Chapter 19
TRANSATLANTIC DREAM
This is one of the first songs I ever wrote, from a little girl who hadn’t made it in the UK yet but who knew she wanted to crack America.
She would watch ‘X Factor’ every Saturday night with Mauve and wonder what they meant when a previous winner came back after ‘cracking’ the States.
One day it clicked, and it was all she could think about.
I check the time by the plane clock, updated by my pilot whenever we land in a new city. New York. Five hours behind.
I’m groggy. We took off at eight o’clock this morning from a private airfield in the UK, and now it is midday, despite eight hours of life passing.
This year has gone so quickly. I can’t believe it’s already time for the PAAs again. The Popular Arts Awards which celebrate music, film, TV and books across the globe for making a splash in the mainstream.
Luc fell asleep straight after we’d taken off in the seat that converts into a bed on the other side of the plane, but I’m far too jittery to ever fall asleep while I’m moving in a tin can in the sky.
Falling asleep is that final element of control that you give up, and I’ve already given up too much control.
Other than the pilot, we’re all mere air idiots up here.
I wish I could though. That’s basically teleporting from London to New York.
Luc paced up and down the jet – which I only charter for long-haul flights – a few times as a short break from his long nap. I fly commercial – first class, of course – for short haul when I can.
‘I think the toilet may be my favourite part of your jet, Sie,’ Luc comments.
I hold my page and look at him, trying to frown but the laugh pulling at my lips stops me.
‘What? It’s nice to know we’re the only ones using it and we don’t have someone like Gary from the back row with no aim pissing all over the seat,’ Luc grins.
‘It’s not technically my jet, but thanks.’ He’s basically asleep by the time I get halfway through the sentence.
I wasn’t going to come to the PAAs in the end after everything going on with Rory after the accident.
It’s been a week since the car hit him. They operated on his elbow a couple of days after the crash, when he’d recovered from the concussion.
He’s in a cast and living with Mauve because he can’t do much.
I went to the hospital and to Mauve’s house after he was discharged every day to see him.
Mauve and I have not spoken about what she said to me, or what I said to her.
We’ll probably brush it under the carpet and ignore it.
Words spoken in high-stress situations that we both meant but will pretend we don’t.
Rory tries so hard to keep himself distanced from the limelight that comes with being related to me. But he still didn’t get the privacy he deserved to heal after his accident. ‘A source close to the family’ still wheeled out every day to give an update on his condition.
I did take Luc’s advice and talk to my therapist about the fear of losing those around me.
She said that’s a big topic for us to take on and, maybe not one to do alongside touring the world because it might open doors I don’t want to open, but that it would be a big focus for us when I have time again.
My voice is improving every day with treatment from this vocal therapist. I still don’t know whether my vocal cords will survive the tour, but they stand more of a chance now than they did a few months ago.
We’re only away for a few days before I need to go back to continue with tour rehearsals. I’m only in New York for the PAAs tonight. We’ll fly out early tomorrow morning to Luc’s surprise birthday trip.
I gently wake Luc up, running my finger along his arm and whispering his name.
His eyes flutter open and his face breaks into a grin as soon as his eyes focus on mine.
He pulls me in, and I flop down on the pull-out bed definitely not made for two people.
The rest of my team are up at the top of the plane, so I take a risk and kiss Luc.
He looks alarmed for a few seconds, eyes wide, brow furrowed.
But then he relaxes. He leans in and kisses me again – a small peck on the lips is all we have time for – but it leaves an ache in my belly.
I’m always excited for the PAAs because they’re fan-voted, but nervous because of the pressure. I was asked to perform this year, but with the tour schedule, I didn’t know whether I’d be able to make it. I’m so glad I didn’t say yes after all the issues with my voice and Rory’s accident.
I was so close to not coming. But Rory told me I had to go.
And Mimi’s orders were clear: be seen with Luc as much and as publicly as you can. So here we are… flying to New York.
The doors open and we climb down the stairs into the oppressive New Jersey heat.
The airfield is empty, except for someone who works here unloading the belly of the plane, piling our luggage on trolleys to push through the airport to the rental cars.
Luc pushes our trolley for me through the small passport control station.
We all show our ESTAs and tell the police officers what we’re here for, and why we’ve used a private airfield.
