No Way to Say Goodbye (28 page)

The woman at the door was very beautiful. She also seemed familiar. It only took an instant for everything to click into place.
Frigging hell!

“Hi. I’m Mia.” The rock star put out her hand.

“Mary,” she replied, embarrassed by her plain name. She shook the proffered hand.

“I was looking for Sam,” Mia said, having been directed to Sam’s cottage by the helpful hotel manager.

“Oh,” was all Mary managed. “I’m not sure. I think he’s on the water.”

Mia raised her perfectly arched eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“He usually fishes with my cousin on Sundays.”

“Oh,” Mia sighed, “I can’t imagine him fishing.”

“Would you like to come in?” Mary asked tentatively, not wishing to seem pushy.

“Sure, I’d love to,” Mia said, and walked past her.

“Right, then,” Mary said, closing the door and freaking out a little. She turned off Alanis Morissette in case Mia had a problem with competition. Mia didn’t seem to notice. Instead she sat on the kitchen chair Sam had occupied on the many evenings Mary had cooked for him.

Mary made a pot of coffee and placed it on the table between them.

“Nice place,” Mia said, looking around.

“It’s OK,” Mary said.

“So, you and Sam are friends?” Mia asked, studying Mary’s expression. She smiled when Mary nearly spilled the coffee she had begun to pour.

“We’re giving each other a little space.” She regained control of the coffee pot.

“Space?” Mia queried suspiciously.

Instantly Mary regretted her comment.
Shut your mouth, Mary!
“Are you here for long?” she asked, as breezily as possible.

“Not really. I was surprised to discover he was here. He never did like the countryside.”

“People change.”

“Not so much.”

Mary wasn’t enjoying her conversation with an international rock star. It was uncomfortable, as though the women were in some unspoken competition. It made her edgy, especially as, being so ordinary, she felt at a disadvantage. “Are you hungry?” she asked, for something to say rather than out of the desire to cater. Also, her auntie Sheila often said, “When in doubt, feed someone.” It made sense now, especially as Mia’s stomach refused to stop gurgling.

“No, I’m fine.” But then her stomach grumbled again and Mary’s face suggested that, unlike most, she didn’t have the good grace to ignore it. “Well, actually, I’m a little hungry.”

“Good. Do you like fish?”

“I love fish.”

“Shellfish?”

“Yes, please.”

“How about a warm scallop salad with home-made dressing and a round of fresh brown bread?”

“I’m sorry – I may dribble a little.” Mia laughed.

Mary got her to work on chopping leaves for the salad, and it was while they were preparing dinner that both women relaxed.

“Do you like blues?” Mary asked.

“I should but I don’t,” Mia admitted.

Mary checked her CD player. Rufus Wainwright was loaded directly under Ms Morissette. “Rufus Wainwright?”

“Why not?” Mia said, taking off her jacket and shaking the salad dressing.

They were halfway through their scallop salads when Mia broached the subject of Mary’s relationship with Sam. “I hope you don’t mind me asking but are you two together?” she asked.

“Seriously, we’ve only ever been friends,” Mary said.

“Yeah, that’s what we said for the entire duration of our relationship.”

“He’s here to get better,” said Mary, quickly, “nothing more.”

“He got better at home.”

“What about you – do you want him back?”

“Yes,” Mia nodded, “but I’m not stupid enough to think it will ever happen. He’s been here months and I didn’t even get a phone call. I had to find out where he was through a damn tabloid. We didn’t even officially end it. He wanted to but I begged.” She was shamefaced. “Of course, deep down, I knew it was over.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He didn’t love me… He didn’t then, he doesn’t now and won’t in the future. It’s just like I said: people don’t change that much.” She placed another forkful of salad in her mouth. “God, this is amazing!”

Mary smiled.

“You’re wondering what I’m doing here,” Mia said, when her mouth was empty.

“I suppose I am.”

“My therapist says I need closure,” Mia said, between bites.

“Oh. OK.”
Americans!

They were enjoying a glass of white wine, lying on deck-chairs placed at the edge of the pier, when Mary caught sight of Ivan’s boat heading towards the shore. Ivan spotted his cousin at around the same time. His son was untangling a net.

