Sophie's Encore (11 page)

“We are,” Dan confirmed, but wouldn’t let go of his train of thought. “But I feel different, suddenly. I feel… I feel like the balance has changed. I feel responsible for you. I want to look after you, I—”

“But you
are
,” I interrupted, now seriously fearful of where this conversation was going. “You’ve been looking after me for years. And the kids, too.”

“I know,” Dan conceded. “But somehow, things are different now. I…I missed you in Seattle.” He laughed uncertainly. “That doesn’t sound right. I always miss you when I go away, you know, recording or on tour, but I missed you
different
this time. I can’t really explain it. It’s all so…”

The phone rang and interrupted his ruminations. I jumped up and answered it before the loud trilling woke the kids. It was Rachel again. She wanted to tell me that Henry definitely didn’t have a temperature and they were all going to sleep now, and did I think that was okay?

By the time I had reassured her and finished the call, Dan had sunk down lower on my sofa and was fast asleep. The flash drive that had brought him here had slipped from his grasp and lay abandoned on the floor. I picked it up and stuffed it in my handbag in the hallway. If the kids found it lying around in the morning, it would be drawn on, stomped on, and otherwise destroyed.

Back in the lounge, I contemplated my sleeping rock legend for a few moments. He was deeply asleep; so much so that I couldn’t rouse him to move him up into the guest bed. The sofa would have to do for tonight. I raided the guest room for duvets and pillows to make Dan more comfortable. As gently as I could, I eased the pillows under his head and the shoes off his feet. Feeling like a regular Florence Nightingale, I spread the duvet over his prone body and tucked the sides in around him so he wouldn’t be cold. On an impulse, I planted a light kiss on his forehead and was perturbed to find it cold and clammy. Dan was definitely not well, but at least he was resting. I tiptoed out of the lounge, switching off the lights as I went.

Chapter Eighteen

Needless to say, I didn’t have a very good night. Unspoken words and assumptions floated around my head, mingling in my dreams with a sick Henry and a distraught Rachel. A ghostly looking Dan kept coming and going, alternately drinking beer with Steve in the back garden and whisking the kids away to perform with him on tour.

When I got up and dressed at seven, my pale and hollow-eyed appearance matched both the Dan of my restless dreams and the Dan of the night before. The house was perfectly quiet, and nobody else was up. Even my early riser, Josh, had started sleeping later on weekends.

I padded downstairs to check on the rock god ensconced in my lounge. He, too, was sleeping peacefully. He had curled up onto his side and tucked his entwined hands under his face. The smudges under his eyes had improved. He looked relaxed, and there was some color in his cheeks.

How long I had stood there, looking at Dan and thinking about nothing in particular, I couldn’t say, but I snapped to when I felt a gentle tugging at my hand. Josh had joined me in the lounge, still in pajamas, of course, and his little face was wreathed in adoration for Dan.

“Why is Dan sleeping on the sofa?” he whispered as softly as he could manage.

“Because he got here very late and was very tired and he simply fell asleep where he sat,” I whispered back, giving Josh a conspiratorial smile. “He’s still wearing his clothes, look!” I wasn’t entirely sure why I was making such a big deal out of this to my four-year old son who wouldn’t care either way, but Josh peered under the duvet when I carefully lifted a corner to show Dan’s be-trousered legs.

“Awesome,” he enthused. “He’s like a cowboy, sleeping in his leather trousers.”

“Shall we let him sleep a bit longer and make some breakfast?” I suggested, and Josh nodded eagerly.

We raided the fridge and prepared an improvised luxury breakfast of homemade waffles, bacon, and fresh fruit. Emily joined us half-way through and took great pleasure in scooping gloopy waffle mixture onto the waffle maker, closing the lid, and watching it rise gently as the baking waffles expanded in size.

Amazingly, Dan slept right through the increasing noise levels emanating from the kitchen, and he was still slumbering when we were ready to eat. I ventured into the lounge and considered options. He had fallen asleep by eleven p.m., and it was now nine the following morning. Early, by rock star standards, but ten hours qualified as a good night, even in my book.

Josh had crept up on me again. “Why don’t we have a breakfast picnic here in the lounge and Dan can have breakfast in bed on the sofa,” he suggested, bright-eyed.

I knelt down to speak with him, a let-down formulated on my lips, but I changed my mind. Why not indeed? What could be nicer than to be woken up by a bunch of smiling people, a huge pile of waffles, and fresh coffee?

