May 1979 Chapter 48
Roger sat alone in the mansion that he'd bought for him and Barbara to live in. The place had lots of furniture, was filled with some of his and Barbara's old bits from the apartment that he was still paying for, just in case she wanted to see it one last time - he'd hung up some of her artwork and even had delicately nailed up some of her plate collection - as silly as he'd thought it was. But it still felt empty to him.
He'd only just got off of the plane from America - he tried to converse with Brian, Freddie and Deaky, but his responses were quite sparse because internally he didn't want to talk to anybody apart from Barbara. He didn't like to admit the fact that he cried after the phone call, slapped his face to knock himself out of it - wondered if she was doing the exact same thing.
This wasn't how he'd pictured his return - five months ago the plan was for them to move in together. The scale of of the house further highlighted Barbara's absence. He didn't know how he'd managed to fuck up - or how he even did fuck up. Granted, he hadn't called her - he'd tried in his spare time - called MCA records only to be told that she'd quit and couldn't give him her whereabouts.
Roger was true to his word, even though Barbara didn't seem to believe him. He had been worrying about her since he'd left for the spontaneous tour, he didn't even have time to pack much before meeting the boys and travelling abroad. Before he could even think he was onto the next place for an interview, show or photoshoot. He worried more when he read about her supposed 'last show', the outfit that she got heavily criticised for and then the release of 'Growing Pains'. He listened to it - then panicked, had his head bowed and his hand holding his forehead.
You don't make my heart beat like you used to.
All of the lyrics made his heart fall down to his stomach. While the song was beautiful, Roger couldn't help but overthink and consider the fact that perhaps the lyrics were written about him - that she was growing out of love with him.
He tried to see things in her perspective, the fact that he'd had to attend parties, the strippers - the pictures of John getting a private lap dance and the hickeys on his neck.
Roger groaned and laid flat on his bed - he didn't have hickeys like Deaky did. He was intoxicated that night and did receive a public lap dance from one of the ladies in front of the three other boys - Brian received one, Freddie did - it was supposed to be a joke between the four of them - and about an hour later, John was the only one to pay for a private dance. If he was sober that night then he would've obviously still been tempted, but would've politely declined because Barbara meant more to him than anyone did - and if he'd have known that he'd be alone in months to come then he would've tried to think more carefully about his actions.
He'd known that he was in the wrong for doing that and was desperate to call her and tell her that it was not what it seemed - if any pictures had made the papers. He would've told her anyway, even if she hadn't seen pictures, that he did not sleep with the woman who had danced in front of him. But Barbara hadn't let him explain. He huffed again and spread his arms out on the new king sized bed. He'd seen that she'd been spending a lot of time with Benjamin Orr before he called her up. They had so much to talk about and clear up, but no - she refused to pick up the phone after he tried to call again.
And he didn't understand why she'd called him a liar. That was what had hurt him the most. He didn't deserve that label. He hadn't lied. Brian had revealed the fact that Barbara had been staying at Stella's home in Los Angeles the night before Roger had called her - he hadn't not made an effort, he made more than an effort - was desperate to speak to her - he still was desperate, even after she told him that she wanted a break from him.
He didn't even understand - what does she mean? He asks himself. It can't be over. It just couldn't. She had to come back. And so he waited - he was grateful that he had the time to, didn't have anything planned for the next few months. He didn't care how boring it would get. Roger couldn't move on - not when he didn't know exactly what she meant. He'd said before that he'd be somewhat okay if she left him for her career. Now that she was doing exactly that - he'd changed his mind.
Modelling was a waste of her talent, he thought - knowing that she could do so much more than pose in front of a camera. Barbara was made to create things, had a natural talent for making beautiful things.
Roger also sensed that there were other problems that weren't to do with him - that perhaps she'd not been in the right mind to actually tell him that she needed a 'break', that she didn't want to see him - whether it was drugs or drink or the people around her or just anything. He'd fight for her and try harder - and if she still didn't come home or at least let him just explain - well, he didn't know what he'd do if it came to that.
He was stubborn with himself - instead of letting himself sleep he dialled Stella's number. Didn't get through, got put through to voicemail - sent Barbara a short message - he couldn't exactly explain himself in this way. Tried the next day for a week until he got through - Stella picked up.
"Oh fuck, thank god - is Belle there?" He asks desperately, not caring about how distressed he sounded.
Stella cleared her throat. It was hard for Stella to speak with Roger - she didn't want to come in-between their relationship, but she felt the need to - after all, Barbara's instructions were for Stella to tell him that she was not around to talk, "No - no, she's not here. She's - um, out."
Roger was determined to crack Stella and get her to stop lying for Barbara, "Stella, please. I need to talk to her. I'll do anything."
"Stop sleeping with strippers - that's what you can do," Stella responds sassily, shocking Roger. He internally screams and lets his head fall onto the surface of the wooden table he was sat at with the phone. Stella had clearly read or seen the pictures of Deaky.
