Angel Dares (30 page)

Dang it all: I was rubbish at this not thinking malarkey.

Concentrate on your preparations. Great: Calm and Sensible Angel had made an appearance in my head after a long absence. I poured water into a beer glass and began the swirl and fountain mental exercises that focused my brain. I had just reached the high point—water roping around the glass like an eel—when there came a knock on the door.

‘Blast!’ Losing my grip, the water splashed over the dressing table, soaking the programme Margot had given me. ‘Come in!’

Hoping against hope it was Marcus—you are not thinking about him, Angel!—I was briefly disappointed to find his band mates, Michael and Pete, in the doorway.

‘Hey, how’s our favourite violinist?’ Michael asked.

‘All right, Angel?’ added Pete gruffly.

I wadded some tissues to soak up the worst of the water. ‘Hi, guys. How did it go?’

Pete grinned. ‘We were smokin’ hot.’

I laughed. ‘Good.’

Michael joined me in clearing up with a towel grabbed from the sink. ‘You didn’t listen?’

I looked away, not wanting to admit I had purposely avoided the chance to hear the first half of the concert. ‘I couldn’t sit still—too nervous.’

Michael threw the damp towel in the basin and gave me a one-armed hug, careful not to rumple my costume. ‘I can imagine. I threw up before our first time performing here.’

Pete winked at me. ‘And today is our first time at the O2.’

I felt bad: I’d forgotten they were relative newbies too. ‘Oh, Michael, you poor love. Do you want a mint?’

Michael shook his head. ‘I’m fine now. But if you are feeling sorry for me, how about a kiss better?’ He grinned and pointed to his lips.

I kissed his cheek and patted his shoulder. ‘There—all better now.’

Pete slapped him around the head.

Michael gave a put-upon sigh. ‘It was worth a try. Marcus hasn’t put up any “No trespassing” signs yet.’

‘Let’s leave her to finish getting ready,’ said Pete, tugging the back of Michael’s T-shirt. ‘We’ll be watching. Hope it goes really well.’

‘Thanks, Pete.’

Having shoved his friend out into the corridor, Pete hovered by the door.

‘What is it?’ I asked, catching sight of him in the mirror as I touched up my lip gloss.

‘Don’t I get one of those too?’ He pointed to his cheek with a twinkle in his eye.

I went up on tiptoe and kissed him.

‘Take no notice of Michael,’ Pete whispered. ‘Marcus has planted the signs but he just hasn’t owned up to it yet.’

‘Thanks, big guy.’

The two Black Belt band members headed off down the corridor to their dressing room. I told myself to be pleased that Marcus hadn’t come. That would just have messed with my head, wouldn’t it, and I needed to be clear thinking for this.

I glanced at the clock. Almost time. My song was to come near the end of the Gifted set at ten to ten if the concert was running to plan. I scrolled through my texts. Misty and Summer had both sent me good luck messages, as had every Benedict brother and their soulfinders except for Victor. He didn’t do that kind of thing. School friends had also texted—as had my parents. Eek—so many people I could let down. My fingers suddenly felt like sausages, too clumsy to find the strings.

Why wasn’t someone here to stop me getting all Angelish before I went on?

Angel: you’ll be fine
. Summer’s message reached me loud and clear. She was with Misty and Alex out front.

I’m panicking here.

Of course you are. I’d be worried if you weren’t.

How does that work?

Because
—that was Misty joining in—
you’d not be your normal self. And it is your normal self that panics then plays so well. Alex, tell her.

You’ll be amazing
. Alex was using a little touch of his persuasive gift to convince me.
You know what you’re doing and that’s all that is expected of you
.

I could feel myself purring under his touch like a cat being stroked. He is such a cool guy.

Thanks, everyone
.

And even if you do mess up
, added Misty briskly,
you’ll do it in such a loveable way that no one will mind.

But I don’t want to mess up!

Then you won’t
, said Alex. I could sense he had just elbowed Misty to stop giving me so much truth.

Just do your best, Angel
, said Summer.

I’ll try.
That was a promise I could make.

The stage manager tapped on the door.

‘Miss Campbell, are you ready?’

I gave her a sassy grin. ‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’

‘I like your shoes,’ she said as she walked me to the wings. ‘Where did you get them?’

