Finding Home (21 page)

Okay, so it wasn’t the ‘I forgive you, now let’s hang out this weekend’ I’d wanted from him. Still, it was enough to make me smile all the way home.

It was Saturday night, and I was in Lou’s bathroom again, applying her make-up to my pale, white face. I had already dusted bronzer all over my neck and cheeks and had finished creating what I hoped was a smoky-eyed look, rather than a panda-eyed one. That would have been so-not-hot.

My hair was down and looking straight and shiny thanks to Lou’s various hair appliances. I’d pulled on a pair of skinny black jeans and a cool band singlet I’d found stuffed in the back of my suitcase. It was from days past, when I’d used to care about such things.

I’d been so focused on creating the perfect look that I’d forgotten to be nervous, forgotten to have a drink. I did one final mirror check and straightened my tank top. After all, what was the point wearing it if no one could see the ‘Stevie D’ emblazoned across the front?

‘See ya, Lou,’ I called out to her and walked out the front door, slamming it behind me. She’d offered to come with me, but I wanted to go solo. This was something I needed to do by myself.

I walked up town to the only bar I hadn’t been to yet, although considering there were only two clubs in the local area that really wasn’t saying much.

When I saw the sign out front, I froze. I was stricken with nerves. Was I ready for this? Could I handle seeing Dad again and saying what I had to say? And what if someone saw me and took my picture? The local paper would have a field day.

I sighed and walked over to the big, burly security guard with the clipboard and showed him my ID. He studied it intensely, glancing from me to the card over and over, before handing it back, unclipping the thick red rope blocking the doorway and letting me inside. Things were so much easier now that I was finally 18.

Inside, the club was very trendy, much cooler than the other one where Nick worked. The bar itself had reflective mosaic tiles covering it, so the whole thing looked like some sort of a shattered disco ball. Small lights illuminated a few tall tables near the service area, and there was a huge dance floor near the stage. It was already quite full of girls and middle-aged women, who were dressed in skirts that were a little too short for the cold summer snap we’d been experiencing. I guess some things never changed, whether you were in school or not.

The room was charged with energy and excitement. While I stood in line for the bar, I could hear people talking about my Dad, about how much they loved his music, and what song they thought was best. One woman even called him sexy and, aside from the fact that it made me want to vomit just a little bit, I was kind of okay with that.

‘Vodka and orange, thanks,’ I said to the bartender. I’d certainly cut down my drinking, but that didn’t mean I had to go sober, especially now that I was legal. I was going to have a drink or two before I watched my Dad perform, but that was it. I didn’t need it like I’d used to.

After twenty minutes, the lights went down and the house music stopped. The crowd at the front gave a raucous cheer as a silhouetted man walked onstage.

‘Hello, Cherrybrook!’ Now the screams were deafening, as if he was a proper celebrity — and I guess that Dad kind of was. People rushed forward, and I felt myself being jostled on all sides as the crowd swelled.

Without waiting for the noise to die down, Dad launched into his first song and, for the first time in a long time, I listened. I listened as he sang about life, about love, about missing Mum, and, of course, the song he’d written when I was born. All of my life was up there on the stage for everyone else to sing along with.

But, more importantly, the memories were there for Dad to sing about. He looked so happy immersed in the world that was his music. I loved seeing him like that. I’d sung to escape now, too, just as he had. I got why he loved it. I knew.

About three-quarters of the way through the set, I put my empty glass down on the table to my right, bumping the shoulder of the guy next to me again. Gigs like this were disgusting; you could barely move without touching somebody inappropriately.

I turned around to walk to the bar for a top-up — and walked smack-bang into Nick. My Nick.

He was already looking down at me, as if this strange situation was the most natural thing in the world. My heart did a little skip-jump thing, and I swallowed. Hard.

‘Hey,’ he mouthed the word, knowing there would be no point speaking over the din. He was smiling.

‘Hey,’ I mouthed back. I smiled too. I was grinning like an idiot, actually. He had come to see me. Nick had told me he didn’t like Dad’s music. Had he forgiven me now, after all this time? Despite school being over?

He nodded his head back to the stage, indicating that we should pay attention and talk later. I smiled and nodded.

