Broken, p.15
Broken, page 15
Stressed. My dad drives me crazy at the best of times. I just wish we could talk. I’m really happy you texted x
I sigh. I was hoping to avoid the awkward conversation about how we left things, hoping to keep our exchanges light, but I guess it’s inevitable, and I’ve opened the door by messaging him.
You’ve got enough on your plate. How about we talk about – Us? It? What happened? – things when you get back. I wasn’t sure you’d want me to text x
The good thing about text is not having to look Damien in the eye, and somehow, it’s easier to be a little more honest.
I meant what I said. Nothing’s changed for me x
Let’s just talk about it when you get back x
I need time to think, not that it gets me anywhere, and I guess now is as good a time as any since Damien isn’t here to cloud my judgement. A knock on my door distracts me, and I open it to find Jess smiling brightly.
“Rather early for a social call,” I tease.
“I wanted to catch you before work,” Jess says, wandering inside and helping herself to a cup from the cupboard. She’s gotten good at making herself at home.
“Do I want to know why?”
“It’s Kayleigh’s birthday today,” Jess enlightens me.
“Huh,” I retort. “She never mentioned anything. I met her yesterday.”
“Paul is throwing her a surprise party, and he’s left the planning to me,” Jess says, smiling. Planning a party is right up Jess’s street. “He mentioned it last week, but being a bloke, he hadn’t gotten around to planning anything. I offered to sort it for him.”
“Of course you did.” I smirk. “But well done for pulling off whatever you’ve got planned in a week.”
“It wasn’t hard.” She shrugs. “Once I got a venue, which is the same one the charity gig was at, it was just a case of buying some decorations, sorting the food and entertainment, making sure Paul gave me names and addresses for invites.”
“Sounds like a lot to me,” I comment. “A little too much to do out of the goodness of your heart.”
Jess rolls her eyes. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” I nod. “I am not into Paul,” she argues, and even though I’m not overly convinced, I let it go. “It’s tonight at seven, and you’re invited.”
“Thanks for giving me time to get a gift,” I point out, although I do work in a music shop, and Kayleigh is a keyboard player, so I’m sure I can figure something out.
“Sorry.” Jess is in a repetitive shrugging mood today. “I didn’t want to give you a chance to think about it too much and back out.”
I’d protest, but I can’t argue with her logic. I’ve taken the hermit label to the extreme since Damien… Speaking of, my phone is beeping.
“How are things between you and Damien?” Jess asks, making assumptions as to who is on the other side of my text; correct assumptions, but still…
“Did you know about his dad?” Jess has been spending quite a bit of time with Raif and Paul since the charity gig, so it’s not a stretch to think one of them might have mentioned it to her.
“I did,” she admits.
“And you didn’t tell me because?”
“I was hoping you’d reach out without being guilted into it,” Jess states. “Or that Damien would reach out first.”
“So, for once,” I say, unable to hide my disbelief, “you were keeping your nose out of something?”
“First and last time!” Jess exclaims. “You two need your heads banged together.”
“Damien’s not the problem.”
“I already know that,” she scoffs. “I was trying to be polite.”
“Since when are you polite?”
Jess sticks her tongue out at me before nodding towards my phone, reminding me I’ve yet to read Damien’s message. I guess I’m making assumptions too, but the only other person who ever texts me is standing in front of me, so it’s not an assumption at all really.
I miss you x
I don’t know whether to cry or burst with happiness. I stare at my phone, contemplating my reply. Honesty, I silently tell myself. Honesty is the best policy.
I miss you too x
Jess and I natter away for a little while before I drag my backside to work. My shift passes by uneventful, but steady enough to keep my mind from wandering to Damien, and it’s not long before I’m showering and getting redressed for Kayleigh’s birthday party. I opt for the casual black blazer I wore to the charity gig, and my boots rather than my trainers, but you should know by now I don’t do dressing up.
It’s almost seven when I pull up outside the hall. Carrying a birthday card with a fifty-pound Dave Music’s Shop voucher inside – the best I could do at such short notice – I take a deep breath and head inside, all the while repeating It’s fine, I’m fine, everything’s fine over and over in my head.
