Ex in the City, page 22
37
I’m woken up by the sound of my phone vibrating on the bedside table.
For fuck’s sake, I’d only just managed to cry myself to sleep.
I reach out and grab it. It’s Dylan, aka the last person on earth I want to talk to right now. I let it ring out before placing my phone back down on the bedside table.
I close my eyes again, for about five seconds, before it starts ringing again.
This time, when I grab it, I reject his call in temper, and place it back down.
Then I hear a message come through.
I snatch up my phone, all amped up, ready to reply to him, to tell him to piss off, and to never contact me again, but then I notice what his message says:
Look out of your window, I’m outside.
The next thing I notice is the time – 3 a.m.
I jump out of bed and hurry over to the window. He can’t be serious. And yet he is, he’s standing there, outside the front door, gazing up at the house.
I call him from my phone.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ I ask him.
‘Nic, can we talk?’
‘No,’ I say emphatically. ‘I don’t want to talk to you. Please, just go, you’re going to wake the neighbours. Don’t you think you’ve embarrassed me enough?’
‘Please, Nic, just let me explain,’ he begs. ‘Come across the road with me, hear me out, and if you’re still furious then I promise to piss off and you never have to talk to me again.’
I want to say no, to tell him to piss off again, but I can’t. I sigh.
‘Okay, fine, you’ve got five minutes,’ I say. ‘I’ll just get my clothes on.’
I throw on a tracksuit and head downstairs, meeting him on the doorstep.
‘Hi,’ he says softly.
‘Hi,’ I reply through a frown. ‘Why are you here, at 3 a.m., being an arsehole?’
‘Because I need to explain,’ he tells me. ‘And I couldn’t find you earlier, so I thought maybe you had come here, but there was no sign of you. I just woke up, looked out of the window, and saw that your room was lit up – sorry, I should have known you were sleeping with the lights on. You always do when you’re anxious.’
‘Wow, Mr Campbell would be proud,’ I tell him as I pull a face.
‘Erm, thanks, I think,’ he says with a laugh.
Once we’re inside Mr C’s house, we take a seat on the green sofa.
‘I know how this all looks but you have to believe me, it wasn’t me in that photo,’ he explains.
‘Well, if it wasn’t you, then why didn’t you deny it?’ I ask in disbelief.
‘Because it was Mikey,’ he tells me simply.
‘Mikey is married with kids,’ I correct him.
‘Exactly,’ he replies softly. ‘He fucked up, big time, and the last thing I wanted was for his wife and kids to find out about it by reading it online, seeing that photo.’
I stare at him, holding my breath, waiting for him to continue.
‘So, I took the fall – sort of – and when he’s had a chance to talk to his missus then we can see about how we set the record straight,’ he continues. ‘I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t even know, until we got a call from the Scoop. I don’t even know who the girl was but I knew it wasn’t you – I’m sorry they jumped to that conclusion.’
‘You know it wasn’t me?’ I ask curiously. ‘How do you know it wasn’t me?’
‘That wasn’t your body,’ he replies. ‘Even from the back, and even though you have the same hairstyle and colour, I can tell.’
I smile.
‘Plus, it’s a pretty recent development, but you have the tattoo of a tiger wearing a crown on your lower back,’ he reminds me.
I can’t help but laugh – then I start crying.
‘Dill, I thought it was you,’ I admit. ‘I was so quick to believe it – to think the worst of you.’
‘And so you should,’ he says, wrapping an arm around me, pulling me close for a hug. ‘I was a dick – I was going to say in a previous life but, no, it was this one – so I can’t expect you to just accept that I’ve changed, but I have changed. No girls, no drinking – no nothing.’
‘Except I’ve seen you drinking,’ I remind him with a frown.
‘Have you?’ he replies. ‘Have you seen me drunk?’
‘You’ve not been getting hammered, thinking about it, but you have been drinking,’ I say. ‘It’s scary, if you’ve forgotten, or if you think you can convince me that you haven’t.’
