Summer Sky (16 page)

Dylan launches his phone across the garden and I flinch as he slams a palm into the side of the house. For a minute, he rests his head against the bricks, chest falling and rising rapidly.

"Did someone find out where you are?" I say as calmly as possible.

"Yes." His tone is bitter, defeated.

"The supermarket?"

"Sandchurch."

"But I didn't see anyone...?"

Dylan turns, rests against the wall and stares up at the evening sky. "Someone always sees."

And that's why we could never co-exist in each other’s lives.

"So I guess we're not waiting until the morning?"

He doesn't take his eyes away from the stars. "No, we have to go."

"Someone's coming to take you home?"

"Yeah." He looks at me. "Will you come with me?"

"What? No, no way. I'm going to my friend's place and picking up the pieces of my life."

"Sky..." Dylan steps towards me, touching my cheek. "Come back with me, at least until we know you're safe."

"Safe? From what?"

"Whether the press knows who you are - they have pictures."

My stomach turns over. "What pictures? Who?"

Rubbing my cheek with his thumb, Dylan studies my face. "You said your life is a mess - that you might not have a job, stay with me while you sort things out?"

"I can't." My voice is hoarse, barely a whisper.

"Why?"

How can I say because going with him drags me further into this? Can't he see? Tears well, frustrated my bubble burst and the world is pouring in. Annoyingly, a tear slips from my eye and Dylan's face fills with alarm. He kisses my cheek, kissing away the tear.

"Don't worry, you’ll be fine. They'll forget about you."

And you'll forget about me if I leave now.
I inhale deeply. One last time, I place my mouth on his; lose myself in Dylan, and the intensity of the kiss. As his lips meet mine, I know this is a mistake as I’m reforging a connection I’m trying to break. Fate brought me to this incredible man and then handed over a part of my heart and soul to him. But the new knowledge of who he is, what that means and how this has to end, catches hold and pulls me back to reality. He can never be mine because he belongs to so many others, and I'm not the person to help him lose those people.

I withdraw; touch his cheek. "Go and pack. How long until they're here?"

"Maybe fifteen minutes. Are you coming?"

My heart tears in two, as I'm torn in half. "Yes."

"Thank you." Dylan grabs my face, kisses my mouth hard and disappears inside.

Pulling my phone from my jacket pocket, fingers trembling, I dial a taxi. Light shines through the doorway of the sanctuary I came to four days ago, the time it took the get pulled under and drowned by the man from the sea. I know I have to go to keep my head above the water.

My rucksack rests on the floor in the kitchen, and I pull the bag onto my shoulder. I don't know how long Dylan will take to pack, I need to decide now.

The half-moon in the cloudless sky illuminates the lane leading away from the house, as if guiding me in the direction I need to go. Chest tight and pressure building in my head, I glance back at the door. Dylan could reappear anytime, and make this harder. I walk along the lane towards the road above the house, pushing through the remaining walls that surround my fantasy world.

Part Two

Chapter Sixteen

Dylan

Two weeks since I saw Sky; since we left behind our fantasy world of sand and sunshine. Fourteen days since she walked out of my fucking life, and hit me harder than our cars collided.

I haul my ass out of bed, feeling like crap. The empty bottle on the table mocks me. Months since I last drank heavily and here I am again, back into my old way of coping. Empty bottles, empty head. Now everything is worse because I caught a glimpse of how life should be: with Sky.

Do I not learn? This is what feeling something real does. Every. Fucking. Time.

Sky, the infuriating girl who I tried to keep my hands off and failed. The moment I touched her skin, I left reality and moved into our illusion by the sea. In this Sky and Dylan world, I was free; freer than I thought I’d be the day I decided to run from this shit.

Impossible Sky, the girl who knows me because she never knew me. She gave breath to a new Dylan, the man I want to be, and without her, he'll suffocate again. Every morning I wake aching to hold Sky again, to cocoon us in our fragile world we created, and every night I crave the soft warmth of her in my arms.
Fuck, listen to me…pathetic.
She’s right; I should write a fucking song.

Sky won’t give us a chance, refuses to see me. I'm shut out as if I never existed. She says I'm chasing something we could never be, that everything was an illusion. But the connection we made was more than an illusion.

Our Sky and Dylan could exist in the real world too; Sky just needs time to realise.

*****

Sky

Twenty-two, homeless and jobless; not what I planned when I hung around in Bristol to be with my childhood sweetheart. At least we never got married or had kids although not through lack of trying on my part - my subtlety was brick-like on that topic for years. Then I gave up, deciding we'd be one of those co-habiting couples. Grant said marriage was "just a piece of paper." Wrong. I put money into the mortgage for his house, paying "rent" and allowing him to keep my name off the titles. I paid for the upkeep. And what am I entitled to now? Nothing. Look up naivety in the dictionary and beside the word, you'll see me.

My job. I turned my back on the chance of university and worked for his family firm as the 'office manager'. This entails accounts, sales, admin, coffee maker and occasional cleaner. I am an expert on finance contracts and a complete fail on life.

Naturally, my break-up with Grant and subsequent disappearance ends my employment. I'm sure I could fight back for unfair dismissal, but I haven't the desire to communicate with a single one of Grant's family.

I move in with Tara, into her spare room, where I fight with her plethora of cuddly toys and clothes for space. A bed and a roof over my head are a start in my move forward in life. With my office skills, I can take temporary contracts until I find a proper job. If I'm brave, I'll switch towns too and get as far away as possible from the dickhead and his stupid family.