I knew she was distracting me from my nerves but it worked. We chatted about the shoe stall in Camden Market for a bit then we were there. The noise as we went through the last door was incredible: Gifted were playing one of their most famous anthems, producing a tidal wave of sound that swept into the gut and took you bodily along with it.

‘Wow!’ I whispered but no one could hear me as the sound was deafening. The nice stage manager gave me a thumbs up. I returned the gesture.

‘Ready on my mark,’ she said, holding her earpiece to her right ear.

Kurt was now talking into the mic, saying something about a special treat for fans, a rising star going to be playing with them for the first time, so give it up, London, for Angel.

‘Go!’

The shove in my shoulder blades got me walking. Do not trip up. Do not do a Jennifer Lawrence at the Oscars, I told myself. I came on stage into a wash of warm applause. That was OK. I could do this. I smiled and waved, heading over to my spot at Kurt’s left hand. The performing area was huge: it felt a very long walk. Banks of lights blazed down on us, preventing me from seeing anything in the crowd apart from the raised phones with their lit screens filming the moment, a thousand fallen stars. Kurt gave me a kiss as I passed.

‘Brace yourself,’ he said in my ear.

Puzzled, I took up my stance, waiting for the introduction to the new song he had rehearsed. But he was leaving that script behind.

‘As you guys know, I have collaborated with various songwriters, but none have come anywhere as close to understanding me as my most recent partner. The new song we’re going to play was written with him and I’ve asked him to return to the stage to sing with us. Please, give a big London welcome to Marcus Cohen!’ Sweeping his hand to the opposite side I had come from, Kurt gave me a wicked smile. Behind me, Marcus stepped out into the lights. The applause went up a few notches. I turned slowly.

Do not embarrass yourselves, I told all my inner Angels: the Lovelorn, the Angry, the Calm and Professional, the Impulsive. Especially the Impulsive.

Marcus was carrying his guitar. He was wearing the same clothes he had worn on the beach: faded jeans and same blue T-shirt under an open shirt. Was this a signal to me? A reminder of when things had been on track?

He crossed to me and brushed my arm. Bending to my ear, he said. ‘I would have worn the tutu but Kurt said you’d never forgive me.’

So he remembered his vow: that he’d wear one if Kurt ever spoke to him telepathically?

I cleared my throat. ‘Good call.’

Passing in front of Kurt with a grin, Marcus took up position at the central mic. ‘The new song you’re going to hear is called “Stay Away, Come Closer”, and it’s dedicated to a very special girl.’ He turned to me. ‘She’s standing right there.’

The crowd whistled and stamped. I could feel tears pricking my eyes but told them to go away until I could howl in private.

Brian took up the intro and then the music wove its spell. I didn’t have to shout at my conflicted inner selves; the melody made me enter a space where I was whole. It was the place Marcus took me to with his power, where I could be more of a musician than I ever could on my own. Three verses passed and it was time for my solo. I lifted Freddie to my chin and relaxed. I forgot I was on stage, that I had an audience of thousands, even that I was in the O2; all there was for me was Marcus’s steady blue gaze holding me with him in the web of notes. I put into my part all the regret for my hastiness, my sadness that we’d hurt each other, the distance between us that I’d been unable to bridge. The violin said it all far better than I could and I knew that Marcus understood from the tiny smile he gave me at the end.

He returned to the mic for the final verse, but the words had changed from when I first heard it.

Don’t stay away, ’cos I’m closing in.

Just can’t fight you.

He turned to face me. My head was spinning: this was his declaration, his apology! And my reticent Marcus had chosen to do it in front of thousands.

You know it’s said that fools rush in

Where angels fear to tread.

Then I’m a fool;

Angel, I’m your fool.

Blue eyes locked with mine, filled with hope and fear—hope that I’d forgive him, fear that I’d give him the biggest, most public rejection of his life. Freddie dangled at my side in nerveless fingers as the song ended, the words rolling through me. Kurt plucked my poor violin from my grip as Marcus took off his guitar. He leant to the mic.

‘Excuse me guys: there’s something I’ve got to do.’ Not waiting for a sign from me, Marcus closed the gap between us and gathered me up in his arms for a kiss. Bending me back over his arm, the kiss went on and on, encouraged by the cheers and whistles of the crowd. Of course, I’d forgive him. I’d choose hope over hostility any day. Then the chant ‘encore, encore!’ struck up in the huge inverted bowl of an arena. It was Kurt who answered the cry.

