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His face becomes the hug he can’t give them. ‘They’re growing like kudzu!’
‘I surely hope not! That plant has killer instincts!’
‘I’d never let anything happen to you, Corrie.’
My heart cracks open at the determination; and at my need for it to be true. The hormones stuff cotton in my throat and tickle my nose, before my smidges of reason remind me of a few very interesting facts—distance that can’t and won’t be bridged for the foreseeable future; I am a single mom of two babies who are my world and my priority, but also hindrance for even the idea of a relationship right now; Luuk has already got a lot on his plate with his dad’s illness and his budding music career; plus, the decade between us, so Luuk probably wants to play with girls his own age.
Mild ageism is the easiest barrier to erect. ‘Thanks, kiddo, I really appreciate it.’
He slowly blinks before swallowing. ‘Anytime, friend.’
Shit, was that friend uttered in almost revenge like spitting a hard pit from a fruit? And why did it hit me like a proper stone? “Friends” is the perfect balance, I tell myself. Friendships are longer lasting than relationships. Uncomplicated relationships, that’s what I need right now.
Our chat is cut short by Ada, whose wail manages to wake up her brother this time. We renew our video appointment for next week, and the countdown begins, together with the careful rehashing of the moments we’ve just had as if it’s a salary that needs to stretch until the next payment. Only nothing can make-do, and I’m always left longing for the next chat with my friend. This time, I do get an arched brow and a Yeah, right look from my fed-up self.
Chapter twenty-two
Now
Luuk
‘Has your friend texted you?’ Gordon says meaningfully, catching me looking at my phone.
I curse my impatience for wanting to arrange my surprise for Corrie being evident. I want everything to be perfect. I have refused to reveal the plans she tried to coax out of me before the time arrives and we get to the venue. The message isn’t from her, though. It’s from Mark, who knows somebody who knows someone. After a bit of name-dropping—yes, mine, I’m that person now—everything seems to have fallen into place.
‘It’s from an old friend from school, actually. I hope Aaron doesn’t mind.’
The guys chuckle at my sarcasm, but know I have every right to be pissed off at Aaron’s insistence on meddling. There’s nothing besides friendship between me and Corrie. Yet. And I absolutely won’t have a heart-to-heart with him about something I already know he’ll be sceptical about, if not downright disapproving. He’s already furious at my insistence on playing my now viral song with the borrowed melody.
Yes, the song I wrote for Otto and Ada has become viral! After that first surprise performance, videos were uploaded and reshared. By our next concert, people were already expecting it, a couple of questions flying in the quietness of the venue, and I could tell that towards the end of the show, everyone was bursting with anticipation, so I did not disappoint.
I love playing it. As the lights dim and just a beam of warm purple falls onto the barstool I’m perched on, it’s like a door opening, and I’m back in the cosiness of Corrie’s home, in the magic micro-universe of the kids’ room, and they are tucked into their bunkbeds, eyes sleepy, smiles content. My imagination threatens to follow paths not suitable for a public concert, but fortunately the song is short, and then we move on to noise and fun.
I miss Corrie, though. I’m antsier as if it’s the first time in the last three years that I’ve come to Europe. Blame it on the fear that if I wait any longer, the next time I’m around, she might be seriously dating someone who’ll be the one dropping by her work to surprise her or tucking the kids in; or fucking touching her. This last thought brings up my Neanderthal side and makes me kick aside the fear of the risks and logistics involved, and the fact that she might be reluctant for my role in their lives to change. So I have to find a way, and I’m working towards it.
Three days!
Three days until we play our last concert at Paradiso. Then a couple of extra days for me, against Aaron’s wish, of course, before I fly back, hopefully with some specific plans about the future. Our future. While my imagination takes all these wishful thoughts and runs with them, there’s this Hold your horses warning at the back of my mind, because life has a way of getting in the way of our plans. I’m stubbornly ignoring it, like a racehorse seeing nothing besides the finish line.
The only thing that registers from the past three days is arriving in Amsterdam. We are a few hours late, our bus from Antwerp stuck in traffic due to an accident on the road, and I hardly have time to shower before we head for a sound-and-lights check.
‘Is this the Apple Store from the Netflix film?’ Joey asks, as we arrive in Leidseplein and pass outside the building that gained notoriety due to the guy who held people hostage there a couple of years ago.
‘It is,’ I absentmindedly confirm, while quickly texting Corrie.
Me
Finally here!
Me
We’re rushing to test everything before tonight.
Corrie
Welcome back!
Corrie
