I could’ve stayed, done the same, but I didn’t want to waste my day bathing in negativity and an atmosphere that was hardly relaxing. I pulled myself out of the pool, feeling the cold air around me, my nipples hardening.
And I felt Liam’s eyes on my back as I walked to the next pool, turning round to see that he wasn’t going to shift his gaze.
Not this time.
6
Liam
London had been my base for most of my life, ever since I’d moved into a care home in the middle of the city. I loved London. It was home, the place I returned to after poorly attended gigs in the north when we first started out and my refuge after tours of countries where we were treated like gods.
I’d been in Reykjavik now for five weeks, having escaped from London after announcing my retirement to New York, then Cape Town, and after finding no solace in either I’d come here, to a place I’d never performed in or slept in before. I didn’t think I’d tire of the views. The sky and the sea could blend into one, the colours of the houses popped against the white grey. I’d already spent a couple of days in a café, looking over towards the sea, writing lyrics that I knew were some of my best yet.
“I can’t believe you’re still here.” Amber Morrison sat down opposite me, a small overnight bag dumped next to her. She was immaculate: tall, long slender legs, dark brown hair that hung straight and long down her back and made up to look like an A-list celebrity.
Which we both knew was what she wanted to be.
Amber was a journalist. She worked freelance, covering any scene she could get her nails dug into and she posted prolifically on social media, picking up sponsorships and gifted items daily.
“I haven’t a reason to go back. I can work from here.”
“Your hotel must be costing you a fortune.”
She wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t matter. I had more money than I’d ever spend. “Not your problem.” I folded my arms and watched her as she settled, taking out her phone and a notepad, plus the incredibly expensive camera she’d sold her soul for.
“What is my problem is that you’re never around when I need you to be. You know, Liam, we are more than just friends and I could do with someone who’s more than just a friend.” She looked at me through incredibly long lashes.
They reminded me of Sophie, only I wasn’t sure if Sophie would approve of Amber’s, but what the hell did I care anyway?
“The more than just friends part stopped some time ago.” Truth. Another truth was that Amber had been a convenient bed-mate. She wouldn’t kiss and tell, because that would make sure no one would trust her again, but she craved a high profile relationship, something to catapult her career into the stratosphere where she wasn’t presenting cast-off reality TV shows.
Now she could command a healthy fee, interviewing her ‘friends’ and selling them to various websites or writing them up for a freelance fee. While agreeing with Wes that I’d give an interview about growing up in the care home wasn’t something I desperately wanted to do, Amber was the first choice to do it with. She wanted us together properly. She wanted a bit of stability too, although fuck knew why she thought she’d get it with me.
“I know. And that was your choice, Liam.” She gave me a smile that was half-shy and possibly honest.
I opted to ignore it.
“Wes said you’d give me the interview about growing up at Rose Dene.”
That was what it had been called. Rose Dene. A pretty name for a place that hadn’t been pretty. All children’s care homes were done out the same, made to look like a home. What couldn’t be recreated was the fact that in a real home, no one got paid to actually be there. The plush grey carpets and well put together pieces of flat pack furniture didn’t have any soul. In Rose Dene’s case, there were just three permanent fixtures and we tore the hell out of the place. When all three of us landed there – the first occupants of what had been a closed down local authority building – we kicked in walls, destroyed window frames, killed carpets. All in the name of the frustration of being in the care system, where your life wasn’t your own and everything was about hitting certain targets and ticking boxes.
“How do you want to do it?”
She smiled, relaxed and sat back in the chair. We were both angled to face out of a huge window that overlooked the harbour. A waitress had been over with a bottle of wine and some snacks, which both of us had so far ignored.
“You’ll be better asking me questions. Get me talking.”
Amber nodded. “Is there anything you don’t want to cover?”
“My dad. Off limits. I’ll give some background as to why I was in care in the first place, but nothing to do with him. He didn’t know about me and if he had, he would’ve taken me in.” As far as politicians went, the man who turned out to be my father was actually decent.
“Can I include that?”
“Yes. But no more from me on that.” She would no doubt do some more digging and find out what she needed to sell the story to numerous tabloids and gossip magazines.
“Can we do this as a filmed interview? It’d get huge ratings…”
“No. Not interested. Paper only.”
