Cold Comfort (25 page)

The photographer asked me not to pose, just
to chat with him as he directed me what to do. Then I put the trousers on and
we went inside to the music room because they thought that was where I would be
most comfortable. I hoped Cat wouldn’t mind someone taking pictures in his
home.

“Play something for us?” Catherine asked. “Something
of yours?” I thought for a moment and then played the music to the song I’d
written, not willing to share the words yet even though they asked. The music
flowed through me, and I closed my eyes, lost as always in the pleasure of
playing. Then they had me do the same with a guitar, while the photographer
moved around me taking photos. When they said they had what they needed, I was
shocked.

“Really? I feel like I hardly did
anything.”

“You’re a natural,” David told me with a
smile. “The camera loves you. You have the look of a young Elizabeth Taylor. Has
anyone told you that before?”

“My Mama said it, but she’s always been a
little biased where I was concerned.” I smiled.

“Well, if you decide the music isn’t
working out, you could always model. I’d love to take some more pictures of
you.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said with a laugh,
“but I’m not sure I care about clothes enough.”

“You have the sort of body that rocks
anything you put on, and you don’t have to care about the clothes. You just
have to wear them. Anyway, if you change your mind, here’s my card.”

“Everything okay in here?” Cat asked,
making us all turn to where he stood watching from the doorway. I hadn’t heard
him come in. He was scowling, first at David and then at the card in my hand. Catherine
and Steph both immediately sat up straighter as he walked into the room, their chests
pushed out and stomachs sucked in, preening themselves. He completely ignored
them and walked straight over to kiss me.

“We’re done, apparently. I hope you didn’t
mind us using your music room?”

“You can do what you like, sweetheart,” he
said, pressing another kiss to my forehead. “Did you get what you needed?” he
asked Catherine as he wrapped me in his arms.

“We did. You’re a lucky man, Mr Colton. She’s
quite something.”

“That she is,” he agreed, grinning down at
me. “Well, if you’re okay, I’d better get back to the boys. I just wanted to
check.”

“I’m fine.” I smiled, touched by his
concern. He pressed a parting final kiss to my forehead before turning to go.
We all couldn’t help but watch him exit, transfixed by the sight of his tight
muscular body as he loped across the room, one hundred percent alpha male. I
thought I saw the women gasp for air after he finally left the room.

“Can I make any of you a cup of tea before
you go?” I asked once they seemed able to focus on something other than Cat. Catherine
blinked at me for a moment, as if trying to remember where she was. I could
sympathise; he had that effect on me too.

“That’s sweet of you,” she finally managed
to gather her wits to say, “but we need to get back to London. I want to get
this written up as soon as possible whilst it’s fresh in my mind, so I’ll pass for
now, thanks. Maybe next time?” I laughed, and when she asked why, I explained
it was funny they even thought there would ever need to be a next time. “Oh, I
think we’ll be meeting again,” she said with confidence. This time she was the
one who laughed.

Eddy and I walked them to their car, where
Catherine surprised me with a hug before she opened the door and got in. “See
you soon,” she said again, and I smiled. Then she started the engine and pulled
slowly away.

They’d only just driven out of sight when a
post van turned into the driveway, driving quickly towards us and stopping feet
away from where we were standing. A security man intercepted the driver as he
got out, pausing to sign for something before taking hold of the small envelope
and walking over to us.

“A recorded delivery letter for you, Ms
Thomas.”

“Call me Delilah, please,” I said with a
smile, taking it from him. I looked down at the plain white envelope. The
address looked to have been a computer-generated label, and there were no other
identifying features except for a postal mark which told us nothing other than that
the origin had been local. I slid my finger under the flap and tore it open,
pulling the single piece of high-quality note paper out from inside the
envelope, quickly scanning the first line:

Delilah, I never properly understood the
concept of ‘sweet sorrow’ until I saw you again yesterday.

The words swam in front of me on the page
as my eyes blurred with tears. I quickly blinked to clear them and started
reading once again as the voice inside my head screamed at me to tear the
letter up, that I was mad to allow Hardy back into my life in any way.

Delilah, I never properly understood the
concept of ‘sweet sorrow’ until I saw you again yesterday. That you could appear
still more beautiful than the last time we were together is unfathomable, and
yet you did. You are. You take my breath away.

Seeing you but not holding you or
touching you was agony – my cross to bear, I fear. I’ve made mistakes, it’s
true; not sharing what I knew of the nature of the relationship your mother had
with my father was one. Trusting people I thought were friends was another. But
believe me when I say my mistakes were not as dark as they were painted to you.