“Chris, pass me the binoculars, son,” he said, and Chris dutifully complied. “Christ in a canoe! It’s Mia Johnson!” he yelled.

Chris grabbed the binoculars back. “Jesus!” he said, under his breath.

“Don’t swear!” Ivan said automatically.

“Holy crap!” Chris was still staring at the rock star lounging beside his aunt.

“That’s better.” Ivan took the binoculars from the boy. “Sam!”

Sam emerged from below with Justine and a flask of coffee. “I heard you,” he said, with a sigh.

Ivan had the boat tied off in record time. From their chairs, Mia and Mary watched Sam and his comrades walk the length of the pier. It was evident, despite his smile, that Sam was feeling the pressure for he was sweating excessively. Ivan was as dry as a bone and happy as a puppy, bounding towards the beautiful stranger to shake her hand and tell her how much he admired her. Mary wanted to slap him. Chris sat on the side of his aunt’s chair to prevent his knees buckling in the aftermath of Mia’s cheek-kiss. Justine held Sam’s hand, uninterested in the woman. She liked Jamie Lynn Spears.

Sam was the last person to welcome her. It had been almost six months since he had nearly died of a heroin overdose and just over three months since he had ended his relationship with Mia, but now, seeing her face and feeling her arms wrapped around him, it felt like an entire lifetime had passed. She was a stranger with a tight grip. He pulled away and suggested he should take her back to her hotel but Mary and Ivan insisted she stayed, at least to finish her wine. They all went into the house, where Ivan found two more glasses and told the kids to watch TV in the sitting room. Then he joined Sam, Mary and Mia Johnson sitting around Mary’s kitchen table sipping white wine. He was beaming like a kid at the circus.

“Mr Mockless?” Mia was saying, rubbing Mr M’s back.

“Monkels,” Mary corrected her.

“Weird name.”

“Originally he was called Norman,” Ivan said, still beaming.

“What changed?” Mia asked, intrigued.

“One day when my son was three years old he decided that Norman didn’t work and Mr Monkels did.”

Ivan laughed. “The strange thing is, the dog immediately responded to it.”

“It was like he’d always been Mr Monkels,” Mary added. “It just fitted.”

“It’s a cool name,” said Mia. “Your son has good taste. So where is he?”

“He died,” Mary said.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Mia was covered with embarrassment.

Sam stood up. It was obvious he was uncomfortable. “We should go.”

“You don’t have to,” Mary said.

“No,” Mia said, “Sam’s right. I should go. It’s been a long day. It was really good to meet you, Mary, and you, Ivan.” She leaned over to shake his hand and he took the opportunity to kiss her cheek.

“You’re a lady,” he said to her, which seemed to please her.

Chris was too busy talking on his mobile phone, telling his friends about his encounter with a rock star, to say goodbye to her.

Justine waved at the window, with Mr Monkels at her side.

Mary closed the door.

“Christ on a cruise ship!” Ivan said. “Stick a fork in me, Mare, I’m done.”

She laughed, but she would have been lying if she’d said she wasn’t a little jealous – not a lot jealous but definitely a little.
Frig it, why couldn’t she have been a bitch?

Mia returned to the old-world hotel she’d booked into earlier that day. Sam had agreed to meet her there for drinks at nine. She sat by her window, looking out at the grounds, which led to a little gate. She wondered what lay beyond it. The suite was reminiscent of a bygone era, sumptuous and scattered with antiques and oil paintings. She hadn’t expected such decadence and had thought Kenmare would be as hick as some of those places she had spent months in while touring the States. But, of course, that wasn’t Sam’s style – she was the hick, after all. She considered spending some time in the spa, impressed with the couple’s day suite that offered seclusion, but then she remembered that she wouldn’t be requiring a couple’s day suite and there didn’t seem to be a suite for one. No matter how many treatments, how beautiful the view, or how tranquil the spa pool, the empty chair would surely taunt her.

She lay on her bed for a while, opening a trouser button because she’d eaten too much brown bread.

She pondered on Sam’s welcome. He’d put his arms around her and smiled, but deception was his strong suit. She had felt his warmth. He looked well and healthy. His friend Ivan seemed nice and the kids were cute. They were also a well-placed distraction. On the pier she had noticed Sam trying to catch Mary’s eye. Mary wouldn’t be drawn and she’d wondered,
What is it with those two?

