Twinned (17 page)

Beth

"This is Marti," says Joel.

The weasley-looking man I now know as Marti eyes me suspiciously as we shake hands. He speaks first.

"So you're our pet journalist for the week. You're looking better than last time I saw you...” He smirks, tapping his hand absentmindedly against a speaker.

I wonder why his teeth are stained. I thought everyone in America had whitened smiles?
Why wouldn’t you whiten them,
I wonder. He can’t be short of a few bob.

"Are you fully recovered? Our Joel's been looking after you, has he?" He grins widely. I nod. I feel very uncomfortable around this man. Joel pulls me to one side, out of Marti’s earshot.

"Two choices," he whispers. "We either stick with the band this evening and they try to creep you out like Marti’s doing right now, or we go someplace else."

"Well it's tempting to run off but if we do that it will look rather suspicious..."

"Uh-huh." His lips purse. His forehead wrinkles again. I notice some tiny freckles peppering the bridge of his nose. I like them very much.

"How about you go out with the band tonight, while I pop home? Then I can get some stuff sorted out and you can keep up appearances. I can meet you later at the hotel." I suggest.

Marti muscles back in on us and interrupts. "We're heading to the hotel now; the coach is out front mate. You newlyweds joining us?" He looks from Joel to me with a raised eyebrow and a wink.

"Beth has something to do already this evening," says Joel, ignoring Marti’s teasing. He looks at me. "You'll need to come back to check in though?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry to have to bail on you both but I have plans with my husband," I emphasise the word while smiling like butter wouldn't melt. I’m glad I left my wedding ring on.

"Bring him with you," challenges Marti. "We love to have fresh blood!"

Eeek. Time to bluff.

"Maybe. Thanks, that's very kind, Marti."

"Well come on then, the coach is waiting - 'Cinderella' - and our handsome prince of course..." And with that, Marti slinks off ahead of us.

Joel looks embarrassed. "Sorry about that, Beth. He is a despicable, heinous excuse for a man." He laughs. "Doesn't have a wife, obviously!" He exclaims, "Who'd have him?"

Figures, I think. No Marti doesn't have a wife.

But Joel does. Thanks for reminding me.

The guilt is there, I feel it below the surface and it starts to burn. How did I become 'the other woman'?

Joel

For some reason the bus driver has parked quite a way down the road. We walk purposefully, our heads down. The tourists turn to stare, a couple of people yell out but hey, we ain't the Beatles. It's like they don't know whether to get truly excited about anyone with only half a decade’s pedigree. They came here to worship musical Gods. We are just flesh and blood pretenders to their crowns; a diverting sideshow.

As we board the coach, my hand brushes against Beth's and I feel her blush start to rise as my heart skips. We quite deliberately don't sit together. There is an aisle, a row and some empty seats between us. I can still hear her thoughts. She is worried about going home and feeling very out of place being here with the band - and out in public with me.

I steal a glance at her as I relax my body into the crazy patterned velvet covered seat. I am really very tired. The musical director worked us hard today; it's not just my voice that's sore. In terms of energy; it takes a lot out of me, I want to get it
right
.

Our super skinny 'band bitch' Nina strolls down the coach handing out drinks from the cooler. The engine shudders into life and the coach lifts a little at the front as the doors close, throwing Nina off balance as she reaches across to hand me a bottle of Coke. She almost lands in my lap which makes us both laugh. I help her stand back up and take the Coke from her hand. I feel Beth bristle with jealousy, which surprises me. Then there's a sense of embarrassment from her which is kind of sweet. I smile.

Nina steadies herself as the coach pulls away and she carries on down the aisle, almost missing out Beth before reconsidering and handing her a bottle too. Beth holds it in her hands but she doesn’t drink. She’s worried she will spill it down herself. I find that endearing.

The noise of the engine masks most of the 'band talk' going on behind me but their tone makes me think we may be the subject of gossip. Given the inexplicable way I’ve behaved since the accident, I can't blame them for being curious.

I check my cell. There are no messages but my eyes rest on the photo on the screen of Georgia and Harry.

The bus lurches straight out into the road, challenging the tightly packed London traffic makes room for it. Horns sound. The driver holds his nerve to create a ten meter gap where before there was none. Then we sit for what seems like an age, watching the tourists line up to cross Abbey Road. At first it's comical to see them, synchronizing the positions of their bodies before striding out together onto the crossing. It becomes a little tiresome as the minutes tick by though. It's hot on this coach.

Inch by inch, we pass. I look out of the window. We speed up. There are some beautiful big houses, a few have sale boards out front - I wonder how much they sell for.

We turn left past a restaurant called Poetry. I see a health food cafe, a hairdressers. We turn right past an impressive looking building. A sign informs me it is the 'Islamic Centre of England'. The feel of the area changes. Dorothy, we're not in St John's Wood any more. This could be downtown LA or New York, it's far more cosmopolitan.

The coach stops and everyone goes to get up but Nina strides ahead and shouts that we are to stay on board until the bags are checked in and the rooms are ready. I’m eager. I realise I’ve stood up a little prematurely and make a show of stretching my legs. Beth looks a bit shy, surrounded by people she's only seen before on stage or on TV. The band has largely ignored her so far but every now and then I catch them glance from me to her and back again. She looks lonely. I sit down next to her.

"You have people who queue for you?" Beth's tone is pleasantly mocking.

"I used to do these things myself," I explain, "but now... we can be signing autographs then we draw a crowd and pretty soon we have to move hotel because the paparazzi have cottoned on to where we're staying. They'll impersonate staff; porters, delivery people, it is crazy."

“Do you book in under a pseudonym every time?”

“Yep”.

“Who are you today?”