Allow me to speak with you. You name the
time, the place, whatever it takes to have the opportunity to put things right
between us. All I ask is for a chance.

Yours always,

Hardy

He had written his number below, assuming
correctly that I had changed my phone. What he didn’t know was that I knew his
number by heart, having spent all those months staring at his details, willing
him to call me or text me. Most of the time he hadn’t.

My eyes blurred again, and this time the
tears fell, hitting the page and washing his words into swirling patterns of
blue.

“Delilah, what is it?” Eddy asked,
concerned. “Who’s it from?”

“Hardy.”

“What has that bastard said now?” he
growled. I handed him the page, then turned and walked back into the house. When
I glanced back Eddy was peering down at it, his face fixed in a scowl as he
tried to read the handwriting, its small cursive script difficult for his
damaged eyes to see.

I ducked in through the doorway and walked
towards the kettle, defaulting to the most reliable method I knew to comfort
myself – having a cup of tea. What most concerned me was that part of me
was undeniably attracted to the idea of hearing what he had to say. That he
still held that sort of sway over my feelings was disconcerting. I pushed tears
angrily from my cheeks, determined not to allow him any control over my life
any longer. He had caused me enough hurt in the brief time he’d known me. I’d
moved on, and he needed to accept that. Seeing him would not help anyone, least
of all me.

“You’re not thinking about going to see him,
are you?” Eddy asked as he stepped into the room, blinking rapidly from the
contrast of light in the dim interior, his eyes wide like saucers as he stared
at me.

“Eddy…” I started and then stopped,
wondering how to put my anger over Hardy’s intrusion into my life once again into
words. He immediately misunderstood my hesitation, jumping to conclusions.

“You can’t let him hurt you again. He’s not
good for you.”

I started to cry, putting my hand up to
halt him and explain. “I…” I started again.

“What the hell?” Cat said, walking into the
kitchen and taking one look at my wet cheeks before jumping to his own
conclusions and scowling at Eddy.

“It’s not what you think,” I said quickly.

“I think I heard him say ‘he’s not good for
you’,” he said, pulling me into his arms as he glared at Eddy over my shoulder.

“He did, but he wasn’t talking about you. He
was talking about Hardy. I got a letter from him just now.”

“What the fuck? I’m going to kill the
fucker. Show me,” he demanded, pulling away from me and looking between the two
of us. I nodded at Eddy, and he pulled the page from his pocket. Cat snatched
it from him, frowning as he scanned the words. By the time he reached the
bottom his face was like a storm cloud. He tore the page in half, and then in half
again, continuing until it was in small pieces. Then he very deliberately
walked over to the bin and dropped what remained of it inside.

“That fucker is taking up too much of our
time right now. He needs to get over himself, fast, or he’s going to get
himself in trouble. Wayne!” He didn’t bother to open the door but just assumed
his voice would travel. It did.

“Yeah?” Wayne responded, poking his head
round the door.

“Get the flights booked. We leave for the
States tomorrow,” Cat informed him without even looking at me. “New York to
begin with. Don’t book anything for the first couple of days – I want to
do some sightseeing with my girl – but then after that get us booked up to
perform wherever you think best.”

Wayne nodded, clearly delighted with this
turn of events. He spun on his heel before pausing with his hand on the handle.
“Who’s going with?”

“The band, Delilah…” He looked over at Eddy.
“You wanna come, mate?”

Eddy looked at me questioningly, and I
nodded. I needed him there. “Yeah, count me in,” he said, smiling at me.

“Okay then,” Cat said, looking pleased with
himself. “Let’s get packing. Tell the others, will you, Ed?” With that he
grabbed my hand and pulled me back to our room.

I was worried when he said nothing to me
about Hardy’s letter. Every time I broached the subject he cut me off or kissed
me. He seemed determined to pretend it had never happened. The only sign he was
in any way upset by it was later on when he tore a strip off the security guy
who had taken the letter from the postman and given it to me. The guy looked
gutted by the time Cat had finished with him. I wanted to intervene on his
behalf but as I stepped forward Matt placed a hand on my shoulder and told me
to ‘leave it’. I did, but it didn’t stop me feeling bad. It wasn’t the poor man’s
fault.

That evening the party started late, but it
was hard-core. I had been preparing to go to bed after an evening of packing
and then composing in the music room, when Henry and Dougie arrived home with a
crowd of hangers-on. They were mostly women and looked pleased as punch to be
inside the Cold Comfort estate. They wore short skirts and tight tops pulled
low to reveal – on the whole – enhanced breasts. Their hair was
heavily lacquered and their make-up layered on thickly, creating an almost
grotesque modern version of an Elizabethan woman. I found myself staring on
more than one occasion, only to meet a defiant pout in return.

