19
APRIL
SKY
Tour over,and life settles for the first time. Blue Phoenix no longer hovers over Dylan’s head. The need to finish the tour was on Dylan’s mind the whole time we spent travelling over summer. Now the dark shadow cast by commitments he wanted to escape lift.
Dylan can’t leave his music though. I doubt he ever could. Writing and performing music are as much a part of him as breathing, which sounds like a bad cliché but isn’t. Dylan becomes irritable if he doesn’t pick up his guitar for a few days, and often disappears into his studio-cave for hours. This isn’t enough for him, and we move to London where Dylan continues to spend time around studios and the record company.
I’m not a London fan, but there’re advantages. Liam and Cerys moved into Liam’s St John’s Wood home with Ella, who now attends an expensive and exclusive school nearby. I spend time with Cerys. We share the take no bullshit approach to our husbands’ fame.
Over the last few months, Cerys has redecorated their house, refusing to employ an interior designer, and between us, we spend days wandering exclusive stores selecting colours and furniture. This encourages me to do the same. Dylan’s—our—apartment. The neutral tones decorating Dylan’s apartment haven’t changed since he bought the place. The place never felt lived in, a London base he spent little time in when in the city to record or rehearse. The choice of colour, or lack of, reflects his own at the time he moved in.
Some rooms look as if Dylan ordered furniture and left it in the corner the delivery guys placed it, untouched. He probably did. Not to mention the fact he hardly had anything in the kitchen apart from the minimum: a couple of pans, a few plates, and cutlery. Dylan was right about his cooking skills he showed in Broadbeach. Years living on take-away food, I’m surprised he’s not twice the size.
Dylan’s interest in decorating the place ranks around zero still, which annoys me because I’m keen to make the place ours. Dylan’s creative energy is currently channelled into his still-secret project with Jack Kennedy and has no time for browsing shops for cushions. Dylan also continues to hide his project, and we’ve argued he shouldn’t. He needs to be honest with people otherwise they’ll read too much into his plans, and he promises as soon as any firm studio dates are confirmed, he’ll speak to the band and Steve. News travels fast, as we bloody know, so he’d better discuss things soon.
So with Dylan’s permanent daily fixture in the apartment studio, I pull Cerys in to help out. I’m not looking for show home perfection, just to fill the place with colour and wipe out the mute starkness in the apartment.
Today we head to Camden, where Cerys shows me around her favourite furnishings store. Imported rugs and furniture crowd the shop, and I’m attracted to Balinese figures. In my mind’s eye, I picture them in the bedroom, matching the printed throws we bought over there.
The inevitable photo is taken, and Cerys and me exchange despairing looks.
“Great, I’m sure after the size of the lunch we just had my belly will spark pregnancy rumours,” I mutter and rub my stomach.
God forbid I have a large meal and wear something tight. As I’m a normal-sized woman, it’s easier for the press to invent baby bumps.
Cerys grabs my hand. “Don’t do that or they will!”
I turn to the not very subtle woman taking shots of us on her phone and pull a face. Lowering the phone, she scurries away, behind a rack stacked with thick towels.
“Don’t think she’s press,” I say. “So bloody annoying.”
Cerys glances after her. “It’s the fact Liam can’t be seen talking to another woman without rumours we’ve split that pisses me off most.”
“Do the articles they concoct bother you?” I ask.
“Do they bother you when Dylan’s linked to other women?”
I laugh. “Not at all. No way I’d marry somebody I can’t trust. At least there’s less crap thrown our way now thanks to other more interesting celebrities.”
“Gotta love the Kardashians,” Cerys says quietly.
“And reality TV ‘stars.’” I make inverted commas with my fingers.
“Ha!” Cerys nudges me. “Shush!”
I pick through some cushions and wander around the store staring at abstract paintings. Okay, this is overwhelming and expensive. I should’ve just visited Ikea. “How did the interview go?”
The face Cerys pulls as she examines an array of candleholders says everything. “Ugh. I swear they spent more time taking pictures than talking to me or Liam. If you could count Liam’s grunting as talking.”
“Not a fan of interviews, is he?”
“No, and he left it all to me, turned up an hour late. Deliberately. Luckily, Ella enjoyed herself and did enough talking for the three of us.”
“I’ll make sure I buy a copy.”
“Six page spread.”