Page 11 of Happiness Under a Summer Skye

‘No, Meghan, this isn’t your fault. It’s not even yours or mine, Josh. But we have to stop the rumour mill. It’s not fair on anyone, least of all Nancy. We need to have some distance. Maybe it would be better if you stopped coming here alone. Maybe we need some time apart… Like properly apart, you know? Some real time and distance. Maybe that would help.’

He laughed lightly. ‘You’re talking like you’re thinking of quitting the band or something.’ When she didn’t reply, the colour drained from his face and he swallowed hard. ‘You’re not…’ He turned to Meghan and gestured towards Angelia. ‘She’s not leaving the band…’ He turned to Angelia again. ‘Are you? I mean, I know you’ve been having some vocal issues, but you just need rest. We’re not playing again until next month so…’

She smiled, picked up the cloth napkin that sat beside her unfinished bagel and whacked him with it. ‘You can’t get rid of me that easily.’

He heaved a sigh, and she watched the pinkish hue rapidly return to his cheeks as he ran his hands back through his dark brown shaggy hair. ‘Don’t scare me like that again.’ He glanced at his phone. ‘Look, I’d better get going, Austin’s messaged to say he’s waiting with Nancy.’ Austin, the band’s personal driver in the UK, was a huge wall of a man. He had served in the navy and feared nothing. Except wasps. Angelia recalled a time they were backstage at Wembley Stadium and Austin had come along with his daughter who was a fan of the band, and a rogue yellowjacket had found its way in, somehow, and made a beeline (pardon the pun) for Austin. He had squealed like a total wuss and run around, frantically waving his hands, screaming, ‘Get it away from me! Get it away from me!’ his deep London accent sounding rather high-pitched and completely out of character with his imposing frame. Angelia smiled at the memory.

‘Oh, and just to put your mind at ease,’ Josh added, ‘Nancy has messaged to say she’s seen the latest articles at the salon and has told the people who she overheard talking about it that it’s a load of bullshit. But she’s finished at the salon now and has a dress to pick up for the film premiere tonight.’

Angelia tried to smile. ‘That’s good to know. Anyway, which premiere are you going to again?’

‘It’s the new Florence Pugh one. I can’t believe you’re not going too. She’s a huge fan of the band. She’ll be gutted if you’re not there.’

She scrunched her nose. ‘Nah, like you said, I need to rest. And anyway, I might take the opportunity to get some work done on that song I’m writing for the new album.’

He smiled. ‘The revenge one? Brilliant.’ He bent to scratch Scrappy’s belly. ‘Bye-bye, fuzzy butt. I’ll see you soon.’

Angelia laughed. ‘I hope you weren’t referring to me as fuzzy butt.’

He winked. ‘You may never know.’ He grabbed his jacket from the cream leather couch and walked over to where she stood. He pulled her into a hug and said, ‘Take care of you.’

She nodded. ‘Likewise.’

Josh turned to Meghan. ‘Bye, Meghan. Let me know what Den says about the article.’

Meghan nodded. ‘Will do. I’ll walk down with you.’ She hugged Angelia. ‘I’m really sorry, Angel,’ she said again.

And with that, Angelia watched her assistant and Josh, his tall frame clad in his signature black, exit the apartment.

In the silence that now surrounded her, she walked across the open-plan living area with its white walls, adorned with modern art chosen by her former interior designer – extortionately expensive artwork she now hated – to her grand piano, and sat. She played the first few bars of the song she was writing, not the revenge song about Dane, however, instead this was a song no one would ever hear because it was about her first love, Ed. She sang the first two lines: ‘I look to the stars and wonder if you’re wishing on them, too, although it hurts so much to know I can never be with you…’ She shook her head and rolled her eyes. She turned in her seat and called over to Scrappy, ‘I definitely need to meet someone, Scraps. I’m turning into a reincarnated Emily Dickinson with my sad lyrics, and that won’t do at all.’

