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Lou turns her face away, the giggling turning into gasping laughter. “Liam says you—” I clamp my hand over her mouth and hold her tight. She wriggles, trying to pull my fingers away.
Cerys shakes her head at a familiar situation—she’s known us both since primary school.
When Louise breaks free, she shoves me. “You ruined my hair.”
I hold up my hand, fingers covered in deep red lipstick. “Gross.”
“Liam! Now I need to redo my make-up back. You’re such an asshole.”
“You started it,” I retort.
“Screw you, big brother,” she calls as she heads toward the stairs.
Muttering, I head to the sink and flick on the mixer tap then grab the hand wash.
“Sometimes, I forget you’re Liam Oliver the rock star,” says Cerys quietly. “You’re no different than the guy I knew as a teen.”
I look through the open kitchen curtains towards the houses across the street decked out with Christmas lights. “Yeah. Blue Phoenix is a million miles from my life here.” Lipstick removed from my hands, I grab the tea towel and turn around.
“What’s a rock star?” asks Ella.
Interesting. How do I define that to a four year old?
“Liam plays guitars, Ella. Like the ones in his bedroom. He’s a musician.”
“He doesn’t collect rocks?”
I laugh. “Not recently. I don’t think you’d like my music. We’re not as good as... whatever you watched earlier.”
Me and Cerys exchange a smile.
“Mummy says I can go to the show,” announces Ella
“Oh?” I say.
“Peppa Pig and friends are playing in Cardiff next year. Lucky me, huh?” says Cerys.
“Damn, Blue Phoenix have competition. Not sure we could match... what are they called again?”
“Peppa Pig,” says Ella. “I have one. I’ll show you.” She jumps down from her chair and disappears.
I reach over for my forgotten beer and Cerys folds her arms across her chest. Without Ella to fill the gaps, I don’t know what to say. Cerys isn’t a groupie who’ll rave about the band and fill in my need to speak. I rarely get a word in when I’m with Honey, so I’m lost what to say here. I know if I do open my mouth I’ll say something inappropriate. I won’t know why or what, but I usually do around girls.
Honey.
Am I a bastard because I’ve blanked her in my mind to the point she doesn’t exist? And if I have, does this mean she’s not in my heart? I stare at my bare feet. The woman a guy marries should be in his heart and soul. Honey cheated on me; I should be cut up about that and not secretly relieved I’ve a way out.
“What are you thinking about?” asks Cerys.
“Honey.”
Curiously, Cerys’s cheeks turn pink and she busies herself tidying up after her daughter. See, told you I’d say something inappropriate. Why do I feel it’s inappropriate? Cerys knocks over the half-full glass of milk and the contents spill across the table and drip onto the floor.
“Shit!” she says and stares at the dripping milk, tears in her eyes.
Seriously, there’s something weird about how ready her tears are and I almost make a comment about crying over spilt milk. On the verge of stepping in and showing Cerys my awesome domestic skills with a roll of paper towels, Mum walks in.
“Is Ella ready for bed?” She spots the milk. “Did the little monkey make a mess?”
“She did,” I say, watching for Cerys’s reaction. “Little monkey.”
Cerys snaps her head around to me and I smirk. The lost look that hovers at the edge of her eyes retreats slightly as she shakes her head at me. I’m in the kitchen with Mum, a childhood friend, and the annoying sister I love who reappeared in the doorway. And I’m happy—an inside, heart-bursting happy. I don’t have to worry what any of them think of me, because with them I’m the old me.
But I’m not; I left this life for something different. Different but not necessarily better.