I’m not entirely sure why I’m here, but I think maybe I’m trying to prove to myself I can take baby steps without Damien, literally and metaphorically, holding my hand. Here’s hoping I don’t regret the inch of confidence I’m feeling, and I manage to get through tonight unscathed. Although, if James magically appears, I’m out of here.
I let the main door close behind me, and the first thing I notice is the massive “16” balloon at the far end. It’s almost floor to ceiling in height and bright pink – eye-catching and dramatic to say the least.
I take a minute to marvel at the difference between the charity gig’s decoration and the effort Jess has gone to. The ceiling is lined with “16” bunting, and the walls are covered in poster-sized photographs of Kayleigh, covering the span of her entire sixteen years by the looks of things. Lining the perimeter, there are tables nestled underneath crisp white tablecloths, and each chair has a small “16” balloon attached. The food is already set up on a long table near the kitchen hatch, which I’m assuming will be serving alcohol, albeit not for the birthday girl unless Paul is feeling generous, and a DJ is setting up on stage in front of the massive “Happy Birthday Kayleigh” banner hanging behind him. It’s then I spot the photo booth next to the stage, near the double doors, with various accessories, such as hand-held moustaches, sunglasses, and other bits that go along with a standard photo booth. Jess has gone all out.
I glance at my phone to look at the time, and it’s three minutes to seven. I’m assuming Kayleigh will be arriving at seven or just after to make sure all the guests have arrived first. Yet, as I scan the room, there’s not an overly huge number of people here, and a lack of school-aged kids, which is surprising. There are two full tables of six occupied, made up of Kayleigh’s family, I reckon – most of them are older looking – and there’s roughly fifteen more people dotted about. I don’t know, maybe it’s the size of the hall making the numbers seem small. I guess I just figured the floor would be filled with schoolkids.
I wander towards Jess, who’s talking to the DJ, and she smiles upon seeing me. “Hey Dani,” she says, abandoning the DJ.
“Hey,” I reply. “The place looks good.”
“Thanks,” Jess says proudly. “Paul’s gonna text me when he’s five minutes out with Kayleigh.”
Jess and I are soon joined by an excitable Raif, whom I’d yet to notice in his trademark curved edge shirt, a black one today, and his skinnier than skinny black jeans. “Hey Dani,” he says warmly. “How you doing, honey?”
“I’m good, thanks,” I reply. “You?”
“Fabulous,” he replies, beaming. “Looking forward to becoming your new neighbour.” I smile through gritted teeth. “And if you’re feeling charitable, I wouldn’t say no to a little help moving in.”
“Surely, you can’t have that much crap?”
“Have you met me?”
Our conversation is cut short by Jess rapidly gathering the guests on the floor, repeatedly shushing us and switching off the lights. We wait in silence until the door opens, and Paul leads a blindfolded Kayleigh inside. Jess switches on the lights as Paul removes the blindfold, and we all shout a merry “Surprise!” in unison.
“Oh, my…” Yep, Kayleigh’s surprised, and from the blush spreading across her cheeks, I’d say a little embarrassed.
“Happy birthday, kid,” Paul says, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and giving her a peck on the forehead.
Kayleigh mingles amongst the crowd – there’s an awful lot of hugging – as the DJ starts the party. I take a seat at a vacant table, and Raif decides to join me, popping two drinks down on the table.
“Get that down you,” he says, but as I pick it up and give it a sniff, I quickly put it back down again.
“I don’t drink.”
“Come again?” Raif states dramatically.
“I don’t drink,” I repeat, though I know he heard me the first time.
“And why the hell not?”
“I prefer to keep my wits about me.”
With alcohol, inhibitions, common sense and dignity exit the building, and since I have perhaps only a scrap of dignity remaining, I’d like to hold on to it. That, and I hate the idea of being vulnerable, particularly in public, open to manipulation or anything else untoward, which, you know, has a habit of happening regardless. So, no thank you, no alcohol for me.
I’m distracted by the sound of my phone beeping.
