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No. Probably not.
“Are you with me?” he asks, shaking.
I pull my head out of his shoulder and look him right in the eye. “Always.”
He breathes a sigh of relief and pecks my mouth gently. “If I’ve got you, I can do anything. I swear it.”
I hug him again and kiss his neck as we embrace. I’m scared for us both and don’t want to jump into anything. “Let’s take this slow, honey.”
“I can go slow for you, Mira.”
He strokes the baby hairs off my face and behind my ears. He smells amazing and feels amazing. I stroke my hand through his hair and then across his chest.
“Can I just have a little grope of your bum though, love?”
“Yes,” I giggle.
He reaches around with both hands and chuckles. “Ah, proper nice.”
“I’m happy right where I am,” I admit, placing my hand over his heart which is beating hard. “And whatever comes next, we’ll get through it. Okay?”
He shudders and kisses my forehead. “I swear we’ll get through it.”
Chapter Six
The first thing he wants to do with his “newfound freedom” is walk down the street without being mobbed. I remind him he has one of the most recognisable faces on the planet.
So he shaves his beard and looks a heck of a lot different without it, actually. A bit like Frodo, with a smooth, baby’s bum face. That’s Albie when he’s had a close shave with my cutthroat razor (I use it for my pits so when I’m at festivals for days at a time, I don’t get so much regrowth). Anyway, without his thick stubble, he’s so pale and does look much younger.
He pulls on one of my oversized check shirts (he wouldn’t be caught dead in one of them usually) and a pair of Ray Bans I had lying around, plus a NYY hat which he wears backwards. We escape down the street without notice and it excites him almost to the point where he’s wanting to stop and ask people if they know who he is. I’m scared it’s all been a mistake—all of it—and that he’s going to get himself into trouble.
It’s lunchtime so we grab street food from Exmouth Market and sit among other members of the public at a picnic table, nobody any the wiser. I have to keep kicking him under the table to remind him to not give himself away. I can’t see his eyes behind such dark glasses but I can see that constant smile on his face.
He really doesn’t want to go back into hiding so I steer him to Wilmington Square gardens and we sit in the empty gazebo watching the world go by. It’s after lunch and quiet, not much foot traffic, so we can talk freely.
“Should we call someone? Visit your mum?” It just occurred to me.
He clams up and sucks in breath. “Mum’s in a care home. Didn’t Sharon tell you?”
I sniff because no, she did not. I’m not even sure why I ought to have been informed of it, but anyway… I feel like I should have.
“Who’ll make the funeral arrangements?” I almost whisper, because I don’t want to upset him—but I do want to help.
“His other kids, I suppose.”
“Oh, so he remarried?”
Albie’s arms are spread on the bench seat behind him, but his leg is jiggling awfully, telling me he’s not as relaxed and full of bravado as his upper body might suggest.
“He remarried, yeah.” Pain flashes briefly in his expression. “I’m not going to the funeral, Mira. I’ve decided.”
“Are you sure? You might regret it.” I turn on the bench, hugging my knees as I face him.
“I’ve got nobody to say goodbye to. He wasn’t a part of my life for the past ten or so years.”
“Ah, the most important years of your life.” University, the early days of his singing career, then megastar-dom. “I feel like I hardly know anything about the real you, you know?”
His cheeks puff out. “Neither do I, love.”
