Chapter 12
TWELVE
LITTLE BIRD
Taylor
Outside a tiny street café, with crowds busying by, I sipped from a cup of scalding black coffee and picked at a croissant. It was midmorning, and boredom kept me draped over my chair. How was that possible with a whole city waiting for me to explore?
First thing, after I’d taken a quick shower and dressed in the shared bathroom at the hotel, I’d gone looking for William. He’d already left for his morning’s shoot and texted me an apologetic reply.
We should’ve been sharing a room. I wanted that, wanted to sleep in his arms. Tucked up against him and aware of when he left. But I’d never thought for two before and I’d got it wrong.
As a girl, I’d never been bothered by being alone. My parents, after they’d split when I was tiny, couldn’t agree on anything, so the constant battles over me often left me in the middle and without proper care.
In the school holidays, I’d be torn between my English mother and American father.
Dad would summon me to visit him in the States, but he’d never fetch me.
Sometimes he’d send an assistant, or he’d pay the airline to have a designated adult travel with me.
The moment I was old enough to travel alone, I did, turning down the guides.
Dad’s political climbing took him all over the country, so sometimes I’d arrive at his home in upstate New York just to be on my lonesome for weeks on end.
Even that ranked better than spending time with my mother.
God knows how she and Dad ever fell in love; they were so utterly different.
Mom lived in England but had a string of boyfriends and took regular yoga or spiritual retreats whenever her latest relationship ended.
She’d invite me to stay, but I knew she found my presence disturbing.
I looked like Dad’s side of the family. The spitting image of his mom.
And his sister.
So I found ways to entertain myself and to fund my exploits. I became adept at lying about my whereabouts and a pro at keeping myself safe. At fourteen, I toured Chicago with a local boy for a couple of days, exchanging kisses for company until my father noticed that I was in the US.
He never missed a line on my credit card statement, knowing where I’d been and who with.
Which was why, for years, I’d been siphoning off cash where I could.
I had a small, secret account with my savings.
I doubted it would last long, but still, it felt wrong spending it on me when I’d saved it for Charity to maybe one day live on.
Tomorrow, William and I would be moving on to Italy. Perhaps I could fork out on a hotel room. Somewhere I could get the privacy and intimacy I craved. Not be alone for a few hours.
Under my table, a little bird pecked at my crumbs. I tore a chunk of pastry and tossed it down.
I was that little bird, but company and care were my crumbs.
Ugh. How pathetic.
I checked my email to distract myself and found a message from Mathilda, William’s sister-in-law. It was short, but she asked if her reply to the company covered all the points we’d discussed. I checked it, adding a couple of questions and, just after I sent my response, my phone rang.
“Hey, gorgeous. Where are ye?” William’s deep brogue sounded down the line.
My heart fluttered. “Taking a break from sightseeing. How’s it going?”
“Good. I’m at the stadium, about to shoot the set up and the sound check. I’ll be here all afternoon, so if ye tire and want to come join me…” He trailed off, clearly unsure of where I’d rather be.
“I’ll come,” I said quickly. “Is now okay? I can bring lunch.”
“You’re all I need,” he said sweetly. Then he chuckled. “But, aye, bring food if ye can. I have no idea when I’ll be done, and no one remembers to feed the photographer.”
We said our goodbyes, and I leapt from the chair.
In a few minutes, I had a feast of patisserie goods and was running for a cab stand.
At the stadium, I gave my name and showed the Reportage One digital pass William had sent me the previous day—it had his details but no one seemed to care once I claimed to be his assistant—then I was through security and winding my way through to the wide-open gig space.
“Lass,” a voice hailed me from amongst black packing crates and equipment. William lifted his head, and a grin broke over his face.
I yipped and ran the last few steps until I was in his waiting arms. He gave a growl and wrapped me in a hug, then his lips found mine, and he stole a kiss, getting reacquainted.
“Missed you.” He took the café’s paper bags from me and placed them on a crate next to his heavy camera. Then he picked me up and spun me around.
“Argh!” I shrieked.
“Tell me you missed me, too,” he demanded.
“Never! I don’t respond to blackmail!” I howled, and he kept spinning.
Faster he went, until my head reeled and I gripped him.
“Stop! Or I’m going to fall!”
Then he did, abruptly, and weaved on his feet, still clutching me to his broad chest. “Fuck. Dizzy.”
