CHAPTER 4
LIAM
We grow up and leave home, become adults in the outside world, forging our path in life. Then we come home to mums and dads, grandparents, family and all that new life is swept away by time rewinding. As I sit on the squeaky, black leather sofa and finish my sixth beer whilst sitting with Mum and Dad, I feel eighteen again.
Dad has a beer too, but he isn’t drinking at my pace. He sits in the chair he’s had for years, and refuses to upgrade. Would I have become my dad? I look like him, although his red hair is shorter and receding these days. Now he’s the manager of the car garage he works at, he doesn’t come home covered in oil, but I’m annoyed he still chooses to work when he now has the means to retire early. They could travel; have fun after years of bringing up me and Louise.
Mum spends the evening fussing at Goldie, the smelly animal sprawled across the sofa next to her. She settled Ella into bed after Cerys left, like a surrogate grandmother. It’s clear Mum likes having Ella around although the last day or two I’ve seen Dad rub his temples and mutter during one of Ella’s tantrums. Cerys implied Ella isn’t a melt-down girl, which worries me. This four year old is enough for me; I can’t imagine having kids who are worse than she is.
Imagine having kids. I snort at myself. Sure, Honey will pop one out and drag it on tour with us. Unlikely. Besides, she’s still pursuing her big acting career. Small parts in sitcoms, with guys who like playing tonsil tennis with her, are all she’s managed so far.
Honey. Hadn’t I decided to forget about her over Christmas?
A combination of defensive hurt and retreating to the past pushes her to the edge of my mind. Can me and Honey sort this out? Do I want to?
Conversation with my parents has dried after two days at home. What is there to share? The Honey subject is skirted around, the other Blue Phoenix guys discussed. Local gossip is imparted by Mum and the rundown of every extended family member’s health is done. Yep, definitely feel like a teen again, nothing in common with Mum and Dad.
“I’m surprised you didn’t go out with your sister,” says Mum, looking from the TV to me.
“I will one night; I got the feeling this wasn’t something I was invited to.” And would’ve been dragged screaming too, if they’d asked.
“Still got the papers following you?” asks Dad, gruffly.
“Not so much recently.”
He nods slowly and sips his beer, the unspoken hovering. Yeah, Dad, no drugs or family embarrassment.
“Are the other boys coming home for Christmas?” asks Mum.
Boys. This makes us all sound eighteen again. Skinny Dylan and Jem, shy Bryn, and awkward me.
“Nah.” I have no idea where, what, or even who they’re doing so that’s the limit of my response.
I flick a look at the ticking cuckoo clock in the corner. 11 p.m. Jesus, time goes slow watching crap TV with these two. Mum gets excited as a reality show comes on, featuring a bright blue Mediterranean Sea and sky, and whitewashed Spanish houses. Some jumped-up TV presenter is taking middle class, middle-aged British couples to visit a variety of Spanish houses, to choose which one to buy and retire to. Mum gives a running commentary on the pros and cons of each house.
“I can buy a house in Spain,” I say.
Mum laughs at me. “But you have one in America by the sea.”
This sounds so quaint coming from her. “Yeah, Mum. Malibu. By the ocean. You’ve been there. I meant a place for you and Dad in Spain, or wherever. Get away from the shitty English winters.”
Mum glances quickly at Dad then looks away again. Dad stares ahead at the TV and I bite back the suggestions I have. Why don’t they let me spend my money on making their life easier? Shit, I don’t want to be big-headed, but I have fuckloads of money and who else would I want to give some to but my family?
I’ve been here before, had the circular arguments with them so I drop the subject before I ruin the peaceful evening. Dad wants to pretend nothing’s changed, that I’m his son who needs support. Coping with the shift in fortune is tough for him, as if I make him less of a man. I’m glad Mum persuaded him to let me buy this place for them because I know if it had been up to him, they’d still be paying a mortgage on the small terrace in town.
“Beer, Dad?” I stand. He doesn’t look at me and nods.
Mum returns to her criticism of the Spanish townhouses and the people perusing them. Dad watches silently, lost in his own thoughts.
I grab another couple of beers and sit back with them. What choice do I have? There’s a four year old sleeping in my bedroom and the single bed in the spare room is only comfortable if I’m full of alcohol and fall asleep quickly.
Plus, how often do I get to sit watching shit TV with my parents?
****
Mum and Dad go to bed and I continue drinking, flicking the TV channels for something to distract me from thoughts of my surreal, real world. The relaxed buzz of one too many beers accompanies my one-eye-open amusement at repeats of Big Bang Theory.
The front door clicks open and quietly closes, hushed voices and suppressed giggling moves from the hallway into the kitchen. I smile to myself. Drunk chicks, always funny. Louise can get a bit antsy though. I ignore them and continue with my comedy shows and beer. The clink of bottles, shushing, and continued giggling intrigues me. I’ve spent an evening sitting with the olds; I want to see what they’re up to.
Goldie sleeps in his bed in the corner of the kitchen and lifts his head as I walk in. If a dog could look pissed off, that’s what he’d be. The kitchen light is on and the two girls snicker quietly, knocking back tumbler glasses full of clear liquid. A bottle of vodka and another of tonic water are side by side on the table, lids off.
“Aww! It’s my big brother, the rock star!” Louise says too loudly and half-staggers toward me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.
Definitely drunk if she’s being affectionate. I peel her fingers off me. “Good night, Looby Lou?”
She attempts to focus on me and pouts. “Don’t call me that. And yeah, apart from...” She glances at Cerys and suppresses a laugh, plonking herself in a kitchen chair. “Cerys had some fans.”
Cerys half-smiles and rolls her eyes in an exaggerated way. “Yeah, I’m just a magnet to sad bastards.”