It was after eight when she showered, careful not to wet her hair, which had been styled in the UK that morning. She sat at her dressing-table to apply her makeup. The mirror was deceptively large and seemed to engulf her.
Mia, what are you really doing here?
She often stared at her own reflection with wonder, not because she was intoxicated by her beauty, as others were, and not because she saw herself as extraordinary: she stared at herself in the hope that her face might betray her origin. Mia didn’t know where her beauty came from and she never would.

Declared an orphan, she’d been in the system since she’d been found sleeping in a cardboard box one hot morning in the car park of a K-Mart in Michigan. She was of mixed race and answered to Lola. In the late 1970s, mixed-race children had been difficult to place. Adoption agencies wanted a newborn, preferably one race, colour and creed. They didn’t need the headache that came with a kid whose origin was in question and who was approaching two. Throughout her childhood she had been fostered over and over again and never quite found a family that fitted her. The other girls were jealous of her oval eyes and flawless caramel skin, while her height and grace had been an affront to her Plain Jane room-mates. The boys were always fighting for her attention, so much so that there was usually trouble. Her childhood and teenage years had been filled with insecurity, fear and disappointment.

One day a lady named Kiki Shaw, an ex-dancer and one of her many foster-parents, had complimented her singing voice. She only mentioned it once but that was all it had taken. After that day Mia had done nothing but sing, initially in the hope that her voice would attract the attention and praise she craved, but when neither was forthcoming she did it for herself. When she was fourteen she stole a guitar. She stalked the shop for a full week before she made her move. She knew exactly which one she wanted. It was blue and closest to the door. Usually there were two young guys behind the counter but on that day there was only one. He went into the back once in three hours, but when he did she darted inside, grabbed the guitar and ran away as fast as her legs could carry her, holding her newly acquired possession high in the air until she was far away from the scene of the crime.

She taught herself some chords from an old book she’d picked up second-hand. She wrote her first song aged fifteen. She left her last foster home at sixteen, got a job as a waitress and the owner let her live in the room above the diner. When she wasn’t working she gigged in every dive that would have her. But as hard as she tried, six years later she was still a waitress and the dive above the diner was still home.

She was twenty-two when a beautiful man had come into her world and changed it utterly. He plucked her from obscurity. He dressed her. He styled her. He even named her. He believed in her and filled her with courage and hope. He had made her feel special and, for a long time, she’d thought he loved her.

Deep down, Mia had long believed herself to be Sam’s creation. In him she had found her missing identity. He’d given her a family and her life, and she knew that, behind all his inexplicable fear and before heroin had stolen him, he
had
loved her. She knew this because once upon a time he’d been kinder to her than any other human being ever had. She couldn’t let him go. She needed one last shot to get him back.

But then there was Caleb. She had lied to him, much as she had lied to Mary. Her therapist had not been involved in her decision to see Sam. In fact, he would have been wholly against the idea, and in any case, since Sam had left her she had become increasingly dependent on her bass player. Only the previous week he had declared his love for her in a beach house in Malibu. She had fallen into his willing arms, and this was something she didn’t do lightly. She had never wanted Caleb to be her casualty as she was Sam’s. And she cared for him: he made her laugh, he was kind, and he would even forgo a romp with an enthusiastic groupie in favour of winding down in a little café somewhere with her. If she did see him with someone, he would act as though he’d been caught out. She had spent last night with him in London, and had promised she would return the next day. Their relationship, if you could call it that, was new and she had made it clear she was very much on the rebound. He had told her he knew that. Then he had kissed her and said he’d wait for ever for her, which was sweet if unrealistic. She knew he was hurt by her insistence on the necessity of a final visit with Sam. She also knew he would forgive her. He always did.

Sam was talking to the barman as though they were old friends. “It’s a warm night,” he acknowledged.

“Warm? ’Tis almost hot.”

“Well, it’s nearly summer.” Sam sipped his pint.

“Summer my arse!” the man said quietly, so that Mia had to strain to hear him from behind a well-placed antique plant pot. “We’re being globally warmed as we speak. Sure if it keeps going as it is, in a few years we’ll all be just stains on the street!”