‘I’ve been drinking alcohol-free beer,’ he tells me. ‘I haven’t had a real drink in a long time. I don’t want one either. It’s nice to have something, on a night out, on tour, that makes me feel like I’m blending in but, honestly, I couldn’t care less.’
‘So you haven’t been drinking,’ I confirm. ‘And that wasn’t you in the photo.’
‘No,’ he stresses with a laugh.
‘So, have you made any mistakes?’ I ask him, confused.
‘Maybe one,’ he replies. ‘I fell in love with my best friend, although, when I think about it, I’m not sure how much of a mistake it is.’
‘We can’t do this,’ I tell him simply. ‘We can’t live like this, right? You’re back on the wheel, you’re touring, the band is going to be bigger than before. Nothing has changed.’
‘I have,’ he tells me. ‘It’s great, to be touring again, but it’s a one-off. None of us want that life full-time any more and, the more time I spend here, with you, the more I realise that the life you have might be the one for me. I like being around the kids, I like working at the school – why can’t I have the best of both worlds?’
‘You want to settle down?’ I say, still not quite able to believe my ears.
Dylan just laughs.
‘Nicole, I already have.’
‘But what about the tour?’ I reply. ‘Won’t it be cancelled, with the recent scandal?’
‘Okay, I haven’t been completely honest with you,’ he starts. ‘The tour was always happening, there was never any threat that if I didn’t sort myself out it wouldn’t happen. I just wanted to see you, to spend time with you, to show you that I’d changed. If I had called you up and told you that I was a whole new person, would you have believed me?’
‘No,’ I reply firmly. ‘But I would have wanted to see you anyway.’
‘When we were together, the other night, it felt right, didn’t it?’ he says.
I nod my head.
‘I felt like I’d come home,’ he tells me. ‘You’re my home. I don’t care where that is, or how we do this, but it has to be you. I have to be with you.’
‘I am not a happy woman,’ I tell him. ‘I go through the motions, every day, and I feel this huge hole in my heart, and I have no idea how to fill it. Sometimes I think I see it, as I glance around, just these little glimmers of – almost like déjà vu – and it ruins my day. And just when I had decided that I would probably never feel real happiness, you came back into my life. Suddenly everything had meaning again and that hole, well, I thought you were distracting me from it, but I guess it turns out you were filling it. You’re my happiness, my missing piece of the puzzle.’
‘Nic, I don’t care what we do,’ he replies. ‘I don’t care if we run off on tour and you stay right by my side, watching every move I make – because I never could do any of it without you, and I don’t want to start out now. Or fuck the tour, I won’t do it, I’ll buy this house – I know how fond you are of the décor. I don’t care what we do, where we do it, or why. I just need my best friend back.’
‘Me too,’ I say with a smile. ‘But I think he might be more than a best friend.’
Dylan can hardly contain his smile as he leans in to kiss me.
‘That’s all I need to know,’ he replies.
‘But listen, don’t blow off the tour,’ I insist. ‘Where are the others?’
‘Paris,’ he replies. ‘We have a show there in, oh, about sixteen hours.’
‘Dylan, no, what are you doing?’ I say. ‘You should be there.’
‘I still could be,’ he says, raising an eyebrow. ‘Fancy going to Paris?’
I smile.
‘I’ll get my things.’
38
The hum of the jet engines is like music to my ears, reminding me that I am flying to Paris in the sheer luxury of a private plane.
A private plane is one of those things that I’ve seen on TV and in movies plenty of times and yet I’m still totally taken aback by it all. The soft carpet, the plush leather of the seat, the scented air – the food and drink! I was already on cloud nine but, now that I’m taking my first flight on a private jet, I really do feel on top of the world. It feels so surreal, sitting here, with Dylan. We feel a million miles from the world below – even if, in reality, we’re probably less than ten. For a moment, it seems like we’re suspended in time, miles away from any of life’s complications, and being here alone in the cabin really does make it feel as though no one else exists. I love it.
‘I could get used to this,’ I admit, my gaze darting excitedly between the stunning view outside the window and the man of my dreams next to me.
