Chapter 11 #2
‘I’d love to hear more about the charity when we all sit down,’ Luc tells her. Ada smiles and pats Luc’s arm before disappearing to the rest of the queue.
Luc moves so he’s facing me, the silk of my dress mingling with the fabric on his trousers. His hand is still resting on the bottom of my back, a light touch, so light that it doesn’t touch my body.
Luc and I decide to take our seats. The table at the front of the room, near the stage not yet in use, gives me a good vantage point over the room.
Not many people are sitting down yet. Most are hovering around the room in small groups of people.
They’re talking. Laughing and drinking. I take a sip of my wine.
Ada has gone back to her queue, a smile painted on her face as she holds people’s hands.
A few people cry when they speak to her, but Ada remains stoic.
Sure of herself. She comforts them as though she knows them.
I wonder whether she truly does know everyone in the room.
‘How are you feeling about the song?’ Luc asks.
I shrug. ‘My new vocal coach said that Sweethearts Inside at Night would be the easiest to sing on my voice, but I’ve had to change a few of the notes that I can’t currently sing.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Luc frowns, his thumb tracing soothing circles on my back.
‘We’re not sure. Need to go for tests. I had a cold a few months ago and my voice never recovered.’
‘That must be really hard for you.’
‘I’m scared,’ I whisper and try not to let the emotion overcome me. ‘I’m sure it will be fine. I’ve got some of the best doctors in the world.’
‘I’m sure it will be okay,’ Luc smiles because, really, what else can he say?
There’s a man with blonde hair and a bright red face, the apples of his cheeks redder than the rest. He reminds me of what Santa Claus would have looked like as a middle-aged man, before he gave up taming his beard.
He laughs a huge guffaw whenever the woman next to him speaks.
I wish I knew what they were saying, but surely it isn’t funny enough to make that kind of sound?
Rory’s index and middle fingers straddle the stem of a wine glass, the flute balancing on top of them while he nods along to whatever he’s listening to. ‘My brother’s bored,’ I whisper to Luc, who follows my gaze to find Rory. ‘It emanates from him like a bad smell.’
A man taps on the microphone in the centre of the stage.
‘Good evening, everyone,’ he calls to a raging round of applause while people scramble to find their seats.
‘Thank you all so much for being with us today, at this special auction to raise money to help Gabrielle’s, a charity specialising in helping children with cancer and their families. ’ The applause continues.
‘We will have food, while the auction goes on, but for now, we’re going to open up the evening with a performance from Sienna Martin.’ The man steps to the side and claps, giving me my cue to join the stage.
On stage, I pick up my guitar which is about to be auctioned and hook the strap around my neck. I prefer to play sitting down, but I have no choice up here. There’s no stool, just a double microphone: one at the height for my voice, the other for the guitar.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll only subject you to one song.’
A laugh.
‘This is one of my favourites. It’s from, erm… it’s from 2016,’ I continue.
I play the opening few notes of Sweethearts Inside at Night and close my eyes so I don’t have to look at the reluctant crowd.
But, as I get into the verse, it makes me feel off-balance, the unfamiliar stage and the quiet resounding around me.
My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It’s scratchy, hard on the edges.
I open one eye slowly, and the other quickly follows.
My eyes find Luc as he gazes up to me, his hands folded neatly into a fist in his lap.
He smiles softly. I let my voice come out of me rather than trying to reach notes out of my natural range, and sing softly, letting the microphone carry it instead of trying to project.
The song I wrote about how I felt about Luc, sang so clearly in his ears, on a stage without in-ears blocking everything out. I don’t look away. It feels like I’m finally telling him to his face ten years too late even though we can never go back.
It’s like we’re the only two people in the room.
Like we’re back in my songwriting room. The one in the house I lived in in 2015 when I was writing the album.
It’s like I’m hearing the song for the first time.
I may as well have just opened my own chest and handed him my heart on one of the champagne platters.
I’d disappeared by the time the song was released. And it was clear that our relationship was over. One of Luc’s texts has always stuck in my mind. ‘I thought you really felt what you wrote. Maybe you were just pretending what it would be like to be in love with me so you could write the song.’
That was it. It hurt so much. I never replied.
When I finish the song and put the guitar back on its stand, the crowd all stand up and clap politely while I give a half bow.
Back at my seat, Luc pulls me in and kisses my forehead again, tattooing the imprint of his lips on my skin.
I can’t read too much into it. I disappeared for a reason, and I would like nothing less than to experience the hurt I had back then.
And to hurt Luc again. If he ‘doesn’t know how I can live like this’ as he said at the restaurant, he wouldn’t want that life for himself. We don’t fit together.