How’s the party? x
Jess is in her element. Kayleigh and Paul are mingling. Raif is trying to get me to drink booze. I guess I’ll label it interesting x
Less than fifteen minutes in, the dance floor is filled with tip-tapping feet, including Raif, and I’m left to my own devices. I’m quite happy people-watching, but I’m still finding it hard to comprehend the majority of the guests are not Kayleigh’s age. There’s one or two, but if the guest list is anything to go by, Kayleigh clearly doesn’t share her dad’s sociable genes.
My people-watching is soon interrupted by an announcement from the DJ that karaoke is now open, and I can’t help but chuckle. I would pin it on Jess, but since Paul is the first to walk on stage, I’m wondering if Paul’s harbouring a guilty pleasure.
Paul opts to sing Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t She Lovely”, dedicating it to his daughter, and I’m surprised to find Paul has a decent voice. It’s more of a Frank Sinatra sound than the pop-rock sound his band spurts, but yeah, he’s got a powerful set of pipes.
Paul’s song ends with a round of applause, including a clap from me, and it seems a love of karaoke runs in the family. The DJ is being bombarded with names and requests, but I’m quickly distracted by my phone again.
I’m gutted I’m missing it. You don’t drink?? x
I’m pretty sure you’ll come up in conversation more times than I can count, so you’re never far away. Why is not drinking such a surprise to everyone? x
I put my phone in my pocket and mosey on over to the buffet table. I grab a few bits to keep me tied over, and a non-alcoholic drink, all the while enjoying the questionable vocal talents gracing the stage. Jess and Raif are dancing away. Paul is sitting nattering with a couple of older gentlemen and Kayleigh… I can’t see Kayleigh. Maybe she’s popped to the loo or something. I retake my seat and tuck into my mini sausage rolls.
I can only apologise for my mates. And I’m not surprised at all x
It’s not just your mates. Mine’s just as bad. Hold up, why ain’t you surprised? x
“Wait, what?” I say quietly, doing a double take at the sound of the DJ’s voice.
Did he just say my name? Paul is walking towards me, smirking away. Oh, shit, the DJ did say my name, and Paul’s name in the same sentence. I shake my head in an overdramatic, not-a-chance-in-hell manner, but it doesn’t deter Paul in the slightest.
“Come on,” he says.
“Not happening,” I insist. “I don’t sing in public.”
“It’s barely public,” he argues, grabbing me by the hand and dragging me up to my feet. Wow, he’s strong.
Paul practically hauls me onto the stage, so much so I almost trip over my own feet. The DJ hands me a microphone, and I avoid eye contact with the guests, my heart jumping to my throat. I can hear Jess and Raif cheering as I glance at the karaoke screen. I roll my eyes at the sight of Elton John ft. Kiki Dee, “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart”. Paul merely laughs at the I’m-so-not-impressed face I’m using to hide the rising panic.
My stomach churns. It’s all eyes on me, and I can feel my legs turning to jelly beneath me. Keep it together, Dani, I silently tell myself. I cannot pass out or have a panic attack at Kayleigh’s birthday party. I refuse to have another embarrassment added to my newly formed list. I take a deep breath and picture the only thing I can think of to help me stay calm: sitting in my flat with Damien, just him and me, making music and having a laugh.
I open my mouth and start to sing. I allow myself to glance out at the audience and spot Jess and Raif staring at me in awe. Turns out, they’re not the only ones. The shocked expressions are hard to ignore, and music aside, it’s eerily quiet, as though the guests have been rendered speechless. I know I can sing, but I wasn’t expecting such a warm reaction. It does absolutely nothing to stop my racing heart or the sweat pouring from my brow though.
Thankfully, I keep my anxiety in check long enough to make it through the song, and once it’s finished, I couldn’t get off that stage quicker if I tried. I race back over to my seat, burying my face in my hands and taking long, deep breaths. Once again, my irrational fear irks me. It was singing karaoke on a stage at a party, not live at Wembley Stadium, yet I’m shaking, and my heart is pounding. When I look back up, Paul is sitting beside me.
