Summer Sky (23 page)

"I’ll bear that in mind." I cringe at my husky voice and clear my throat. His mouth tips into a knowing smile.

"Jan said she’d make you some dinner. I won’t be there, don’t worry."

As he leaves, I manage to prevent myself asking him to stay. I think my mood swings are as bad as his are.

*****

The walk from my room to the kitchen takes several minutes, and after a few wrong turns through half-empty rooms, I find the place. The sparseness of the house strikes me, as if this is a show-home. There’s no lived in, comfortable feel to the environment and some rooms still smell of fresh paint. Dylan must have a number of properties, especially if he lives in the States part of the time. Either that or his half-empty house is a reflection on his life.

I pull my flannel shirtsleeves over my hands, and hover in the doorway. Jan busies herself setting out plates on the large oak table, and doesn’t look up until I’m brave enough to approach.

"Sky! How are you?" She gestures to a matching oak chair across the room and I obediently sit.

"I feel weird."

Bringing a large, steaming bowl over to the table, Jan smiles sympathetically. "Weird situation."

That’s putting things mildly. I peer into the bowl. Fresh pasta in a tomato sauce, mixed with vegetables and a strong smell of herbs. She adds a second bowl containing salad. My stomach rumbles appreciatively.

"What would you like to drink?"

Wine
. "Water, please."

Jan sets a plate, cutlery and large glass of sparkling water in front of me then sits in the chair nearby. The vast table fills the room, but doesn’t change the emptiness.

"Does Dylan live alone?" I ask.

"Sometimes, but often the band stays here. The house is large enough for all their egos." She smiles to herself. "There’s a recording studio – well, two but one’s Dylan’s private place."

My stomach twists. The band. "Are the others here now?"

"Liam and Honey are staying. The others are back tomorrow I think – they’ve things to finish before the tour."

Honey? I had a friend at school who had a guinea pig called Honey. It wasn't the brightest of animals.

"I bet they all keep you busy."

"Hmm. Well, I don’t clear their mess up on my own or cater to their parties. I’m here in the day, and then I go home."

Spooning pasta into my bowl, I take in the surroundings. Every minute I’m here, I’m on high alert. Fish out of water doesn’t even come close to how I feel. Small talk; I have to do small talk.

"Have you worked here long?" I ask.

"Three years. I considered leaving after the first year, but Dylan persuaded me to stay. I saw some stuff I wasn’t happy to see."

The middle-aged woman pulls her lips tight; and whether she wants to tell me or not, I don’t want to hear.

"Life here is different now though; they’ve mellowed. Well, some of them." She fixes me with a loaded look. "Like Dylan."

I shift in my seat and focus on the pasta, twirling some around my fork. If I eat, I don’t have to talk.

"Did you know him before?" she asks.

"Before what?"

"Before he disappeared. Did he leave because of you?"

The pasta sticks in my throat. "No."

"Hmm."

"Hmm?"

She stands and brushes imaginary crumbs from the table. "He had a different look when he first came back. He was still unhappy but he was brighter."

No, not her too. What is this? Is Dylan getting everyone to guilt me into a relationship?

"Amazing what the summer skies and sea air can do for someone," I say.

Someone behind giggles. "Sure is, summer Sky."

I twist in my seat. The owner of the giggle and American accent can’t hide the surprise on her face when she registers me. My expression matches hers. Talk about rock star girlfriend cliché; here she is in glorious Technicolor with perfectly straight, long, blonde hair to match the perfectly white and straight teeth she’s flashing at me. Honey is impossibly elegant in tight, hip hugging jeans with silicone breasts straining beneath her tight leopard skin top. Oh, good God.

"I’m Honey." She crosses and holds out a hand with talon-like red nails. "I’m Liam’s fiancée.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you, darling."

Darling?

Honey strolls over to the fridge, hips swaying in a way suggesting she was or is a model, or she would like to be one. She pulls out a bottle of water, and delicately places her mouth round to drink.

"So you’re his summer Sky?" Is she mocking me? The saccharin sweetness in her tone has gone.

"I’m Sky, yes."

"I think you did the right thing, darling," she says. "You’re not his type. He’d get bored. Save yourself heartbreak because Dylan isn’t very… accessible."

My scalp prickles at this bimbo telling me what I should or shouldn’t do. Is there jealousy from her here? No, she’s engaged to someone else.

I keep my game face. "Yeah, I figured that might happen..."

Honey sashays towards me, stopping close enough for me to gag on her heavy perfume. "Still, make the most of your stay here. I doubt you’ll experience anything like this again."

Her words irk. No, they piss me off. She's suggesting I’m not worth this luxury and somehow below her; someone like me isn't worth Dylan. Whatever the reasoning is behind her bitchy comments, the words have my back up enough to step into Dylan's life a little. A two fingered salute to Honey. Just for a day or two. No more. Honest.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sky

Waking the next morning, and refusing to be intimidated, I shower, dress in my non-Honey clothes and seek out breakfast. The adrenaline kicks back in when Jan’s friendly face from the normal world is absent. There’s milk in the fridge and I don’t want to root around in cupboards for cereal so I settle on a glass full and an apple from the bowl on the kitchen bench. Now the excitement of books and baths has worn off, discomfort has pushed in. I want to go home.

I sneak back to my room, snuggle onto the day bed beneath the bay window and read a book about college kids in America - I've avoided all books with rock star heroes since Broadbeach. Several hours later, with a headache coming on, I summon up the courage to leave the room. I’m a guest, I should explore, and I need some fresh air.

