She’d forgotten the sheer power and size of him. His voice was crisp like money and as his big brown hands dwarfed the microphone, Ana couldn’t help but picture him whole and naked.
He continued to sing to her.
The panic began at her feet. It emptied out her legs. Her stomach tossed and twisted in nausea. Her heart wanted to burst out of her throat. She couldn’t breathe. Without looking at Dixie or Stella, she fled from the secret garden, turning left, away from the path of Tiki torches, away from the house, into the darkness.
She headed into the blackness, away from the noise, away from the lights, away from the people. She couldn’t contain the volume of emotions. She was freaking out. Her heart was pounding. She stopped in the nothingness, hands on knees, afraid that she was going to hyperventilate. From a distance, he had still looked like the same old Joel – insanely hot, incredibly cool and sooo chilled. But there was something more about him, a confidence, an air of knowing who he was, what he’d done and what he wanted. When she’d known him, he was no one, just a boy with a dream; she had felt the timing wasn’t right, and she also felt she needed to go back to England – she never thought they could actually have a future. God, how wrong she was. She let her head drop. She was sweating. Success must have changed him, she thought. She mustn’t, she told herself, believe for a second that he was still that kind and foolish young man. Her eyes were adjusting to the moonlight and she could make out a farm track that led towards what looked like the silhouette of an outbuilding. As she drew closer, she saw that it was the conical roof of an old oast house.
A line of hay bales blocked the doors and she sat. She could still hear the muffled sounds of his voice from the secret garden below. She wanted to smoke. That’s what people do in movies when they get thrown a curveball.
You bitches, she smiled to herself and shook her head. Of course they’d known. They’d set her up, in spite of knowing that she’d had Rex’s seed implanted in her womb. She rubbed her stomach and was baffled at her situation. Poor Rex, she loved him, but was she in love with him? This was, she knew, probably his last chance at children and here she was a continent away from him being set up, by her best friends, with her long-lost love. But then she remembered that whilst she’d had very strong emotions for Joel, she’d never actually had his penis inside her. Could you really call it a sexual relation without penetration?
Stop it! she told herself. She was drifting into fantasy. What would Joel want with her other than a bit of flashback fun, some flirtation with ‘the one that got away’. She knew better than to fall for the stylised courtship of a global pop star. His brand was selling the possibility of sex. Of course he could play the role, doff his Stetson and sing her the song that made her wetter than a sponge. Resting her head on her hands, her elbows on her knees, she shook her head and laughed. She was 39 going on 25. She wasn’t ready for motherhood.
Caressing her stomach, she was mindful of the spark of life inside her. It would grow and it would be the best of her and Rex. He was the kindest man she’d ever dated. She’d picked him after a carefully choreographed process that, if she was honest, had begun at 16. Joel had failed that vetting process. Rex had passed. Christ, she had the spreadsheet, the columns of must-haves, can’t-haves, nice-to-haves, bearables, and her optimal partner was Rex. Grown-ups, mothers, don’t base decisions on the mad rush of hormones, but instead on the experience-based, risk-aware, on the rational. She was feeling better. Yes, she was feeling herself again. She sighed deeply, grateful that the infatuation of that designer-romantic moment had passed.
‘Hello stranger,’ said a voice. ‘Of all the barns in all the world…’
‘Joel Abelard,’ she answered quietly. ‘What are you doing here? Honestly, it’s like Candid Camera, isn’t it?’
She looked around theatrically.
‘The birthday boy contacted my agent and I spoke to Dixie. She persuaded me that it was a good idea. May I?’
She shifted to her right to make room on the bale.
‘Was it?’ he said.
She could feel him scrutinising her face in the silvery light.
‘If the plan was to give me a heart attack. Then, yes.’ She slapped him playfully on the arm with the back of her hand. ‘You complete bastard. And as for those bitches… I will never trust them again.’
‘It was quite the set-up. I didn’t know whether you’d be… with someone.’
There was an awkward silence.
‘I am. Just not here. He’s—’
‘I don’t want to know.’ He straightened and pulled almost imperceptibly away from her, his eyes lifted to the moon. ‘Well, the irony is that while before I could barely afford to take you to an island, now I could afford to give you an island.’
‘I’m sure you have a million girls to buy a million islands for,’ said Ana defensively, ‘so I won’t get my hopes up.’
‘But none as pretty and English and difficult as you,’ he answered. Why was he flirting with her? she wondered. She felt weak being so close to him. This wasn’t what she wanted, but she felt herself slide towards him. She must tell him about the IVF. She would.
‘Shall I buy you a drink? We can talk about the old times. I’d love to hear what’s going on with you and your crazy friends. None of you have changed one bit,’ he said and slung an arm around her shoulders.
‘I’d love to hear how Willy B. Goode got his big break. I just hope you still have your pick-up truck!’
‘I actually do. The beast is in my garage, fully restored and only used on very special occasions!’
He took her in through the back of the house, down a long, dark gallery room, the walls spotlit with twentieth-century American art. Ana spotted a reproduction Midnight Ride of Paul Revere. At least she thought it must be a reproduction.
‘I just can’t believe this,’ said Joel. ‘I have thought of looking you up so many times, so when I got the call I was… Well, it felt like fate. Do you believe in fate?’
‘You’ve thought of looking me up?’ she laughed uncomfortably. ‘I don’t believe that, Joel. You, an international superstar, interested in what I am up to, why? I’m sure that ship sailed a long time ago.’
‘Oh come on, Ana, you know me better than that. Fame is hard – it might have made me richer, but it hasn’t made me many real friends. Everyone is after something, and sometimes it’s just really hard to know who to trust, who your friends are. You and me, what we had was special. It just wasn’t the right time. For you anyway.’
‘No, Joel. I don’t know you better than… than… anything. Twenty years ago I fell for a penniless singer with guitar and a pick-up truck and now you’re a household name. Damn you, I can’t even go for a drink with my friends, drive to the gym, take a freaking bus without hearing ‘Brown Eyed Girl’, or seeing your shiny face on the side of a bus. Damn you, Joel, you’re on the side of London buses!’
‘You gotta admit that’s kind of cool.’
She paused. ‘I thought about getting in touch too. Are you still on that pledge thing… with the, you know…’
She mimed a finger going in and out of her fist.