Conviction(47)

Len nods. “Sweet, look forward to it… but Lawson… ”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ever bring her near me again.” He gestures with his head to Amanda’s retreating form.

“Yeah, I’ll have words. I’m really sorry about that,” he looks between Lennon, and who I assume is Len’s wife, as he speaks.

I feel sorry for him, but hope he’s learnt his lesson where Amanda is concerned. As I keep telling him, the woman has no boundaries and refuses to take no for an answer.

He walks away and has only gone a few steps when the woman that yanked Amanda by the hair says to Lennon, “What the f*ck, babe. What was ya doing standing there, letting her get all in your space?”

Lennon shakes his head. “Jim, seriously? She was like a f*cking rash, came out of nowhere and was suddenly all over me. These boys’ll tell ya.”

She turns to look between myself and Gun. I hold out my hand, “Conner Reed.” I lay on the charm and give her my full megawatt, posing for the camera smile, trying to diffuse the domestic Amanda has potentially caused.

“And this is Gunner Vance.”

She shakes both our hands. “The boys from Shift, I know who you are. I’m really sorry for your loss. Jet was a great bloke. I’ve met him a few times over the years. Our kids are big fans. I’m Jimmie Layton, Lennon’s wife.” Her brown eyes look right into mine and I know that she means what she says. You meet so many shallow, insincere people in this industry, in this job, that it’s so nice when you meet people that actually mean what they say.

“Thanks,” Gun and I both say at the same time and clink our bottles at our unison.

We stand and chat with them for a while. The fact that I’m going to perform alongside Marley later has even been kept secret from her we discover as we talk, and I appreciate the fact that despite being family, Marley and Ash have stuck to their word.

We eventually make our way down to the VIP area to wait for our performance. We still have a couple of hours, but it’s water only from here on out. Today is not the day to appear on stage, off my chops as I’ve done so many times in the past.





Nina



I stand at the corner of the bar and people watch while Sophie talks with some makeup artist that’s here as a guest of one of the bands at the Triple M event.

I watch a group that are standing to the side of the bar. There’s six of them, all in their early twenties. Three boys, three girls. Life’s beautiful people. I think at first they must all be models, but as I study them closer I wonder if they might be all one family because they all actually look alike. There’s one girl, aged about twentyish, who is simply stunning. She’s taller than the other girls, with long brown hair, olive skin and the most amazing blue eyes.

I watch as a blonde woman, aged about forty approaches the group. She looks vaguely familiar for some reason. She gives them all a kiss and a cuddle before getting herself a drink from the bar. She’s beautiful too, tall and blonde, with big brown eyes and an even bigger smile. She nudges one of the girls as she whispers something in her ear.

“Mum that is wrong, so wrong. He’s gotta be ten years younger than you,” the girl says, and they all laugh.

I suddenly have a pang of something shoot through me, jealousy? Loneliness? I’m not sure. I’ve never had that kind of relationship with my mum, not with any of my family. We’ve never been close and I’ve never felt like I belonged with them.

I knock back my third very large vodka, then take a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter.

“You aiming to get completely smashed?” Sophie shoulder bumps and asks from beside me.

“Yep,” I reply, “I think this week calls for it, don’t you?.”

She grabs two shots from the tray of the next waiter that passes. “Amen to that, sister.” She hands me a shot, we clink our glasses together, then down them in one.

“Fuck!” we say in unison.

“What was that?” I splutter through the burn in my throat and chest.

“Lighter fuel I reckon,” Sophie coughs.

“Showing your age now, Soph. Do they even still make lighters that require fuel?”

“No, but they obviously still have excess amounts of the shit left, so they sell it in fancy stainless steel bottles with a name like Triple Z and sell it to idiots like us.”

I tilt my champagne glass toward her. “Here’s to idiots like us.” She taps her beer bottle, gently against my glass.

“Love ya, baby chick.” I smile at her use of the nickname her brother had given me a long, long time ago. I was about eight years old and had stayed over at their house one night. When I went down to the kitchen the next morning wearing a pair of yellow pyjamas and with my blonde hair sticking up all over the show, Josh had greeted me with, “Good morning, baby chick.” And the nickname had stuck with the pair of them.

“Did you talk to your brother yet?” I asked and she shakes her head.

“Na, I texted to tell him I’m here, but I’ve not heard back. He’ll be busy as, I reckon.”

I was secretly glad that Josh hadn’t come over and spoken to us yet. I always felt so awkward around him. He knew my secret. He knew how desperate I was for Conner to get in touch with me and he knew that Conner had rejected me.