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Part II
17
APRIL
LIAM
The problemwith stepping back from Blue Phoenix for a few months is everything else in life sharpens into focus. Avoiding wedding plans is no longer an option. AndJesus, does Honey have plans.
Relaxing after the crap of the last few months — deaths, overdoses and tours cut short — is hard. The last time I had peace and downtime away from the band was… no idea. Years ago. And I’m lost.
Honey currently appears as a regular extra on a new TV comedy show. I watched the show once—it was bloody awful, but when she raves about her big break, I smile encouragingly. The part does little to counteract her vacuous image.
If Honey isn’t working, she fills her day with wedding organisation. With three weeks to go, my feet aren’t cold, they’re fucking ice blocks.
When I came back to the States after Christmas, we patched things up. In a way, I’d behaved the same as her: Honey swears she only kissed Mason, and I kissed Cerys. I didn’t tell Honey.
I know why Honey behaved as she did, and although I understand the depth of her insecurity and need for attention, running to another guy every time we fight isn’t the answer. What if next time she shares more than a kiss? Will marrying Honey be enough for her to believe I’m committed to her? These niggling whispers over the last couple of months are now voices drowning my thoughts.
At the centre of my doubt—Cerys. Although we haven’t spoken since the day we kissed, the night is as indelibly inked as any of my tattoos. Honey kissed a guy and had no emotional desire to become close to him; I wanted Cerys and I would’ve traded Honey for her. That makes what I did—what I’m doing—worse and why each day the doubt grows.
The problem isn’t the possibility Honey could be unfaithful again, but due to the attachment to Cerys I can’t shake. Every time I think about Cerys, and every time I crave to go back to the moment in time that fused me to her, I’m unfaithful to Honey. I can’t give Honey my whole heart when I left a part with Cerys at Christmas.
But I can’t have Cerys; she’s with another man. If she no longer is, our time meant less to Cerys than me. Otherwise she’d contact me. I toyed with the idea of contacting Cerys a few times, but if she is still with Ella’s dickhead father, my interference won’t be welcome. I asked Louise about Cerys a couple of times, on the rare occasions I speak to her, but her response was ‘she’s okay’.
No contact. No chance we’ll reconnect. Cerys was right—we were two hurt people looking for comfort.
But why won’t my heart believe this?
The deeper Honey pulls me into wedding plans, the more I’m caught in the tide. I switch off, leave Honey with the military manoeuvres, and reassure myself everything will work out and this is all pre-wedding nerves.
* * *
Blue Phoenix receivesa shitload of fan mail and someone in our PR department opens this and sends out crap to people—postcards, stickers, whatever. Dylan insists that every piece is answered which means there’s a backlog lasting months. Each piece is opened, date stamped, and added to a pile. I bet some of these people aren’t fans anymore by the time they hear back.
Today, PR passed me a letter from Cerys and my grip on this world I returned to slipped.
Not strictly from Cerys, but Ella. They handed me a pile of fan mail and inside I found a picture of three people and a dog in the snow: a man, a woman, and a girl holding a doll. The dog and the man have the same orange colour hair. An L and half-formed letters to make the ‘iam’ are written above the man’s head and ‘Ella’ over the girl’s. The letter is date-stamped two weeks after Christmas. On the back, a note from Cerys:
Ella drew a picture to thank you for her Christmas gift. She loves Olaf and takes him to bed every night. Your gift for me was very thoughtful, thank you. I hope you are well. Cerys x
This sucker punch to the head prevents me thinking about anything else all day. Four months ago, she contacted me and I never responded because I never got the fucking letter. Why didn’t Cerys ask Louise for my real address instead of sending c/o Blue Phoenix? Did Cerys make any decisions based on me not contacting her? I shake away the ‘what ifs’. What if everything fizzled, that the spark of our kiss was nothing more than the lonely need Cerys spoke about.
Fate made the decision for us with a little help from our own stupidity.
I attach the crayon picture on the fridge with a magnet. Isn’t that what you do with kids’ drawings? After kicking round the house obsessing about Cerys, I head out to my meeting with Jez Stephens. Music has been part of my life for eight years and despite Blue Phoenix being on a break, I need to keep working. So, I have session work lined up with Jez’s band, Landlocked, and I’m due to discuss the details. Honey is pissed off because the recording takes place straight after the wedding and means delay to the honeymoon. Our whole life is a luxurious holiday, so I fail to see the need for another. I guess the romantic in me is hidden too.
I’m on a high when I return to the house in the evening. The meeting was awesome. Involving myself with Landlocked is a breath of fresh air; a meeting of musical minds. Their music isn’t as heavy as Phoenix’s, but my signature bass flows perfectly into their sound. I fucking love my job.
“Hey, babe!” I call as I walk across the granite floor into the grey-tiled kitchen. Honey doesn’t reply. She isn’t exactly the domestic type so I don’t expect her in the kitchen. Her red sports car is on the drive so she’s around somewhere. Maybe she’s in the pool. I head to the fridge to grab a beer before looking for Honey; I’m psyched about the session work and want to chat about my plans.
Ella’s picture is missing from the fridge.
I check the floor and kitchen counter but everything gleams, the stainless steel utensils carefully arranged in a stand on the marble counter, the show home look maintained. I open the cupboard where Honey shoves things that taint her perfect home and search through the pile of papers. Nothing.
Resting against the counter, I swig the beer, my scalp prickling with irritation. I want the fucking picture. The fact I feel so strongly edges Cerys back into my mind. Another wake up call.
Honey appears, dressed down in black yoga pants and a tight pink tank top. Well, as dressed down as Honey gets, which basically, means minimal make-up and no hair extensions. Thi sHoney is as attractive as when make-up artists work on her for an hour, or when wearing the designer clothes she fills the house with. I tell Honey she shouldn’t hide behind the fake, and that to accept herself she needs to allow people see who she really is.
