Page 56 of The Twelve Days of Christian
“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 afterStar Power, when was the next time we met?”
We carry on like this; her quizzing me like she’s Bradley Walsh onThe 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 preciousstone 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. Theyarebastards. 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.
