Where the Stars Fall Page 3

  “Tell me that you’re mine,” I breathe into her mouth, the tone raw and commanding, before my teeth nip her lower lip not so gently.

  She smothers a cry, pleasure and pain mixing as one.

  Another swift movement and I have her facing the city again, hands splayed against the glass, the flicker of the city lights pouring into the darkness inside and reflecting on her skin.

  “Tell me!”

  “I am. Yours only.” Her breath comes in fevered gasps, every stroke of my hand fondling her breasts and running down her back making her quiver.

  “Say you love me too,” I breathe out against her temple, my arms enveloping her, drawing her even closer against me.

  “I do. Always have,” she says softly…

  …until a hard shudder racks my body and I spin her around. “So why did you leave me?” In a blaze of anger, I yank the blindfold from her face. “Tell me, Olivia! Why the fuck did you leave me like that?” I demand, gripping her upper arms with both hands, shaking her.

  The same deep green eyes that have haunted my sleep so many times before stare back at me, scared, and I wake up frantic, in a cold sweat, my heart beating so fast it feels it might just burst.

  Christ, what in the bloody hell was that?

  Seven in the morning, I check on my phone with half-closed, heavy eyes, and sit upright on the bed for a few moments, forcing my breathing to calm down.

  Struggling against the drowsiness, I pad down the hallway into the kitchen. My mouth is dry, I need something to drink. And a pill to fix this.

  After a few swallows straight from the tab and several splashes of cold water on my face, I scowl at my image reflected in the window.

  Shit, last night’s dinner!

  The moment Olivia’s dad mentioned she wasn’t coming to Jimmy’s wedding today, something tore open inside me. I acted nonchalant, as if I wasn’t even paying attention to the conversation, but for some stupid reason it stirred me up, it made me so restless.

  Olivia got stuck at work or something, I don’t know. I don’t care.

  Except I do care. But giving it too much importance would be like opening myself up to a fucking Pandora’s box. And that’s the last thing I need right now.

  Shit, my head. It’s thudding like a goddamned drum, the pain only getting worse when my eyes fall on the woman lying on the sofa.

  “Is it time already?” A sleepy, rough, female voice comes from under the messy covers and I need to do a brief resetting exercise to figure out how she ended up here.

  “No, Jo. All good, go back to sleep.”

  Rolling over, she hums something I don’t understand and snuggles back down.

  Wild, free-spirited and fully unpredictable, Josephine has the ability to take me out of myself, to forget it all. Granted, she’s a little out there, the kind of girl who does adventurous things and lives without thinking too much about the consequences. Always ready for another drink, another late party, another man.

  But to me, she’s strictly a friend. Nothing more, nothing less, and that’s how I want it to stay.

  She doesn’t ask questions. She doesn’t judge me about anything. That’s why I’ve come to enjoy her company. Truth is, this past month she’s been kind of a fix for something and I don’t even know what it is.

  And maybe it’s better to leave it at that, I conclude, as my weary body falls back on the bed. I’m not ready for any brutal truths. I guess for now I’d rather stick with the comforting lies.

  *

  What a bummer, two minutes too late and everyone is already gone!

  Well, all except Robert, Jimmy’s cousin.

  The groom’s guests were supposed to gather here before the ceremony, at the Burke’s home, for a brief cocktail reception and photos. Turns out I only managed to drag myself out of bed some forty minutes ago – to a bursting headache and a massive fog of red wine and anger.

  Robert isn’t looking any better. With his head tilted back as if soaking up the sun, he’s sitting on the garden bench, tie loosened and jacket off, a packet of fags in one hand and a glass of Scotch in the other. In the background, the catering team scurry back and forth clearing tables and cleaning up the back garden.

  “If you hurry, you might still be able to catch up with them,” he says, raising his glass without changing his sullen demeanour, his voice slightly slurred.

  “Morning. Need a ride to the church?”

  “Oh, thank you. That’d be really kind of you.” He doesn’t move a single inch, though.

  “Then come on.”

