Sophie's Encore (13 page)

“I’m not making demands.” I stood up for myself, suddenly finding my voice again. “Well, just the one. I can do all of this and take the criticism and dressing-down as long as you explain to me exactly where and how I went wrong, and show me how to fix it. And as long as you don’t mind me asking a million questions and taking notes and shedding the occasional tear. ‘coz that’s how I work.”

“That’s quite a lot of demands rolled into one,” Richard observed, but his smile was kind and genuine. “Yet I like your style and your attitude. We’ll get along fine.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“You survived,” Dan congratulated me when he picked me up. “Baptism by fire. I imagine it wasn’t pretty.”

“It wasn’t,” I agreed, and found myself laughing at the experience. “Richard is the master of taking you down.”

“You still look in one piece to me,” Dan retorted. “Believe me, I’ve seen many of his new apprentices leaving in floods of tears after day one. And most of those were men!”

“He reminds me of my ballet teacher,” I mused, and Dan snorted through his nose with amusement. “Well, you know, all ‘take that chewing gum out of your mouth, young lady, and stand up straight.’”

Dan burst out laughing at my Mrs. Burke impression, and I joined him.

“I survived ballet. I’ll survive Richard, too,” I predicted.

“I’m sure you will. I’ll remind you of that in when you want to throw in the towel.” Dan grinned.

“Ha,” I countered. “I won’t do that. I can be one stubborn lady if I want to, and Richard just pressed my stubborn button.”

Dan’s response was unintelligible, although I could have sworn I heard something along the lines of ‘stubborn, don’t I know all about that?’ But as we were pulling up outside Emily’s playschool, I let the mumbled remark pass.

The next few weeks were a blur of engineering exercises and activities. Most mornings, Dan would join Richard and me in the studio to act as guinea pig and chief sound maker. Richard had me physically positioning microphones, repositioning microphones, positioning and repositioning Dan-the-singer, Dan-the-guitar-player, and even Dan-the-pseudo-drummer in the studio, time and again, until he was satisfied I was starting to comprehend the ins-and-outs of a professional set-up.

At last, it was my turn to sit behind the console and observe Richard making adjustments to buttons, sliders, and faders, while Dan undertook the positioning-routine all over again based on my vocal instructions. At every step of the way, Richard played sound-bites back to me, asking for my assessment, and cruelly informing me how wrong I was.

Several times in the first two weeks alone, I came dangerously close to giving up, but I reminded myself of my stubborn promise and refrained from venting to Dan in the evenings. On the other hand, I relished the fact that I could command this rock star to do this, that, and the other—if only based on someone else’s instructions—and that he spent so much time with me when he could have been at home resting or writing songs.

We slipped imperceptibly into a routine where Dan would help me collect Emily from playschool, share our lunch, and disappear to work for a couple of hours before returning for a family dinner with Josh at around five-thirty. More often than not, Dan took part in the children’s bath and bedtime routines before leaving the house to join the band in the studio, and I wouldn’t then see him again until the next morning.

After a while, Dan suggested that Emily and I should have lunch at his house, which would make it easier for him to do a little work before dinner. Very soon, a trail of Emily’s clothes and toys made its way to Dan’s house and into one of his spare rooms. Before I knew it, we had fallen into the habit of bringing Josh to Dan’s house for dinner, and we would rush home only for bedtime.

None of us commented on this state of affairs. Everything seemed natural and normal. We were simply doing what was easiest under the circumstances, and the kids flourished with Dan’s presence in their lives. They even took the altered playschool and school runs in their strides. It was only when Jenny asked me for some kind of weekly food plan so she could shop and cook according to our collective needs that I realized the Jones family had, more or less, relocated to the Hunter residence. I elected not to dwell on the larger underlying question and simply wrote out our evening meal requests. And that, as they say, was that. Until Rachel cottoned on to what was going on.

I hadn’t seen much of Rachel in the past month or so. What with Josh starting school and my apprenticeship, I had been pretty busy. Rach, in turn, had been rushed off her feet herself with the mad social whirl that was post-natal group, baby massage, sing-and-sign group, coffee mornings, swimming… It was fair to say that she had left the initial baby blues behind and was throwing herself into a mummy’s life with gusto. So, between our respective schedules, we hadn’t really managed to get together until one Wednesday afternoon I received a text from Rach telling me she was outside my house and where the heck was I?