‘I guess now you can,’ Dylan says with a laugh.
‘Oh, yeah,’ I reply, practically cackling with joy. ‘I can’t believe I am on a private jet to Paris. I know we’ve got the gig, obviously, but do you reckon we could stick around for a bit? I would love to explore, to be a tourist even just for a day. It’s been so long since I last had a holiday.’
‘We can stick around for as long as you like,’ he tells me, wrapping an arm around me, giving me a squeeze. ‘We could visit the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, we could take a stroll along the Seine – oh, and I know some amazing places to eat.’
‘Amazing,’ I reply. ‘I want to do it all, to see all the sights, to eat absolutely everything.’
‘Well, we can kick off with coffee and croissants when we land, and then take it from there,’ he suggests. ‘And don’t worry, I called ahead to tell the authorities that you were coming, and they agreed to let you into the country so long as I promised to make sure you behaved this time.’
I laugh.
‘You keeping an eye out for me – that’s rich,’ I say with a snort. ‘You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?’
‘Never ever ever,’ he tells me.
‘Okay, well, I promise to behave this time,’ I tell him.
‘Oh, I really hope you don’t,’ he replies, pushing me back onto the sofa, climbing on top of me as his lips meet mine.
I gasp, the gentle turbulence only adding to the thrill of it all.
Dylan pauses kissing me for a second and looks into my eyes.
‘I can’t believe we’re here,’ he tells me simply.
‘You mean on a private jet to Paris?’ I reply.
‘That’s not what I mean at all,’ he says with a smile. ‘But yeah, sure, that too.’
‘We’re on our way to Paris,’ I practically squeal, because I still can’t believe it.
‘Tops optional?’ Dylan asks.
‘Tops optional,’ I reply, grabbing at his T-shirt to pull it over his head.
Well, we’re not technically in Paris yet. But I’ll behave when I get there, I swear.
39
12 DECEMBER 2024
‘Okay, so why did you get married?’ Dylan asks me, his voice dripping with disdain.
‘Love,’ I reply, emphatically.
‘Oh, well, if it was for love,’ he replies sarcastically.
I sigh with a mixture of sadness and frustration.
‘Right, fine, that’s it, forget it,’ I rant. ‘I’m done with you, I don’t want anything from you…’
We both stop in our tracks and turn to the two kids who are staring at us.
‘Your voice needs to sound like that,’ Dylan tells Joey, who is playing Scrooge. ‘You think your nephew is an idiot. And, Albi, when you’re playing Fred, you should play it like Nicole just did. You’re frustrated with your uncle – you think he’s a dull old fart.’
‘Dylan,’ Miss Pallett calls out, interrupting him. ‘Dylan, can we run something by you?’
‘Yeah, sure, I’ll be there in a minute,’ he calls back, then he turns to the boys who are standing in the centre of the stage, eager to get back to their rehearsal. ‘Run it through a few more times, I’ll be right back.’
I walk with Dylan, to the edge of the stage, and down the steps.
‘This is so non-stop,’ he tells me, exhaling deeply. ‘I love it.’
‘I love that you’ve got the kids interested in Dickens,’ I reply.
‘Who knew all it would take was a bit of fun modernisation and satire?’ he replies. ‘Right, keep an eye on those two for me, I’ll go see what Miss Pallett needs.’
‘Sure,’ I reply with a smile.
I never would have thought, in a million years, that I would see Dylan working in a school, managing their summer and winter productions, but here he is, and he’s committed – so committed, in fact, that he bought a house here in Little Harehill. I think in a strange way, Mr C’s house holds sentimental value for him, and I find it hilarious that he is the kind of guy who will buy a house because it’s sentimental.
The place looks great, now that it has had some intensive modernisation, and even though Dylan said that his plan was to get him through the tour (which was an absolute smash, and sold so many tickets they had to add extra dates) and me through my separation from Rowan, and then sell the place in the new year, I don’t know, something tells me that we might be sticking around in Little Harehill longer than we thought.
