Grave Refrain: A Love/Ghost Story (45 page)

She threw her head back on her pillow in wretched frustration. She needed Andrew. He would know what to do, where to start. But most of all she just needed him. She felt thin and drawn to the breaking point, and something inside of her told her he did too.

She hesitated before the closet door wondering if what she was about to do was right. As she crept into the back of the closet, she promised herself she wouldn’t stay long, she would make sure he was sleeping and safe, and then she would return. Tomorrow they could figure out this mess. Tomorrow they would not leave each other’s side.

By now the passageway was well known territory to her. She closed her eyes and tried to hold the memories of those walls at bay, still so strong and potent in her mind, memories of their bodies, hot and entwined, of his hands—his perfect hands—powerful and wanting.

With a deep breath, she persevered until she reached the telltale bolts in the floor. Light flickered up from the slats; voices hushed but adamant joined them. Her heart sped up as she approached and squatted down on the floor to peer through the opening into Andrew’s bedroom.

“I know what I’m doing, Mum, I’ve always known.”

Andrew was pacing across the room, and what had to be his mother’s suitcase was open on the floor. She sat on the edge of his bed. They looked as though they had been talking for some time, as neither of them had changed out of their clothes.

“But Andrew, have you truly thought about this? It’s all happened so quickly. You saw this girl in a club, and now? Do you know anything about her?”

“I know everything I need to know about Emily.”

“But tonight—what that thing—what they said. Someone wants her dead, and when that man said she would die—”

“Do you honestly believe all that rubbish?”

Claudia didn’t answer right away. “I think the question is whether or not you believe it.”

Andrew’s gait hitched. He scrubbed the back of his neck with his hand and looked to the ceiling. Emily drew back into the darkness. “Nothing is going to happen to Emily. I would kill anyone who tried.”

“But, dear, really, listen to yourself. Always so dramatic, always ready to grab your sword and slay a dragon. Are you sure it’s not the resemblance? The fact that she looks so much like her, is that it?”

“Mum, it is real. Emily is real. Why don’t you believe me?”

“Oh, Andrew. I have supported you through everything. When the doctors said she was a figment of your imagination, I trusted you. I’ve never stopped supporting you. But for all the inspiration this muse has given you, she’s traumatized you so. I love you, and I don’t want to see you harmed again.”

Andrew walked to the other side of the room and slid down against the wall, his hands folded in his sides. “I love you too. Trust me—that is all I ask.”

“When you were a child, do you remember? When you were in the hospital? I wanted nothing more than for you to get well, and your father thought you would grow out of it, abandon this imaginary friend of yours. But I knew better. I understood. I knew there were things in this life that can’t be explained away, things that transcend the here and now, things that can change your life.” She paused and placed her hands on her knees. “But your obsession with her, it was so strong, so passionate, I have to admit it frightened me. The way you spoke of her like she was next to you, the notes you left in the margins of your compositions to her…Maybe I was a little bit jealous too.” She tried to smile but her worry eroded the effort.

“Then things seemed to improve. You were thriving and happy, and so alive. I stopped fretting, I thought you had found a place for her, ‘assimilated her into your psyche’ as the doctors used to say.” She glanced up at her son, her voice thick with emotion. “But after that last breakdown on stage…Simon and Christian were so worried. You just collapsed there. They thought you’d had a heart attack. And the doctors were adamant you needed help. They were convinced you would end up killing yourself, and yet you did nothing.
Nothing.
Simon told me all you would say over and over again was that you had lost her. That she had gone. Then you disappeared on that train. I was frantic, Andrew. You left without a word, and I didn’t hear from you for weeks.”

Emily’s heart was hammering uncontrollably in her chest at the sight. She had no idea of the intensity of Andrew’s feelings. His muse. A woman that lived in his mind, his heart; that’s who she was. Not Emily. His muse had left him, and it had destroyed him. For the first time she saw the ferocity of that passion, and it was beyond terrifying. Anguished images began to build: a man obsessed, fixated, mad. No, she struggled to remind herself, this was Andrew, her Andrew. Her sweet, playful Andrew.

“I didn’t know what to think,” Claudia went on. “One night I found your journals, the ones you left at home after university. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I read them. I thought they would help me understand. I didn’t realize how very real she was to you, and the way you described her in such detail…”

“You read them? All of them?”

“I was scared you’d become obsessed, Andrew. That this creature could control you so. And when I saw her tonight—the way she looked, the way she spoke—I didn’t know what to do. Are you certain, truly certain you haven’t transferred your fixation onto this poor girl? Taken all your hopes and dreams and convinced yourself that she is the one?”

“No.”

“Have you ever thought of what this means to her? To Emily? What happens if she doesn’t live up to your expectations? Do you really want to break her heart like that? When you realize that she is not her?”

The memory of Vandin’s words cut into Emily.
He will tell you all the sweet things you want to hear, all that rubbish about love, but it’s not you he is in love with. It’s an ideal he has in his mind, you know that. The more artistic, the worse they become. He will call you his muse and write all the music in the world to you. But it is not you. And in a little while, after he’s done fucking you, he will see your faults, see you for what you really are, and look for that muse of his somewhere else
.

“But she is!” Andrew cried. “Don’t you understand? She is, I know it. In my soul and in my bones. I’m not delusional. I’m not obsessed. I was meant to find her, and I did. God, Mum, can’t you understand what Emily means to me?”

“She doesn’t have an issue with your past, with the depth of your devotion, or with the fact that you’ve been institutionalized and were placed on medication?”

Andrew wrapped his arms tighter around his legs and looked away.

“She doesn’t know, does she? Oh, Andrew, if you can’t trust her with that, then how can you even expect her to deal with all the problems you’ll face together? Do you even know how she would react if you told her? What she would do?”