My eyes followed his gaze, but my mind was still fixed firmly on him. Nick was here. The Nick I’d treated like crap, despite him having done nothing but be nice to me, was here. Here with me.

I felt the tension between us crackle as I became acutely aware of where he was standing. My attention to the gig had dwindled rapidly. Each breath I was taking felt loaded with pressure, the intensity of being in such a close proximity to Nick making me feel extremely nervous. It was scary, and I could tell from the way he kept fidgeting, shifting from one foot to the other, that he was kind of freaked out, too. My arm brushed against his, and I had to jerk it away.

It was too much.

Breathe, Amy. Just breathe.

The crowd stamped and cheered at the last song of Dad’s encore. ‘Thank you! I’ll be signing autographs at the desk out front in twenty minutes.’ He waved a hand in the air. I blinked. It felt like the rest of the set had just flown by. How had it happened so quickly?

As Dad walked off stage, I turned to look at Nick.

‘You came.’ I felt a flush run over my cheeks.
Stating the obvious, Amy?

‘I wanted to see you,’ Nick said, ‘and your dad.’ His eyes burned into mine, and I couldn’t look away. It felt like it was just the two of us in the room — just us and this fierce connection.

‘I thought you said Stevie D was lame.’

‘He’s not my favourite artist,’ he said, ‘but I happen to think his daughter’s kind of cool.’

My heart was in my throat. I swallowed nervously and felt the desire in me build.

‘Actually, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.’ My eyes widened and I swallowed again.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about me? This was amazing! I felt my heart rate pick up, pumping louder. I inched closer to him, staring into his gorgeous blue eyes. My cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so much. I didn’t care.

‘Amy!’ I felt a hand on my arm. It was Joe, looking as serious as ever. ‘Your father saw you from stage. He wants you to come with me.’ He nodded in the direction of the stage, where I could see that Dad was busy getting bustled toward his dressing room. Two security guards were fending off the hoards of women trying to touch him, to get as close as they could to Stevie D.

I looked back at Nick, an unspoken apology on my face.

‘You go,’ he said. I glanced back toward the stage again. Dad had disappeared, clearly unable to be out in this kind of madness for too long.

‘I’ll be right back,’ I said, finally tearing myself away. I hadn’t come here to see him. I needed to sort things out with my dad.

The journey backstage became difficult once some of the women realised I was accompanied by a member of Stevie D’s entourage. They tried to cling to me like I was their own, personal backstage ticket. When I finally reached the security guard, he detached one of the women’s claws from my jacket. Then he scooped me under his elbow and into the quiet serenity behind the stage, away from all the crazy.

I walked down the corridor, stopping at the room at the end. Looking inside, I saw it was like every dressing room we’d ever been in. Band posters, mini fridge, snacks and sandwiches, posters and pens. And Dad, sitting there, an oasis of calm in a sea of fan-inspired madness.

‘Amy!’ Dad exclaimed. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’ He opened his arms to me, hesitant, as if unsure I would enter them.

I didn’t walk forward into his embrace. I needed to say what I came here to say. Giving in, letting him hug me and forgetting what I’d done, what I’d put him through, would have been all too easy. I didn’t deserve that. Not after how I’d treated him.

‘I’m, uh…I’m kind of surprised to see you,’ he said, his arms falling to his sides. His face was serious, his hair flecked with grey, the colour of salt and pepper. I wondered if I’d done that to him. I hoped I hadn’t.

‘I figured you would be,’ I replied. ‘I just — I wanted to apologise.’

Dad’s eyes widened. He unscrewed the cap on the water bottle at his side and took a long swig.

‘What for?’

‘For everything.’ Now that I’d started, I couldn’t stop. ‘I’m sorry for telling you I wanted you out of my life, for blaming you when I acted up, for drinking and risking getting you in trouble — for everything.’

‘Amy, that’s not all —’

‘I’m sorry for blaming you for Mum. She didn’t die because of you.’

The room suddenly seemed awfully quiet. I blinked, determined not to cry. I let the apology hang there between us.

‘It was immature,’ I went on, trying to fill the silence, ‘and I know I meant it at the time, but only because I didn’t see. I missed Mum and I…I guess making her weakness your fault was just all too easy. I’m so sorry.’ A tiny tear slid out the corner of my eye.