Living across the road from Rowan, Archie and Ned really has been helpful in helping with the transition. Sure, it was weird at first, but the fact that I wasn’t ripped away from the kids – that Rowan never stopped me seeing them, and that I didn’t just take off – has helped them get used to the idea. To be honest, I think they’re both so jazzed to have Dylan living across the street that they don’t really mind that their dad and I are no longer together. Kids are smarter than we think. I’m sure that, even though I did my best to keep playing happy families, the boys must have picked up on the fact that Rowan and I weren’t happy.
Oh, speak of the devil.
I notice Rowan walk into the hall with Archie and Ned, who charge ahead of him, running towards me, each grabbing one of my arms to greet me. He smiles widely as he catches them up.
‘I am still loving this hair,’ I tell Archie as I ruffle his growing locks.
Now that he’s decided he wants to be a drummer in a band when he grows up, he is very much embracing his inner rock god.
‘I want it even longer,’ he tells me. ‘And I want tattoos and piercings.’
‘Hmm, I would stick with the hair for now, make sure it’s what you want,’ I tell him with a laugh. ‘You can head through to the music room and start practising now, if you want. Dylan is nearly done.’
‘Cool,’ he says, charging off, drumsticks in hand.
‘What have you done to him?’ Rowan jokes. ‘He hasn’t touched a football in months.’
‘It’s nice to see him enjoying it,’ I reply. ‘And, for what it’s worth, his longer hair really does suit him. Anyway, look at you, all dressed up. Going somewhere nice?’
Rowan is wearing black trousers and a white shirt. His hair is neat and I can smell his aftershave from here. Definitely not his usual attire for picking the kids up from school.
‘Erm, I was, I’m not now, though,’ he says, lowering his voice. ‘I actually had a date but Ned’s after-school club is cancelled so…’
‘So leave him with me,’ I insist. I turn to Ned. ‘Hey, Ned, fancy being the director of the play? You get to sit in that cool chair over there, and tell everyone what to do.’
‘Yeah,’ he says excitedly, before running right over there.
‘Nicole, are you sure?’ Rowan says.
‘Yeah, of course,’ I reply. ‘I’ll take them both back to ours, after practice. Just pick them up whenever – you know we love hanging out with them.’
‘Thank you,’ he tells me sincerely. ‘And not just for this, for everything, because I don’t think I ever thanked you properly. I was so hung up on what I was losing, when I thought you were leaving me, that I never appreciated just how huge it was that you actually stuck around to help me clean up the mess I made, and that you’re still around now, for the boys, it means a lot.’
‘I love them,’ I tell him simply. ‘And, despite everything, I care about you too. We’re both doing what it takes, to make this fresh start work for everyone so, go, enjoy your date, let me take care of the kids.’
Rowan steps forward and briefly kisses me on the cheek.
‘She’s got big shoes to fill,’ he tells me with a smile.
‘Size sevens,’ I joke awkwardly.
Rowan laughs and says goodbye.
I head back to the stage, to join Joey and Albi, who pretty much have their dialogue down now.
‘Perfect,’ I tell them.
‘Yeah, absolutely spot on,’ Dylan adds, joining us. ‘Go on, lads, get home. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Joey and Albi, pleased with themselves, slap each other a high five before heading off.
‘Archie is in the music room, ready for his drum lesson, and I told Rowan we would watch them for a bit this evening – he has a date,’ I explain.
‘Then I’d better do this now,’ Dylan tells me, taking me by the hands, pulling me behind the thick, heavy stage curtains.
Dylan takes my face in his hands and kisses me.
‘Have I told you that I loved you lately?’ he asks me.
‘I think you tell me every time you make eye contact with me,’ I tease. ‘It’s starting to get a bit old.’
‘Really?’ he asks with a smile.
‘Not really,’ I reply. ‘I love it, and I love you too.’
Dylan kisses me again and, as far as backstage kisses go, this is the last sort I ever expected, but the best it can ever be.
