She next woke when James banged his hands rhythmically along the outside of the bus calling their names. Owen groaned. “F-king drummers,” he complained. “What is the time?” “I don’t know, but I am starving.” The bus engine was silent, and the driver had already departed, so they had arrived a while before, they realised, and slept through it. They used the en suite and dressed, pushing sunglasses onto their faces as they staggered down the steps into the daylight and squinted against the unfamiliar glare of the sun, fuzzy brained and groggy from sleep. “This is different,” Owen commented as they were joined Seb, Jeremy and James on the pavement, the three guys looking brighter and more awake than Emily felt. Seb held a black espresso coffee in his hand which might, she thought, account for their alertness. “Being at the venue bright and early.” “It is midday,” Seb pointed out. “Most people don’t consider that early.” “Early for us,” Owen grinned lopsidedly, his dimple appearing.
“Are you alright?” Owen hovered close but not too close. He could deal with most things, but vomit was not one of them. They were parked on the side of the road, with cars honking as they passed the two oversized band busses loudly emblazoned with Two Way Street on all sides. The advertisement was a disadvantage, Emily thought miserably, when she had her head in a bucket. “Two Way Street!” Someone screamed out the window. The rest of the band and some roadies were fending off a carload of fans that had pulled up behind the second bus, and their laughter rolled back to her as James hammed it up for their photos, keeping them from wondering where Emily and Owen were. Emily sat on the curb, in the shelter of the luggage compartment door, the bucket on her lap. “Stomach bug, maybe?” She said wearily. “You have been off colour for a few days, maybe we should call a doctor,” Owen commented. “I thought it was… well, you know,” he shrugged. The stalker. He thought she had been off becau
“This place is amazing,” Megan said as she got out of the limousine, sliding on her oversized sunglasses like a movie star and tossing her purple-streaked dark hair over her shoulder. “And it is not the bottle of champagne talking, though I sure could use a bathroom.” “Meg,” Emily embraced her warmly. “Thank you,” she whispered in her ear. “Thank me later, show me the bathroom now,” Megan replied. “Owen, be a sweetie and bring my suitcase in,” she added as she kissed his cheeks enthusiastically leaving purple toned lipstick behind and deliberately not telling him about it. Emily took Meg inside, showing her to the powder room, and watched as Owen wrestled Megan’s luggage down the hall to the bedroom the band had decided would be a spare. “How long is she staying again?” Owen whispered as he went past. “Are you sure she is not moving in?” “I heard that,” Megan swatted his behind as she stepped out of the bathroom, and Owen flashed her a grin. “Alright, grand tour, sis,” she linked
“Are you sure that you are going to be okay once I am gone?” Megan asked her as she prepared to leave. “Are you going to be okay?” Emily replied. “More to the point, is James going to be ok? He looks like someone has kicked him in the balls.” “Aww,” Megan pouted and glanced over Emily’s shoulders at the dejected drummer hovering in the background. “I would stay… If.” “If what exactly?” Emily wondered. “If I lived in the same f-ked up fantasy world as you and Owen. Not everyone can just throw everything in, quit their jobs, sell their houses, and run away with a band, Em.” “I don’t know why not,” Emily replied. “It worked for me.” “Did it?” Megan challenged her. “I don’t hear Owen going around crowing about being your baby-daddy, do I?” Emily swallowed. “That is complicated.” Megan raised her eyebrows. “He was there for the making of it, Em, he has responsibility for this end of it, too. But he can’t take on that responsibility if you don’t let him know he has one.” “Meg…” “E
“Perfect,” Aaron gave James the thumbs up through the glass as James shook DJ Cooper’s hand and started for the door. “He was perfect for the job.” “If he ever decides to give up music,” the producer agreed, “he could have a career in radio.” “Don’t tell him that,” Owen said with a grin. “He will get cocky.” “So, how did I do?” James danced a little and preened as he joined them. “Nailed it, right?” “You made me sound good,” Emily kissed his cheek. “Thank you. The truth was,” she added to the producer. “I was an absolute mess. But James’ version is better.” “And will make anyone else think twice about trying the same,” Owen added darkly. “It is part of public life,” Aaron shrugged. “You get the good fans, and you get the bad ones. But that is a good publicity spin and renews interest in the album, so everyone will be happy with that, James, good job.” They headed out of the radio station and were met by their security guards at the entrance and escorted into the limousine, with
“I don’t want to get married.” Emily stared at Owen in shocked surprise. She had just returned from wedding dress shopping, excited from having found The Dress and a little tipsy from the champagne she had shared with her bridesmaids after putting down the deposit, and she was sure Owen had just told her that he did not want to marry her, although that was just… not possible. Owen was her best friend. They had grown up next-door neighbours and had gone to the same school. They had taken guitar lessons together, played in the same soccer team, and helped each other with homework. Every childhood memory she had, featured Owen through the various states of childhood, from sweet faced little boy, lanky adolescent, through to heart stopping adult. They shared a birthday month. Owen had first proposed to her when they were eight. They had been each other’s first for everything… First kiss, first touch… Absolutely everything. There had never been anyone else for Emily… Not physically, no
Emily put the notepad back as she had found it, the beat of her heart painful against her ribs, seeming to pound in her throat, and her ears filled with a rush of white noise. On automatic pilot she made her way back through the house, erasing any sign that she had been there, and turning out the lights, until she stood on the front porch, locking the door, much as Owen had done over an hour before. She made her way back to her house - the tears dry now as dread began to set in. Was Megan right?The neighbour across the road was at his letter box. She was certain that he had checked his mail three times already, and Mrs Essen next door was watering very late, standing on her driveway with her hose pointed away from Emily’s house, her back to her, as if determinedly not watching. Snooping, she thought with embarrassed anger. They had obviously seen Owen’s move during the day. She and Owen had become the street’s entertainment, as good as any soap opera, she thought angrily as she let h
“No, I do know it says non-refundable,” Emily closed a window to block out the music from next door. Owen’s band was using the house to practise in again. Cars had been rocking up all morning, and the street was lined with beaten up, paint-challenged vans and Utes. Surely there was not so many people in the band? What were the rest of them there for? “But it says, non-refundable unless you manage to rebook the venue on that day.“Now, I know for a fact you have waiting lists because I was on one. The date is still six months out. I am sure if you call one of the brides who were also on that waiting list, someone will want the venue on that date. Hell, if you give me the list of phone numbers, I will call them for you.”As she moved through cancelling the many bookings that they had made for the wedding, Emily was learning to be pushy. People who had been only too happy to be helpful and answer any question they had, who had been always cheerful and pleasant to deal with, showed anothe