Wishful Thinking Page 8

  ****

  Early the following morning, Jess went in to wake Ben and was horrified to see his flushed cheeks and feel him burning up with fever. Guilt instantly attacked first. If she hadn’t disturbed his sleep, waking him up to see the fireworks… If she hadn’t taken him to tea with the neighbour’s children, when she knew the youngest child was possibly coming down with a cold… If she hadn’t been so wrapped-up in herself, she might have been more in tune with his needs.

  After berating herself in every possible way for being a bad mother, she threw herself into tending to her son’s needs, making cold compresses and feeding him Calpol in an attempt to bring his temperature down. Unexplained fevers frightened her terribly and she checked Ben’s temperature every thirty minutes. She felt helpless in the face of his misery. Feed a cold and starve a fever, she chanted to herself. Or is that: Starve a cold and feed a fever? Old wives’ tale anyway…or was it? Old wives’ remedies were often the best. But when Ben valiantly attempted to eat a little food, he vomited almost immediately.

  She hurried to her neighbour to enquire about the sick child, only to be told she was absolutely fine this morning and playing with her brother in the garden.

  When Ben’s temperature rose above 39 degrees, Jess dialled the emergency medical help line. As she waited for the duty doctor to arrive, she also called Christian. Her call went to voice mail so she left a garbled message. Then, frustrated, decided to send a text message as well. She was afraid he might not check his voice mail and might be more likely to read his texts.

  It was an hour later before Christian responded to her calls and Jess was busy with the doctor. She had no choice but to reject the call and send it to voice mail. A moment later the house phone rang, but she had to ignore it.

  The doctor was extremely thorough in his tests, ruling out meningitis and other more serious childhood threats. “Bed rest, quiet, plenty of fluids – don’t make him eat if he doesn’t want to - and keep his temperature down,” he pronounced before leaving. Tears spiked Jess’s eyes as she let him out, but whether they were entirely tears of gratitude that Ben was not seriously ill, or additional tears of disappointment that she would not now see Christian, she could not, in absolute honesty, be completely sure. Whatever the truth – after she had seen the doctor out – she turned to her son’s room, determined not to leave his side for the rest of the day.

  ****

  Christian awoke after a restless night, feeling totally drained. After Adam’s surprising defection, he had returned to the party, relieved to see that Adam hadn’t fulfilled his threat of leaving. Yvonne, the party planner, had sidled up to him and asked him how much longer he wanted the celebrations to continue. She was clearly very experienced at this sort of thing and her expression, as she looked into his face, had been sympathetic. “You look a little tired,” she pointed out.

  “I am,” he confessed, giving her a grateful smile. “But we can’t stop the celebrations and kick them all out.”

  “Not immediately,” she agreed. “But we can start winding down the champagne and offering desserts and coffee – that usually works best in my experience. I think someone left early anyway – taking the table decoration with them!”

  “Well thanks…Yvonne,” he said reading her name badge. He saw no point in owning up to being the thief of his own roses. “I’m entirely in your hands.”

  She grinned at him. “I wish you were! But leave it with me. They won’t even know the party’s over. They’ll think it’s all their own choice.”

  A gem, he’d thought. I’ll use her organisation again, for sure.

  At around three or four, when everyone had left, a frail and exhausted-looking Amber stretched herself out on a sofa in a small upstairs sitting room. The party planners were busily clearing away all evidence of the party downstairs. They would have to return tomorrow, but were doing their valiant best to render the downstairs rooms liveable again in the meantime.

  Adam brooded at the window, peeping out through the curtain as if contemplating his escape. Christian could tell from his body language that he still felt angry and resentful.

  He looked from one to the other and sighed. “Things were said earlier that shouldn’t have been said – and both of you know that. I don’t know what your game is, Amber, but I want to tell you mine. Like you, I’ve moved on from Wishful – it was a fantastic band and we had a great time – but I’ve grown up since then. And so have you. You have a fabulous career and a great life in front of you with Adam. There isn’t anyone in the world I’d like to see you with more than Adam. You two belong together – you always have.” He stopped to think for a moment before continuing. “This ridiculous phony ménage a trois has to end now. I’ve moved on and so must you two. We have to stop living out of each other’s pockets.”

  Amber yawned before speaking. “I meant what I said.”

  Adam released a pained groan before making for the door.

  “We all know you don’t mean that, Amber!” Christian said sharply, hoping to arrest Adam in his steps before he left the room. “Because that’s just not going to happen and you know it. I’ve also got something else I want to put to you – and the rest of the band, but you two first.” He saw Adam pause and breathed a sigh of relief. Amber just yawned again. She must be having a hard time fighting off the effects of the champagne on her drugs, he thought. “I’m planning to publish my autobiography. Yes, I know we’ve always said we wouldn’t go down that road, but I think it’s a good idea. I don’t expect you to feel the same and that’s why it’s going to be mine and not the group’s story – unless you all prefer otherwise. I’ll be commissioning a ghost-writer from a very respectable publishing house. She’ll probably want to ask you questions but there won’t be any…unnecessary probing. However, I expect she’ll want to talk to you and I’d like you to co-operate with her so we get our story out there in the best possible light. I think it will do us all a lot of good.”

