Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play (25 page)

This is something new: the personal touch?

“
So, what has that to do with you, you
ask? In actual fact, quite a lot. Believe it or not, our destinies are
inextricably connected: every time you listen to music, watch a movie, make a
call, email, tweet or text, our worlds are colliding.”

Colliding? I could be mistaken, but is he
actually talking about us?

“My world is nothing without you. In fact,
it is you who give it meaning.”

Is the ‘you’ in this speech, me?

“This has been a hard lesson for me to
learn. So I’m letting you in on a secret; pretending to be someone you’re not
is a worthless exercise. It has taken me some time to decide what I want, where
my future lies and to be prepared to give everything I have to find
professional and personal fulfilment. Now, it’s your turn. Here, tonight we
stand on the threshold of greatness; but greatness does not come from running
away or seeing complications as insurmountable obstacles, it comes from here,
from inside. It’s what makes you the person you are. You want more. You deserve
more.  Each and every one of you has it within you to decide your fate… only
you know what is right for you.

My God! This is a full blown apology.

“So learn from me. Be bold, take a chance,
but never give up. If you have a dream, tell someone about it, someone who will
listen; someone who sees in you what you dare not see in yourself, but make it
happen. You have the power to change the world, one day at a time. Thank you
for listening and good luck to you all, in everything you
do.”

There is applause and he appears grateful,
but he’s not hearing it. His mind is elsewhere. Only I know the depth of
meaning in each and every, over-rehearsed word. He’s just bared his soul to me:
do I really have the power to change the world, to change
his
world?

I return to my classroom and switch on my
mobile. I have five unread voicemails, four from last night and one from this
morning. I listen to them in the order they were sent:

10.15 pm:

I’m sorry Beth. Please forgive me ... I’m
such a fucking arse hole! Please call me.

10.30pm:

I got your message. Good song choice ...
Jar of hearts!

He is annoyed but I think more with
himself than with me.”

Please don’t end it like this. I
need
to talk to you, to explain.”

12.30pm:

I’m out of my mind thinking about you
Beth, answer your phone. I need to explain, please …

I hear his tired appeal and I’m saddened
to think of him in so much pain, pleading.

Listen to the song I’ve emailed to you.
I’m not good at this, but just listen.

‘No-one else could love you, half as much
as I do now ...’
Those
words stay with me.

5.30am:

I can’t sleep ... I miss you baby. Like
your song said, I know you’re hurting and you have no idea how much I hate
myself for being the one to make you feel that way.

There’s a bottomless sigh.

For what it’s worth,  sent you another
song. It’s not one I save for occasions like this because there’s never been an
occasion like this - so don’t go thinking that. It’s for you, every word.”

I recall the song,
“Please give me
another chance …”
I sniff back tears, wishing I’d been brave enough to
answer my phone last night. But what if I had? Would he have gone all out to
profess his love for me? This has been our moment of truth: no more games.

10.00am

I can’t do this. You have to let me
apologise. We have to work this out ... I feel like shit. I’m such a fucking
bastard. Beth ... I’m sorry. I’ve given it my best shot, I can’t find any more
songs. I’m all out.

He sounds so despondent and I have to
swallow deeply to contain my sobs.
“And the reason is you ...
”
He
saved the best for last.

With each voicemail, the depth of his
regret and need for forgiveness becomes more tangible. I should have listened
to them earlier, the fact I didn’t has made it necessary for him to deliver his
apology to a packed theatre full of strangers, still keeping every word
relevant to them and to me. I hurt inside and it’s not because of my own
suffering but out of compassion for him.

In spite of the womanising, the mock
courtship and the lies, he is my wish come to life. He’s the one I have been
waiting for and the thought of ending what we have, even before it’s begun, is
unimaginable.

I shut everything down and make my way to
the refectory where parents and guests are being served refreshments. That’s
where he’ll be.

Before entering, I brush back my unruly
hair, straighten my skirt and project ordinariness. Within a minute of mingling
with students and parents, I feel his eyes on me; he’s watching my every move.
It’s like a sixth sense. We are connected. It’s not just sexual chemistry it’s
emotional and, when he touches me, that connection become visceral.

I position myself next to him so I don’t
have to look into those watery pools of cerulean light; his face is full of
anguish and if I allow myself to look upon it, I will cry.

For once he holds off on the clever
repartee, but simply holds my left hand behind my back with his right hand, out
of sight; he’s being discreet or holding me fast, I’m not sure which.

“I listened to your speech.”

“You were meant to. It was all about us.”
His grip tightens on my fingers.

“I don’t know what to say Ayden. I don’t
have the energy to argue with you.” I glance around the room, there are
congratulatory pats on backs and proud smiles, no-one would guess for a minute we
are hand in hand.

“I’ve not come here to argue.”

I sense his eyes upon me, burning through
my cheek bones all the way to my tormented soul.

“You look beautiful in your disguise. But
I
see
you Beth. I see you now for who you are. I fucked up. I said I
would. I don’t know any better. I’m sorry. Please look at me. It cuts me to the
bone, thinking you can’t even bear to look at me.” I feel an anguished squeeze.

“I can’t Ayden, I have to work here and
standing sobbing will do nothing for my reputation.” I try to smile, but
nothing happens. For some reason, facial muscles don’t respond to signals
originating in my brain: I can’t manufacture a smile out of misery.

Ayden seems suddenly animated. “But
haven’t you seen the photographs of us. They’re everywhere: magazines,
newspapers on the Internet. You and me together - the word’s out. You’ve never
looked lovelier and I’ve never looked happier.”

