‘You’re getting a belly.’ Michael knelt down to pinch flesh around my middle.
We were onstage at Wembley Arena – me sitting with legs crossed, looking out at thousands of empty seats flipped up like sad mouths.
Michael was striding between instruments, glaring at me and the set-up, finding fault with everything. Paul’s guitars were taking up far too much of the stage. The lighting was pointed at Paul too much. And I was getting fat.
‘It’s just the way I’m sitting,’ I said, rearranging my clothing and pulling at my tight jeans.
‘Don’t let yourself go, now. I’m not into big, hefty women. You don’t want to go turning into your sister now, do you?’
‘My sister is beautiful,’ I say. ‘The most beautiful person I ever met.’
Michael’s eyes darkened. ‘Okay, okay. Enough of the hero worship. Beware of false idols, isn’t that what they say? Because from what I’ve seen, your sister resents you. She doesn’t want you to be happy. Remember how she was when I turned up on the doorstep?’
‘Dee doesn’t resent me. She just … She had to be a mother to me, is all. At a young age. It’s a lot to ask of a kid. She never said she resented anything. That’s just me, filling in the blanks.’
‘She resents you, Lorna. You know she does. She’s jealous. What fat girl doesn’t hate her skinny little sister? Still. She won’t be jealous soon, will she? Because you’re getting fat too.’
‘I’m not fat,’ I said, hating how desperate I sounded. ‘I’ve lost weight on this tour. Look.’ I pulled my jeans from my stomach to show they were looser – which they were.
Michael turned to look at rows and rows of blue seats. ‘You know, this place will be full tonight. And then the tour will be over. What will we do with you then? I can’t very well send you back to that sister of yours, can I? Maybe I’ll keep a hold of you. What do you think?’
I swallowed. I hadn’t dared ask what might happen when the tour ended. To tell the truth, I’d been worried Michael was getting sick of me. All he ever wanted me for recently was soulless sex, and even that was less frequent than it had been.
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
Michael’s eyes burned. ‘You don’t know? You don’t know? I’m asking if I should keep a hold of you and that’s your answer? Who do you think you are? You’re an arrogant bitch, that’s what you are.’
Like an idiot, I started crying. I’d been doing that more recently. Most days, actually. ‘I just didn’t understand the question,’ I sniffled. ‘Please. It didn’t come out right, that’s all.’
‘You’re nobody, Lorna. Nobody. You don’t deserve to be here. I was going to ask you to live with me. Do you get that? I was going to ask you to move in. But now it’s all messed up.’
‘You want me to move in with you?’ I asked, eyes big and incredulous.
‘I did. But you can forget that now. You can pack your bags and go back to your family.’ Then he added a sneery, ‘I don’t know.’
‘Please, Michael.’ I got onto my knees, hands together, literally begging. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Of course I want to move in with you. There’s nothing I want more in the world. I love you so much, Michael. Please.’
Michael stood up and paced around, toying with me. He bossed around some men in hi-vis jackets. He shouted at the stage manager about the mic. After twenty minutes of torture, he returned, hands on hips, standing over me.
‘If you want to live with me, you’ve got to make me a promise.’
‘What?’
‘You’ve got to shut up about my wife. Not one more word about me being married. Things are the way they are with Diane. We’re friends. We’re separated. But we’re not going to divorce anytime soon, and that’s just the way it is. You’ve got to be my cool punk princess who doesn’t care about that stuff. Okay?’
‘Okay.’ I nodded and nodded, relieved at an easy way out of Michael’s bad books. He’d ignored me for days before. ‘Okay. Of course.’ I wiped away tears and managed a smile. ‘Will we go to Ireland where you grew up or will we go to the States or …’ I hesitated as his expression darkened.
‘Don’t get too cocky now, Lorna. Stop with the questions. You know I hate a cocky girl. I have a house here in England. It’s a work in progress, but it’s gonna be a stunner.’
‘I thought … don’t you live in Ireland?’
‘Ireland is my past. England is my future. I’m building a castle. Can you imagine that? King Michael’s castle. And a whole forest to go with it. Every girl’s dream, right? Like a real princess.’
I jumped up and threw my arms around him. ‘I love you, Michael. I love you so much.’