  “Do you a lot of good, more like! Well if you’re going to talk, so am I!” Amber said without any attempt to smooth out the petulance from her tone.

  Adam just looked shocked and said nothing.

  “Fine! I’m sure she’ll be very interested in talking to you. In fact I already know she is. Just…be gentle with her, Ambs. I know she’ll be extremely sensitive.” He kept his tone calm and quiet. The last thing he wanted to do was make Amber antagonistic towards Jess. They had always refused all the offers of fan-style biographies, having laughed derisively at the plethora of these that flooded the market almost weekly. The unofficial Christmas rags and internet blogs were one thing, but a serious publication, commissioned by them, had never been on the cards. They valued their privacy far too much for that.

  Now that he thought about this, he wanted Jess to do it. He suddenly thought of it as a kind of trial. If Jess was sensitive enough in her approach and research it would enable her to understand him far better than he could explain to her. His history was complex – Amber, Wishful, what his parents had gone through on his behalf – it had all made him what he was today. He knew that in this business, fame was a transitory thing. All publicity was good publicity and who knew, maybe next year, no one would want to know, but people would still harbour those rumours and half-truths they’d heard somewhere in their minds and these would take root like urban myths. Right now he knew they had stories to tell – and the telling of them might be a good thing for the future of the whole band, but especially for the three of them.

  He was glad Adam hadn’t left. He seemed to be weighing up the pros and cons in his mind. Good, Christian thought. There were as many pros as there were cons, and of all the band members, Adam would be the first to recognise that.

  Amber still reclined on the sofa, biting her lower lip, which told him she was considering what he had said too. Amber had such a powerful story to tell the world. In the right hands, it could be inspirational. In the wrong, of course, it could completely ruin her. It was mainly because of Amber t
hat the rest of the band had put a veto on biographical stuff. But so much of her past had leaked out – too much of it inaccurate. Now she could, if she wanted, set the records straight.

  If the rest of the band objected, he would commission Jess to ghost-write his autobiography. But if they agreed, then Jess could be Wishful’s definitive biographer. Up until now, he had been the band’s most private member and he, along with Amber, would have the most to lose if it went wrong. But the timing was absolutely ripe for their story and Jess was absolutely the right person to write it. He felt sure of that.

  Both Adam and Amber, however, looked unconvinced. “We always said we wouldn’t,” Adam pointed out. “What made you change your mind?”

  Christian shrugged. “I don’t really know. It just feels like the right time. And it will put paid to all that speculative, unofficial trash that keeps leaking out. I have every confidence that if we commission this writer and her publishing house, we’ll get the version we want out there. I’m going ahead with it either way.

  “What does Tom say?”

  Christian shrugged. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him tomorrow? In the meantime, I think you should take Amber upstairs. She looks all in and I expect those nurses are getting pretty frantic about her by now.”

  When Christian finally collapsed into bed, he wanted to talk to Jess, but, seeing it was almost four am, refrained from calling her. Instead he sent her a quick text saying Dream sweetly before crashing out himself.

  *

  When he awoke he felt completely drained and curiously bewildered, as if he had only slept for five minutes and then in some precarious place, like a cliff ledge or rooftop where he’d had to hang on for dear life. He put it down to too much champagne and the extremes of emotion he had undergone yesterday. He revived after his shower and began to look forward to escaping all the Wishful baggage for a day and spending an uncomplicated few hours with Jess and Ben. It was then that he saw the missed call and text message informing him of Ben’s illness. He called Jess immediately but her mobile phone went to voicemail and her house phone went ignored.

  He was about to jump into the car and drive up there when it occurred to him that if she was unable to answer either of her phones, she might have had to take Ben to hospital. Or she might have changed her mind. She could have slept on it and realised in the grim light of day that she’d been wrong about him. Either way, would dashing up to London be the right thing to do?

  You need to calm down, wait a few moments and then try again. There’s probably a perfectly rational explanation.

  To occupy himself before attempting to phone again, he looked in on Amber. The nurse told him she was still sleeping. So far so good. He checked out Adam’s room, next door. There was no reply when he knocked, so he opened the door quietly, expecting to find Adam snoring in his bed. He saw at once, however, that the bed hadn’t been slept in and that Adam had cleared out completely.

  He stood for a moment, cursing under his breath. It took him several seconds to notice the envelope sitting on the untouched bed. He sighed as he slipped the single folded sheet of paper out of it. He had a good idea what it would say, but he was wrong.

