Chapter 27
Day Nine
I wake in Haley’s bed regretting I didn’t insist on a pillow wall. The pressure of my enormous morning wood against boxer briefs—even this stretchy pair of Calvins—is almost painful. She’s sleeping on her side, facing away from me. My arm is across her, just below those beautiful tits; under my hand, her breaths rise and fall in a contented rhythm. Right now, the exquisite curve of her bum against my dick is not helping. She wanted me to sleep here, and there’s no way I’d have turned down the offer. But I’m not sure she’d thought it through.
Sleeping with me means waking up not only with me—but my friend down there who has taken no such vow to go slow. Normally I’d just take matters in hand, slink off to the shower and find quick relief. Do I move and risk her waking, to find that pressed to her back? Or do I stay here absolutely still and try to think of something very unsexy to distract myself in the hope eager ‘Mr Ready and Willing’ gets the message to stand down? I don’t get the chance to decide.
Haley stirs and turns sleepily towards me, her mouth tipping up in a lazy, “Good morning.” She presses a small kiss to my chest, before snuggling across so her body and mine are close. I swivel my hips back a bit, trying to make space for this annoying prick that’s determined to make his presence felt. If she’s noticed, she says nothing, sparing me the embarrassment.
“Good morning. Sleep well?”
“Like a baby.” She gives a little yawn. “The dogs too. Didn’t wake us up even once. That’s unusual.”
“Oh they did,” I say. “I let them out around two. There was a pretty nasty smell circulating from their direction. Figured it might be best to kick them out for a pit stop.”
“Really?” she says. “Wow, I didn’t notice.”
“Well, I’m pleased I didn’t wake you. Although I’m a little hurt, you didn’t notice I’d gone.”
She elbows me playfully. “How about I cook you breakfast? Make it up to you.”
“Sounds great.” She slides out of bed and I’m saved. “OK if I grab the shower first?” I might need a cold one.
“Sure.” Her muffled voice struggles upwards from the depths of one of those oversized Oodie things. When her head emerges, it’s like she’s wearing a tent, although the heavy bright red fabric with Christmas trees dotted all over is unlike any tent I’ve ever seen. She looks ridiculous, but totally adorable. “Come on, dogs.” They leap to their feet.
The trio disappears and I make a dash for the shower, where I can deal with my unruly body parts in private, and arrive in the kitchen a little more composed.
Although she claims baking is more her specialty, and cooking meals not so much, the breakfast is delicious. Waffles dripping with syrup are an American innovation I fell in love with on our last tour there. It’s kind of perfect to be sitting here in this kitchen, eating them with her.
After cleaning up, Haley announces she’s baking gingerbread cookies. Some volunteers for the dog rescue have a stall at the market selling Christmas crafts and baked goods. She wants to do her part in the fundraising. A twinge of guilt grabs at me as I think of how much difference I might have made for them if things had been different. How many bake stalls will it take to make a hundred grand?
“You should help me.” She flicks the oven on to heat and turns back to the recipe book open on its stand. “Take your mind off things.”
We both know what things loom over us today. Anything to stop me from dwelling on all the possible outcomes of yesterday’s meeting is a good idea.
“Sure, as long as you tell me what to do.”
I’m the opposite of her in the culinary department. I can rustle up a decent meal, but—surprisingly, given how much I love to eat them—cakes and cookies are not my thing.
Before I know it, I’m wearing an apron and a frown, calculating the most efficient placement of the star-shaped cutter to get the maximum number of cookies from the slab of dough she’s rolled out. Wrestling with the task partly occupies my mind, but it’s the conversation with Haley that chews up most of it.
Two days ago, Loreena shared my secret. Since then, so much has happened, and Haley and I haven’t really talked about it. To find out I’ve had feelings for her for three years, and hidden them so well she’s never noticed, has to be unnerving. It’s no surprise; she’s got questions. This morning, Haley’s trapped me here in the kitchen, and she’s determined to get some answers.
“So, you’re telling me it started the first time you saw me? That’s bonkers.”
I nod. “It sounds crazy, but yeah, it did.”
It never seemed crazy to me. There was always something so right about wanting Haley. The logical part of my brain never argued back on that, although it reminded me every day that wanting her and having her were worlds apart.
“What was I wearing?”
“Jeans and a floaty green top, almost the colour of your eyes. You walked in there to the studio lot, so beautiful, but humble, like you didn’t know it. I wanted to come over there and talk to you, but I was too shy. Couldn’t believe my luck when I found out you were Ollie’s sister, the one guy I’d made a connection with.”
It was an early spring day when Haley drifted into the studio, trailing her parents. My life changed in an instant, like one of those years where the seasons don’t slide slowly from one into the next, but, in an abrupt overnight change, winter has gone and spring has taken control of the world again. Haley appeared dressed in green, like the first flush of new leaves on a tree that’s languished with bare branches for months.