As I was clinging on to Michael for dear life, a woman’s voice, husky and deep, boomed through the speakers: ‘Michael Reyji Ray. Step away from the girl, Michael Reyji Ray. You are a married man.’
Michael pushed me away so hard I nearly fell over. I’d never seen him look afraid before. But when he saw who was talking into the mic – a messy, bleached-blonde woman – his shoulders sagged with relief.
‘Very funny, Cat. You’re hilarious.’
The scruffy blonde woman laughed as she untangled her bare legs from trailing cable. ‘Relax, Michael. Did you think it was Diane? Or a journalist?’ Acres of pale flesh spilt from her barely-there flowery babydoll dress. There was a huge tattoo on her back: Annalise in Celtic lettering.
Michael purses his lips. ‘Tend your own garden, Cat Cannon. You’ve got enough of your own problems, haven’t you? Without getting into mine.’
‘Trying to change the subject?’ The woman clicked the mic into its stand and strolled towards us. ‘It won’t work.’ She slung a heavy, pale arm around Michael’s shoulder. ‘When did you ever get me to shut up?’
‘I don’t think anyone could ever make you shut up, Cat,’ said Michael.
The woman – Cat – gave me a lopsided, red-lipstick smile. ‘What’s your name, honey?’
I wanted to run. Cat didn’t mean to, but she was putting me into a trap. Whatever I said, Michael would be mad at me later. He didn’t like me talking to other people.
‘Lorna,’ I said, head down, glancing at Michael.
‘Well, what’d you know? A fellow American. Where are you from?’
‘New York.’
‘You’re not from New York originally. You’re too naive. You sound … I don’t know. California somewhere?’
‘I grew up in California.’
‘Uh huh?’ Cat eyed me expectantly, offering slow, encouraging blinks. ‘Where?’
I glanced at Michael again. ‘Um. Well, my mother moved around a lot. So … uh … we lived all over. San Francisco. Las Vegas for a while. Los Angeles. All over. We sort of moved whenever the rent was due.’
Cat laughed. ‘You know, my mother was a train wreck too. I don’t even call her Mom anymore. I call her Nancy.’
I looked at her then, almost smiling. ‘You too?’
‘Uh huh. It’s hard, isn’t it? It hurts. When they don’t love you.’
We shared a moment. A moment I knew I’d pay for later, when Michael flew into a jealous rage. He hated me connecting with anyone, even for a few seconds.
‘So you know what Michael wants, right?’ said Cat, leaning close enough for me to smell alcohol and pot. ‘Skinny little yes girls who do as they’re told. The younger and skinnier and more vulnerable the better. I’ve seen the pattern. Run, run as fast as you can. I can say it. No one else dares.’
She tried to wink, but ended up blinking instead.
I watched Michael, expecting to see his evil twin appear: the black-eyed, hunched-shouldered guy who flung me across rooms. But he just said: ‘Cat, I hear your daughter is getting friendly with one of the sound guys. Better check she’s not getting herself in any trouble, right?’
Cat rolled her eyes. ‘Christ. That’s all I need. A teen pregnancy.’ She went back to the mic.
‘ANNALISE! COME HERE THIS INSTANT, YOUNG LADY!’
From the back of the arena, a sandy-haired girl appeared wearing a flowery babydoll dress and DM boots. Her outfit was similar to Cat’s and she was pale like her mother, but her face was entirely her own: widely spaced blue eyes, messy brown brows and a square jaw.
‘What?’ the girl asked.
Annalise was younger than me and skinnier. She had the frail, vulnerable kid thing going on and I felt wary. I knew Michael liked that dynamic. It made him feel big and strong.
I hated Annalise on sight, with her bad goth eyeliner and plum-coloured lipstick. Who did she think she was, a teenage rock star?
Cat shouted: ‘Are you back there flirting with the sound guys?’
‘I was doing my school work,’ said Annalise. Then she noticed Michael and her voice turned breathy. ‘Michael. How are you? Are you rehearsing?’ She tried flicking hair around in a sexy way, looking for all the world like a little girl tottering in her mother’s high heels.
Michael turned on his deep rock-star voice. ‘Annalise. Are you being a good girl for your mother?’