“I don’t even know. Last time it was Marlon Barlow. I kind of liked the way the words rolled around my mouth.”

She smiles. I imagine her fingers touching my lips; how I would kiss them. I see from her face that she saw that picture, from my mind to hers. It’s great to be connected like this. Very soothing.

"Time to go boys, "shouts Marti from the front. “And girl!” He adds for effect.

As we exit the coach we are each handed our room keys. Nina leads the way to the lifts. I see I have the Connolly Suite. "Joel, you're on the top floor," says Nina. She looks at Beth, "Sorry, we had to get you whatever we could at late notice. The lifts to the standard rooms are that way.” Her tone is dismissive.

I pull Beth to one side in the foyer, "I can come with you, to your house, if you like?"

She shakes her head. "I have to go alone," she says. "It's sweet of you, really but it's already such a mess..." She feels sad, of course she does. I mustn’t forget this is the end of her marriage. It’s a big deal. I shudder at the thought that my marriage can be so frail. So quick to break.

"We'll be at the Luminaire tonight. I'll leave a guest pass for you on the door," I say. "In case you want to join us there."

She nods. "I'll see how it goes." She brushes her hair from her eyes, her body language is confident but I can feel her nerves. She checks her room card. "I'm in 319," she adds. "If you need anything..."

"319. Got it." I say.

Nina is holding the lift with an impatient tut waiting on her lips. I step in. I daren't look back.

Beth

Well
I don't have a car anymore, I think, as I put my bag down on the bed. Will I even have a husband when this is over? The room is well appointed. Clean. I'll bet it’s not a patch on Joel’s suite. I wonder what that looks like. I wonder if I will find out.

I lie back onto the bed and close my eyes. I see him putting the card into the door slot. Turning the handle.

WOW. That is a suite and a half. He strides forwards and my eyes take in the fresh flowers, floor to ceiling windows, a truly inspiring view of the City of London.

I feel his heart beating and it calms mine. I let the feel of him wash over me for a few minutes. It's warm and safe in his heart. Tears start to well up in my eyes.

This can’t end well.

I get up, try to shake it off. I check out my bathroom. I wash my face. I go to the loo, trying not to think of him in case he reciprocates. Sometimes it would be cool to be able to turn this ability off, or at least pause it to take a poo in peace, I think.

Shit, he is giggling at my bathroom worries in his head. In my head.

I stand and flush. I wash my hands. My wedding ring shines from the soap. Yep, it's still there. It has a couple of small scratches already. No longer perfect.

So, how am I going to get to my house? I don't actually want to go alone. I just know that taking Joel would've made it a whole lot harder. Apart from any other more serious considerations, I don't want him to see my house. I'm embarrassed and I don't know what I will find there.

I go down to the front desk and ask the concierge where the nearest tube station is. I can feel Joel in my head telling me to get a cab and he will pay but I am feeling defiant. I need to be strong.

The concierge directs me to Kilburn Park tube station.

The sun is going down now, the air has cooled and the five minute walk is a bit of an eye-opener. I get chills as I pass a dilapidated wooden chapel which wouldn't look out of place in a Freddy Krueger film. There are some seriously dodgy looking people hanging about. I remind myself that I shouldn’t judge
but as I am doing that I see one of the hoodies kicking his dog. We learn to judge from experience, I suppose.

I get the tube via Oxford Circus to Victoria and then the Southeastern service towards home. Sitting in the carriage, staring out at a darkening blur of trees seen through my own reflection, I run through the events of the last few days. My mind is full of thoughts, feelings and emotions. There is guilt, too, which I try to ignore.

From a work point of view, I just don't think I will ever be able to write about 'A Town Full of Heroes'. Well not in the way that Marcus wants, anyway. I am too close.

In terms of my marriage… Well I have a lot to sort out.

And Joel... well as beautiful as I'd like to think this current situation is - what with it being my dream - I know it's not 'real'. Joel will leave me broken when he goes back to her. Broken and broke, no car, probably no job and no husband.

A fat tear evidences my distress. I brush it away, ashamed. I tip my head back and sniff to encourage any tears that wished to follow it to beat a hasty retreat. I have no desire to crumble.

A fellow passenger glances my way. She is listening to music on her ipod and I can hear the pulse of the beat. It sounds like The Script, ‘The Man Who Can’t be Moved’. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.

I wish I had my iP
od.
Oooh
- Joel sings a line in my head. I wonder if that was him, or me imagining him?

Oh, it was him. I feel a 'mental hug'. He is getting ready to go out. I smell his gorgeous aftershave. He has showered; I get that clean, warm sensation of skin sliding into fresh cotton clothes. Yummy.

"The next station is Borough Green." I rise from my seat, grab my bag and wait by the exit. The train pulls in. The platform is to my right. I press the green exit button, the doors open and I step down onto the concrete.

I see people waiting on the platform opposite, craning their necks, a train is about to arrive. I can’t see it yet though. I straighten my coat and re-settle the strap of my bag on my shoulder. As I walk to the exit, there is an announcement, “The train now arriving at platform...” The announcer doesn’t get the chance to finish before an entirely foreign desire surges over me without warning - a tidal wave - a shocking, exhilarated urge to leap onto the tracks, to throw myself under the approaching train. It takes me quite by surprise, I have to catch my breath and steady myself against the wall.

I am breathing heavily. Almost immediately I feel revulsion at what I just thought. Oh my God. I steady myself as the train pulls in. Would I have done it, I wonder? I imagine how the rush of air would hit me first as the train's horn blared and then –

Uurgh.

The moment passes. The people board the train. I release my grip on the wall. My hands are cold.

It's a ten minute walk home. It starts to rain.