“I loved that top. ”
“It looked so good on you, believe me. Then it got cold, and Ollie gave you his hoodie, which was ten sizes too big and you were embarrassed because they interviewed you in it. It was the first family interview, and you insisted on sitting huddled right in the middle so it wouldn’t be so noticeable.”
No one might have noticed the oversized clothing, but they couldn’t help but notice her. Haley was the odd one out in her family, flanked by her parents and Ollie, all tall, and she small. And her, the only one with hair of dark chocolate, the studio lights reflecting burnished copper in its depths. Her mother’s hair no doubt once looked the same, but now dyed a natural-looking shade of blonde, is more like the men in the family, only a glimpse of dark roots betraying her true colour. I hope Haley never follows her mother’s lead. I loved waking up to find the dark strands splayed across the pillow next to me; loved burying my face in their depths.
“Oh, my god. You remember that? Even I hadn’t remembered that until you said. How can you possibly?”
I shrug. “I dunno. I just remember.”
“Did you write it down?” she asks through a laugh. “Do you have a little Haley Templeton file?”
“Don’t need one.” I tap my head. “It’s all in here. You remember things that are important. You’re important to me.”
She drops her chin shyly and deflects with another question. “OK, so after Star Power , when was the next time we met?”
We carry on like this; her quizzing me like she’s Bradley Walsh on The Chase , me answering with ease. She won’t trip me up; not when this is my expert subject. Our every encounter of the past three years is permanently imprinted in my brain. I’ve been like a dragon with its hoard, from time to time picking out a precious stone of memory and considering it for a while before placing it back carefully, soothed by the knowledge of its existence. Doing it now, with her, is even better. I want her to understand this isn’t some infatuation based only on a physical attraction. I want her to know that while our time together before this last week has been short in terms of minutes or hours, it’s been enough for me to see things about her as a person that tell me she could be the one for me.
I’ve noticed Haley has a different ringtone for each of her friends. ‘Stronger’ by Britney Spears is Samantha. Not that I think the girl needs to develop any further in that direction. She’s already a lethal machine. When Rachel calls, it’s the suitably Scottish band the Proclaimers, belting out a promise to walk five hundred miles, which I’m sure Rachel, with her determination, is perfectly capable of. I wonder what mine is—that’s if Haley’s decided I’ve earned one. I hope so.
Around noon, while we are concentrating hard on finishing up one last batch of cookies, we both startle when Rachel’s song bursts from the phone laying on the kitchen worktop. The strident music is harsh, drowning out the modern acoustic versions of traditional Christmas carols we’ve been listening to—the playlist Haley picked out to provide a chill Sunday morning vibe, while not straying from her happy little seasonal music bubble.
Haley quickly wipes her hands on her Mrs Santa apron, leaving dusty streaks of flour. As she reaches for the phone, I pause, placing the star-shaped cookie cutter to one side and wait. I watch Haley’s face, anxious to read the news in her expression. The clipped tone of Rachel’s voice echoes down the line. It’s not good. Haley’s down-turned mouth as her eyes meet mine tells me everything. The call is short.
“I’m sorry Christian,” she says. “Rachel says they’ve called our bluff. Haven’t budged at all. All that talk yesterday, total waste of time. She thinks they never intended to do anything different. That their lawyers were stringing us along, toying with us for the fun of it—and to collect more fees from their client. They’ve pointed out very clearly, if Loreena or you, or anyone, says a word publicly, they’re going to take you down. She doesn’t think there’s any more we can do.”
“Fuck.” It’s the only word that seems appropriate. “Fucking bastards.” I slam my fist on the counter, causing a small cloud of flour to billow in the air as a red haze of frustration and anger rises in my vision. I immediately feel bad. Poor Haley has put up with a lot of me crashing around the place like a thunderclap this last week. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. They are bastards. And you have every right to be angry. We all do.”
“I don’t know what else we can do.”
“Me neither. Maybe ride it out to the live show and see what happens?”
“Yeah.”
I can’t go back to the cookie making. Anger surges through my body. Frustration is a painful writhing rope constricting my brain. Other times when I’ve felt like this, I’ve had an outlet for it. My natural reaction to stress is to flee. To put on my running shoes and pound the streets. That’s not an option .
Or maybe it is. It’s raining outside. Hard. We’re only a few blocks from the Royal Parks. How many tourists are going to be wandering the pathways today?
“I’m going for a run.” I take a decisive step away from the counter.
“But—”
“I’ll find something in Ollie’s room.”
“But what if you’re seen? Recognised?”
“I’m beyond caring.”
She nods, giving me a sympathetic look, before grabbing a tray and going back to arranging cookies.