Half an hour wandering the grounds and I definitely feel like I've been spirited to a different world. To navigate the whole estate would need a car; the house alone is twice the size of the hotels in Greece I stayed in with Grant and a lot more luxurious. The outside of the house contradicts the interior with the preserved brick facade and carefully restored windows. I pass a huge, sparkling pool overlooked by several wrought iron balconies, steps leading upwards. Why would someone have a pool in the English climate? Oh, yeah, status.

The lawned gardens stretch in every direction, the woods bordering the property in the distance. There's other buildings further from the house - one looks like the old estate cottage and another a converted barn or stables.

I sit on a wall near the entrance to the house, attempting to take everything in. The quiet and lack of people around strikes me, something I'm unused to. I haven't seen Dylan since yesterday, even though he's on my mind the whole time. The anger towards him ebbed with the confusion on his face at what he'd done wrong. Then witnessing how Steve treats him added in sympathy. His life truly isn't his own, and he doesn't have many coping strategies in his struggle to step outside.

An expensive red sports car heads down the driveway and pulls up close by. I stand to leave, not wanting to meet the tall guy who climbs out. I back towards the stairs leading to the front door, debating whether to run inside or not.

Rolling his head and stretching out his shoulders, the stocky man snaps something at the driver. He’s broader than Dylan, with a mass of auburn curls falling across his face and shoulders. Tight black jeans, a baggy band T-shirt and combat boots finish off his image. Is this Dylan world of Blue Phoenix a collection of clichés? And if it is, what does that make me?

As he has sunglasses on, I’m unable to tell if he notices me hiding in the shadows. He pulls them off and strides over. I tense, waiting for a loaded comment but instead he grabs me in a bear hug, big arms wrapping around me and squeezing out my breath like a hairy boa constrictor. He holds me by the shoulders, chocolate brown eyes studying mine.

"Summer Sky!"

I wish people would stop calling me that.

"Yeah. Hi."

"You changed your mind?" He raises an eyebrow.

"No, she didn’t."

I jump at Dylan’s voice. His sharp tone reminds me of the Dylan I met when our cars collided, and the closed off expression from earlier remains. He's dressed in his usual jeans and T-shirt combination, but for the first time he's wearing a Blue Phoenix T-shirt. The head of his phoenix tattoo disappears under the sleeve stretching across the biceps I pictured myself licking on the first day. He's in the Dylan Effect proximity and my nervousness doesn't help the heavy breathing.

Dylan strolls down the steps towards the other man. "But you can keep your hands off, Bryn. She doesn’t do rock stars." His eyes flick to mine. "Much."

Colouring, I shove my hands in the back pockets of my jeans and examine the ground.

"Bad luck, man." The sound of Bryn clapping Dylan on the back follows, and their voices retreat into the house.

Why am I pissed off I wasn’t included?

*****

The rest of the day I float around, like a ghost haunting the place, invisible, hovering at the edge of their life. I make frequent trips to the kitchen in the hope of finding Jan but never do. Occasionally I hear male voices carrying along the hallways from other rooms, raucous laughter and shouting. There are also girls’ voices, and I picture a room full of half-naked groupies. Jealousy isn't something I'm permitted when I've rejected him.

This isn’t for me. The lifestyle of the rich and famous equals boredom. Bird in a gilded cage, I traipse from room to room trying to decide what to do. Clouds roll in outside, the end of the English sunny summer's day, and the rain starts. Running out of options, I make a quick sandwich from the cold meats and salads I find in the fridge before retreating to my room.

One day down, two to go?

I take a wrong turn again; this place is a bloody maze. Dylan's lack of variety in decor doesn't help navigation. Maybe breadcrumbs from the sandwich will help find my way back to the kitchen next time, like Hansel and Gretel lost in the woods. I pick at the edge of the sandwich as I prepare to back out of the opulent sitting room I've stumbled upon.

"Hey, it's the little lady herself." A man's voice carries over the low music coming from the huge speakers across the room.

From my position, I can see long legs in dark denim jeans and bare feet, a tattooed arm resting on the edge of the sofa. His head is behind the white leather cushioned chair and he leans forward, face obscured by long, dark curls. His hair is longer than Bryn's, matching mine for unruliness. Pushing his hair back with one hand, he takes a good look at my figure, slowly and deliberately.

"Sorry," I say and turn to leave.

"What for? Come in! Jacinta's around somewhere, she'll get you a drink."

Something about this man bothers me. Not because he hasn't told me his name, but because along with his over-enthusiastic tone, he appears tightly coiled, like a rubber band ready to fly across the room.

"I'm okay. But thanks."

"You
are
Dylan's Sky?" he asks.

"I'm Sky."

"Where's Dylan?"

"I don't know."

"Oh? Are you his Sky or not?" He drains the contents of the glass he's holding and dangles his arm over the side of the chair. The glass hovers between his long, fingers; fingernails painted black.

A soft click of the door from the opposite end of the room alerts me. A tall girl wearing a short, tight silver top covering very little of her ample chest, and a skirt I'm sure is actually a belt, crosses the room. She only has eyes for the man, and positions herself on his lap.

"I'm Jem. This is Jacinta. All the Js."

Jacinta turns her head as if only noticing I'm in the room. Her eyes are vacant; she's somewhere else. Drugs? I shiver, and my thoughts must be apparent because Jem gives a sardonic grin.

"You can have some of what she's having?" he asks.

"No thanks."

"I meant champagne. Do you like champagne?"

I shake my head, not wanting to stay in this room. Jacinta slides her hand up and down Jem's thigh, and he pulls her sleek black hair to one side and kisses her neck.

"Get Sky a drink, babe," he says and shifts so Jacinta has to move.

She stands and he slaps her backside as she walks away. If I thought Dylan was an arrogant wanker when I met him, he had nothing on this guy.