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“Of course you miss him. I miss Niall when he goes away, too. But the reunions kind of make up for it.”
Beth makes it sound so easy. I know Niall often has to travel for his work. Being an artist, he has exhibitions and commissions across the world. But the two of them—and Allegra, Beth's adopted daughter—make it work somehow.
That's another thing that worries me. We were already having problems before Alex left on tour, add that to his absence and it's a recipe for misery. It feels as if we're climbing a mountain wearing an iron shawl. An uphill struggle.
“It all seems so hard, you know?” I rub my face wearily. “The lack of sleep. The lack of husband. I don't know how single mums survive.”
“They survive because they have to,” she says gently. “And you will, too. You're stronger than you know.” She pauses and I take another mouthful of tea. “How are you feeling, anyway? What does the doctor say about the post natal depression?”
I shrug, even though she can't see me. “He says I should keep going to the PND group. He wants to keep an eye on me, but he doesn’t think I need medication.”
“That's good, right? And we have this weekend to look forward to. Allegra's so excited you and Max are coming to stay.”
Her enthusiasm makes me smile. I'm so excited about this weekend, too. Max and I are taking the train to Brighton on Friday night and spending the whole weekend with Beth and Niall. To say I can't wait would be an understatement.
“Oh God, I'm like a kid counting down to Christmas. I'm looking forward to seeing you all.”
“So am I. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for the weather. And on Saturday night Niall's offered to babysit while we hit the town.”
“Really?” I sound incredulous. As much as I love Niall, I can't picture him being excited about that. “He doesn't have to do that.”
“Yes, he bloody does. You deserve a break and so do I. Anyway, we don't have to go out for long. We can put the kids to bed first then sneak out for a couple of drinks. And don't say no, I've been looking forward to this so much.”
She sounds as desperate as I am for some child-free entertainment. I love Max to death, but I also miss the times when I could go out and paint the town red. “I won't say no.”
“Good. Because I've bought a dress and everything. And I've booked the taxi.”
“In that case, how can I refuse?”
“You can't,” she says happily. “A couple of drinks, a bit of a boogie and you'll forget all about your worries.”
“I hope so,” I sigh.
Even if I don't forget about my worries, at least I'll be able to spend some time with my best friend, something almost as rare as a conversation with my husband. When we finish our call and I hang up, there's a small smile on my face.
Friday can't come quick enough.
* * *
I'm lying in bed, scrolling through the updates on my phone when I remember my conversation with Amy at the picnic. Pressing on the touch-screen, I open up Facebook, and type in the search box. The Fear of Flying fan page is first in the results, and I'm kicking myself for not checking it before. It looks like Stuart and Alfie are keeping it updated regularly, with news of their progress, and posts about each gig they've performed.
There are photos, too. Excited, I scroll through them. Smiling when I see the ones of Alex mid-set, his slicked-back hair shining beneath the stage lights, his eyes dark and intense in the hazy atmosphere.
There are ones of the band sitting on their tour bus, laughing, Alex clutching a guitar, a pen tucked behind his ear as he strums.
Seeing him makes my chest feel tight. The sense of loss I felt earlier intensifies, growing into a black hole that fills my body. I spend long minutes staring at his face, taking in the way his brow furrows and his lips purse as he listens to something Stuart is telling him.
Later on in the album, I find photos of last night's gig in Austin, and scroll through them greedily, excited that I've nearly caught up to him. I follow the progress of their day; the sound check, an early dinner, the four of them holding bottles of beer as they toast that night's gig.
Then there are the ones of Alex performing. Like in the earlier pictures, he looks glorious. Strutting sexily across the stage, leaning forward as he sings into the microphone, a smirk on his face as fans in the front row try to touch him.
God, he looks so natural. A star in waiting.
Finally, we get to the after-party. Some dingy bar with threadbare seats. They are surrounded by fans. There are photos of Stuart signing a pair of boobs, and Alfie rolling his eyes at the sight.
And then... and then...
My heart stops.