After a forty-minute run, incognito in rain jacket with cap pulled low, followed by a hot shower and dry clothes, I slump on the couch feeling better. Relaxed even. My anger has given way to acceptance. I should have expected this outcome, but I let that small seed of hope grow into a wild possibility the bad guys might not win. My rational brain has now taken a machete to it, chopped that unruly and unrealistic idea off at the roots.
I’m right back where I started. Nothing to do but ride out this rogue wave and hope I don’t drown. And pray it doesn’t take Haley down with me—that’s if we have a future beyond these four walls. With every passing day, the tantalising prospect grows. It’s ironic this nightmare should provide the fuel for my dreams to come true, and Loreena the spark to ignite it .
“Christian, come and have some lunch.” Haley’s still busy in the kitchen, amid the happy clatter of pots and pans and the smell of spice hanging heavy in the air.
I don’t feel like food; I barely need it after all those waffles. I head to the kitchen anyway, recognising Haley’s need to care for me helps keep her mind off her troubles too. There’s something soothing about cooking. Perhaps it’s the need to pay attention, freeing your brain from dwelling on other things.
She places a huge bowl of soup in front of me. Bright orange pumpkin with a swirl of cream. A faint smell of nutmeg drifts towards me in a small waft of steam.
“Looks like I’ve got competition. And here I was thinking the Masterchef title was all mine.”
“It’s only soup. Nothing fancy.” She takes a seat at the counter next to me, plunging a spoon into her own bowl.
“But very good soup.” I take a large slurp, and it tastes even better than it smells.
“Comfort food. Figured we both could use some.” A resigned sigh slips out.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, leaving my spoon poised mid-air.
“Oh, nothing. It’s just…”
“Haley, tell me,” I urge. While I was out there pounding the pavement, something else happened to take the shiny edge off my girl.
“It’s nothing, really. Sam rang. We were planning to go to Kew Gardens tonight. To see the Christmas lights. But she’s had to cancel. They’re super shorthanded at her work. Sick staff. So she’s picked up an extra shift tonight. ”
“That’s a shame.” I can imagine Haley’s childlike delight in all things Christmas finding its peak in the outdoor lighting displays.
“It is, especially now the rain’s easing off. Meant to clear by mid-afternoon.”
“Yeah, it would choose to disappear now, after I got completely drenched.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it. The gardens.” She drops her eyes to the bowl. “I felt kind of guilty. Going out and leaving you home alone.”
“It’s OK. It’s not your fault I’m under house arrest.” As I’m saying it, that same recklessness that sent me running round the park in broad daylight nudges forward an idea. “It’ll be dark, right?”
“Yes, and no. There’s so many lights in some parts it may as well be daytime.”
“I think we should go. You and me. That’s as long as Sam won’t be upset about you going without her.”
“No, it’s not really her thing. She only agreed because she didn’t want me out after dark on my own.”
“Not without your own highly trained bodyguard?”
“No,” she laughs.
“OK, well, I’m no expert in—what is it?”
“Krav Maga.”
“Right. That. But I’m big enough to be a suitable deterrent for anyone lurking in the gardens with nefarious motives.”
“The place will be packed. How will you stop anyone recognising you?”
“It’s going to be cold. By the time I layer up, I’ll look like every other person there. ”
I take a casual tone, although I know this is risky. But in my new world, what Haley wants, Haley gets. And, much as I tease her relentlessly about her obsession, there’s such joy in her when she’s immersed in her Christmas stuff. It’s strangely contagious. Of course, taking her to see the lights is not a totally unselfish suggestion on my part. I want to make some special moments with her. Just in case this time next year, I’m stuck with living on the memories. In case I’m just a memory to her, too; I want it to be a good one.
“What about the dogs?” I ask. “Can we take them? Would they be up for it?” I’m told the two oldies don’t venture much beyond the backyard. A little outing might be good for them too.
Haley rests a thoughtful finger on her chin. “I was going to leave them here. To keep you company. But we could…”
“Leave it with me. I’ll sort out a rideshare that will take all of us. This will be fun.”
My smile is confident, but underneath, I know—this is super risky. If it goes wrong, it won’t only be bad for me. It will be tough for her, too. She’s witnessed fans mobbing the band, seen their reaction to her brother. However, it’s completely different when you’re no longer an observer, rather the centre of their attention. At least here in the UK, most are a little more respectful than in some countries, usually happy to settle for a selfie. If I’m unmasked, there’s a chance the fans will be gentle. It’s the rabid paparazzi who are more concerning. I can hold my own with the bastards, but I’m not sure I could control myself if they come for her, too.
Seeing her bright eyes as she sips at her soup, I’m not going to back out now. Although I have to do everything I can to prevent this from turning into another Christian disaster.