Dylan haunts my thoughts and dreams. And my mobile phone. He has guilted me over walking out on him. I thought he'd be over me in a couple of days but he calls daily. We have the same conversation over, and over, he wants to see me; I don't want to see him. The glow of the holiday romance stays, and if I allow the other Dylan I never knew in, those memories will be destroyed.

Social media exploded when Dylan reappeared, news of his holiday with the mystery girl speculated on. The palpitations caused every time I open the internet, expecting to see my picture, lessen each day. Two weeks on, and my name and face remain unknown. That's the way I want to keep things and another reason to steer clear of Dylan. My life is already upside down, with Dylan my life would spin out of control.

Following a morning registering at employment agencies, I meet Tara for coffee in our favourite cafe. She's seated in our regular spot, in a wooden booth on the vintage-look cushioned seats. The expensive fixtures add to the effect, I think they're going for a Gatsby art deco theme. I’m pretty sure us customers pay for this fit out through overpriced coffee.

Tara’s immaculately dressed in her understated, natural way. Next to her, I always feel like a scarecrow – her sleek brown hair versus my unruly straw-blonde waves and her expensive, coordinated blue skirt suit versus my cobbled together interview outfit of a short black skirt and white shirt. Tara offered something of hers for the interviews, but she’s several inches taller and a size eight to my size twelve.

On the stone table, next to her cup of mocha, is a glossy magazine. When I approach with my latte, she studies me, red-painted mouth quirking at the corner.

"What?" I ask her smirking face.

"You never discussed your holiday with me. How was it?"

I open a sachet of sugar and tip the contents into my drink. Then another. "Fine."

"Fine? Anything else? Meet anyone nice?"

The fake innocence to her voice raises a red flag so high the whole of Bristol could see. "In Cornwall? Not likely."

"Mmm." With delicate fingers, Tara flicks through the magazine, stops on a page and turns it to me. "Is that you?"

Perspiration not from the summer warmth grows; the situation I’ve dreaded in front of me. I’m looking at a grainy photo of Dylan and me, several grainy photos. In the one where we’re kissing I'm hard to identify, but someone has managed to get closer to my face in on one of the other pictures. The photo is blurry, but not blurry enough to fool my best friend.

The beautiful cafe lurches. "Oh."

"Oh, my God!" shrieks Tara and I shush her. "What the hell? No way! This is you?"

At this point, I’m not sure if her incredulity or the fact she knows pisses me off most.

"Keep your voice down. Yes. I was stupid. It’s over." I glance furtively around but nobody pays any attention, the lunching city dwellers focused on sandwiches and phones.

She leans across the table, long hair almost dipping into her coffee. "Did you…you know?"

Why reply when my bright pink face does for me?

"Sky! You dark horse! How was he?"

I hold a hand up. "Stop there. I’m not talking about Dylan."

"Why? Did he pay you to keep quiet?" she whispers.

"Do you think I’m a whore?" I snap "Or gold-digger?"

Tara frowns. "Okay. Sorry, I didn't mean... What happened?"

"It’s a long story. It happened and the whole situation is over and done with."

Who am I kidding? I don’t want everything over and done with, but I’m too old to live in a fantasy world where rock stars date Miss Average.

Sipping her coffee, Tara watches me over her cup. "You know what’s funny?

"In my current life, not much."

"You don’t even like Blue Phoenix!" She giggles. "Did you tell him that?"

"I didn’t know who he was! Not until the last day."

She splutters. "Right…"

I ignore her and read the article. There was a 'no comment' from Dylan and his manager, and nobody knows who the mystery girl is. There are a few not so pleasant comments about why he’s with me, which I expected; and a line from his girlfriend about how they’ll split up now. Girlfriend. That's the part that hurts the most - confirming my suspicion about the model I saw in the internet story I read at Broadbeach.

"Do you think anyone else will recognise me?" I ask.

"If they want to find you, they will," Tara says nonchalantly. "They probably want the scoop on why he disappeared in the first place – did he leave because of you?"

"No. I met him there. Tell me, do you think they’ll look for me?" I press.

"Who knows – if he’s done with you and you’re not interested in selling your story, I’m sure they’ll forget about you. Once he moves onto the next girl." She pulls an apologetic face. "No offence."

Done with me. Nice. I don’t tell her how Dylan called Gran; and sweet-talked her into giving him my number, in the pretence of returning my car. Or his daily phone calls, ending in a drunken one last night. At least he sent someone else to drop my car off instead of driving over. A guy built like the proverbial brick house, wearing a suit and a curious look delivered my freshly washed and freshly functioning car the day after I returned. I wonder how much he's paid to keep quiet about me.

So all I have to do is keep my head down for a few days, and forget about the man who exploded my world.

*****

I step out of the fourth interview of the day, jaw aching from false smiling and head aching from yet another mind-numbing "computer skills" test. The situation I'm in depresses me as I wander towards the car park. Three years ago, I could've left and gone to university in a new city, I had the grades but I stayed with Grant instead. I couldn't see the point in studying another three years when his family had a job for me, so I chose to stay with my security blanket. I mean my boyfriend.

Now things with Grant are over, I have the opportunity to start again. I'm sick of the treadmill life of nine to five. But, what do I want to do? Who the hell knows? I don't.

This worry is on the back burner following my meeting with Tara. I scrutinise every person I pass - middle-aged lady with small white dog; mum with screaming baby; group of teens sat side by side texting on their phones and not communicating. I'm paranoid they'll jump up and run through the car park shouting "It's her!" but no one pays any attention.

I drive home in a daze, the images from the magazine flipping my mind and stomach. Nobody knows who I am; everything will go away. I repeat the words repeatedly as my car crawls through the traffic towards Tara's home.