I try to release my hand, but he won’t let
me go.

“I can’t do this anymore without you.”

I’m not hearing anything. All I’m thinking
is
photographs
of me out in the public domain? The thought fills me with
dread. “What photographs?” I turn to face him squarely. “What fucking
photographs?” It’s no more than an undignified hiss expelled through clenched
teeth.

“The ones of us in Hyde Park and then last
night at the book launch. You look stunning Beth.” His face cracks into a proud
smile.

I shake free of his hand. “I have to go
Ayden.”

Gripped by the thought I’m walking away
from him, he grabs me by the shoulders. God knows what we must look like.

“Go where? Go where Beth?” There’s a kind
of controlled panic in his voice.

“I want to go home right now. Is Lester
outside?”

He nods.

“Tell him to start the car. I’ll be out
front in two minutes.”

“I don’t get it, what the fuck’s going
on?” He grips me by the shoulders tighter, prompting me to answer.

“I can’t tell you here. I’ll meet you in
the front car park. Just say your good byes and go!” With that I twist away and
run to get my laptop, coat and bag. I can see my world falling apart and losing
Ayden isn’t the half of it.

Two minutes later, I dive into the car and
Ayden is already there waiting.

“Miss Parker’s apartment.”

 “Yes Mr. Stone.” The car eases out
through the school gates.

I throw my glasses in my bag, roughly pull
my hair loose from the clip and shake it free in the hope these straightforward
acts of reveal will ease my anxiety somehow.

“So are you going to tell me what the
hell’s going on?”

I want to tell him but I struggle to find
the words: where to begin? “I can’t, not at the moment.”

“I know we’ve got a lot to talk about but
this is something else, isn’t it?” He places his left hand on my face and I
lean into it. God! How I’ve missed his touch. I close my eyes and I’m falling,
safe in the knowledge he’ll catch me.

“Tell me Beth, what’s got you so upset?”

I look down. “I didn’t tell you the entire
story, you know about the night when I was attacked at uni?”

He nods and lifts my chin so he can watch
how the words form and leave my mouth.

“After the incident, the guy, he started
to stalk me. I don’t know, but I just got this feeling he was watching me and,
I even thought someone was getting into our apartment - things went missing or
were moved. I thought I was going crazy.”

He strokes my hair softly, thoughtful and
patient. “Go on.”

“It got so bad I couldn’t face going out
or going home at night, I expected him to be there, you know, waiting for me.
So that’s when Charlie and I changed our names. Back then, I was called Francis
Parker. She was known as Charlotte Miller and changed it to Charlie, said it
would help her career if people thought she was a guy.” I force a smile.
“That’s why I’ve tried so hard to remain anonymous. So, when the press tried to
take our photos last night, I turned away.” My thumb nail hits my teeth. “What
if he recognises my face and comes after me?”

“He won’t baby, you’ll be fine. It’s just
a couple of lousy photos. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“But what if ...”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you Beth.” He
instinctively pulls me close and wraps his arms around me, sensing my need for protection:
I take refuge in his warm embrace. I feel safe here, this is where I belong.

As we are approaching my apartment Ayden
spots half a dozen or so press photographers outside the security door,
mingling around in the cool night air. “Stop and reverse out, Lester. Just
drive for half an hour and then we’ll come back.”

“Yes Mr. Stone.” With the skill of a
racing car driver, Lester reverses the car back down the street and we speed
off in the opposite direction.

Ayden takes out his phone, scrolls down
his contacts and makes a call. “Bridgette, Ayden Stone. Yes, yes Good evening.
I want you to set up a decoy for me. Yes. The press are hounding me again and I
need some privacy, set something up.” He listens. “Yes, make it good. Yeah,
that’ll do, The Ivy, down on one knee. That should do the trick. Put it out
there. Thanks.”

“Who’s getting engaged?” I ask curiously,
lifting my head to watch him explain.

“I am,” he sniggers and pulls me to him.

***

When we arrive back at my apartment, the
coast is clear. The decoy was successfully deployed. I can’t wait to get
inside. I’ve felt cold all day but now I’m shaking with an icy chill, dreading
what the future might bring.

I attempt to pour out two glasses of wine
but my hands are trembling and Ayden urges me to sit down.

“I’ve got to make some calls. I’ll set up
round the clock protection and have someone come take a look at the security in
this place. Are you ok?”

I nod and wrap my hands around the wine
glass, its contents are warming me from the inside. I can’t catch every word,
but there’s something about “24/7 and shifts ... locksmith, alarm…” I feel much
safer knowing he has everything under control.

Out of nowhere the doorbell rings and
keeps ringing. I place down my glass and look to Ayden who comes bounding into
the lounge. “Who the fuck’s that?”

“I don’t know Ayden but be careful.”

Off he strides with me trotting behind.
“Don’t worry about me Beth, I’ve been fitness boxing since I was thirteen, I
can handle myself.” He opens the door and I can hear raised voices. Charlie?

In blows the whirlwind in one almighty
gust. “Oh Beth, I just got home and started looking through today’s newspaper
and I saw you there, with
him
.” She gives
‘him’
the kind of stare
that would dissolve lesser men. “You were in Hyde Park, picnicing?”

I find her tone amusing. “Charlie, this is
Ayden,” I look from one to the other, assuming they’ll shake hands, but Charlie
is in no mood to make his acquaintance.