Page 77 of I Knew You Were Trouble

‘You got people there with you?’

‘I’m on my own, Patrick.’

‘Oh, I… I’m sorry to hear that. I just wanted to check in and, you know…’

I pinch the bridge of my nose. These conversations never get easier.

‘I see you booked a new project,’ he says. ‘That band everyone seems to like.’

‘They’re called Rebel Heart. Kind of massive in the music world.’

I don’t like the tone of voice that I’m using with him. Like I’m a stroppy teenager. I know it’s rude, but I can’t seem to empty my voice of any resentment.

‘I knew that. I did. How’s that going?’

‘Fine. It’s all fine.’

‘I saw that you’ll be in NYC in January.’

I swallow the lump in my throat. He’s checked the tour dates.

‘Wondered if I could maybe fly over,’ he continues. ‘You know how I love the Big Apple.’

‘You don’t have to do that. The tour goes to LA.’

‘But I could see you sooner if I came to New York.’

‘I won’t have a lot of time.’

‘I could shout you lunch one day? You could manage a lunch with your old dad, couldn’t you?’

I’m quiet for a moment. I don’t have an excuse. ‘Whatever.’

I wince, rubbing my forehead. I sound needlessly cruel. Over time, my indifference towards him has altered. The more he asks to see me, the more I pull away. It’s not a habit that’s easily broken, and I always envisaged that over time we would drift apart, and then the Christmas and birthday messages would stop coming.

They haven’t.

‘Why don’t I call you when I get to New York,’ I suggest.

‘I’d love that, Lexi. I’d love to see you, even for a few hours. I miss you, Pumpkin.’

Mid-morning on 31st December, I wait in the entrance hall of The Rabbit Warren, a quaint countryside hotel with racing green décor and furnishings, hand-sketched prints of rabbits and hares on the walls, together with other animals like pheasants and badgers. In the corner, a low fire crackles, warm air giving off hints of lavender. Beside me on the tartan carpet are my two Peli cases of kit, brought down from London in an Uber. Paige wore me down with her entreaties over WhatsApp to come and spend New Year’s at the McArthur family home. Whilst I eventually agreed to a visit, I insisted on booking myself into a hotel, rather than accept her offer of accommodation. Paige sent me the name of the nearest one to the pub.

Nerves tangle in my stomach. I haven’t asked if Aidan knows that I’m visiting. According to Paige, he won’t be around. Aidan and I haven’t exchanged messages since our time in Dubai. Christmas was lonely, but it isn’t the first time I’ve spent the festive season alone. There’s something satisfying about doing what I want, when I want, not having to answer to another living soul. I’d kept myself busy making mulled wine and snowman biscuits, reading and watching hours and hours of Christmas TV.

The little bell ringing above the entrance door brings me back into the room. Before I have time to react, the owner of the hotel – a dark-haired woman in her late fifties – has emerged from the room behind the check-in desk.

‘’Ello, my darling,’ she beams.

Paige McArthur bounces into the room and wraps the woman in an embrace. ‘Hey, Aunt Viv,’ she exclaims. She’s wearing workman’s jeans and a short, light green Parka, a cropped white T-shirt underneath showing off her flat stomach. I know she’s a dance instructor and runs a local studio. I get to my feet.

‘Hey, Lexi.’ She beams, and we share a light embrace.

‘Oh,’ her Aunt Viv bursts out. ‘I didn’t know this young lady was a friend of yours.’

‘I’m here to interview Paige for a documentary I’m working on,’ I inform her. ‘About Rebel Heart.’

Aunt Viv nods knowingly. ‘Well, you’ll never find Paige short of words when it comes to Aidey’s success. His biggest champion, right here. Takes good care of her brother.’

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