Star Crossed (Starlight #3) (10 page)

‘You can’t blame yourself,’ I urge, ‘Adam, where you grew up…’ I gesture to beyond the wide church. ‘It’s a really difficult place. I know it probably seemed normal to you. But I honestly don’t know how you coped. It sounds dreadful.’

Adam seems to be considering this.

‘What about your other younger brother?’ I press. ‘Didn’t you become a singer, so you could earn money and pay for his schooling.’

‘
Callum,’ says Adam. ‘Yeah I did do that.’

‘
And he did well at school?’ I suggest.

‘
He did,’ says Adam, looking proud. ‘He’s just started out as an architect now. Turns out he’s the brains of the family.’

There’s a tender smile on Adam’s face.

‘Then how can you possibly think you failed?’ I say. ‘You did more than any older brother could have been expected to do.’

Adam nods slightly but I can see in his face he’s not convinced.

‘Things like this,’ he says with a long sigh. ‘They change you. They haunt you. It’s difficult after something like this has happened, to really believe you could be a good person. It’s like the world has punished you for something.’

I pull him close, staring into his eyes.

‘You are a good person,’ I insist. ‘A really good person. Just look at how you’ve helped me.’

‘
I’ve helped you?’ he asks.

‘
Of course you have,’ I reply. ‘You’ve helped with my singing. You’ve… given me amazing experiences.’

I can’t quite think of how to phrase things to make him understand.

‘I don’t mean just sexually,’ I add, ‘although the sex is great.’

Adam gives a little laugh, and I am encouraged.

‘I mean… My soul feels open when I’m with you,’ I say. ‘Like I could do anything. You say I’m brave. But I never felt brave like this. Not before you came along Adam. You gave me that. You gave me the courage to do things I would never have done otherwise.’

I feel as though I’m finally getting through to him. Adam’s features relax a little, as if a great load has lightened very slightly.

‘Just try and remember that,’ I say. ‘When you think about your brother. Try and remember the wonderful things you’ve done for people.’

Adam nods.

‘It’s good to hear you say that,’ he says.

There’s a long pause whilst he considers my face. I have no idea what he’s thinking. So I can only hope my words have been of some comfort.

He glances back at the grave.

‘
I wish Michael could have met you,’ he says finally. ‘He would have liked you a lot.’

‘
I’m sure I would have liked him too,’ I say.

‘
You might have even straightened him out,’ adds Adam, with a little laugh.

He seems a little lighter now, and I’m glad.

‘I’m so grateful you opened up to me,’ I say with feeling. ‘I can’t tell you what it means. I feel closer to you than ever.’

Adam smiles and his blue eyes seem to light up.

‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘I should have listened to you. All this stuff I was holding inside. Terrified you’d find out the real me. I should have told you all along.’

‘
All that matters is I know now,’ I say. ‘And I love you.’

‘
I love you too Summer.’

We stand for a long moment, looking at the grave. The sky above is blue and the warm wind seems to dance a blessing on us. Adam’s deep sadness seems to have lifted.

‘Come on,’ Adam says after a moment. ‘Enough of the sad stuff. Let’s take you to meet my mum.’

Chapter 11

If I was nervous about Adam’s revelation, meeting his mum comes a close second. I’ve only been dating her son a few weeks. I’m not sure how she’ll respond to me arriving on her doorstep.

With all the emotions of visiting the graveyard, you’d think I’d be too preoccupied to be anxious. But as we get closer I find myself wondering over and over how she’ll respond to our meeting.

‘Does your mum know about me?’ I ask nervously, as the Jaguar cruises through the small terraced streets.

‘
Yup,’ says Adam. ‘Told her right after I’d written that song for you. I’d found the one.’

I feel my smile threaten to split my face.

‘You told her that?’ I beam.

‘
Of course,’ says Adam. ‘It’s like my old friend James Berkeley says. When you know, you know.’

‘
So what does she know about me?’ I ask.

‘
Not much,’ says Adam. ‘Just that you’re a singer and I’ve fallen head-over-heels in love with you.’

‘
Does she watch the show?’

‘
Of course she does,’ says Adam. ‘She’s never missed me on telly.’

We’re slowing along one of the identical terraced streets.

‘This is it?’ I guess. ‘The street you grew up on?’

‘
This is it,’ says Adam.

I peer curiously from the window, trying to imagine what it must have been like to live here. The houses are tiny, redbrick and Victorian. I’m guessing they were all built with outdoor toilets.

‘Did your mum not want to move?’ I ask, thinking there’s not so much space inside.

‘
After I became rich and famous you mean?’ asks Adam.

‘
Well, yeah,’ I say, ignoring the teasing note in his tone. ‘You paid for your brother’s schooling. I’m guessing you would have offered to buy your mum a house wherever she liked.’

‘
You’re right,’ agrees Adam, ‘I did do that. But she didn’t want to move. She’s been in this area all her life. She’s lived in this house for over thirty years, raised me and my brothers here. All her family and friends are roundabouts. So she didn’t want to leave all that for a fancy house.’

‘
Besides,’ he adds, turning to me with a wink. ‘What’s the point of having a famous son, if you’ve no friends nearby to show off to? She loves a boast about me, does my mam.’

I’m trying to picture what Adam’s mum might be like but my imagination is failing me.

‘This is it,’ announces Adam stopping outside one of the houses.

I consider it eagerly. It’s plain red brick with a green front door – much like all the rest. But someone has planted some pretty window boxes, and sweet peas grow beside the door.

Adam opens the car door for me. But even before I’m out I hear a delighted female voice.

‘
Adam!’ says a woman with a strong Irish accent. I look to see a small dark-haired woman racing out of the front door.

She grabs Adam and kisses him affectionately. Then she turns to me.

