Page 150 of The Last Love Song
‘Brad’s company.’
‘Our company – and I don’t want to see my work go to waste.’
Con nodded. ‘I understand that. The trouble is, I really couldn’t give a bugger about money. So you suing doesn’tbother me. You can have it, have the lot. I was thinking I was better off without it anyway.’
‘It’s so easy to say that when youhavegot it. Just remember those days when you were first in London, struggling to keep a roof over your head.’
‘At least I was happy. Sorcha and I were happy.’ Con’s eyes hardened. ‘I don’t feel I owe you any favours any more. You go ahead and sue if you like. I’ll do whatever I wish. And I want out. Now.’
‘All right, Con. And this is the last time I’ll offer. If you keep your mouth shut for the next few months, in the spring Metropolitan will offer you a solo contract with the kind of money you could not refuse.’
‘Did you not hear what I was just saying, Helen?’ He stared at her in amazement. ‘I’ve just told you that I’m not interested in money. And if you were the last record company on earth, I wouldn’t sign a new deal with you. Do you hear?’
‘Perfectly.’
Helen picked up her briefcase. She had one last trick up her sleeve.
‘But there is the question of the single. We must release a new track before Christmas. If I can’t persuade you and Todd to write and record a song, then I shall release the song that Derek’s written. “Peggy” will go out under The Fishermen’s name.’ She looked at him for a while. ‘You’d better let me know what you want to do about that.’
Con gazed at her in horror as she walked to the door.
‘You wouldn’t do it, Helen.’
She turned and shrugged. ‘It seems you’ve left me with no alternative. Goodbye, Con.’
He sat still and silent as he heard the front door shut behind her, then the sound of her car starting.
Con strode across the heath, his head down. His throat felt constricted, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. He realised he wanted to cry, something he’d rarely felt since he was a small boy.
Con sat on a bench, leant forward and put his head in his hands. After a few minutes, he began to feel calmer. The peace and space of the heath was soothing.
He looked up. The sky was blue with small powder-puff clouds drifting across the horizon.
‘Jesus, it’s all such a mess,’ he sighed.
He loved Sorcha, but he’d screwed up his marriage well and truly. His glittering career was running off the rails. To top it all off, some lunatic was sending him death threats and he felt as though he didn’t have a friend in the world.
Not that he deserved friends. He’d behaved like a complete arsehole these past few months, alienating almost everyone around him.
Con stared into space. He didn’t know what the answers were. Maybe he should meet with Sorcha, apologise, and see if she would forgive him and come home.
As for the band – he couldn’t see a way back from where they were. He didn’t give a damn that Helen might sue him, but he did care that The Fishermen’s last single would go down in history as an insipid, badly written love song.
Helen McCarthy was clever, he’d give her that. The one thing that would get him into the studio for the last time was his artistic pride.
Con thought of the tune that had been buzzing in the back of his mind for the past few days. ‘Losing you, after all these years of loving you...’ he sang. It was a long time since he’d felt the need to write a romantic ballad.
Con stood up. He wanted to write it for Sorcha. He’d go home and work on the song while he had the urge. If it turnedout to be as strong as he felt, then he might call Helen and suggest he record it as their Christmas single.
After that...he didn’t know. Maybe he should get the hell out of England, go away for a while.
Con stood up and walked towards his house.
He didn’t know who the hell he was any more.
46
Helen was feeling calmer as she drove home that evening. She’d received a call from Freddy to say Con had been in touch with him. Apparently Con had a song he was working on which he was prepared to record as The Fishermen’s final single. Freddy wasn’t sure what Todd would have to say as there was no answer from his house, but he suggested they go ahead and have Con do a rough cut in the studio. They also agreed they’d let Derek, who’d returned from Spain that afternoon, lay down his track too, just as a precaution.