I picked up my phone to ring her back. “I’m at Dan’s,” I declared before she could repeat her question. “Emily, too. Why don’t you come over?”

There was only the slightest hint of hesitation before Rachel agreed. No more than fifteen minutes later, she rang Dan’s doorbell, clutching a screaming Henry, who gave a distinct whiff of a full nappy. I steered her toward the downstairs bathroom while I made a pot of tea and carried the mugs to the lounge, where Emily was already hosting a tea party for her dollies.

“Well, well, well.” Rachel half-whistled when she joined us. “What’s all this?” She laid a now gurgling Henry on the rug and rummaged in his changing bag for his favorite cuddly.

“Erm,” I started. “Well… It’s just…” Telling the story slightly backwards, I filled her in on my apprenticeship with Richard and the gradual migration of our daytime lives to Dan’s house.

Rachel’s eyes sparkled with glee. “I think it’s wonderful,” she declared with undisguised hilarity. “I always thought you were meant for each other.”

“Rach!” I hissed, before Emily, Jenny, or, God forbid, Dan could hear. “It’s not like that. We’re simply camping out here during the day because it makes things so much easier.”

“Of course it does,” my best friend concurred. “I can see that. I’m merely agreeing.” She flashed me an amused look over the rim of her mug of tea.

“Cake?” a chirpy voice interrupted our near heart-to-heart. “I got muffins or cupcakes, fresh out of the oven.”

Emily launched herself at Jenny with a massive howl of approval. “Muffins, muffins,” she sang, well familiar by now with Jenny’s prowess in the baking department, which was diametrically opposed to mine.

“Thank you, Jenny,” I said politely, as I always did, feeling only mildly uncomfortable by her extra work. Jenny, however, beamed a thousand-watt smile.

“No problem,” she laughed. “It’s lovely baking for the little ones. Mr. Hunter never really appreciates my baking, although, of course, he is
around
a lot more than what he used to be…” She threw me a meaningful look, set down the plate of baked goodies on the table, and withdrew.

Rachel stared open-mouthed. “Is this for real?” she eventually managed.

I shrugged. What could I say?

“My God, girl, you’ve got it made here. You totally deserve the break, too. I’d simply move in, if I were you,” Rach chuckled while she helped herself to a vanilla cupcake with Jenny’s trademark pink sparkly icing. “And Dan’s
here
a lot more than what he used to, is he?” She mimicked Jenny’s approving tone. “I say, I say.”

“You say what?” I challenged. “There’s nothing to it. Dan’s the children’s godfather, and he’s helping me out with the childcare while I go through some training. That’s all.”

Rachel lowered her cake. “I’m sorry,” she relented. “I didn’t mean to tease you. It’s nice to see you so relaxed and happy. That’s all.”

We regarded each other gravely for a few seconds until Emily broke the mood. “Mummy, why are you fighting with Auntie Rachel?”

“We’re not fighting,” Rach and I assured my youngest in unison. “We’re
talking
.”

“Oh.” Emily absorbed this piece of information. Seconds later, she picked up her favorite doll and spoke to her sternly. “Amanda, stop fighting with Erin.” Amanda-doll received an energetic wriggle. “But we’re not fighting, mummy, we’re talking,” Erin-doll responded, Emily’s voice copying mine perfect in pitch and inflection. Rach and I burst out laughing.

“So that’s why you’re never at home,” Rachel then resumed our earlier conversation.

“That’s why I’m never at home,” I agreed. “Except, of course, in the evenings. But you know you can always find me here, or text me.”

“Cool.”

And thus the conversation was closed. Except in my head, it wasn’t.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Later that night, I replayed my talk with Rachel over and over again, analyzing every last little word. She had it all backwards, I was sure of that. Dan and I were just friends. No strings attached. No funny business. Well, apart from that amazing…I stopped my train of thought and corrected my assessment of ‘that kiss’ before I could contemplate whether it would have been nice to pursue the attraction I had felt.