“Excellent idea, my gorgeous.” I high-fived my darling son and we crept out of the lounge again to get organized.

The kids were brilliant, caught up in their little ploy to surprise Dan. Emily carried plates back and forth, one at a time, doing a kind of stealth-tiptoe each way and setting down her cargo very carefully on the coffee table. Josh took care of the cutlery and the fruit bowl, and I brought up the rear with the hot food and drinks. The kids and I sat on cushions on the floor around our laden table, and we looked at each other with big smiles. Mission accomplished!

The quiet bustle of activity in his immediate vicinity had permeated Dan’s consciousness, and he opened his eyes with perfect timing, catching sight of the waffles first, then me, then the kids. He grinned widely, stretched his arms, and sat up.

“What’s all this?”

“Mummy said you were very tired, and so we thought we’d make you breakfast on the sofa,” Josh burst out, unable to contain his energy or joy at the successful surprise.

“Wow, thank you,” Dan issued after a big yawn. He rubbed his eyes and tried to smooth his hair. My stomach lurched at the memory of many a breakfast-in-bed shared by the lovely Dan Hunter and me, Sophie Penhalligan, as I had been back then.

Our eyes locked for a second, and a flash of understanding passed between us. The moment was so fleeting I might have imagined it, but I didn’t think so. Yet the kids’ noisy clambering for food distracted me from that train of thought, and I let it go.

After a hearty breakfast and a long, hot shower, Dan returned downstairs looking like himself. I breathed a secret sigh of relief at his improved appearance. I had probably overreacted last night, and his tiredness had been a result of the long flight and a stressful week.

“What’s next?” I inquired cautiously, knowing that the Jones family would be collectively disappointed if Dan had to leave, knowing also that it would be foolish to assume he would stay.

“I guess I ought to go home and get some fresh clothes and catch up with some stuff,” Dan ventured. “We are having the weekend off, though, so I could come back later? If you want?”

“That would be nice,” I confirmed, feeling unaccountably shy. “The kids haven’t seen you properly in ages. It’s always only been me.” I blushed and felt annoyed with myself, but Dan was either oblivious to my discomfort or tactfully ignored it.

“We could go out to Richmond Park and see the deer, maybe? Or—I know!” His face lit up with delighted anticipation. “We could fly a kite! Have the kids done that before?”

I shook my head, smiling indulgently. “I’m sure they’d love to, only we haven’t got a kite and…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll bring one. It might be guitar shaped, but I’m sure I’ve still got it.”

I burst out laughing. “You’ve got a guitar-shaped kite? Really?”

Dan nodded emphatically.

“Why? Where from?”

“Um,” Dan started. “I was given it. By the band. As a birthday present. When I turned thirty. Because… you know. Three-oh. Three.”

I laughed. “Have you ever flown it?”

Dan looked more sheepish still. “Of course. On the Common, and also in Richmond Park. It’s brilliant there for kite-flying, and the band and I used to go quite a lot, at one time.”

“The band? Why, are there more guitar-shaped kites about?”

Dan’s turn to laugh. “No, but Joe has a drum kit and Darren has a pirate ship.”

I shook my head. “How come that’s never been in the paper? I can see the headlines…” Adopting a news-reader voice, I made sweeping gestures in the air. “Rock star flies kite as high as a kite…”

“Now, now, young lady,” Dan admonished. “We have never done that stuff, and you know that full well. But,” he grinned boyishly, “The ‘rock star flies kite’ bit could be a good angle. Maybe we could take some pictures.”

“I’ll bring the camera,” I deadpanned, half-joking, but Dan took me seriously.

“That would be fab. For, you know…” He backpedalled, seeing my thunderous face and knowing how much I hated the kids and I being dragged into publicity stunts. “… just for me. My godchildren and I. And their beautiful mother.”

“Aw, you!” I thumped him lightly on the arm. He could still talk me around to almost anything, this famous rock star of mine.

Chapter Nineteen

Dan never got a chance to listen to my mastered song that weekend. I totally forgot I had put the flash drive in my handbag, and when he left late on Saturday, he left empty-handed. It wasn’t until the following Wednesday that we got back together again. I had been asked to help out with a school trip on Monday, and it was my turn to be parent helper at Emily’s playschool on Tuesday. For three whole days, I had butterflies in my tummy every time I thought about the flash drive in my handbag. When and how would I get to play the song for him? And what would he say when I did?