The cocaine came out and Cat dived in, more
heavily than I’d seen him partake before. Again I was offered, and again I
declined, choosing to stick to my beer instead. As the minutes slipped by, the
rate of consumption increased and the inhibitions proportionately decreased. The
laughter felt forced, almost hysterical, the conversation irrelevant and
meaningless as they all spoke across one another, no one listening as their
minds darted between topics. I found it exhausting and depressing.

Cat remained beside me on the sofa, but
another girl positioned herself on his other side. I saw him look at her and
smile. His expression was glazed and unseeing, but it was all the encouragement
she needed. She smiled triumphantly at me over his head, placing a hand onto
his thigh. When he did nothing to remove it I’d had enough. I stood and slipped
quietly from the room. Only Eddy noticed my departure and called out a
goodnight as the door closed behind me.

I deliberated when I reached the top of the
stairs which room I should sleep in. I had been with Cat in his room for the
majority of my stay, but given the likely outcome with the girl I didn’t want
to cause a scene if they arrived together. My heart broke a little at the
prospect, but I promised myself I’d confront him about it in the morning when
he’d be able to focus on what I was saying. I tightened the guards around my
heart and hauled myself back off to my old room. I had just snuggled down under
the duvet, wearing the band t-shirt Cat had lent me, when I heard my name being
bellowed in the corridor outside. I didn’t respond.

“What are you doing in here?” Cat demanded
as soon as he burst through the door a couple of minutes later.

“I didn’t know if you had other plans for
tonight,” I replied, sitting up and jutting my chin out defiantly. “You seemed
happy to let that girl touch you up, and I’m not into threesomes.”

“Stop being a silly bitch and get yourself
into my bed. She was just a stupid slut. She means nothing to me. She was
giving Henry a blowjob by the time I left.”

“She means something to me.” I pulled the
duvet back up to my chin and lay down, ignoring him, only to feel it being
ripped from me a moment later.

“No fucking way. You sleep with me, end
of,” he said, yanking me from the bed and slinging me over his shoulder as he
stormed out of the room and down the corridor.

“Put me down,” I screeched.

“I will,” he promised, depositing me
heavily on his bed. His eyes looked wild as he stared down at me. “You’re mine,
Delilah. You sleep with me,” he said again, before climbing in behind me and
pulling my hips against him so I could feel his erection. I protested, but it
was half-hearted. I found myself grinding against him as his hand came up
around my body and fastened onto my breast under the t-shirt, teasing the
nipple until I groaned. My head fell back against him as he ran the same hand
down my abdomen and between my legs. He paused to play with me and then before
I realised what he was doing he had slipped his hand under my knickers and swiftly
inserted his finger inside me. I groaned again. A second finger quickly
followed, and then a third as his movements became fast and needy.

As the sensations began to build he
suddenly stopped and flipped me onto my stomach. I protested again, but he just
lifted my hips and forced my legs wider apart with his knee as he fumbled with
his belt and jeans. I heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper and the snap of latex,
and a moment later he had ripped off my knickers and was pushing hard inside
me. It was swift and unyielding. He grasped my hips and began to pound into me
with long, fast strokes. With each thrust he pressed against the same spot
inside he’d reached with his fingers, and my pleasure quickly built back up. This
time he continued, pushing me far beyond, until my orgasm overwhelmed me. Even
as I pulsed around him, my body weakened and trembling, he never slowed,
continuing to hold my hips as he fucked me hard.

As my senses returned and he continued on
in his unchanging rhythm I realised this was how he fucked his groupies. This
was fast, meaningless fucking, designed to get him off – cocaine allowing –
with the minimum of emotional connection. I tried to pull away but he held me
firm, widening my legs as he pushed further into me, rotating his hips until I
felt him at my very core.

Determined to reclaim this act, to separate
it from what he’d done with hundreds of girls before me, I pushed myself up
until I was sitting on his lap as he kneeled behind still deep within me. I
grasped his hands in mine, running them over my body until finally he groaned
as my head fell back against him and his hands began running over me on their
own.

“Fuck, Delilah,” he moaned into my hair,
“You feel so fucking amazing.” I grabbed his hand again, this time bringing it
low to where we were joined.

“I’m yours,” I told him as we both felt the
connection, “and you’re mine.” He moaned his agreement as I ground onto him and
felt him swell within me. When we came, we came together.