‘And this is Summer,’ she decides, with a wide smile. Before I know what’s happening she pulls me into a tight hug. Her grip is like iron, but there’s something so warm about it. As though she’s welcoming me back to the family after a long absence.

‘
I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,’ she announces drawing back and taking me in. ‘Let’s get a look at you now. Oh. Aren’t you lovely. Even prettier than when I’ve seen you on the telly.’

Adam is smiling at the tidal wave of
energy which emanates from his mother.

‘
Summer, this is my Mam,’ he says, sounding caught between embarrassment and pride.

‘
Lovely to meet you,’ I say, feeling a little formal after her hug.

‘
Of course, I forgot myself,’ apologises Adam’s mum. ‘I’m Orla. Like the famous singer. I’m sure Adam won’t have told you I sing a little myself.’

I grin. Her enthusiasm is infectious.

‘He hasn’t,’ I say, giving Adam a dark look.

‘
He never does,’ says Orla, taking me by the arm and leading me to the house. ‘He learned it all off me you know. We used to sing in the kitchen from when he was a little lad. A sweeter voice you never heard,’ she smiles at the memory, ‘and I knew then. He would be something.’

She’s guiding me towards the door chattering all the while.

‘Come in, come in,’ she urges, waving a hand at Adam behind her. ‘I heard the car so I’ve already put the kettle on. I always recognise the sound of the engine,’ she adds, leading me over the threshold. ‘My son driving a Jaguar! Who’d have thought it?’

She leads me into a neat sitting room. There’s a small sofa set, with hand-stitched lace covers on the arms
, and a gas fire with religious candles and icons on the mantle.

There are no pictures of Adam or his brothers on the walls, but there is a large cross, which
Orla nods too reverently as we come in.

‘
Tea?’ she asks, planting me the nearest sofa.

‘
Yes please,’ I say as Adam comes in after me. He presents his mum with a bunch of flowers which I never saw him buy, and she beams with delight, kissing him and clucking over where to put the flowers.

She vanishes for all of a second and reappears bearing a teapot, cups and cookies on a crowded tray.

‘Here,’ she says pouring tea and handing me a cup. ‘Take a biscuit.’

She’s proffering the plate of cookies.
‘Take one.’

I get the impression she won’t take no for an answer so I take a biscuit and bite into it gratefully.

‘Thank you,’ I say sipping tea. ‘Your house is lovely,’ I add.

‘
That’s very kind,’ says Adam’s mother, and her chirpiness abates a little. ‘I know I should have pictures of the boys,’ she adds. ‘But after Michael died it didn’t seem right somehow. I do have lots of memories of Adam though,’ she adds brightly. ‘I’m sure you’d like to see.’

Adam is shaking his head, a warning look in his eyes.

‘I’d love to,’ I announce, risking his displeasure.

Adam’s mum ducks down, and unearths a large biscuit tin from under the coffee table. She flips it open and begins handing me dog-eared newspaper and magazine clippings.

‘This was his first big review,’ she says proudly, handing me a clipping. ‘Page four in the local paper. I was so proud.’

I grin at Adam, examining the old picture.

‘You’ve got a quiff,’ I say, looking at his dark hair flopping in his face.

‘
It was the fashion,’ he says, sounding a little embarrassed.

Adam’s mum hands me more papers.

‘That was his first Wembley concert,’ she says. ‘I couldn’t come along, but I kept the ticket. Imagine how proud I was. My little boy on the big stage.’

Adam coughs, embarrassed.

‘Summer’s not interested in my pop star history,’ he says.

‘
Oh I am,’ I reply. ‘I love seeing all this.’

Adam stands.
‘I’m going to make a few business calls,’ he says. ‘Let you girls gossip about me in peace.’

I smile watching him go.

‘Don’t mind him,’ says Orla, patting my arm. ‘He never did like being the centre of attention. Funny thing for a singer. Don’t you think?’

I nod, liking her more by the minute.

Orla takes my hand.

‘
You’ve had a good effect on him,’ she says, gazing at me intently. ‘He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him.’

I smile, uncertain how to respond to this news.

Orla is gripping my hand now.

‘
It’s been very hard for Adam, since the death of his brother,’ she says. ‘I suppose he told you about it.’

I nod.
‘We went to the grave,’ I say.

Orla
seems satisfied with this.

‘
It’s a part of our family,’ she says, ‘a tragic part. And of course you never get over it. But I always worried for Adam. Since he was a young boy he had such a grown-up head on his shoulders. Took the place of a father for the younger boys. And I think he blamed himself for Michael’s death.’

She leans forward a little.

‘He seems lighter now,’ she says. ‘I think you’ve helped him. Adam always had this weight about him. Like he was carrying a burden. I don’t see that so much anymore.’

I consider
her words, feeling emotionally raw from the intense exchange. So much has happened in the last few hours.

‘
I love your son very much,’ I say finally.

Orla
beams at me.

‘
You’ll take good care of him,’ she decides. ‘I prayed for a girl like you to come along.’

She pats my hand.

‘Let me show you the rest of the clippings,’ she adds, ‘Before he comes back and makes me put them away.’

We spend a fun afternoon with Adam’s mum, and as we make to leave, I realise I’m already fond of her. She reminds me a lot of my own mum, with her provincial ways and tidy house. And she’s obviously so proud of Adam. It’s heart-warming to see.

‘
I’ll see you again on telly this Saturday?’ she asks, as she sees us out of the small terraced house.

‘
Both of us,’ says Adam.

‘
I’ll make sure I record it,’ she says. ‘That way I can show any neighbours who might have missed it.’

Adam smiles indulgently at her as he hugs her goodbye.

Orlan releases her son, and grabs me in yet another firm hug.

‘
Thank you,’ she whispers in my ear, ‘you’ve obviously worked wonders with Adam.’