‘Sorry, guys, but Marcus will be otherwise occupied. You’ll have to put up with us playing our final number.’

Taking that as permission, Marcus swept me up into his arms and strode offstage with me. This produced the biggest cheer yet.

I pressed my ear to his chest, listening out for his heartbeat.

‘Do you want me to put you down?’

‘Never.’

‘An attractive if somewhat impractical plan.’ He kicked open a fire door and strode out onto a balcony overlooking the Thames. He set me down on the plinth but didn’t remove his arms. We just stood together watching the dark waters unroll beneath us for a few magical moments.

‘I can’t believe you just did that,’ I admitted.

He gave a self-mocking laugh. ‘Neither can I. Did you like it?’

‘I loved it.’

‘And have you decided to forgive me for being an idiot?’

‘I don’t bear grudges—it’s just not something I’m good at.’

‘That’s a relief.’ He kissed the tip of my ear. ‘I didn’t get a chance to explain. I didn’t ask Barry to test you. I told him he was wasting his time, but I handled that all wrong. I should’ve stopped him before he opened his mouth but I couldn’t interrupt the meeting in case you thought I was behind your success—asking him to see you as a favour.’

‘Oh.’ I’d accused him of not trusting me when in fact I had been the one rushing to judge him. Didn’t that make me feel about a centimetre tall? ‘Then I guess I owe you an apology.’

He had worked his way down to my neck. ‘I can think of all sorts of ways you can show me how sorry you are, starting with this.’ He put his lips to mine, waiting for me to initiate a kiss. I did so.

‘I’m sorry.’ I kissed him again—and again. ‘Just piling up some useful forgiveness tokens as I’m going to need them.’ I turned to lay my head against his chest again. ‘I’m sorry I’m impossible to live with.’

He smoothed my hair away from my cheek. ‘That makes two of us. I get all moody when I’m writing.’

‘So I suppose we’re doing the world a favour taking two such difficult people out of the dating pool?’

‘I’d say so. And Angel, I have every confidence you’ll learn how to handle me—and me you.’

‘You do?’

‘Yes, because I’ve finally figured it out. We’ve got something major in our favour. Not the soulfinder thing—though that’s a bonus—but the fact that I’ve fallen in love with you.’

I frowned. I couldn’t believe anyone would—not a boyfriend. I was too much for most people to handle. ‘You sure?’

His shoulders shook as he laughed. ‘You’re not supposed to say that. Yes, I love you. I think I did the moment I saw you dancing on the table making everyone have a good time. The colours are brighter when you’re by my side, the laughter more infectious, the fleeting moments of perfection more poignant. Life is just
more
.’

I sighed. ‘What wonderful words. They could be a song.’

‘Maybe they will be.’ He waited, stroking my arm. I knew what he wanted but I was trying not to give in to my tendency to rush things, savouring his words. ‘Angel?’

I wouldn’t make him wait too long. ‘Marcus Cohen, you are gorgeous—both on the inside and out—but as a wise man once tried to tell me, it really is the inner kind that matters. You are thoughtful and generous, caring of others, and incredibly talented. When you sing I feel you’ve climbed inside my heart and found all the keys to my soul, opening every corner, every pathway. And I love you, too.’ He went still, chin pressed tenderly to the top of my head. ‘I’m sorry I rushed you into this far too quickly at Rockport. I’m an idiot as I caused us both hurt, but I’m not sorry—not for a millisecond—that you’re my soulfinder. In fact, I’m very, very … ’ I grinned up at him then turned back to the river.
Jump
, I commanded it. A ribbon of water coiled and span into a circle, sparkling with white lights. Another smaller ball briefly taking the shape of a cow flew over it, landing with a splash that sounded just a little like a moo. ‘Over the moon.’

Then Marcus roared with laughter. Holding me to him, he shook with it, interspersing fits with kisses and hugs. I’d never seen him give way to his sense of humour before as he’d always held something back. He had tears running down his face by the time he had caught his breath.

‘You are one in a million, Angel. No, I’m wrong: one in seven billion and I’m the luckiest guy alive as I get to keep you.’ He kissed my fingers. ‘First thing into the fire when I get home tonight: the words to “Demon Angel”. I couldn’t have been more wrong.’