The food starts coming out and a tiny puff pastry tart arrives for me, smoked salmon blinis for Luc.
‘Is this vegetarian?’ I ask the server.
They nod and walk away.
‘Didn’t you eat chicken, like, the other week?’
I laugh. ‘I’m obviously not a veggie, but I always order it at these things because you never know when someone is going to put raw fish in front of you.’
‘It’s delicious.’ Luc’s already demolished his smoked salmon. ‘Why do they serve such tiny food at these places?’
‘Somehow even smaller than the restaurant the other week.’
‘I would be lying if I told you I didn’t go home and cook myself dinner after that.’
‘No one would blame you.’
Servers come back around to collect the plates while the man and Rory on stage start auctioning off items, starting with a signed football from this year’s North London derby.
It’s niche, but it sells for four hundred pounds.
The auction is being live-streamed somewhere on the Internet so that people can bid, to not limit the sale to the wealthy people in the room.
I look at everyone waving their paddles to try to buy something exclusive.
Something that no one else will have, in a way that can be seen as generous, helping to raise money for an important cause.
But, really, it’s just another way of them showing their wealth.
They could donate this money to charity if they have it spare, but they need to have something to show for it.
‘If I bought something here,’ I whisper to Luc. ‘It would be a national news story.’
‘Imagine the media’s reaction if you bought a football from the North London derby. Cue eternal country-wide confusion.’
‘The news story would be that I’m cheap.’ I pause. ‘With all my wealth, I only chose a four-hundred-pound football.’
Luc doesn’t say anything.
‘That’s why I always make a donation on my way out,’ I say.
The auction continues in the background until it pauses for a break, when everyone gets up and starts talking.
I release a big sigh. ‘God, I wish I could live a normal life,’ I breathe. I look at Luc. ‘Normal people don’t go to movie premieres.’
Luc winces, slumping in his seat. ‘Sie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘You were right, though,’ I point out.
‘You can live a normal life, Sie,’ Luc protests quietly. ‘It might look a bit different to how me or, like, Rory would live a normal life. But you can do it.’
A server returns and puts down a bowl with a spoonful of mushroom risotto, while Luc has a tiny, cubed piece of pork shoulder with puréed potato.
‘Good luck leading a normal life after this,’ I say drily, gesturing between us.
Luc swallows and I fight the urge to wince.
‘I want to go to the cinema and see a movie in the back row without walking a red carpet first. I want to go to a greasy burger joint and have a full-sized meal rather than these tiny portions that mean you need to eat again when you get home.’
Luc dips his head. ‘I understand. Just from living part of your life for the past week, it seems exhausting to be “on” all the time, if you know what I mean.’
Add that to my list of reasons Luc and I would never have worked.
‘Every single time I leave my house, even if I’m just going to my mailbox.
’ I pause and pick at my cuticle. ‘I– I never want to seem like I’m moaning, so I want to be really…
careful with how I phrase this.’ I hesitate.
‘I’m lucky. To be able to achieve something that I dreamed of.
Not many people can say that. But I always try to remind people of what a life like mine actually entails.
’ I rub my bare arm with the palm of my hand and take a shaky breath.
‘A lot of watching what you say, what you do, who you associate yourself with, worrying that someone is growing close to you for the wrong reasons, relationships ending because they can’t keep up with your lifestyle, or they’re jealous of people who came before them.
Or jealous that you earn more money or are more successful than them.
’ I shake my head and look at my plate, stabbing a singular piece of risotto rice with my fork.
‘It will– It takes someone strong to feel secure in their relationship when all your exes’ information is all over the internet.
Pictures of you wrapped around other men, interviews where you’ve described how in love you are.
’ I pause and laugh. When I look at Luc, my heart thumps once against my chest, his eyes dancing in the low light.
‘That’s obviously never happened to me. The describing how in love I am part. ’
‘It sounds horrible.’
‘You’ve agreed to come along for the ride, though. Why?’ I pause. ‘Surely getting back at Rose isn’t worth it? And you don’t need me to boost your career. You’re doing perfectly well on your own.’
‘I want to help you, Sienna. I want to know you again.’ He pauses and rubs his palms on his suit trousers. ‘I never want to not know you.’
I think about this for a moment. How we came so close to us never knowing each other again. How so much has happened in his life that I didn’t know about, when he doesn’t get that same luxury for me. That my whole life is plastered as public information.
‘What bothers me most is that everyone else has their life put on display,’ I whisper. ‘It’s not just me who’s affected by it.’
Luc’s eyes widen. Like he’s figured out the secret we’ve both been dancing around since our first dinner. ‘So, you try to protect them.’
I bow my head, blinking slowly to stem the tears. A shaking breath, I look up and watch them take away my empty plate.