My hour of reckoning finally arrived on Wednesday morning. I had just inserted the key into Dan’s front lock when Jenny pulled the door open to let me in.

“Morning,” she whispered. “Mr. Hunter’s down in his studio. He’s not in a great mood.”

I was a little taken aback by her comment. I couldn’t remember Dan
ever
being in a foul mood. Therefore it was with some trepidation I descended the stairs to join him at the console. What could have happened? Was it something
I
had done? Had I broken something in the studio?

When I carefully opened the door, I caught the tiniest glimpse of Dan slouched in his chair, leaning backwards with his eyes closed and rubbing his cheeks with his hands in a gesture highly reminiscent of Munch’s famous
The Scream.
At the sound of my voice, he sat up and put a bright smile on his face, and the visual association faded.

“Morning, lovely,” he said, his voice cheerful and strong.

“Morning, gorgeous,” I answered back and settled myself in his assistant’s chair. Whatever it was that had put him in a bad mood, it didn’t appear to have been me.

Dan looked at me expectantly. Eventually, he held out his hand in a ‘give over’ motion, and I dutifully scrambled to retrieve the flash drive from my handbag. My fingers trembled with nerves as I handed it to him, and I jumped when our hands met for a fraction of a second.

Dan chuckled. “You look nervous. I’m sure you did a brilliant job.”

“I feel like I’m about to be judged for an exam,” I confessed. “I worked so hard, but what if you don’t like it?”

“So what if I don’t like it? Happens all the time. Richard doesn’t always get it how we want it. Sometimes we make him change it. Sometimes we stick with his instincts. That’s what it’s all about. Let’s hear it!”

He smiled his wicked-boy grin as he connected the flash drive to the console, and my heart soared. He seemed quite happy.

“Jenny said you were in a bad mood,” I burst out. “But you seem fine to me.”

His eyes darkened for the tiniest moment. “I didn’t sleep well,” he said. “I can be a bit of a morning grump.”

His tone of voice invited no funny rejoinder, and I held my tongue. No need seeing ghosts and bad portents in every little exchange; besides, I knew all about being a morning grump, being one myself. Only Dan had never been grumpy in the mornings, not to my knowledge, not when we had spent nights together. Then again, that was a long time ago.

The DAW had meanwhile accepted the flash drive and “Turn Your Corner” was loading. I wriggled in my chair, full of nerves again, and Dan reached out to touch my hand in a reassuring manner.

“It’ll be fine.” He smiled, good nature restored. “I look forward to it.”

He hit play, and the song started with the drums I had so carefully balanced and filtered. The sound was crisp and gritty and instantly captivating.

Dan closed his eyes and listened intently. His foot tapped along, and he air-played the guitar with his right hand. I doubted he was aware he was doing it. He looked transported and entranced.

All too soon, the song finished. Never before had three minutes and thirty-two seconds passed so quickly and so slowly at the same time. Dan’s eyes remained closed as a slow, appreciative smile spread across his face. I held my breath.

Quite unexpectedly, Dan jumped off his chair and punched the air. “Awesome,” he shouted at full volume. “My God, this is totally awesome!”

He pulled me to my feet and gave me a hug that lifted me clear off the floor. He made as though to swing me around, but abandoned that plan owing to the confined space in the studio. Instead, he set me down again and gave me the biggest smackeroony of a kiss on the cheek.

“You are amazing. Oh. My. God. You are totally unbelievable. This is great! This is fantastic!” he enthused, ruffling his hair in joyful agitation, then ruffling mine. I grinned, lost for words at his reaction.

Dan turned his attention back to the DAW and started the song again, skipping forward to the bits he particularly liked. “That’s an amazing effect, it’s utterly brilliant. And…” He forwarded to the next bit that had captured his interest. “Wow. Loud and edgy, I like it. You did all this by yourself, with only a little instruction…”

He gave me another hug. “You must be a genius.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but he tilted his head to kiss me at the same time. Our lips met and touched lightly. His mouth tasted sweet and warm, as it always had. I had forgotten how well I remembered his kiss, his touch, as if it had been mere hours rather than years. Dan’s musky, masculine scent overwhelmed me and I closed my eyes, giving myself up to the feeling, going with the moment. Quite suddenly, Dan’s arms encircled me, one hand pushed into the small of my back, the other travelling up, up, until he cupped the back of my head and entwined his fingers in my hair.