Kareem drives the large car – maybe it would actually count as a minibus? I’m exhausted and kind of hungry, but also kind of not. My appetite completely fails me whenever I cross time zones, and I never know when to eat.
I want to lay down on the bed with a cold bottle of water and have a quick nap before I get ready. I’m salivating at the thought of a fluffy pillow and plush duvet, with the air conditioning as cold as it will go.
The car is silent, everyone disassociating after eight hours of being sat in the same spot. I shut my eyes, knowing I won’t sleep in an unfamiliar car. At least it blocks out the journey through the Lincoln Tunnel and into the busy, blazing hot city.
When we pull up outside the hotel, Dennis gets out the car first before opening the back door.
I climb out to screams and flashing cameras, pulling my hat down and pushing my sunglasses up.
My legs feel weak from such little use. Luc climbs over the seats in the back of the car and gets out after me, his hand landing on the bottom of my back, guiding me through the screaming crowds, the flashing lights, into the hotel lobby.
Kareem drives off to find a parking space.
Our luggage is loaded onto one of the trolleys, and a worker follows us up in the lift.
I always stay in this hotel – I know their security is good and I like their room service.
They always give Dennis the room next door, and I hope Jess won’t be too far away.
James and Dina are also staying after flying out earlier this week to make it into a bit of a holiday – I didn’t need them while I was so busy with tour rehearsals.
Our lift keeps going up, skipping past some of the middle floors before landing on the forty-second. Luc and I are dropped off at our suite first, and Luc takes our luggage off the trolley.
As soon as we open the door with the keycard, Luc’s mouth drops. ‘This is the biggest hotel room I’ve ever seen.’
The room is huge, he’s right. When we walk in, we’re in the main living area – a small kitchenette, and a large sofa in front of a flat-screen tele.
I follow Luc around the suite as his mouth gapes.
The bedroom has a super-sized king bed with a huge wardrobe and a vanity table.
In the bathroom, there’s a shower, as well as a bath which doubles up as a hot tub and his and hers sinks.
I sink into the feather-down duvet on the bed, still fully clothed, my shoes still on my feet, but hanging off the edge. Luc takes his shoes off before he sinks down next to me.
‘Nap,’ I grumble. ‘Now.’
The tiredness from the journey overcomes me. It’s already five o’clock. I know I need to eat but I also need to get ready. I know a nap isn’t a good idea, but if I don’t, I will need pins to keep my eyes open for the rest of the night.
The red carpet pre-show starts at six o’clock. I think I’m currently scheduled to arrive at quarter to eight. The show is only a few blocks away, so I don’t need to leave until, maybe, half-past seven?
‘I think you can probably take a twenty-minute power nap before Dina and James arrive.’ Luc pauses. ‘You probably need to eat though.’
I groan louder, trying to pull myself up off the bed.
‘It’s okay.’ Luc hesitates for a few seconds before leaning in and brushing a kiss on my lips. That rule is way out the window now. ‘I’ll go and find you some food while you sleep.’
He must be exhausted.
My eyes flutter open what must be twenty minutes later to Luc standing in the doorway to the bedroom, a huge box of pizza hanging off the end of his arm.
‘I went for a margarita,’ he tells me. ‘I’ve always wanted a New York pizza.’
I pull my head off the pillow.
Luc points to the living room. ‘Did I see there was a full-sized fridge in the living room?’
‘You went outside.’
‘I did. I’ve never been to New York – wanted to see at least some of it before we have to leave.’
‘We’ll come back.’ I say it without thinking. Without forcing myself to remember this arrangement between us ends in a matter of weeks, which simultaneously makes my heart sink, and my brain rejoice.
A knock on the door. I find myself surprisingly refreshed after only twenty minutes, rather than worse, like I normally do after a nap. A second knock comes, and Luc opens it for me. Dina and James trail in.
James is carrying my outfit for the night, which was flown over in the jet, on its own chair. The brief I gave the designer was simply a colour palette: the pinks and oranges of the Your Email Didn’t Find Me Well album.
After a quick shower, they set me up on one of the stools from the breakfast bar in the living room while I wolf down two huge slices of New York pizza. It doesn’t fit my current nutrition plan, but two slices can’t hurt.