Star Crossed (Starlight #3) (8 page)

Chapter 9

A few hours later, we’re back in Adam’s plane, and everything feels slightly surreal.

‘
You know what?’ I yell above the plane noise, as we coast over the Atlantic, ‘I’m actually getting used to this. It feels normal.’

Adam laughs.
‘First hazard of being a rock star,’ he says, ‘feeling normal when you’re in a private plane.’

I laugh in return and stare out at the ocean. The atmosphere between us is light and playful, but it’s tinged with something else.

Deep down, with both know there’s some emotion upheaval coming up. I’m trying not to second guess what Adam has to tell me, but it’s almost impossible.

Trouble in his past, in Northern Ireland… Violence? Something else?

My unease has grown as we touch down on yet another deserted airfield. Though this one is bordered by green grass and hills, rather than snow and forest.

Adam helps me out of the plane, and breathes deeply as we take in the new landscape.

‘I always think there’s a certain smell in the air in Ireland,’ he says, inhaling again, ‘something about all the green grass.’

‘
Yeah,’ I say, breathing in. ‘It reminds me of Wales.’

‘
So,’ he says, his voice coming more seriously now. ‘Shall we go?’

I’m suddenly too nervous to reply.

What is it he means to tell me?

Adam catches my expression, and the calm look on his face evaporates.

‘Come on,’ he says. ‘I’ve got a car waiting. I’m going to drive us to my home town.’ He pauses. ‘If you don’t want to come back with me… Afterwards,’ he adds, ‘I’ll understand. I can arrange for you to fly back alone.’

I take his hand firmly.

‘Stop talking like that,’ I say, certain suddenly that my love for him is stronger than any secret. ‘You shouldn’t doubt me Adam.’

He smiles, but it’s a fleeting smile. Then he leads me out across the airfield, and to a waiting car.

I smile a little, to see it’s a Jaguar.

‘
Rock star habits die hard,’ I murmur, as he opens the passenger door for me.

‘
My Mam always loved Jaguars,’ explains Adam sheepishly, slipping into the passenger seat beside me. ‘So I make sure I have one on hand when I’m visiting.’

‘
That’s where we’re going?’ I ask, ‘To see your mum?’

Am I ready to meet his mum?

‘Not yet,’ he says, starting up the engine and pulling out. ‘First I’m taking you somewhere else in my hometown.’

His expression is dark now. As though
a sadness has settled over him.

Sitting next to him in the car, I’m so close, yet I feel a million miles away. It’s as though a thick wall has settled between us. I feel a sense of dread.

What if he decides not to open up after all? What if it’s much worse than I could imagine?

The tension seems to rise between us, and Adam’s face grows darker as the Jaguar eats up the miles.

I try to appreciate the emerald green hills and fields rolling by. But instead I’m filled with a sense of foreboding.

Soon the fields turn to desolate-looking streets, and then the landscape becomes completely urban. Small red-bricked terrace
houses, fill the view. Graffiti is everywhere. But it’s not the kind you see in London. Instead of tags and scrawls, the graffiti here is all elaborate murals.

They’re memorials.
To people who have died. Many include angry words, about cowards who kill children and women in bomb blasts. There’s so much sadness here, I can hardly take it in.

‘
The graffiti,’ I say in a small voice. ‘Is this from religious attacks?’

Adam nods grimly.
‘If you live here, it just blends into the background,’ he says. ‘It’s only when I come back I realise how much anger and violence there is here.’

He looks thoughtful.

‘This is the Catholic area, where I grew up.’ He says. ‘If you were to go to the Protestant part of town, you’d see the same,’ he says. ‘Though with less rosaries and Catholic imagery of course. Both sides did dreadful things.’

‘
Is it better now?’ I ask.

‘
Yes,’ says Adam shortly. ‘But that doesn’t mean it’s good. It just means it was terrible before. There’s parts of this town I still wouldn’t walk in.’

‘
Is it dangerous here?’ I ask, looking out of the window. Besides the graffiti, the houses look so innocent. A brother and sister are playing in their front yard, tagging each other and dashing back through the front door. Two housewives are gossiping. They turn and stare as the Jaguar cruises past. I guess they don’t see fancy cars much in this area.

Adam shakes his head.
‘Not for us,’ he says. ‘This is the safest place in the world for me. I grew up here. These are my people.’

He says it with a fierce sense of
pride which only adds to my confusion.

What is it he plans to tell me? Adam obviously still feels a sense of ancestry and ownership for this place. Surely he wouldn’t think that way if something terrible had happened here?

Adam turns the car, and a church comes into view. He slows, and pulls the car up in a small parking lot just next to the church.

A church? Does he have some religious confession to make?

I look at him expectantly as he cuts the engine.

‘
Here we are,’ he says. The grim tone has left his voice now. But it’s been replaced by something else. Resignation. As though he’s so certain my reaction will be bad, he’s given up hope.

‘
Might as well get it over with,’ he concludes.

I wait in the car as Adam comes to open the door for me. A big part of me wants to stay here, in this comfortable seat.
Blissfully unaware of Adam’s past.

But a stronger part of me knows I will never desert him. I’m in love with this man. That means facing his demons with him.

Trying not to let the fear show on my face I let him take my hand and lead me out.

I’ve given up trying to work out why we’re here now.

I’m expecting Adam to lead me into the church. But instead, he guides me around the outside of the building. To a small graveyard.

Suddenly I have a greater notion of why he’s brought me here.

He wants to show me a grave.