I rest against the kitchen counter and watch them. Pissed girls; in the Blue Phoenix world, they’d be targets. I picture Jem stepping in, turning on his strange persona that has girls falling at his feet or into his bed. If Dylan were here? He doesn’t even need to try. He could ignore them all evening and still a girl would be on his lap by the end of the night. Me? Not now, but before Honey I’d watch and wait. Not like a Blue Phoenix guy has to wait long or do much to get a girl. In fact, I don’t think I’d know what to say to pick up a girl if I needed to, because I never do.
“Nobody caused problems, I hope?” I ask.
“I’ve been dealing with sad bastards for years. Cerys is a bit out of practice, but I helped her fend them off,” says my sister.
“I can imagine.”
“What time is it?” asks Cerys, squinting at her phone.
“Oh! 3 a.m.! Shit!” Louise rubs her face. “Will Ella be up soon?”
“Six if I’m lucky,” groans Cerys.
“Bad luck!” Louise veers out of the room toward the downstairs cloakroom.
Cerys regards me over the glass she’s holding, cheeks flushed and eyes swimming with the alcohol in her system. If she’s out of practice, she’s going to feel like shit tomorrow.
Slumping back in her chair, Cerys continues to stare and it’s unnerving.
“You okay? Can I get you something?” I ask.
“Just wondering why you’re not staring at my tits anymore.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Because that’s not appropriate.”
“ ‘Not appropriate’,” she mimics my words, “That’s not very rock star.”
“When I’m here, I’m not very rock star. Hadn’t you noticed?”
“Rock stars are hot,” she says with another drunken giggle. “Even you.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“No, no, no,” she waves a hand frowning. “I mean even you, Louise’s big brother who wasn’t so hot when he was a teen.”
“You hung around us enough back then.”
“I was a kid and it was cool to hang around a rock band. Shame you forgot all about us when you left.”
“I never forgot; I come home when I can.”
She stands and steadies herself on the table. “When you got famous, I put pictures of you guys all over my bedroom wall. I was such a sad fangirl.”
“You were fifteen.”
“I fantasised about one of you coming back and whisking me away for the rock star lifestyle.” She includes a sweeping gesture with her arm, almost tripping over.
I smile at her drunken ramblings. “A lot of the time it’s not so glamorous. Mum and Dad come over to LA sometimes. You should come with them next time.”
Cerys pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and shakes her head. “My life is in Cardiff with my daughter and...” Her mouth turns down. “Well, just me and her now.”
I chew my lip; I’ve spent the last few days wondering where Ella’s dad is. I figured it’s none of my business, but I’m alarmed Cerys is getting upset about it.
“Dickhead,” she mutters, “I should’ve waited for my hot rock star to come back, instead of getting pregnant at seventeen.”
She huffs, sits, and bends down to take her shoes off. The simple action, the ordinariness of the night and the twinge of regret I feel for her blends together as I watch. I can’t picture her at fifteen. She looks completely different. I want to stroke the hair from her face and ask what happened and why she’s so sad, a fierce protectiveness gripping me. Because she’s the little girl from my past? No. Because nice people don’t deserve to be treated like crap.
When Cerys and Louise were fourteen, some older guys from Sixth Form were sniffing round them. I know for a fact Lou got herself into a situation she shouldn’t with one of them. Me and Bryn stepped in and scared them off, threatening violence we’d probably not have carried out. I remember the Cerys from then, vulnerable and naive. She’s lost the vulnerability, her strength is obvious, but my urge to take care of her remains.
She sits back with the black high heels in her hands. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Whatever that look is.”
Chicks are weird. Multiply that thought by a thousand with her next move. Cerys heads toward the kitchen door with the determined look drunk people have, as if crossing a small space is equivalent to climbing Mount Everest. She pauses next to me.
“It was you,” she says.
“What was?”
“I fantasised about my best friend’s big brother, plenty of girls do. You had the added bonus of being in the most famous band in the world.” She fixes her gaze on my mouth and slowly runs her tongue along her bottom lip. “Then there was the night you kissed me, but I bet you forgot about that. Bet you’ve kissed thousands of girls.”
Oh, shit. Bad enough her words are turning me on in an inappropriate way, but her body is so close I can practically feel the soft curves against me. Don’t do it. Don’t touch her. What the f-uck do I say to a comment like that?
For an eternal moment, we hover close to each other, fighting the past. I’m not sober, but sober enough to resist the urge to do what my dick is telling me would be an awesome idea. Yeah, sex with Cerys has crossed my mind on more than one occasion since I got home but is she saying how she feels exists now, or is she rewinding?
She places her soft hand against my cheek. “You’re a nice guy, Liam. I didn’t think you would be.”
“Oh, my God!” shrieks Louise from behind. “Are you hitting on my brother?”
Cerys steps back dropping her hand. “No! I was just telling him about the crush I used to have on him.”
Louise pulls a face. “Eww, no idea why!”
“Sure, we won’t tell him about you and Jem then.”
“Noo! Shut up!”
“What the f-uck?” I growl.
“Your sister made out with Jem,” giggles Cerys. “Same night you...” Cerys puts a hand over her mouth.
“Cerys! Shut up!”
I stiffen more than aware what Jem’s like with girls. “When? When you were younger? I f-ucking hope not.”
“It doesn’t matter. Jesus, Cerys, go to bed!” Louise shoves her friend.
When they stagger out of the room together, I absent-mindedly tidy up the bottles from the kitchen table and put them on the kitchen counter. My ego loves the idea of Cerys having pictures of me on her wall, and likes the fact she crushed on me even more. Bloody good job we’re in my parents’ house and I’m not drunk too or I doubt I’d stop at kissing her this time