  Stop trying to delude yourself. You can’t fool me, Amber or yourself.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and stared gloomily at the wall. The fact was that he needed Adam to be here, with Amber. He needed him to be in love with Amber – and her with him – to appease his conscience. If she was with Adam, he was free to move on with his own life – to unshackle himself from her bonds. He didn’t believe for a moment that Amber was still in love with him, but he did believe that she was frightened of letting him go, and that she needed Adam now more than ever. She was teetering on the edge – had been for a long time and both he and Adam secretly acknowledged it, but refused to confront it. He wasn’t sure enough about Adam, but he knew he would never be able to abandon her. He was stuck with her, like a deeply embedded thorn in his side, too firmly rooted now to be removed. Maybe that’s what Adam was thinking.

  He was roused from his gloomy reverie by the vibrating of his phone in his pocket. He saw it was Jess and smiled in relief, though it was a smile that wouldn’t have convinced many people. Somehow he felt it would not be good news.

  “I’m so sorry, Christian. I won’t be able to make it today after all. The doctor’s just been and Ben needs to stay in bed. I can’t possibly leave him.”

  “I’ll come there.”

  “No! You shouldn’t, really. It’s some sort of virus and you might catch it. You’re flying to the States next week – I don’t want you to be ill.”

  He paused for a moment to marvel at her considerateness. He couldn’t remember when he’d last known such unselfishness from a woman other than his mother. “I don’t mind taking my chances.”

  “But I do. I’d feel terrible. And I need to be at his side – at least until the fever goes down. Maybe we can talk again later?”

  He nodded and then released a long, weary sigh. “Of course. I’ll call you this afternoon. I hope he gets better soon.”

  “Me too. Thanks, Christian.”

  He dropped the phone onto the bed and then stretched out on it himself, lying on his back so he could stare at the ceiling, his fingers steepled together over his chest. Is it always going to be like this? Am I ever going to get a stab at real happiness? Wishful! It should be renamed Albatross. He drifted off into a reverie for a few moments, staring fixedly at a tiny blemish on the ceiling which, as he stared at it seemed to spread and grow and begin to move across the pristine surface of the ceiling like some surreptitious spider. He blinked rapidly, saw the minute spot had not actually moved, then rose and left the room.

  Downstairs the new shift of party planners had arrived to continue the clearing up process. He hated this kind of upheaval and had hoped to be absent for it. He felt awkward and clumsy in his own house, as if he was in the way wherever he went. He wandered into the kitchen in search of coffee. Every surface appeared to be piled high with leftover food which a couple of staff members were packing into boxes. Not such great party planners if they miscalculated so badly, he thought.

  “What do you do with all this leftover stuff?” He asked, eyeing it with mild disgust.

  “Well, we’ve filled up your fridge and the nurses have asked for a couple of boxes. As for the rest, we can leave it here, or dispose of it. There is a homeless shelter we often take stuff to – they’re always very grateful.”

  “Take it all. Just get it out of here, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He paused a moment, “Only…as you’re making up boxes, do you think there’s anything here that might tempt a six year old? He’s not been very well, so you’ll need to go easy. And maybe you could put aside some of that salmon and caviar too, for a friend who couldn’t make the party last night?”

  The woman gave him a beaming smile. “Leave it to me, sir. I’ll make you a beautiful goody-basket. There’s plenty of champagne left over too.”

  ****

  “The downstairs door was open – you’re not very security-conscious at this place, are you?” Christian said reprovingly as Jess opened the door and stared at him in surprise. With him was a large man, holding several rugs or blankets. “This is George, by the way.”

  Jess still didn’t speak, just stared from one to the other.

  “Now we have two options and, as you see, I’m fully prepared for both. Either we can wrap Ben up in these nice, warm blankets and George will carry him down to the car so you can both spend the day at my house, or…” He held up his finger as Jess opened her mouth to protest and produced a large basket. “We can picnic on left-over party grub. It’s your call.”

  She gestured for them to come inside, which they did. They filled her tiny hallway to capacity and she had to step backwards into her bedroom so they could pass her and go into the sitting room. She followed them, but remained in the doorway, feeling slightly embarrassed by the smallness of her flat
and its lack of comfortable seating for visitors.

  “Ben’s temperature has come down slightly, but I’m still not sure about moving him just yet,” she explained.

  “We do have two incredibly efficient nurses on tap. They’re eating me out of house and home so I really feel I should give them some employment. But I don’t want to pressure you. George will be just as happy to take the afternoon off.”

  She wanted to throw her arms around him and cry on his shoulder then, in gratitude for his thoughtfulness. No one had ever been there for her to share her worries when Ben was ill and she suddenly felt the enormous weight of her responsibility as a lone parent crashing around her and acknowledged, for the first time, how fragile she felt.

  Together they decided that, since Ben was sleeping at the moment, George would make himself scarce for a few hours and await Christian’s call. The party fare was then laid out on the small dining table and Jess surveyed it in wonder. “Is this what your guests had last night? At the parties I go to you’re lucky to get bread and cheese, and you can certainly forget champagne! And to think I was going to open a can of soup for lunch!”