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I straightened up. “Well, pleasure to finally meet you.” I couldn’t bring myself to say their names, the bile rising in the back of my throat already. “Tristan, don’t forget the lunch at one with Trevor tomorrow—the usual Japanese place, apparently. I want to wrap up the article as soon as possible. I know Dave wants to see it put to bed.” I smiled, a stiff little smile that barely reached my cheeks, let alone my eyes. He was about to speak, but I turned away. And walked to the bar. I didn’t want to hear it, see it. Any of it. I bumped into Sarah, who was holding a bottle of champagne, and looking a bit flushed. I snarled at her. “Where’s Trevor?”

She waved the bottle over to a corner sofa by the window. “Oh Lily, this is so much fun! Thank you!!” She was squealing. I hoped it was too loud in there for her voice to reach Tristan. It was obviously too loud for her to notice anything wrong. “Come on, I’m just bringing this to Trevor.” She grabbed my hand, and we walked over. “He’s so nice, Lily. I mean he looks so scary,” she giggled, “but he’s very smart. Sweet. Shh. He’ll hear us.” She was obviously getting legless. But at least she was happy. I turned briefly, but I couldn’t see the sofa clearly, there was a crowd around it.

Trevor was watching us approach, calmly. “Lily, dear. How is Tristan?” His eyes raked over me. “Come sit down and join us.”

I suddenly noticed I was having trouble getting the words out. “He’s fine, Trevor.” My voice sounded strained, even to my ears. “I reminded him about lunch tomorrow.” I coughed briefly to try and shift the lump in my throat.

Trevor rose and stood over me, towering. His voice was a whisper. “Have a glass of champagne. Don’t leave yet.”

I nodded, and he went to retrieve another glass from the bar. I stared out the window. Sarah was bleating on about something. I wondered if she knew where Nick was, and if she did, why she didn’t care. I looked out, down towards the canal, where the crowds had thinned slightly. You could see the rooftops from up here, the window just slightly higher than the surrounding buildings. Not enough for a full on view of the area.

Trevor tapped me on the shoulder, and handed me the glass of champagne. I downed it in one, and handed it back, as he looked on, astonished. The lump in my throat was still there. Maybe if I never spoke again, never sang again. I could join some Buddhist monastery, like that one in Nova Scotia, or somewhere. Never see anyone again. No one would care. Trevor was waving the refilled glass of champagne in front of me. “Lily. Lily. Pay attention. It will be fine. Trust me.”

“How can you know that?” Now I felt the tears right behind my voice.

“Of course, you’re right. There are no certainties in life. I just know the man I used to know.” He clinked glasses with both of us, as Sarah looked on, realization slowly dawning on her face.

“Oh Lily! No! That’s terrible. You were only just with him yesterday, we could hear…” Trevor shushed her by kissing her, which made me laugh, in spite of the sick feeling that had come over me with her words. True. And it was only just this morning we’d woken up together.

I looked around at the crowd, away from the two of them. It was really bizarre to see Trevor kissing anyone, his physical demeanor so far from being tender. But he was kissing Sarah with what could only be described as a gentle passion.

I looked away. That would figure. Engaged, and now Trevor. I slid out of the chair and walked away from them, back into the crowd. I walked by the sofa. It was occupied by three other people now. There was no sign of Tristan.

I spotted Dave across the room, and walked up to him. “Lily!” he said. “All alone?”

“Yes,” I replied tersely. “And I have a favor to ask you.”

His chiding expression changed, and he looked serious. I must really look bad, I thought, if I am having this impression on people.

“Of course. I wouldn’t deny my star writer anything.”

“I want to finish up the piece.”

“Naturally. And you will.”

“No. I want to finish it this week. I’ll interview whoever else you want me to. But I want to complete the writing back in the States.”

He looked bemused for a moment, and opened and closed his mouth, ever so slightly, as though he had been about to speak but then changed his mind. “Sure. I want you to meet with the engineer who was at Electric Ladyland, where they did the last album.”

“Where is he now?”

Dave laughed, softly. “Why? Do you want to interview him right now?”

“Sure. Is he in London?”

“No. He’s still in New York. Why? What’s going on?”

I shook my head. “Nothing. Just want to get back. Can the mag book me on the first flight out tomorrow?”

Now he really did look astonished. “Yes. Of course. If that’s what you want. Just call my assistant. Here.” He held out his phone. “Do it now, or save the number, and do it when you leave.”

“I’m leaving now.” My voice was trembling. I couldn’t stop it. “I’ll just take the number.”

Dave looked at me. I met his eyes. Then I looked down at the phones, transferring the number. I handed him back the phone. “Thanks. Sorry. I’ll see you in New York.”

I walked away, glancing over at Trevor. It couldn’t be helped. He’d understand. And then, making sure no one was really paying attention, I walked over to the stairs and walked down them, speeding up as I got further away. There was no one in the club. Everyone was upstairs, celebrating the return, the solo tour, the whatever. I didn’t fucking care anymore.

I went through the doors to the outside, breathing in the damp, fresh air that smelled faintly of the canal, wet and green and like old brick. I’d miss London. I missed it already. Then I did two things: I called the assistant, and had her book me a seat on the first BA flight that left. Just before 9:00 a.m. It would have to do.

Then I called Tariq. Funnily enough, it seemed he’d given me his direct line. I recognized his voice. “Tariq? It’s Miss Lily. Are you busy? Can you come get me? Or send someone?”

We arranged it all and I dragged myself over to the high street. Had I been hoping in the back of my mind, that if I stood out here long enough, Tristan would rush out, find me, grab me, kiss me, and march me back to the party, swearing love and proclaiming me in public as his girlfriend? Yes. Of course. But as I stood under the railroad bridge, watching the headlights of the cars go past, I knew it wasn’t going to happen. I didn’t know why. I just knew.

