What Lies Between Us(18)

Mum never stops thinking about Dad. She doesn’t admit it and she never brings him up in conversation but sometimes, I watch her when she goes quiet and gazes out into the garden and I’m sure he’s on her mind. Husbands and dads don’t walk out on their families for no reason, which makes me think she treated him so badly that he had no choice but to leave us both. It’s because of her that he can’t bring himself to see me or to reply to any of my letters. It’s been seven months since he vanished and all I’ve had from him is a birthday card saying ‘Love, Dad’ inside. No letter, no phone call, no nothing. I hate her for whatever it is she’s done. It’s not fair.

I’ve been letting her think that things between us are back to the way they used to be before the miscarriage. And now that she trusts me more, I can get away with doing what I want to do and she doesn’t have a clue.

As the band finishes its encore and Jon leaves the stage, I’m scared to take my eyes off him because once I do, he’ll go back to being a fantasy again. And it’s a good job I keep staring because when he reaches the wings, he turns around, his eyes connect with mine and he gives me a smile. I smile back. Then he flicks his head as if to say, ‘Follow me.’

‘Nina, what are you doing?’ shouts Saffron as minutes later, I leap over the barrier and on to the stage. Behind me, the rest of the audience is beginning to make its way home, but my night is only just beginning. I can feel it. My heart wants to beat its way out of my chest and I hear Saffron yelling something else behind me, but I don’t reply or turn around to acknowledge her.

Behind the stage, the breeze-block walls of the corridor have been painted white but there’s graffiti scrawled across them, including song lyrics, names, signatures and doodles. I keep going, dodging the crew and sound technicians until I spot Jon towel-drying his chest and hair as he walks into a room. My legs are wobbling as I follow him inside. He turns to take me in from top to bottom, then sits on a packing case, removes two cigarettes from a packet of Marlboro Reds, lights both and hands one to me.

‘What’s your name?’ he asks, and blows a smoke ring into the air above his head. It’s like a grey halo and he’s my saint.

‘Nina,’ I reply weakly. I clear my throat. ‘Nina,’ I repeat, this time with confidence.

‘Nice to meet you Nina-Nina. I’m Jon.’

‘I know,’ I say, and take a long drag of my cigarette. I’m no stranger to smoking but tonight I’ve been singing for so long and so loudly that it burns the back of my throat. I fight not to let it show.

‘It’s got a kick to it, right?’ he says. I nod, worried that if I say anything, I’ll cough and make an idiot of myself. ‘It’s got a little extra something packed into it.’ He laughs and raises his eyebrows like I should know what he means. I don’t, but I laugh along regardless. ‘What did you think of the show?’

‘Amazing,’ I reply. ‘It’s not my first time though.’

‘I bet it’s not.’

He winks and I realise my innuendo. I will myself not to blush. ‘I meant I’ve seen you play a few times.’

‘So you’re a fan then?’ I smile my yes. ‘You’re hot,’ he adds and this time I have no control over my reddening cheeks.

‘Thank you,’ I reply. ‘So are you.’

‘I mean you’ve sweated through your T-shirt,’ he continues, and suddenly I’m aware of what a mess I must look. ‘Take it off,’ he says, and without really thinking I peel it from my wet skin. Now I’m standing here in just my bra and jeans. I normally need a few alcopops inside me to make me this confident. But Jon Hunter is bringing something out of me. He throws me his damp towel and I use it to dry my hair. I wait until he turns around and can’t see me before I breathe the towel in. Then he takes a spare T-shirt from a rucksack and hands it to me. Only I don’t put it on. Instead, I stand there, looking longingly at him as he looks back at me. Then he makes the approach I’ve been longing for.





CHAPTER 14





MAGGIE


According to my old carriage clock, now in its new home on the dining-room sideboard, I’ve been sitting alone at the table for ten minutes. Nina rarely leaves me this long because she doesn’t trust me. I don’t blame her; I’ve given her good reason not to. So what is the cause of this change of heart?

I use one hand to pull at the metal cuff locked around my ankle while I rub antiseptic cream into an area that’s been chafing. Last year, the cuff was so abrasive that my ankle developed an abscess. Despite me suggesting I might need to see a doctor, Nina was reluctant to help. It was only when I warned her that if it became infected or septic, things could become particularly unpleasant for both of us, that she finally agreed and bought me the cream. Now, she rotates the cuff between ankles every week or so.

The minutes tick by and I begin pacing the room. The last time I spent so much time in here of my own volition was when I was a free woman. I’m tempted to shout downstairs to check that all is well, but I decide to savour the time alone in a place that isn’t my bedroom for as long as I can. The top of the window is slightly ajar and I hear birdsong coming from outside. It sounds like a blackbird from here and, curious to see if I’m right, I approach the window and look into the rear garden, but I can’t see where the noise is coming from.