18
SKY
As usual,the staff hide us towards the rear of the restaurant. The one Dylan chose is hidden at the back of an exclusive hotel, overlooking the lit gardens. Parisian elegance features in all the decor, from the glass chandeliers dripping from the ceiling above select diners to the upholstered chairs arranged around perfectly white-clothed tables.
Dylan isn’t looking elegant tonight. The mood he’s in, I didn’t prompt him to dress more suitably and left him to walk out the hotel in jeans. At least he has a shirt on and not a T-shirt, even if it’s partially unbuttoned with no tie. I’m always amused when, despite the disparaging looks, places like this wouldn’t dare refuse him entry. He didn’t comment on the short, black dress I changed into, or touch me.
Something’s wrong.
Dylan focuses hard on the open menu, and his face slips back into the sadness from before. I reach across and take the menu from his hand.
“Speak to me, Dylan. Did something happen tonight? You were pissed off about the sound in Madrid. Is that still happening?”
“No.”
I curl my fingers around his and squeeze. “Is one of the guys pissing you off? Or Steve? This isn’t like you. You’ve been happier recently, and now it’s as if you’ve been hit by the misery train.”
He bites his lip and doesn’t reply. I’m running out of possibilities here. Did he tell somebody about his solo album plans and cause another band meltdown?
“I know you’re over touring, but this is the last few dates. Then you can decide what to do about your solo project, about your future.”
He looks up, meeting my eyes properly for the first time since we arrived. “We can’t plan a future.”
The recent, bright Dylan isn’t in those eyes. “What? Of course we can.”
“Things happen out of our control. Our whole life together has been crazy and uncontrollable.”
A cold fear trickles along my spine and a million scenarios crash into my head. “That’s very doom laden and not true, Dylan. What happened? Are you okay?”
“Jem.”
Dylan looks down again, and I long to reach out and stroke his face, hating Jem could be about to drag everything down again. Their bond never loosens, even in the toughest times. They hate as much as they love each other; the pair are brothers but not by blood. If Jem’s killing himself again, Dylan won’t cope.
The low voices of the restaurant fill the silence as I grapple with what to say next. “Is he using again?”
“No. Something else.”
“Then what did you fight about? Must be something big, you’ve been good the last few months.”
Dylan leans back in his chair and grabs his wine glass. “Yeah.” He drains the glass in two mouthfuls and picks up the bottle to pour more.
“Dylan, you’re worrying me. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I don’t want to upset you.”
“We don’t hide anything. Ever. We promised.”
Deep inside, I agree. I don’t want our happy, married bubble bursting with reality. Life has been kinder to us the last couple of months, and I hoped we’d turned a corner. But what can Jem do that would upset me enough Dylan won’t tell me?
“Has he been in touch with Lily and caused problems again?” I ask, mouth drying.
Dylan shakes his head and opens his mouth to reply. Then stops. He swears and drinks more of his wine.
This is screwing with my head. “Dylan?”
“Jem and Ruby are having a baby.”
“Oh. Right.” His words don’t register at first; my brain won’t allow them into the closed corner. “I thought you were going to tell me something terrible.”