Page 50 of Going Solo

ChapterTwenty

Someone turned the handle to the green room door. This time, I knew it was Cole. If my heart beat any louder or faster, birdwatchers would turn up looking for a woodpecker. The door swung open, and in walked Cole Kennedy. He’d changed his clothes since rehearsals. Expensive Air Jordans, torn black jeans, a black linen shirt with very few buttons done up to reveal the clipped hair of his chest, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattoos. He was taller than I remember, his body thicker. The deep pools of his chestnut eyes met mine.

“Hey,” he said. One syllable. His voice was deeper than it used to be, and soft and smooth as double cream. Something fluttered in my stomach. I felt sick.

“I’m sorry about the wait,” he said. “Rehearsals ran over. You should have come and watched. Did Fiona look after you?”

Like television’s bitterest prize girl, I waved my hand in the direction of a table filled with unopened drinks and snacks.

“Of course she has. She keeps this whole show on the road. Literally. I’d be lost without her.”

A beat of silence.

“It’s so good to see you,” Cole said, pulling me uninvited into one of those big, smothering, arms-like-an-octopus hugs. He smelt of cinnamon and sweat. I patted his back, reluctantly. Cole’s hair was damp against my cheek. He had managed a quick shower as well as a change of clothes. Great, so the smell of sweat was coming from me, not him. Cole finally released me and stood back.

“You look well, Toby. You look… amazing.”

So did he, if I was being truthful. Cole’s face had matured; his beard stubble was heavier. The boy was gone. The Cole who stood in front of me now was all man. But I still hated him, like I’d hated the boy who’d broken my heart.

“Thanks,” I said, coldly.

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

The long-lost-friends act was starting to do my nut. “You’re literally paying me to be here. And, not being funny, that is the only reason I’m stood here right now. One hundred per cent.”

I meant it to needle him, but Cole laughed. “Yeah, I know. That was Fiona’s idea. She inherited Mum’s cunning, and she’s ruthless with it.”

I’d been fit to erupt on him, but the mention of Orla dampened some of the fire inside me. Perhaps that’s exactly why he’d mentioned her? Maybe Cole had inherited some of the Kennedy cunning too? Nevertheless, I behaved.

“I was really sorry about your mum,” I said. “She was an amazing woman.”

“Thank you. It’s been five years, but we all miss her every single day. You didn’t come to the funeral. We thought you might show up.”

“Had the cops on standby, did you?” I felt guilty even as the words came out of my mouth. I hadn’t gone to Orla’s funeral because I didn’t want to be anywhere near Cole. “Mum went to represent the family,” I said, unable to meet his eyes.

Silence fell between us. I had no idea what to say next. I didn’t want to be here. Denzil had insisted on this meeting to “clear the air” before tomorrow’s live interview. Cole ran a hand through his hair, and it swished back into place.

“Hey, have you eaten?” he asked. “I’m starving. Do you wanna go and get some dinner?”

“As in, go out to a restaurant with you?”

“Can do, if you like.”

“You must be mental, mate.”

“Pardon?”

“I don’t want to be seen in public with you.”

Cole recoiled in what I took to be shock. “We could go back to mine, just the two of us,” he said. “Come on, we haven’t seen each other in years and?—”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” The words growled out of me like I was a cornered street dog. “The press has been having a field day with this for months. It’s been unbearable, mate. I’m inMake Me a Pop Starhell all over again. So no, I don’t want to be seen in public with you. It’s bad enough I’ve got to interview you in the bloody street tomorrow, with cameras everywhere. I certainly ain’t giving the paparazzi a free shot at humiliating me with ‘marriage material’ headlines by being seen in public with you tonight. And I definitely ain’t going back to your gaff, because I can’t bloody stand the sight of you!”

Could he have expected anything else? Cole perched on the edge of the table and folded his arms across his chest, looking crushed. I waited for him to speak. I was gagging for a fight, but he wasn’t saying anything, and you can’t have a duel if one bloke forgets to bring his pistol.

“I’m truly sorry,” Cole said. “I had no idea this would raise so many negative feelings for you.”

My eyebrows leapt so high off my forehead, the British Olympic pole-vaulting team would spend years studying the CCTV footage to work out how it was done.

---