  “I’m almost done here.” He takes a slow swig and jerks his head toward a half-empty bottle standing on the nearby table, which he holds only to pour himself a three-fingers width. “Come and join me.”

  Jesus, my dark mood and morning-after hangover can’t deal with this kind of shit right now!

  I take his glass and set it on the table. “I’d love to, but we need to go. The wedding starts in less than an hour.”

  “Whatever! They never start on time anyway.” He waves a dismissive hand before he tries to reach for his glass again, which I immediately slide further away.

  “Rob, what is this you’re doing? Getting pissed on Jimmy’s wedding day? Have you bloody well lost your mind?”

  He relaxes his stance and lets out a short, rough laugh. “Son, two things a man cannot hide, can he? That he’s drunk, and that he’s in love.”

  “Right, you’re a real poet. Come on, let’s go inside and get you a coffee.” I pull him by his elbow and try to make him stand, but he shrugs me off.

  “Give me my glass back, I’ve got a hangover the size of an elephant’s arse.”

  “I’ve got one too, and this shit you’re pulling isn’t helping,” I snarl. “Where’s Betty?”

  “Son.” He grabs my hand and looks intently into my eyes, shaking his head in strong disapproval, his tongue clicking. “Coffee, raw eggs, whatever-crap-they-say-helps? None of that works! And aspirin? Steer clear from that shit, it’ll burst your liver!” He stands at last. “Drinking the bloody bastard off, that’s what helps! Who the fuck is Betty?”

  “Please, stop talking rubbish. Where’s your wife?”

  “Don’t have one. Who’s that?”

  “I don’t know – the woman sitting next to you last night? The mother of your three kids? Who’s been putting up with you for… thirty years?”

  “Oh, that one! I remember her.”

  “Brilliant…” I pinch the bridge of my nose, my patience wearing thinner by the minute. “Maybe it’s indeed better if you stay here–”

  “She told me to pack my bags and clear off, can you believe it? Last night. A divorce, she wants, the bloody old nag!” he blurts out, just when I’m about to turn and leave.

  Oh, sod. I stare at him for a moment, pondering my reaction. What in the world are you supposed to tell a man who’s just been dumped?

  “You seem surprised,” he breaks the silence.

  “I’m so sorry, mate. What happened? Have you tried to talk to her?”

  Robert offers a half-shrug, on his face something that resembles a No, obviously not.

  “So what did you do then?”

  “Went to Billy’s Old Tavern, had a few pints and got all frisky with Pippa. Didn’t end well, I’m afraid.” Again he reaches for his glass. Again I stop him. “It seems I tried to slide my hand up the gal’s skirt and she punched me right in the fucking nose.”

  “Serves you right, don’t you think?”

  He nods, wincing at the memory. “And then Billy, that arrogant gobshite, kicked me out. Everyone was laughing.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, the what-were-you-expecting-you-moron expression on my face hitting him like a fist to the stomach.

  Holding his head in his hands, fingers rubbing on the temples as though he’s got a roaring headache, which he probably has, he concludes, “Oh the irony. The day my marriage ends, I’ve got to go to a sodding wedding... I fucking hate weddings!”

  “Join
the club then. But now come on, let’s drive around and sober you up a bit.”

  “All right. But let’s bring the bottle. Just in case.”

  I grab his arm. “Down! Put. It. Back. Down!”

  *

  After a few good gulps of fresh air and a lot of rambling about how awful his wife is, we’re both sitting on the entrance steps of the building across from Holy Trinity Church, just off Sloane Square.

  Getting impatient, I check my watch and turn to glance at the commotion of another group of guests arriving. No sign of the bride yet. In any case, I should get going, I think to myself before I cast another look at my companion.

  Leaning forward, supporting his head with his hands, elbows on his knees, he’s been silent for a while now, on his face an absorbed, introspective expression.

  “Like I said, she must have some strong reason to want to chuck thirty years out of the window, man. Thirty years – that’s a feat! You can’t just walk away and not try to talk it over. You have to go after her.”

  He still doesn’t react.

  “Robert?”

