“I’ve abandoned brat number one and escaped before my ears bleed.”
I chuckled. “She’s talented.”
“I know. She knows that too. So does my bank balance after all those lessons, choirs, dance thingies… Sweet lord, Liam, never have kids. All that money you’ve made through selling your soul will swim down the river far, far out of your reach. Why are you phoning, anyway?”
I laughed again. The normality of her conversations hadn’t changed, no matter if we had a number one album, a sell-out tour or an award. I was still the boy who kicked off if he couldn’t shower three times a day and she was the girl who would barge into my room and repetitively organised the clothes in my drawers when she was heightened.
“I needed normal.”
“You’ve come to the right place. No, Tasha, you aren’t wearing that. Pyjamas. Now!”
There was the sound of the closing of a door.
“Why do you need normal?”
“Because sometimes something reminds you of what a cock you can be.”
She laughed. “Only sometimes and not all the time? What’ve you done now?”
“Nothing. Not really anyway. That girl I left with after the announcement at the restaurant,” I knew she understood what I was referring to without needing to give any more details.
“What about her. Didn’t you piss each other off?”
“I didn’t need her sympathy.”
“What about her, Liam?”
“She’s here.”
“In Iceland?”
“No, in the bloody supermarket.”
“Okay. You can be civil. Or just stay in your suite or floor whatever it is, and write songs. Or come home and babysit. That might be the lesser of the two evils.” I could practically hear her smile down the phone.
“I have a deadline or two. I’d get nothing done with Little Miss Diva.”
“Hmmmm. I don’t get why you’re bothered if she’s there or not. You generally don’t give a flying rat’s arse about what people think of you. I didn’t understand why you were so bothered that night about her. Especially given what else went on.”
“Speaking of which – have you had any journalists contact you?”
“A couple more than usual. I make them a brew and pass over a couple of photos of you with that disastrous haircut you had when you were fifteen. They think they’ve got dirt until they realise that photo was first published about seven years ago.” I heard her yawn and felt bad. Jodie had stuff to do, like check homework and possibly for nits.
“Yeah, always meant to thank you for that. Anyway. I’ll let you go.”
“That was it?” She sounded indignant. “You don’t have any gossip other than some woman is where you’re staying? This change in lifestyle is really disappointing me, Liam.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm. “If you’re not careful, I’ll have to start telling you about my children’s extra-curricular activities or make you watch videos of their concerts.”
“I’d probably quite like that.”
“Madness.”
There was a shout and then a loud cry in the background.
“Got to go. Looks like we have some form of snack sized crisis. God forbid my husband actually gives them a treat with no sugar.” She hung up, part way through her own yell and I made the decision then that some time with adults at the bar would be good for me. Even if it was just to rub it Jodie’s face.
* * *
Max and Seph were already at the bar when I went down, along with half a dozen more people that I’d seen around in the last twenty-four hours. I took a seat near the bar, not wanting to force my company on anyone. There were no women to be seen. Including Sophie.