“You’re a dick,” I state bluntly.
“I know.” He shrugs, not at all bothered.
“And I suppose Damien mentioned I’m scared of performing?” Damien’s mentioned almost everything else.
Paul appears surprised by my admission. “Stage fright?”
“Something like that,” I mutter. It’s a simple and fitting description, I guess.
“I wouldn’t have known,” Paul says, possibly as an attempt at comfort. “If I had, I’d have asked you to perform at a gig, just for the fun of it.”
Not a chance in freaking hell. Performing at a gig is a dead-firm no, and Paul could attempt to drag me all he wants. I’d dig my heels in on that one.
“Definitely a dick,” I reiterate, and Paul laughs. “And you didn’t ask.”
“You can sing, lass.”
“So, can you,” I compliment through gritted teeth.
“Seriously, you should consider gigging,” he says, and I stifle a laugh. “Are you gonna sit there and tell me you didn’t enjoy that?” I nod enthusiastically. “Liar.”
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be, now I’ve calmed down a little, but gigging is another world, open to scrutiny and heckling, and I’d rather not put myself through that, thank you. It’s a stress I don’t need.
“Kayleigh’s just like you,” Paul declares.
I furrow my brow in confusion. “How so?”
“Talented,” he says, praising us both, “but lacking in confidence. In Kayleigh’s defence, she’s still a kid. What’s your excuse?”
I point to my face. “Please don’t act stupid, when we both know you ain’t.”
“How could you possibly know that?” he asks, clearly enjoying himself. “You don’t know me.”
“Point and case exactly,” I say. “You don’t know me either.”
“I know you better than you think.” What the hell is he chatting on about? Oh, hello, paranoia. “Or your type anyway.”
Silent sigh of relief. “You don’t know shit.” Paul laughs, and I’m assuming it’s in agreeance. “But it doesn’t take a genius to figure out a scar like mine ain’t a common occurrence, and something bad obviously went down. So, yeah, my type is complicated.”
“How bad?” he asks, and I sigh. I don’t even know why I’m still talking.
“Bad enough to keep me far, far away from the limelight for the rest of my life,” I state bluntly.
Oh, and did I forget to mention I’m paranoid? The limelight opens the possibility of photographs, attention, and the dreaded world of social media, and the last thing I need is my face plastered everywhere. I’ll never be convinced Ray managed to take down all of Adrian’s acquaintances, or that Adrian doesn’t still hold some power in the outside world. And there I go again, being ridiculous and justifying my lack of confidence with irrational excuses. My paranoid side needs to get a bloody hobby.
“Sorry,” he offers, and I nod, accepting his apology.
Jess strolling over is a welcome distraction from the unexpected and slightly tense conversation. “Have you seen Kayleigh?” she asks, stopping to stand next to Paul. “It’s time for the cake.”
“Last time I saw her she was talking to my niece,” Paul answers, scanning the room.
“I ain’t seen her in a while,” I admit.
“I’ll check the toilet,” Jess says, shrugging.
“I’ll have a look outside,” I offer. “Maybe she went for some air.”
We go our separate ways, but as I step outside, Kayleigh is nowhere to be seen. I do a walk around the building to double-check, but no joy. I head back inside, over to Jess and Paul standing near the double doors.
“She’s not in the toilets,” Jess tells me.
“I’ve asked around.” Raif’s joined the search now too. “Kayleigh told your niece she needed some air, but no one’s seen her since.”
“She’s not answering her phone,” Paul growls.
“Why would she leave her own party?” Raif asks.
“I don’t know,” Paul admits. “But it’s not like Kayleigh to just take off.”
“We’ll track her down.” I try to sound reassuring, but I’m not sure I pull it off. “Where does she like to go? Hang out?”
“She doesn’t,” Paul states. “She’s not the social type. She spends most of her time at home. Almost everyone here is family or friends of family.” I guess my unsociable assessment was correct, though right now, I wish it wasn’t. “But I’ve already called the neighbours. No one’s seen her come home, and trust me, Mrs Grains is a permanent curtain twitcher.”