Apart from the
little
kiss we had inadvertently, and completely by accident, had in his studio, we were totally comfortable in our platonic, rock-solid friendship. The kiss meant nothing. It couldn’t. I wasn’t…I wasn’t in the right place for it to mean something.

But oh, wouldn’t it be nice if you were?
a naughty voice piped up in my head, but I shouted it down.
I am not ready.

But…
the naughty voice went on.
But what if Rachel is right? What if Dan still wants you? What if you miss your opportunity
again
?

“Shut up,” I told the voice in my head, speaking out loud. “Shut up, you. Dan and I, we have seen each other through some of the worst moments of our lives—well, mine, for sure—and there are no misunderstandings or innuendoes between us. Do you hear?”

There. That had done it. That was it.

However, I
was
aware the kids were receiving mixed signals. With no father figure in their lives apart from Dan, and the words
Dan
and
Dad
in such perilous phonetic proximity, I had recently overheard Emily referring to Dan as ‘Dad’ at playschool (“Dad pick me up”) and also calling him ‘Dad’ to his face. Her pronunciation was still fairly indistinct, but I was certain I hadn’t misheard. Dan hadn’t noticed, or, if he had, he hadn’t commented, but her linguistic slip had sent shivers of worry through me.

Was I doing the right thing, indulging my friendship with Dan simply because it suited my needs and my purposes? Was I confusing the children by moving half our belongings into a house that very patently wasn’t ours, nor ever would be? Or was I giving them the benefit of a loving, caring male persona to…yes, to fill some of the holes that Steve had left behind? Wasn’t it a good thing that their godfather, who, after all, was so because Steve had made that choice…wasn’t it a
good
thing that he had become a much more integral part of our lives? Albeit in a distinctly
godfatherly
kind of way?

But what would happen when he had to leave? When he was touring, which would inevitably happen in the coming months? Where would that leave the kids and me? How would they react? How would I cope?

After all, it was
that
side of a relationship with a rock star that had prompted me to turn Dan down after he had proposed to me in Paris. The anticipated loneliness, the stress, the ever-present potential for betrayal… because yes, I knew all about ‘what goes on tour, stays on tour,’ I was living it at that time. I had firmly turned those prospects down back then, but was I exposing the kids and myself to the very same risk now?

On the other hand, I had spent the last two-and-a-half years of my life holding off on happiness because of ‘what if’s’ and other obstacles. Perhaps life was too short to miss out on good things simply because they might cease or go away for a short time. I had already learned to carry on, of sorts, with the biggest loss of all. Yes, I didn’t want the kids to go through an endless cycle of being upset with missing Dan. Yet surely that wasn’t a good enough reason to deprive them of the closest thing to a proper family life that they had ever experienced.

I tossed and turned, unable to determine my motives, unable to disentangle selfish from practical reasons, unsure whether I needed to, unwilling to dig too deep and overanalyze.

Consequently, when Dan suggested the following week after a particularly harrowing day for everyone concerned that Emily, Josh, and I “might as well stay over for the night,” I simply shrugged and went with the flow.

Dan produced a couple of airbeds and made the kids a lovely indoor camping den in the guestroom they had progressively been taking over. I installed myself in the guest room in which I always stayed. It was odd, being in Dan’s house after the kids’ bedtime with Dan absent—off to the studio—and nothing much for me to do, but it was good, too. I watched a movie on the telly and curled up in bed with a book afterwards. I fell asleep strangely content with the light still on and didn’t wake until I heard Dan returning home at about three a.m.

For a second, I debated getting up to say hello, but instead, I switched off my light and curled up under the duvet, hoping for a swift return to sleep. Yet my ears strained to hear the sounds of Dan coming upstairs, walking down the landing to his bedroom, except none were forthcoming. Surely,
surely
, he had to go to bed
some
time!

Twenty minutes later, I couldn’t bear the uncertainty any longer. Fully awake now myself, I grabbed a dressing gown and padded downstairs. Lights were blazing everywhere, and I clicked them off, one by one, once I had ascertained Dan was, in fact, not present in the kitchen, or the dining room, or even the lounge. Leaving the hall light on, I ventured down to the studio, hoping against hope that Dan wouldn’t still be working, unsure what I would say or do if he was.