This made the situation worse for him. Stella wouldn't even help him, she believed the papers as he guessed that most of the articles written about her were true, about her and Brian. Therefore, she believed everything she read and was convincing Barbara that Roger had been with a stripper. Roger was surprised, that Barbara was listening to Stella and not him - it wasn't like Barbara to act like this. She always complained about how fake stories were - and in this case, there wasn't any evidence or proof that Roger had been unfaithful.
Roger's mouth was parted, "Stella - I didn't - you have to believe me. Will Belle be there soon? Where is she?"
There's another long pause before Stella abruptly speaks, like she'd rehearsed what she was going to say, "With Ben Orr - um, together designing an - album cover."
Would Stella or Barbara actually come up with such an excuse? Perhaps she was telling the truth after all. Although Stella's tone was suspiciously fidgety and off. Stella put down the phone after there was indistinct mumbling, like another voice. Roger was left more confused than he was before - the lack of knowing what was going on was tearing him apart. Perhaps Barbara was torturing him like this just to give him a taste of his own medicine - what if she was laughing? Enjoying the fact that he was alone.
He was discouraged by that brief phone call. Perhaps she truly wanted him to move on, if she was with Ben Orr. Roger wanted to punch the wall. Roger drank more often too to calm himself down, to fill the empty void in his body. Then by the morning he came to his senses and remembered the promise that he'd made her, that she'd made to him by wearing the ring that he'd given her in November last year.
He sat himself down at the kitchen table with a few pieces of paper and a pen. He didn't know exactly what to write because there were so many things to address - he'd fit in everything, no matter how hard it'd be - he didn't care about his hand aching from writing afterwards. He was doing this for Barbara, himself, the relationship that had kept him intact and made him a better person. This was for the girl that he'd been in love with and pining for, for years. He would've never done this before he'd been with Barbara - never did he ever think he'd make such an effort for a girl - the Roger from five years ago wouldn't have done this for the girlfriends he had at the time.
It took him hours to write the letter - for a majority of the time he had the pen in between his teeth, thinking deeply. The writing further emphasised the fact that he needed her - and he didn't know whether it was a good or bad thing at this point. He held the pen in his mouth as his glossy blue eyes read through the letter.
'Dear Belle,
Please don't chuck this away before you've read it. I've been an arse, I know that - and I could've tried harder. While I admit that I've not handled the situation correctly - neither have you and you could've tried harder too. Or at least listened to me. Or picked up the phone when I've called and not made Stella take the phone call for you while you're out with another man, knowing that I'm at home trying my best to fix things.
I wanted to tell you that I have not lied to you or made excuses. Brian was still in Los Angeles after he'd seen you, for a few weeks - which meant that I didn't know that you were with Stella until Brian came back from Los Angeles. I called the day after I'd found out that you were there - I swear it. I've made stupid decisions but that doesn't mean that I've not thought about you - I have. And I'll admit that I feel extremely shitty for being given a lap dance - but it was supposed to be a joke between me and the boys and I was extremely drunk that night. I did NOT shag that stripper or anybody! And I feel extremely confused as to why you'd believe something that just isn't there - in the photos. That you jumped into conclusions and believe Stella and some writing over me - after all of the conversations we've had about fake news.
That's the main reason why I'm writing this - because something is wrong. I don't know what is going on, whether it's because of all of the stress that you've been through, the company that you've indulged yourself in - or drink. I don't know - I know that you made the decision to take a 'break' from me on a whim. If there was nothing to fight for or nothing I could do to get you to come home then I wouldn't have written this letter. I just can't believe, after the promise ring - and just, everything that we've been through together, to get here - that you'd be prepared to throw it all away (I'm assuming that you don't want to be with me anymore by the fact that you don't want to talk or see me and the contents of your new song). Deep down I know that you don't want to completely break things off, but how am I supposed to truly know that if you don't communicate with me? How long is this break from me going to last? What am I supposed to do? Wait around for you to come back for years? Months? Days? It's not fair.
I need you to come back, just to see you. I've had a shitty time not being able to speak to you since February, the tour was mediocre and I usually would always look forward to a midnight conversation over the phone with you. I've missed our conversations, the kisses, cuddling with you on our couch (which I've kept in our(?) new bedroom). I miss everything, I'm not able to be myself without at least knowing that you're happy and that you still love me. No one understands or knows me like you do. You may be my girlfriend, but you're also my best friend - you'll always be my best friend. No matter what. So I'd appreciate it if you called or wrote back. Please.
I bought the new place, but if you do respond then you can still send letters to our apartment because I haven't sold it yet. I'm keeping it for the time being, just in case you wanted to see it and say goodbye. Or if you didn't want to move in with me - if you do ever come back then you'd be able to stay there. I'm assuming you still have one of the Polaroids I took of the new house - I wrote the address on the back. So you could always just visit if you come back - there's a spare key hidden in the soil of one of the plant pots on the side of the porch.
I don't know what else I can do if you keep pushing me away without any kind of reassurance or just anything. Just say something, even if it's bad news like you're going to stay in America, or worse - that you're breaking up with me and running away with Benjamin bloody Orr. I just need something. Please.
I love you,
Roger.'