William dropped to the floor, landing hard on his ass.
I scrabbled free, wobbling to my feet, and gaped at him. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“Give me a sec.” He put a hand to his head. Then he blinked a couple of times before lumbering to his feet. “Shite. Did I hurt ye?”
“Not at all. Are you okay?”
William hid a wince. “Other than embarrassed? I’ll live. My head just flipped.”
“Has that happened before?”
“Once or twice. Except I don’t usually drop lasses.”
Did I hug him or breeze over it? I chose the former.
William hugged me back, but an awkwardness descended on us. I wanted to ask more but could see he didn’t want to share right now.
A tapping came from the stage. “Testing!” yelled an enthusiastic stage hand.
I flinched at the mic feedback.
William blinked, his colour slowly returning to his cheeks. “Let’s eat. I’ll be shooting the band again in the sound check, then we can go see about car hire after.”
“Car hire? I thought you said you had to go on the tour coach?” I’d planned to try to blag a spot for myself.
“Nope. They offered me a place, but I don’t have to take it. It’s not on the list of shoot locations, and I want to spend the time alone with you. We’ll hire a car instead and share the driving. Or I can drive through the night. Whatever works.”
A warm anticipation rose in me. On our drive, I’d have plenty of time to get to know more about my increasingly intriguing Scot. “You’ve got it.”
We busied ourselves with lunch, then the bands appeared, and William snapped back into work mode.
I watched him, his careful, professional way as he got the pictures he was here to provide. Whatever had gone on in his head had cleared, and he was back in control. At least it appeared so.
The afternoon flew by. William and I hung out in between the action, and soon we were out of the stadium and at the car hire place.
We returned as night fell, right before the start of the concert.
William murmured that he needed to take crowd shots, starting the gig at the back of the place then working his way through.
I assumed he’d ask me to wait somewhere for him.
I could go sit in the car we had the keys for, where we’d hidden our luggage. But he didn’t.
Instead, with his face pale, he gripped my fingers. He peered at the rush of people making their way through security, and for one horrifying moment, I thought he was going to fall again.
“Can I stay with you?” I blurted. “Help you change lenses or something?”
William’s darting gaze settled on me, and he drew in a long breath.
“I won’t get in your way,” I added, my voice smaller now. I could tell myself I wanted to be there for him, but that was only partially true. The loneliness I’d experienced earlier still lurked at the edges of my consciousness.
“Aye, if ye don’t mind me staring through this instead of at you.” He threw an arm around my shoulders and hefted his camera with the other hand.
We entered the hall, and the lights fell. Viking Blue appeared on stage, and the crowd roared.
A guitar chord shook the floor, then a frantic drum beat ushered in the first song.
My pulse leapt, and I hopped on my toes. I didn’t even know this band, but the catchy rock anthem had me wanting to dance.
Like before, William got into the action, working the floor. In the zone, he was a true professional, getting wide shots of the musicians on stage with the crowd framing them.
He kept a grip on me, and when we finally emerged from the crush, popping out at the side, we flashed our backstage passes—I’d had one made earlier by Freddie, the sweetheart publicist—and joined the milling support crew.
This time, I let William do his thing, and he strode out onto the stage, keeping a low profile but getting the live pictures he’d told me the band craved.
Then the song ended, the stage lights dipped, and a spotlight fell on the singer.
Last night, while William had been busy with the crew and his work, Rex of Viking Blue had introduced himself to me. In the ‘How you doing?’ slow-look-over kind of way.
I’d gotten the impression that he’d expected me to fall at his feet in hero worship, but effectively, he was William’s boss, so I’d chatted politely.
The way he’d stared at me had creeped me out. I knew when guys wanted me, when all they saw was blonde hair and boobs. Now, on the stage, the vocalist strummed the chords of a ballad. And his gaze slid left.
Rex stared right at me, crooning a sexy tune.
Yeah, not happening.
With William busy capturing the moment, I stepped back until I found my way into the corridor, looking for somewhere I could wait out the gig. A number of closed doors faced me, plus busy rooms with people working or talking.
I tried one of the doors. A dressing room. Empty on first glance, with only a single lamp brightening one corner. I slipped inside.
“Hello,” a voice came from behind a rail of clothes.
“Eek!” I leapt a foot in the air and spun around.