She slid her hands under his shirt, navigating the warm terrain of his torso, the rise and fall of his chest, aching to feel her skin against his one last time.
She slid her top over her head, and he groaned softly at the sight of her, his thumbs tracing the underwire of her bra as he wrapped his fingers around her ribs.
She fumbled with the zip at his waistband and he moved his hands to his buttons, slowly opening his shirt.
His shorts dropped to the floor and he stepped out of them as Netta pushed his shirt back over his shoulders and down until it too was gone and he was standing in his underwear, even more beautiful than she’d remembered.
She traced her fingers down his back as he held her jaw tenderly and kissed her deeply, like a man taking his last breaths before being submerged by a giant wave he knew he couldn’t outrun.
Netta’s breasts pressed against him as his hands stole beneath the waistband of her cut-offs, sliding into her knickers to pull her against his hips, showing her how much he wanted her.
Netta unclipped her bra, tossing it to the side.
‘Oh God, Netta—’
She halted his words with her mouth, her tongue gently pressing against his, their kiss like levitation, before he broke away and dropped silently to his knees, his hands on her waist, tugging her shorts off.
He kissed her hip bone and ran his tongue down along the valley that followed it, the heat of his breath alone enough to bring her close to the edge.
She pulled him up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pinning the length of her body to his.
He wrapped one strong arm around her back and scooped the other under her knees, lifting her onto the bed.
The past and the future ceased to exist and Netta’s world shrank to this delicious, terrible, bittersweet moment.
There were no more words. Just this night. This one last night.