Unplugged (Blue Phoenix, #3)(9)

“Everyone is in bed. I’m hungry.” As if the decision is made, she pulls herself up and heads toward the kitchen. I stare at her dog slippers wondering what world I’ve landed myself in. Should I wake Cerys? No, I’m sure I can manage to put some cereal in a bowl.

It’s a long time since I ate CocoPops, Ella’s favourite apparently. She instructs me how long to leave the cereal in the milk to make chocolate milk and I watch Ella in fascination as she happily crunches on her breakfast. I didn’t think I liked kids, though I’ve considered having my own. There’s something good about being around innocence and playfulness after years in the debauched lifestyle I chose.

“Can you take me to the park?” Ella announces, pushing her empty bowl away.

“What?” I check my phone. 7 a.m.

“Mummy always takes me to the park after breakfast.”

“Maybe wait until your mum gets up?” I suggest.

“I’ll ask her.” Ella hops down from the stool and I picture her jumping on the hungover Cerys.

“No. Okay. It’s a long time since I went to the park, too.”

I had plans to shop today, a week until Christmas and I want some of the gifts under the family tree to come from me. I guess half an hour at the park won’t hurt.

Within minutes, the little girl has disappeared and returned downstairs dressed in track pants, a T-shirt, and a pair of pink and silver trainers. Before I can say anything, she heads out of the front door. I grab my blue hoodie hanging in the hallway and follow her out.

****

The wind bites my cheeks as I huddle on the bench, hood pulled over my face. The dark clouds threaten snow, which excites me: a white Christmas. Has Ella had a white Christmas before?

The little girl spends ten minutes repeatedly sliding down the huge metal slide at the edge of a wooden climbing frame. I’m pretty impressed with the playground, better than the one set of swings and graffitied slide we had near my old, childhood house. Nobody else is here, so I pull my phone out. May as well catch up on some texts.

There’s a f*ckload from Honey but I don’t answer. I want to pretend she doesn’t exist until I’m in the right head space to deal with her. Once I told Honey the engagement was off, I knew she’d do everything she could to change my mind. If I can be strong enough to walk away, I can be strong enough to keep things as they are. Finished.

There’s one from Bryn, Blue Phoenix drummer and mother hen. That’s if mother hens can be built like the proverbial brick house, and who could scare small children. Bryn’s text asks me to call him with a ‘not urgent’ attached. Rubbing my cold nose, I dial the number.

“Hey, Bryn.”

“Ah, Liam, man. Wanted to check if you’re coming to Dylan’s place for Christmas?”

“Dylan’s? Is he there?” Dylan, Blue Phoenix’s lead singer, is such a moody bastard recently; I’m surprised he’s let anyone set foot in his house.

“No, he’s in London.”

“With Jem?” I ask incredulously. No way. Recently, Dylan and lead guitarist Jem are back in the hate part of their love/hate relationship for reasons I don’t want to know. “Are they buddies again?”

Bryn snorts. “No, he’s sulking back at his flat. I think he’s looking for Sky.”

“Sky? She left the scene months ago.” In the summer, Dylan disappeared without telling anyone and when he reappeared, he’d had a secret affair with some chick who wasn’t interested in him once she found out who he was. Dylan as lead singer is endlessly pursued by the press and he’s a bit f*cked up by the whole fame business. I get that, but he makes some shit decisions without thinking about the rest of us. Last I saw him with Sky she’d changed her mind and they were together. Then she disappeared and Dylan refuses to mention her name.

“Yeah. Weird. Anyway, you coming?” asks Bryn.

“No, staying in St Davids. Doing the family thing this year.”

“Uh huh.” There’s a pause followed by the real reason he asked me to call him. “Honey with you?”

“No.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.”

I wait for Bryn to determine whether to push the issue as Bryn would, or step down.

He gives me the male ‘get out clause’. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Ella approaches, stumbling across the wood chip ground toward the bench. Her cheeks are flushed red, hair sticking up from the static of the slide. “Will you push me on the swings?”

“Who’s that?” asks Bryn.

“Who?”

“Is that a kid?” He pauses. “Liam! Have you got a secret love child?”

What annoys me is he’s half-serious. “What the fu...” I catch myself. “No, she’s the daughter of a family friend. I don’t have any kids!”

“Uncle Liam! Swings, please?”

Bryn makes an amused snort. “Are you at a kids’ playground? Wow, you must really like her mum. Cosy date?”

“Her mum isn’t here.”

“Spending the morning at a kids’ playground through choice? Rock and roll, man,” laughs Bryn.

“Shut up. I’m being nice, her mum’s not well.” Self-inflicted, but not well.