And when Tariq’s car pulled up, I didn’t even wait for him to jump out. I pulled the door open and taking one last deep breath of the wet air, I slid into the dark warm cocoon of the car.

“Miss? You ok, Miss?”

“I’m fine Tariq, mate, thank you. Better than I was.” I sighed.

“We’re going to hotel, yes Miss?” He turned to look at me.

I tried to smile at him. “Yes. Then we’re going to a new hotel, out by Heathrow.”

He looked at me oddly. “You sure, Miss?”

No, I wasn’t sure. But I wasn’t going to ask for help, or advice. It was done. “Yes. If you could wait, it won’t take me long to get what I need. Ok?”

He nodded, and turned back to the front. The car pulled out, and we glided in the traffic. I leaned back, wanting to watch it all disappearing, and not. I closed my eyes.

And cursed my luggage.

Chapter 23

We drove along the streets. A light rain started to fall, and the traffic lights shone back from the wet tarmac. There was still a fair amount of traffic, and we waited at a couple of lights before we could make our way across Swiss Cottage roundabout and down over in the direction of Notting Hill. I felt strangely calm. Like I’d hit the edge and was surveying the damage. It reminded me of the time I’d broken my ankle, and everyone was running around, very solicitous, but I just lay there, wondering what all the excitement was about. It didn’t hurt then, not yet. But it hurt like a bitch a little while later, I thought. I shut my eyes again.

“Tariq?” I had decided talking was the best way to drown out my thoughts.

“Yes? Is anything wrong?” He sounded worried. I wondered what I sounded like to everybody. I couldn’t tell.

“No, thank you. Everything is fine. Just fine. You drive very well.”

“Thank you, Miss Lily. Of course, I have much practice. But London drivers, they are bad. The worst. They don’t look. Too many people now, too many people don’t take their test here. Very bad.”

So he was chatty. Good. “Yes, I’ve noticed it’s gotten worse here. I used to drive quite a bit when I lived…was here before.”

He nodded, but said nothing, as he overtook a bus that was apparently waiting for the police to show up. It happened. Someone got in a fight, or refused to pay and then refused to get off. But now the bus was in our way. And it was late. I felt extremely fortunate to be in a car, out of the rain, away from the fights.

“Tariq, are you married?”

He sounded startled, but answered, gamely. “Yes. Yes, ten years now. Good wife. She puts up with me.” He laughed.

I nodded. Of course. “Any kids?”

This time he rustled around on the seat next to him and came up with two pictures in a little red leather frame, embossed with gold. “Here miss. Two. One boy, one girl. She is very naughty.” He handed me the frame, and I looked at them. One dark haired boy, with smooth skin and clear eyes, staring right into the camera. He appeared to be about ten, with a very serious air. About to leave childhood behind. The little girl had her hair in two long braids and was frowning. She was very pretty, with delicate features, but the expression on her face gave the impression she didn’t like it when things did not go her way. She was probably only four, I thought. How can she do that? So soon?

I gave him back the photos. “They’re lovely. You’re very lucky.”

He laughed. “Sometimes, very hard work. But good, good to have family. You think of marrying? Your friend, he very handsome. Make him marry you.” He laughed again.

I had to laugh with him, even as his words twisted my insides. I couldn’t make Tristan do anything. I wasn’t even sure if I’d ever see him again. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him again.

After another few minutes, both of us with our own thoughts, he pulled in front of the hotel. I suddenly felt terrified. Embarrassed. Was I about to walk into a hotel lobby, the last to know, behind the staff, that Tristan had already gone upstairs with someone else? I wished I could just leave my luggage. Just run, like I’d wanted to do. Follow the initial impulse. But all my notes were there. My clothes. I was tempted to send someone up for them. But I couldn’t. I needed to do this myself.

“I won’t be long. Ok?”

“I will stay here if I can. Otherwise, you call me. I will be parking.”

I nodded and got out, straightening my shoulders and trying to look, once more, like I didn’t care. I walked up the stairs, and went in. It was quiet, aside from the sounds of conversation coming from the bar. I avoided looking to see who was in there. I leaned on the marble countertop. The icy coldness of the stone came as a shock. I dropped my arms by my sides, and tried to smile at the blonde woman, who had her hair pulled back severely. With the uniform, she looked like a dom. I wondered if she ever got any after hour work. I was tempted to ask, and book her for Tristan. On his bill.

My voice came out in a croak. “Could I have the key for suite three, please?”

“Your name?” She checked a list. Of course. The hotel needed to be careful. Probably for their protection too. Some drunk rock star starts announcing his room number at the bar, then regrets it, blames them. I gave her my name. She smiled. I hoped that was good.

“Yes, Ms. Mustang. Here is your key.” She looked somewhat confused. “Mr. Mustang authorized another party, they’ve already gone ahead. Would you like anything sent up?”

I swallowed. Ok. So that was that then. She was warning me. “Of course. No, not right now. Thank you.”

“We have room service available all night, should you need anything.” I thanked her. And wished there was a back door so I could sneak out, unheeded, with my suitcase and notes and slapped face.

I went upstairs. What I really wanted to do was to go back in time, to when I was in the tub, and Tristan was making it all better. When everything smelled good and felt soft. The silk on the towels. The soft blue water of the bath. His hands. No. Fuck it. This was no good. I needed my wits about me now. I was about to fight, though whether it was going to be against or for, I wasn’t certain.

I walked down the corridor, the white door coming closer and closer, almost as if it were advancing towards me, instead of the other way around. Did I just use the key? Knock? What was the protocol when you walked in on your lover and his ex-wife fucking? I made a mental note to write a modern-day book of etiquette and let my forehead drop softly on the door. Fuck.