  “What the hell are you babbling about?” he snarls dismissively. “You of all people? With your disgraceful track record with women, haven’t you learned anything? You should know better by now: they’re cruel, whiny manipulative beasts, capable of making your life a living hell! So, fuck no! You don’t go after them, you pathetic sap!”

  “Fine, then. Do what you think is best,” I tell him, my voice tight.

  I really don’t have to listen to any of his crap. I guess it’s time for me to go – before I let my temper run away from me and tell him things I’ll surely regret later.

  Robert grabs hold of my hand just as I’m getting up. “That I don’t listen to her, she told me. That I don’t look at her the way I used to. That she feels taken for granted and we’re mere roommates dealing with logistics…

  “Bloody hell, if we could only hack their minds! What the fuck does that all even mean?” he asks, staring vacantly into the busy street. “I’ve always been faithful to her, I provided for our family, I did my best to make it all work – even on those days she wouldn’t stop bitching at me!

  “Turns out in the end that’s not enough and now she wants to put herself first again and enjoy life. Her words. Go figure.” He lets out a pained chuckle.

  In silence, I let it sink in, ultimately acknowledging the female mind is indeed a bizarre territory none of us will ever truly understand.

  With a sympathetic shrug, I tell him I don’t know what I could possibly add to make him feel better. Life’s complicated, women and relationships even more so.

  He studies me with narrowed eyes for a moment, his face contorted in a grimace. “You know what? That cheating tart pulled that stunt on you, but you’re way better off without her. Without any woman, for that matter. All those mind games they play, making your life miserable until you give them what they want – even when they don’t know themselves what the fuck they want!

  “So, if you want to live long and sane, take an old man’s advice and don’t let yourself be sucked into it!” he scoffs with anger, pointing a finger at me. “You stay away from trouble. Don’t fall for it, stay single. Because if you don’t, one day you’ll wake up only to find out you’re in the middle of a sodding nightmare.”

  I laugh at his advice.

  “Thanks for the enlightenment, mate.” Giving him a friendly tap on the back, I stand. “I’d better go now and see what the views in the church have to offer. See you around. And… hey?” I fix him with a stare. “You stay away from trouble. You hear me?”

  “Yeah, off you go. I think I’ll hang out here a little longer...”

  Snaking across the street between cars, I reach the church and glance up at John Sedding’s impressive work of architecture, at the neo-Gothic, red-brick façade with its stunning stained-glass window.

  Because I need a moment to take a deep breath.

  And then gulp down the frustration that’s been welling up within me since last night. Since it dawned on me, I’d been more eager to see a certain woman than I was willing to admit.

  5 SURPRISES

  AMONG THE CACOPHONY of whispered voices, melodic tunes and kids’ giggles spinning through my head like the roar of a migraine, I glance around, looking for my family. Off to the right, I spot my sister, her gaze already searching my face.

  Sue shakes her head and I can feel her disapproval all the way over here. I’m not only late, I probably also look like I was thrown under a bus.

  Scanning the front of the church, I find my father at the altar shaking hands and exchanging a few words with Jimmy and Simon, our long-time friend from school days.

  All dressed up for the occasion and with a freshly-shaven face, but with the same blank stare we’ve all gotten used to lately, Simon is still looking as he feels – like crap. His wife left him a few months ago, on his thirtieth birthday. Took everything but the kitchen sink and a dog that pees all over the place. Poor chap.

  Surprisingly, Jimmy isn’t looking any better. In his custom-tailored dark suit and fancy white tie, he’s pacing back and forth like he’s going mental, either looking at his watch or at the front door, barely able to hold himself together.

  A flash of irrational hope surges through me as I begin to scan the pews from left to right, looking for Olivia’s face. Imagining that possibility seems to ease the dull ache in my gut just a little.

  Nothing. All I see is a blur of faces, the realisation all too unsettling.

  “I give it a year. Two, maybe,” Robert mutters behind me.

  “I thought you wanted to stay outside.”

