Page 75 of Before You Say Goodbye

“Cold?” he asked her. Her teeth chattered in response. He put down his drink and started to take off his T-shirt.

“What are you doing, you crazy bastard?” She grabbed his hands to stop him. “It’s freezing out here.”

“It’s OK,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

He tried to lift his shirt over his head again, but she clutched it and pulled it back down, inadvertently brushing her hand against his groin as she did so. She saw a spark of excitement in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. He stared down at her with gentle curiosity and she wondered what had happened on her own face. She looked away.

“Let’s just smoke and go back inside,” she said. He nodded and relit the cigarette. She forced herself not to watch him. She had always enjoyed watching the way his lips moved when he exhaled. It felt more wrong tonight than ever before. He passed the cigarette to her and her insides responded reflexively to the way his fingers fluttered against hers. She raised it to her mouth and inhaled, allowing her eyes to glance up at him. He was watching her.

* * *

They finished their cigarette without saying another word and headed back to the lounge to get comfortable again on the sofa. In the early hours of the morning, Larry Ross called Marley to find out where they’d gotten to. He was worried something else had happened to Bowie.

“He’s not well,” Marley told him. “It was just too much for him.”

“That’s fair enough,” Larry said. “Well, you were missed.”

Marley scoffed. “By ‘you’ I suppose you mean Bowie. Nobody's missing me.”

“No, actually, I don’t just mean Bowie.” Larry sounded a little sheepish. “We missed you too, Marley.”

Marley was visibly surprised. He opened his mouth to say something, but Larry’s expression of compassion had rendered him speechless. Autumn nudged him. The gesture snapped him out of it.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be a stranger, OK?” Larry said. Marley frowned in confusion, watching Autumn as he spoke. Her heart broke for him in advance. He wanted to believe Larry’s words more than anything — she could tell by the way he was struggling to string a sentence together — but she herself knew enough now to realise this wasn’t as it seemed, and if she could tell and she barely knew Larry, then Marley almost certainly could, too.

“I know the performance was all some elaborate suicide-prevention plan,” he told Larry. “So, you can drop the act.”

Larry sighed. Autumn willed him to correct Marley’s scepticism, but he didn’t, and Autumn just knew Bowie, somehow, had put Larry up to this. He was still trying to give Marley hope for a future Marley didn’t want unless Bowie was by his side.

“Don’t worry.” Marley answered Larry’s silence. “I won’t tell him how shit an actor you are. He can go believing you’re the hero who helped save his brother. It might give him a little bit of peace.”

Larry was silent, and Autumn was glad. There was nothing he could say. Marley lingered a moment then hung up the phone. She shuffled closer to him and they stared at the television, silent and sad. Frantic, Autumn searched her mind for something to say, but everything sounded too serious or too dispassionate. She was just reaching the conclusion she should wait for him to say something when he spoke.

“Favourite song ever?”

“‘Summer of ’69’,” she said, with no hesitation.

“Nice,” he said. “A little clichéd.”

“What’s yours?” she asked.

“Too many to choose from. ‘You’re My Best Friend’ by Queen. ‘Moon River’ by Frank Sinatra. ‘Common People’ by Pulp. Our friends used to sing that at us when we were at university. The Verve. Oasis.”

“Those are bands, not songs.”

“Yeah, well. I like bands.”

“How long were you with your band?” Autumn asked him.

“Two years.”

He paused. The mood had suddenly and irrevocably shifted. It was the first time there’d been an uncomfortable break in their conversation.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

“They’ve replaced me,” he said. “Adam called yesterday to tell me.”

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