Andrew said nothing.

“Don’t you see, darling, you only love what you
think
she is.”

“No, I love her. Emily.”

“But you love your music and performing as well. Can she live with that? What is she going to do when you’re on the road? What kind of life is that for her? What are her dreams? Do you know? Would she sacrifice those to follow you from city to city?”

He hung his head.

“You were born to be a musician. It’s who you are. You know that, and there is no stopping it. I’m not saying that this Emily isn’t a lovely girl, but wouldn’t it be best to take some time, step back from this situation and see it for what it really is, and not attach yourself at such a young age? Allow yourself the space and freedom to achieve what you want?”

Andrew raised his head, slowly, deliberately. He regarded his mother a long time, his eyes flat. When he finally spoke his voice was lethally calm. “Is that what happened with Neil?”

Claudia’s stilled. “My relationship with Mr. St. John was a long time ago.”

“So you did have a thing with him.”

“It ended. I knew what he wanted, what his dreams were. We were very young, and I knew it could never work. I would have held him back.”

Andrew slid up the wall. Tension crackled from him, making the room thick in accusation.

“Why would you have held him back? You were brilliant and beautiful. What could possibly be so wrong with you that he would leave you?”

A silence so profound, so immense, froze the room. Claudia sat lifeless, white as a ghost. Andrew now stood facing her like he was facing a firing squad.

“Don’t lie to me, Mum. I read Father’s letters. Yeah. Surprised? It would seem we’ve all been reading things we shouldn’t.”

Claudia seemed to be holding her breath. Waiting. Teetering.

“When I was clearing out papers over Christmas, I found a stack of love letters he had written to you. I didn’t mean to read them, but I missed him. Never got a chance to say goodbye—I just wanted to see his handwriting, the scrawl of it. Smell the paper. I ran my fingers over it…”

Andrew paused and swallowed down the lump that lingered in his throat.

“There was a love letter he wrote to you about the first time he saw you. Do you remember? You had met at a lawn party of a mutual friend. He told you how beautiful you looked, how taken he was with you despite your surprise when you met him.

“He wrote of how you had run across the grass asking the host where St. John was, that you had heard he was at the party. And when the host introduced Father to you, your face dropped in a strange sense of desolation—that was the term he used. ‘A strange sense of desolation.’ He joked that ‘though I might have been a John of sorts, I was certainly no saint. It was a miracle that you even gave me the time of day, considering my hound dog visage.’”

He laughed bitterly to himself, his face studying the floor.

“It was only tonight that I realized something. Watching Neil walk away from the house, I finally put the pieces together. You weren’t disappointed in Father’s face, you were disappointed because Father wasn’t who you wanted. You wanted Neil St. John, but got John Hayes instead. He was the wrong John.”

Claudia’s face shattered.

“Did he know?”

Claudia said nothing, fighting to compose herself.

“Fuck, Mum. Did Father know about him? Answer me! Did Father know about Neil?”

“Yes. Yes! I was always honest with him. He didn’t care. And Lainey, he went on to achieve everything he’d ever wanted. It was all for the best.”

“How the hell can you sit there and make excuses for him? How could you sit there tonight and look at him like that? You never once, ever, looked at Father like that. Christ.”

“Andrew, sweetheart, you don’t understand—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly. I could do sums since I was three. My birthday, your anniversary. It wasn’t rocket science. You never cared, so why should I? But it wasn’t Father that did it, was it? After reading that letter I figured it was someone named St. John, but Neil? Neil fucking St. John? He knocked you up and then walked out. Abandoned you. Abandoned us. While he went off to achieve, you found some poor sod who adored you and you married him. You let that bastard off scot-free, and you faked it, faked it your whole life with the other poor bastard who loved you, worshiped you. Oh, I understand everything. Perfectly.”

“It wasn’t like that—you have to listen to me.”

“No wonder father despised it when I started a band. No wonder he wouldn’t talk to me anymore. What a bloody kick in the bollocks that must have been. His bastard son—just a chip off the old block.”

“No! Your father adored you. He never—”

“Were you even sure it was Neil? Or did you just fuck around? Is that how you paid your way through university?”

“Andrew!”

“How bloody ironic. I couldn’t possibly have turned out the way Father wanted. What must he have thought? The insane boy with his pathetic guitar. He was probably convinced I’d turn out just like Neil. Just one step up from street trash.” Andrew took another step closer to his mother, his eyes full of contempt. “Is that what this is all about, then? Is this what you’ve really been trying to tell me all along? That I’ll fuck up just like Neil did? That I’m just like him? That it isn’t in my nature to stick around?

“So what should I do? Give it all up? Leave Emily while I can? Maybe I should before I can ruin her. Before I make a liar and a whore out of her, just like that bastard did to you. Well—at least I didn’t fuck her. Does that make you happy?”

Claudia slapped him across the face. The sound was lurid. Andrew turned, frozen, his body ungodly still.

“I only wanted—” She whimpered and made a move to touch him.

He flinched back like she was poison. “Go to hell. I don’t care what you wanted. It was a lie. Everything was a bloody lie. I’m a bloody lie. I’m fucking out of here!”

He stormed from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Emily stood there in shock, glued to the spot, her pulse exploding in her head. Before she knew what she was doing, she was racing like a demon down the passageway. She hurled herself through her apartment and tore open the front door. Grabbing hold of the banister, she stopped dead, panting.

At the foot of the stairs Andrew stood trembling, his eyes burning red with tears, his jacket clenched in his fist. Their gazes riveted together, and Emily felt a panic like she’d never felt well up in her throat. He knew she had seen him. He knew why she was standing there.