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22
SKY
With Dylan involvedin endless talks with Jack, we remain in London. Next week we head back to Berkshire for a couple of weeks where he can work on the tracks himself in his Dylan cave. Spending time in the heart of London always leads to mixed feelings for me.
Partly, I like the crowds and the anonymity London occasionally affords; other days it’s as if the media lie in wait, ready to pounce. I never understood the term “press pack” until my own status led to pack attacks by the bunch of dogs they can be. The baby rumours grow, as does the stalking.
I hate London traffic but prefer to drive myself and have some freedom. As the months pass, I become more used to the chaos. I don’t want to rely on people driving me around, and that or public transport is my alternatives.
I drop Dylan at the West London studios, I head to nearby SBC PR for my dreaded meeting with Tina. I have a shaky relationship with her still, but now Dylan and me are settled, things’ve been better.
She’s in her office, and her look focuses straight on my belly. I’m in a khaki shift dress, aware maternity clothes are merely weeks away, the pregnancy definitely visible.
The pristinely dressed woman purses her pink lips at me, and I can practically hear her brain whirring. “There’s no way we can pass your belly off as weight gain, Sky. I hope you’ve come to help me out here.”
I sit opposite, at her vast desk covered in papers. “Can you make this a low-key announcement? As if somebody leaked the news? No interview.”
She shrugs. “For now. Might need to allow someone official photos once baby arrives.” She pauses. “Why the look?”
“Sorry, I hate all this. I’d rather stay out of public focus, you know that.”
I swear she mentally rolls her eyes at my broken record refusal to accept marrying a world famous, billionaire rock star brings disadvantages too. “This is good for Dylan. After all the crap I’ve fielded for him, it’s nice to be involved with something positive in his life.”
“True.”
She pulls over a pad and poises a pen. “Right, tell me the facts, and I’ll get onto this. When are you due?”
“Early January.”
“Right. Anything else. Baby’s sex? Names? Plans for the birth?” She rattles off a set of questions we’ve barely addressed ourselves. I spent twelve weeks on tenterhooks wavering between joy and worry, only the last few weeks have I allowed myself to be pulled into the excitement.
“We don’t know the sex, yet and no names. Even if we had one, we wouldn’t tell.” Though I told Dylan I’m half tempted to share a ludicrous name and watch the world’s reaction.
“Are you intending to find out if this is a boy or girl?” Tina looks up, her own curiosity edging through.
“Yes, but I won’t share that, Tina.”
“Sure.” She scribbles notes. A lot of notes. I crane my neck but can’t read anything.
“Promise me this will be handled quietly.”
“Of course. I can’t control the public reaction though. If you’re bothered, disappear for a few weeks. Travel overseas and hide.”
I wrinkle my nose. Hide. No can do, Dylan needs to stay in London for his project, and I don’t want to be alone.
“Can I get you a coffee?” she asks when I don’t respond.
“Thanks.”
I stare out of the window, at the enclosing buildings stretching high above the noisy streets. Maybe peace would be nice. We chat about who Tina is allowed to tell as we wait for her assistant to bring our drinks. Sienna appears with a cardboard tray holding coffees in one hand and papers in her other.
“I brought Sky’s letters too.”
Tina’s eyes widen. “No, don’t. Leave those for me to deal with.”
“What letters?” I ask.
“It’s nothing. A few we’ve filtered out from the Blue Phoenix fan mail,” says Tina.
