Page 38 of The Twelve Days of Christian
“And we’ve been happy, for the most part. But we couldn’t have kids. Tommy would have loved a son. A boy to take to the footy. For me, if we had—I’d have wanted him to be like Christian.”
“Tommy might not have got his football fan then,” I smile. Christian doesn’t neglect his body, and it certainly shows. He had a set of weights delivered on Tuesday. But while he might be dedicated to his own fitness, Christian doesn’t seem to nudge the TV onto sports channels or show any interest in that direction.
“He’d still have been satisfied, I think.” There’s a fond look in Loreena’s eyes, a motherly expression in the curve of her mouth, a softness in her voice.
Those people out there who think she and Christian are a thing, a juicy reverse age-gap hookup, him the prey for a conniving cougar, couldn’t have it more wrong. Christian’s protectiveness towards this woman, and hers for him, is more than an unlikely sudden friendship, but much deeper, each providing something the other lacks. He’s told me a bit about his father and brothers, but hardly a mention of his mother. I know why Loreena was drawn to Christian. I wonder why he might seek that type of bond with a virtual stranger? He’s shared so much with me, I suppose he’ll tell me if and when he’s ready.
It’s been a new experience, being Christian’s confidante, his safe place. Usually I’m the one being encouraged to unburden my problems to my protective friends. Now it seems Loreena is happy for me to be her confidante, too. It inspires a strange feeling; this incredibly strong woman looks to me for strength.
“Figured you might like a cuppa, luv.” The fluted silver tray, with a floral teapot and delicate bone china cups, looks bizarre in Tommy’s meaty hands. He’s got the build of a scrappy prizefighter; not someone you’d imagine as a footman waiting on ladies in the drawing room of a stately home.
Loreena surveys the plate of brownie so heavy with chocolate it’s almost black. “Tommy’s been baking. My favourite, but I’ll share.”
A throaty cackle spills from him, and the crinkles bracketing those brilliant blue eyes deepen in amusement.
“I’ll leave you to it,” he says. “Don’t need me sticking my beak in.”
“Thanks, love.” Loreena places a gentle hand over his. The long scarlet-tipped nails are the only recognisable sign of TV Loreena. As Tommy leaves, closing the door with a definitive clunk, the real Loreena in front of me lifts the pot and pours tea as daintily as the countess who probably lived here before her. She offers me the cup, and a piece of the rich dark brownie on a fancy side plate. I clutch my grateful fingers around the warm rose-patterned china and wait.
“I can see why he’s smitten with you,” she twinkles at me.
Confusion whirls in my brain. And then the wisps of denial clear, like mist slipping away, chased off by the revealing light of the sun. I’ve tried to hide from it, but it’s pointless. The way he looks at me. Touches me. I know this to be true, and it brings a flutter of something strange yet magical deep inside me. A little feeling I haven’t felt for a long time.
“How do you...?” My words falter.
Her smile is conspiratorial, brimming with delight at the secret, and revealing the faintest hint of wrinkles around her big blue eyes. They’re more beautiful for it, more defined. She should let the Botox go.
“Darling, when you’re confined to a tiny tent in the long dark of a winter night in bloody Scotland, you’ve got a lot of time to talk.”
“He talked about me?”
“He did. A real heart to heart. He’s scared, though. Burned by what’s happened in the past.”
I nod, remembering what they did to him and Waverley, as if the world can’t bear the thought of Christian being happy, in love. Although he and Waverley weren’t in love—fond of each other, friends, but not love. What might they do therefore to someone he does love?
Is he in love with me? That possibility scares me, too. After the disaster of Jack, my bruised heart realised he hadn’t loved me. It’s wary of that word.
“He’s worried what might happen if he lets it out. I’m so glad he at least found a way to tell you what he’s feeling. If that’s the one good thing to have come out of all this shitty stuff, then it was worth it. Love will find a way, as they say.”
Her mouth tips up in a smile, and she leans forward, squeezing my hand. I’m not going to let on that Christian hasn’t said a word. Although I think without words, he may have said a lot, except I wasn’t listening. A kaleidoscope of memories tumbles through my mind, tiny fragments of time we’ve spent together reflected in the new light of Loreena’s revelation. I turn them over, watching the old patterns of Christian’s and my past reshaping themselves into colourful new ones. My chest tightens, as if my ribs are trying to contain the expanding bubble of awareness inside that threatens to burst, altering my entire world.
“He’s chosen well who to give his to. The fact you’re here tells me that. And, look at you.” She tenderly tucks back a strand of hair, and I almost want to close my eyes in bliss, like one of my dogs accepting a fond pat. I’m not sure what I expected of Loreena, or to feel towards her, but it certainly wasn’t this warmth. Somehow, Christian saw this in her.
“Lovely,” she murmurs. “He said you were.”
Chapter 19
Day Seven
I sit, still reelingfrom the knowledge. Somehow, across the years, in all those small encounters, Christian has built up feelings for me while I was oblivious. Did I just not see? Or did he hide them well? I scroll back through those times, replaying them in exquisite slow motion through a new lens, bringing them into sharper focus.
In the early days, behind the scenes of theStar Powershow, there were almost daily hugs of congratulations and consolation. Did my innocent embraces and brief kisses brushed on his stubbly cheek offer him the hope of something more?
There was one night later on, when the band was really taking off. We were all together at an awards ceremony, Ollie the only one of the four guys whose family turned up in support. During thedinner before, Christian sat opposite me, and we talked across the table. All of us there hummed with anticipation, the air tingling with electricity. But it seems perhaps something else lay behind the intensity in Christian’s blue eyes, and his singular focus on me.
At the after party we all danced, a riotous celebration of their first big win. In the final slow dance, as the evening wound to a close, I laughed with Teddy, he so painfully shy back then, stepping all over my feet, and Christian teasingly nudged him aside, claiming he needed to save me from being crippled by his bandmate’s clumsiness. There are nuances to the memory of those minutes—his breath on my neck, a firm hand splayed on my lower back, a small contented sigh, and a shy kiss on the cheek as he thanked me for dancing with him—all rushing back in bright colours. In the glow of alcohol and with the lingering buzz of the band’s success pulsing in my veins, I’d thought nothing of it. But it wasn’t nothing. Not for him.
There was the record launch when Ollie insisted I come along. They imitated a U2 publicity stunt, playing unannounced on the roof of a city building. When the crowd got out of hand, and security started looking skyward, the guys abandoned their instruments to the crew. We raced down the stairs of a back fire escape, tumbling into their manager, Ewan’s tiny Citroën, an unlikely getaway car, like a group of naughty kids, laughing and squealing. Teddy in the front seat beside Ewan, Garrett trying to make himself small in the centre of the back seat, Ollie falling in one rear door and pulling Kendra in after him and Christian doing the same on the other side, dragging me onto his knee. I can still feel the heat of his body beneath mine, the strong arm looped across my waist bracing me so I wasn’t flung all over the place by Ewan’s stuntdriving.