Annalise gave a half smile then, affecting a jolting, flirtatious walk towards the stage. ‘Have you met my mother? She doesn’t want me to be good. She doesn’t even want me to do my homework.’
Michael chuckled, and the sound hit my stomach like a kilo weight. He was being sexy too.
‘You don’t strike me as a rebel, Annalise,’ he said. ‘A little English rose is what you are, with that cut-glass accent. You’re nothing like your mother after all that time in British boarding school. But you’ve got a bit of spark to you. For certain.’
Annalise giggled like a kid at a sleepover. How old was she, anyway? Twelve?
‘What are we going to do with you, Annalise?’ Michael asked, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the stage. ‘I know you like performing. But you don’t fit in a rock and roll circus.’
Annalise came right up to the stage then, hands gripping the rubber edge, looking up at Michael with glazed, lovesick eyes. ‘I fit with you.’ Then she noticed me watching and added, ‘Onstage, I mean.’
‘So we need to make that happen,’ said Michael. ‘It’s about time I listened to your songs. Right?’
I marched up to Michael, putting my hands on his shoulders, and glared at Annalise.
Michael turned his head to me, irritated, pushing my hands away. ‘What do you want, Lorna?’
‘Just showing you I love you.’ I kissed his cheek.
Michael ignored me. ‘So how about it,’ he asked Annalise. ‘You want to play me some of your songs after the show tonight?’
Annalise’s smile widened and her square jaw looked even more pronounced. She sort of squealed, then tried to look cool. ‘Hey, that’s great.’
I almost cringed for her.
‘What kind of music do you like, my little English rose?’ Michael asked.
A sound escaped my throat. Something like a ‘Ha!’ but it bit my vocal cords. I glared at Annalise, trying to send killer laser beams from my eyes.
Back off.
‘Well, not my mom’s stuff,’ said Annalise. ‘I like kind of Alanis Morrisette. And Shampoo.’
I really did cringe then. ‘Shampoo?’ I said, voice mocking. ‘Two blonde teenyboppers singing about trouble. How cool.’
Annalise took my hit with an irritated blink, then pulled some cooler music tastes out of the bag. ‘And I like the Vaselines too. And the New York Dolls.’
‘Get out of here,’ said Michael. ‘Lorna loves the New York Dolls.’
‘I’m a real fan,’ I said. ‘Do you know their first album, Annalise? The second track … do you know that one?’ I knew she wouldn’t. I was hitting out at her. Making her feel some of the pain I was feeling.
‘I’m not into CDs,’ said Annalise airily. ‘Most of the time, I see bands live. It’s better listening to music that way.’ She smiled at Michael, and I felt my face turn boiling hot.
‘Indeed it is,’ said Michael, holding Annalise’s gaze. ‘Live is always better. And live is how I want to hear you, Annalise. So you’ll sing for me after the show?’
‘Of course, Michael,’ said Annalise, big, wide eyes all over him. It was sickening, and my hands found Michael’s shoulders again.
‘I’ll listen to your stuff right after your mother and I sing to 90,000 people tonight,’ said Michael, pushing my hands away again. Then he shouted out: ‘Right, Cat?’
‘Sure,’ said Cat. ‘Wait. What’s happening?’
‘Annalise is going to sing me some of her songs,’ said Michael, dropping the sexy rock-star baritone. ‘That’s all. Okay?’
‘Don’t get too friendly with my daughter, Michael Reyji Ray,’ said Cat. ‘She’s fifteen and you’re an old pervert. So don’t even think about it.’
‘I’m a happily married man.’
‘Like hell you are.’
Cat stumbled down from the stage then and attempted to link Annalise’s arm. Annalise shook her off but still followed her backstage.
I turned on Michael.
‘You’re a happily married man? So what am I?’
Michael slapped me cleanly around the face. There were staff all around. People setting up equipment. Doing sound checks. They must have noticed, but no one said a word.
‘I just asked you to move in with me,’ Michael snarled. ‘Count your blessings. I don’t need a hard time today, Lorna. I have a show to do.’
The message was clear. Don’t get above yourself. Cat Cannon is famous. She has value, so she can talk to me however she likes. You can’t.