She huffed and stood again. ‘I suppose I should clean up, eh?’ The dog sat and, with a tilted head, watched her retrieve the plate with the unfinished bagel on from the dining table, and he gave a single bark. ‘Oh, you want this?’ she asked, pointing at the plate with a wry smile. ‘It’s pastrami, I’m not sure you like it.’ The dog barked again. Pastrami was his absolute favourite. She giggled. ‘Oh, you’ll eat it, anyway? Just to help me out?’ Another bark, his tail now wagging frantically. She placed a hand over her heart. ‘Okay then, I appreciate your sacrifice.’ She pulled the meat from the bread and tore it into small pieces before feeding it to her four-legged companion who relished every bite.

She thought back to when it had been freshly made, and she had attempted to eat it. She recalled that, in addition to struggling to swallow, she had found chewing quite difficult too. It had been strange. Disconcerting even. But she told herself it was merely exhaustion. Touring was gruelling, after all.

5

After a couple of incidents involving Angelia stumbling while out walking Scrappy, Meghan had nagged over and over, insisting that she should contact her doctor to arrange an urgent appointment, and Angelia had eventually capitulated, simply to stop her assistant from badgering her constantly. An appointment had been made for the following Monday to rule out anything sinister, but Angelia presumed she would be prescribed some vitamins and iron tablets and be sent on her way. She felt a little like a fraud as when she rested, the symptoms eased drastically.

She wouldn’t have admitted it to Meghan, but after going over the recent strange symptoms she had experienced, Angelia’s mind was full of worry and ‘what ifs’, so in order to distract herself she contacted Ruby, who was home on Skye, to ask her to set up a date with the handsome actor she had mentioned.

Ezra Harwood was a six-foot-five blond English man with vivid blue eyes around five years Angelia’s senior. He was the epitome of what a superhero looked like: muscular, handsome, wholesome. He had a reputation for being a nice guy, too; there had been plenty of clips of him visiting children’s hospitals to give out Christmas gifts the previous festive season. But he wasn’t Angelia’s type traditionally; he was quite the antithesis of the green-eyed, dark-haired orchestra musician she had loved from afar for years.

‘Yay! I can’t believe I get to set you up. You’ll adore Ezra, I think. He’s so sweet. Perfect husband material.’ Ruby’s excitement was evident in her high-pitched voice at the other end of the call.

Angelia laughed rather loudly. ‘Steady on, Rubes. It’s a first date, don’t go buying a hat yet.’

‘Sorry, I know, I’m just a bit giddy. He’s in London this week on set so I’ll give him a call. He might be free tomorrow night.’

Angelia widened her eyes and tried not to retract her admission of availability. ‘Oooohkay, that’s fast.’

‘They’re heading off to New York early next week and I know he won’t want to miss an opportunity to take you out.’

Angelia rubbed her eyes and nodded, even though Ruby couldn’t see her. ‘Okay. Okay, go for it. Anyway, enough of that, what are you up to today? And what’s the weather like?’ It was a sunny mid-April Friday in London, but Angelia knew it could appear to be a totally different season up north.

‘It’s a bit overcast just now but we’re hoping it burns off. You know what this place is like though. Four seasons in a day. I’ve got a dance class to teach at eleven and then we’ve got community cinema tonight at the hall. Me and the girls have been keen to get the Ralph Fiennes version of Wuthering Heights shown on the big screen and thanks to Jules and Morag doing some research we’ve finally got the licence.’

Ruby spoke of her group of female friends in Glentorrin as if they were family and Angelia couldn’t help wishing she was a part of their ensemble. She had never met these women but could tell from what she had gleaned from chats with Ruby that she would love them all. Jules ran the Lifeboat House Museum, and her husband, Reid, was an artist; Caitlin was the village baker, and her husband owned an outdoor clothing shop and campsite; Morag ran the shop with her husband, Kenneth; Millie had her own marketing company and her husband was a mechanic; Stella owned the pub with her partner, Joren; and Bella was an interior designer, and her husband was the local police inspector. All down-to-earth women living fulfilling, normal lives. Angelia had almost forgotten what that was like.