Dad walked, taking four determined steps across the room, and put his arm around my shoulders, squeezing them tight like he had when I was a little girl.

‘Touring isn’t fair on any kid, Amy. I shouldn’t have put you through that,’ he said. ‘If I’d known how badly it was affecting you, or how much your mother was drinking and that she was letting you drink, I would have stopped. I just didn’t know who I was without the music. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t blame myself for what happened to your mum.’

I reeled back. He’d thought it was his fault, too? He’d gone onstage every day thinking he was responsible for her death?

‘Dad, you know it’s not.’

‘I do now, yes, but at the time I didn’t,’ he replied. ‘You blamed me. And I knew your mum was angry, I knew she wasn’t being responsible. I should have left her, I should have protected you…’ His words trailed off and he rubbed his eyes. ‘I was just afraid to stop the music. If I’d quit, I don’t know how I would have kept my sanity. Or how I would have made ends meet. And you seemed to be coping fine with life on the road, until your Mum passed away. Until I discovered she’d been encouraging you and you’d already started drinking.’

‘I’m not drinking like that anymore,’ I said. And even though it had only been nine weeks since my last week-long bender, I felt it to be true. ‘I have every now and then. But tonight I’ve only had one drink. And I’m legal now.’

‘Not bad, pumpkin,’ he said, nodding his head. He tousled my hair. ‘Look at you, with your hair glammed up and straightened. You’re not my little girl anymore!’

‘Da–ad,’ I groaned. ‘It’s only been a few months since you’ve seen me dressed up.’

‘Amy, it’s been too long,’ he said, his face serious. ‘I want you to know that next week is my last set of gigs, and then I’m taking six months off. Technically, it’s to write some new songs, but I also want to spend time with you. I need to be there for you.’

‘You don’t have to —’

‘But I do. And I want to,’ he added quickly. ‘And then after that, you’ll be finished with school, and we can see where the future takes us.’

‘I-I don’t know what to say,’ I stammered. It seemed like he’d forgiven me with too much grace. I’d been such a brat.

‘I love you,’ Dad said. He kissed my forehead, and I threw my arms around his neck. It felt good. It felt like home.

‘Stevie, we need you at merch,’ Joe called, sticking his head around the door. ‘Sorry, Amy. I didn’t know you’d still be here.’ Who could blame him after my previous fleeting concert experiences?

Dad leaned away from me. ‘I’ve gotta go, but breakfast tomorrow?’ he asked as he walked over to join Joe. Joe was busy grabbing pens and a stack of posters from the table near the door.

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ I replied.

‘Oh, and Amy?’

I looked up to see Dad standing in the doorway. Behind him, at the other end of the corridor, the roar of screaming women had started up again, the flashing cameras changing him from my dad and into the rock star he was now. ‘With your hair like that, you look a lot like your mum.’

I let go of my anger. The thought made me smile.

* * *

After fighting my way back through the crowd around the merchandise table, I wasn’t too surprised to find that Nick had gone. An appearance at a single gig did not forgiveness make. My heart fell anyway, disappointed that he hadn’t waited.

I hadn’t realised how much he’d meant to me, how much I still cared. He’d proven that I was more important than music to him. Heck, even Dad had showed me that my fears of coming second to a song were unfounded.

I thought again back to the day when Nick had reached out to me, when we had hung out on the beach, in music class, at his bar…when he had touched my shoulder. The beginnings of a smile worked their way across my face as I imagined being close to him again. Still, after jerking around with someone’s feelings like I had with his, I could hardly expect as much back. Perhaps he just wanted to be friends. Maybe he’d been thinking about how we’d left things on a bad note. This might be no more than a friendship olive branch. I could hardly blame him, or expect anything more than that. I’d done nothing to encourage a larger display of affection.

I walked out the exit and started off down the street towards Lou’s house.
Home.
It really was my home now.

‘Amy!’

I stopped in my tracks, too scared to look back. What if I hadn’t heard right? What if it wasn’t him?

‘Amy, wait.’ Nick came jogging up beside me. ‘It got hectic inside, so I stepped out for some air.’