  “If you want to know my opinion,” – Actually, no. I don’t. – “They’re getting off to a pretty lousy start. Look at him, a nervous wreck. And where’s the loving, sweet bride? Probably instagramming her dress, the bouquet or the bloody lace garters, who the fuck knows!”

  I briefly look over my shoulder. “Linda’s a nice girl, you know?”

  “Sure, she’s nice. They’re all nice. Right before they lay their hands on us and become our all-knowing wives, having our bollocks in a jar and making us into bumbling, inept screw-ups. And after two dozen full-blown PMS fits of rage? Everyone is jaded, hurt and resentful.”

  Why don’t you shut the fuck up, I growl internally, the frustration and incomprehensible voices around me running rampant in my mind.

  “And you know what else?” Rob continues. “This I-want-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-you fucking fairy tale? It’s all a load of rubbish! In fact, it should come with a ‘hazard’ warning or something.”

  I take a deep breath, debating what to do. It’s pointless to try to reason with a drunk man, everyone knows that, even more so when he just got served with divorce papers.

  “Enough!” I snarl under my breath as I tighten my fingers around his arm and pull him down, to the bench.

  He frowns, looking confused, then afraid.

  “Maybe you’re right, maybe Jimmy’s strolling right through hell’s gate in front of all his nearest and dearest.” I pause, before adding in a threatening tone, “But this is their day. So you’re going to sit here in the back and be still. Don’t make a fuss, you hear me? Or I’ll break that ugly nose of yours.”

  Unable to utter a single word, Rob lowers his gaze and sags down into his seat.

  With that, I adjust my cufflinks and make my way down the aisle.

  “Brian, my boy!” Jimmy’s grandmother smiles tenderly when I hug her from behind, interrupting her slow march towards the seats in the front.

  “Oh my God, you look so gorgeous! Leave that husband of yours, the miserable old git. Let’s run away together!”

  “You silly lad!” She nudges me with her elbow, enjoying the banter.

  “The foxiest lady in all of East Sussex is turning me down.” I shake my head, feigning sadness. “Damn, you just broke my heart.”

  Her gentle, wrinkled hand cups my face. “How have you been, son?” She
studies me, a long searching look. “You feeling all right?” Genuine concern clouds her usually warm smile.

  “Sure, of course. Everything’s good,” I lie.

  *

  A slight commotion at the back of the church announces the bride has arrived. Jimmy’s face breaks into a smile, a smile of anticipation. Or relief maybe. He was about to go into complete panic mode.

  However, as the shrill sound of ‘One Way or Another’ rises from within my jacket and echoes throughout the entire church, interrupting the violin notes that cascade upon us, everyone’s attention flickers to me. Jimmy’s mum, too, immediately frowns and throws me a familiar disapproving glare. The same glance she’d shoot us every time we were caught messing around back in our teenage days.

  “Sorry,” I mouth, giving an apologetic, embarrassed shrug. In my defence, last time I checked that was not my ringtone.

  Scanning the audience for their reaction, I quickly dig into my inside pocket to pull out the phone. I hold it out and stare at it, increduluous. Jo’s name is on the display.

  When did she do this? Last night is one big blur.

  I put my mobile on mute and slip it back into the pocket of my jacket, making a mental note to call her back after the ceremony.

  The first notes of Bocelli’s ‘Con te Partiró’ begin to float in the air. I turn to look all the way to the end of the church, where a flower girl is already peeking around the edge of the door, then back to Jimmy. There’s a smile lighting up my best friend’s whole face, and tears of joy threatening to erupt any moment.

  “Oh, shut the front door. Don’t be a sissy!” I give him a tight embrace and two slaps on the back.

  “Fuck you, arsehole,” he says with a grin, returning the back-smacking hug.

  “To you, Mr Arsehole.”

  A few moments later, Linda is walking down the aisle on the arm of her father, pacing to the rhythm of the music, beaming, happy as can be. She sure looks phenomenal in that dress.

  I swiftly scan the crowd. Everyone is smiling, all obviously swept away by the light-hearted romantic atmosphere. And then I look at Jimmy, still fidgeting and nervously pulling at his tie. I have to stifle a snort of laughter.