My stomach clenches.
I tighten my hand in his, but he doesn’t turn to look at me. Instead Adam’s attention is focused on seeking out a gravestone.

It’s a traditional-looking cemetery, and many graves look really old. But there are new ones, scattered in
amongst, and more than an average number of tiny headstones. I feel my heart squeeze to think what that must mean.

C
hildren who have died.

After my nephew’s recent stint in hospital, I can hardly bare to think of it. I feel a huge surge of gratitude that
he is safe and well again.

Adam leads me past several crumbling stones with old dates, and we stop before a plain headstone.

It looks as though it’s been here for several years, but is by no means as old as the others. Fresh flowers have been laid on it.

The grave is
marked by a simple white stone cross. My eyes flick across the words.

Michael
Morgan. Died aged 17.

I turn to see Adam’s face. It’s totally focused on the grave, and he wears an expression of tragic loss.

I feel a lump rise up in my throat, and I squeeze his hand tight.

‘
Your brother?’ I whisper.

Adam doesn’t answer, but his head moves fractionally. He almost seems to be in a trance. Completely absorbed by where we are.

‘My Mam always makes sure there are fresh flowers,’ he says after a moment, in a dull flat voice. ‘But I know Michael wouldn’t have minded either way. He was never one for tributes. I just bring myself. And my thoughts of him.’

I don’t know what to say. Adam sounds like a sleepwalker.

So I concentrate on bowing my head to the grave, showing my respect. I try to imagine what Michael Morgan must have looked like, and picture him happy in some higher place.

‘
So this is what you brought me to see,’ I say, after a long silence. ‘Thank you.’

Adam turns to me in surprise.

‘I mean it,’ I say. ‘I appreciate you sharing this with me. It must mean so much to you. I can only imagine how much. I’m sure you loved your brother very much. He died far too young.’

Adam nods, and tears glimmer in his eyes.

‘I did love him,’ he says. ‘Very much. He never should have gone like he did.’

He turns back to the grave, but some of the previous barriers seem to have melted a little. I get the sense he wants to talk about his brother. But I don’t want to pry into what was obviously a great tragedy.

‘Was he younger or older?’ I ask, opting for a question which doesn’t relate to the circumstances of his death.

‘
Younger,’ says Adam. His face softens a little as he says it.

‘
I’ll bet he gave you hell,’ I smile.

Adam gives a little laugh.

‘You can bet he did,’ he replies. ‘Though we probably gave me Mam the most hell of all.’

His face saddens again.

‘I expect she misses it now,’ he says. ‘We all do.’

I try and remember what I know of Adam’s family. He told me he had a younger brother, whose schooling he paid for. So he could get out of the district Adam grew up in.
That must be a different brother to the one buried here.

I’m piecing some things together.

Adam is fiercely protective of me, and I’m guessing as an older brother he was the same. How must he feel, to have one of his younger brother’s die? Is it the reason he assumed so much responsibility for his remaining sibling?

Something tells me this tragedy was a good part of the reason Adam worked so hard to give his youngest brother better opportunities.

‘Do you…’ I pause, struggling for the words. ‘Do you blame yourself for your brother’s death?’ I ask.

Adam says nothing, only keeps staring hard at the grave. But his fingers tighten in mine and he nods.

I wait a moment, giving him space.

‘
I was always in charge of the youngsters,’ he says. ‘I let him down.’ Adam’s voice is choked, and I pull him into a hug.

‘
Shhh,’ I say, rubbing the back of his neck, ‘don’t talk that way.’

Adam swallows, and pulls back from me. His visibly pulls himself together, wiping his eyes.

‘It was a long time ago,’ he says, his voice returning to something like normal now. ‘You don’t get over something like this, but you learn to live with it. Coming back here, though...’

He sounds apologetic, and I frown at him.

‘Of course you get emotional,’ I say. ‘I wouldn’t expect anything less.’

I soften my voice.

‘Adam,’ I say, ‘I love you. In the good times and the bad. This is part of you.’

‘
I’m glad I brought you,’ he says softly. ‘I was afraid of it. But it’s not so bad now you’re actually here.’

‘
What were you afraid of?’ I ask.

Adam’s face twists as he searches for an answer.

‘All the horror. All the guilt. The remorse, and the regret,’ he says. ‘I wanted to protect you from all that. I realised… I realised that I couldn’t.’

‘
No,’ I say gently. ‘You can’t protect me from it. But you can let me in. Share the load.’

There’s a flicker of a sad smile on his face.

‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘I’ve never really told anyone outside the family about this.’

‘
You haven’t?’ I’m not sure quite how to take that.

‘
No,’ Adam shakes his head. ‘There’s so much guilt going on,’ he taps his head, ‘in here. It’s difficult to tell people.’

I am overwhelmed with sadness for him.

‘Adam,’ I say, fighting back the tears. ‘You shouldn’t have to live with that. Nobody should. You can’t bear this all by yourself.’

Adam is silent, staring straight at the grave. And then it hits me. There’s more to this story. There must be.

My mind goes back to the incident with Dez and my contract. Dez agreed to back off, but not before Adam had phoned a heavy-sounding man named Paddy McGuire.

Adam told me afterwards that Paddy had IRA
links. But he wouldn’t say any more. Something tells me Adam’s dead brother is the connection.

‘
Is there something else you’re planning to tell me?’ I ask quietly.

Adam’s blue eyes move from the grave to me. There’s a fire behind them now. Though I’m not sure why.

He looks back to the grave and I notice his fists are clenched.