~
Barbara's P.O.V : 20th May, 1979
~
The contents of Roger's letter tore me up inside, so much so that I almost tore the paper up that he'd written on - just to flood my emotions out. That wouldn't have been a good idea, a bad decision - seemed like I'd been making a lot of those recently.
I felt awful and I realised that the lack of communication was not just Roger's fault - it was mine too. He'd assumed so much about everything, the song that was not written about him, Ben Orr - who was just a friend - I guessed that he couldn't go by anything else because I hadn't given him the time of day to even explain. I couldn't read it without crying and I almost booked a flight back home the second that I read just the first sentence. Since the phone call I'd been housebound to my own accord - I worked at Stella's modelling agency and studio during the day, but went back to Stella's home afterwards in the evening while she was out doing god knows what. I was beginning to feel like I was outstaying my welcome, even though Stella wasn't even paying for the place - the agency was - I didn't see much of the sober Stella, just the drunk and/or high one.
It was about eleven in the evening when I'd opened the letter and about ten minutes after I'd finished reading it and stopped crying in order to try and calm myself down - Stella came back from wherever and I had a question for her.
"How long did Brian stay here in Los Angeles after you shagged him in the toilet at that party a month back?" I asked her, straightforward - this would determine whether Roger had been making excuses.
She fell backwards onto the bed and sighed happily before glancing at me and grinning - she giggled too. She seemed to think that I was joking with her, but when she realised that I wasn't she still shook her head playfully at me, "He didn't - stay - he went back to Roger the - day after," she stumbled over her words, but avoided eye contact with me as she thought back to the night.
My mouth was parted and my eyes were still red - had he really lied again? Should I trust Stella? I hadn't seen Brian since that night and I could only believe Stella or Roger (and Stella was ridiculously high). But if she was lying? Then why? I didn't answer her, I tried to sleep instead. I needed to escape into a good dream - and to think about my response to Roger, whether I'd go home or stay here.
In the morning Stella was shifty, but insistent that Brian had not been with her - that he had left immediately and not come back to see her since the party. She had problems and I felt like I needed to be the one to look after her, to try and change her. I was in the midst of thinking about calling Roger - about to dial the number that we shared at our apartment in London. Stella barged into the door house with Ben - he had her arm slung over his shoulder to keep her steady, she was bellowing with laughter and she fell onto her couch. He shot me an apologetic look and I stopped dialling the number.
We left Stella sleeping on the couch and I poured Ben and I a drink, "She went a bit loopy at the bar," he explained with a short sigh as he gently took the gin and tonic from and sipped some, "She was pissed off - said something about Brian and then started trying to strip her clothes while standing on one of the tables - wanted the men's attention. No one else but me tried to stop her."
My mouth opened and I tilted my head slightly. Stella had been an attention seeker before - but not to this extent, "Jesus," I sigh. Ben was a kind man - too kind - not many men that I knew would've done something like that and brought her home, "Well, at least she's here - if you weren't there, then - I don't know, that would've been a nightmare. Thanks."
He shrugs his shoulders as if what he'd done was nothing, "I did what I had to do," he pauses to take another sip of his drink before glancing at me, "Are you okay? I haven't seen you in a week or so."
I bowed my head for a moment and picked it up - I wasn't okay, far from it - but I'd feel selfish if I admitted it when Stella was the one who had a drug and drinking problem. She was more alone than I was, "I'm okay."
"You're always invited to the recording studio - to talk about things," he states calmly with a reassuring smile, "When you're not busy. You're enjoying modelling with Stella, aren't you?"
I nodded my head - I was enjoying it, but having to look after Stella was becoming more stressful than before, when I was touring. I felt as though I was stuck, or if I left then I'd be a bad person - while also somehow having to think about Roger too. My heart was still aching, it always would. I believed him - about the stripper - he hadn't lied about that, I hoped. I don't know why I had doubts, he was right, I never batted an eyelid towards an article about Roger or any of the boys for that matter. It was because of what had been said about me in the papers, about the dress, the criticism for just about anything that related to myself - it hurt me.
"I was actually wondering if I'd be able to use one of your pictures for an album cover?" He asks softly, trying to change the subject to make the conversation lighter, "You don't have to answer now, if you need a bit more time to calm down. I -," he chuckles for a second, "We've already done this before, haven't we?"
A smile forms upon my lips and grows into a quiet chuckle - he was referring to the night that we'd first met. I nod and raise my eyebrows a bit, "We have," I answer - when the giggles die down I smile again, "Which picture?"
His face becomes slightly flushed and he chuckles again, nervously, "There's this one that - I saw in one of Stella's folders - of you, laying down. Kind of like you're leaning backwards. I have a few ideas already if you'd be keen."
I squint my eyes a little and raise my eyebrows, "Oh - that one," it'd been taken the other day - I'd been quite nervous about it - how revealing some parts were, "I - um, I don't know if I'd be comfortable if that was on a cover of an album - I might actually have to think about it before giving you an answer this time," I send a timid smile his way and took a sip of my own drink.
"Take all the time you need," he answers with the same kind smile, "Keep in touch, alright? Let me know how Stella is in the morning - I - um - I could always stay a bit longer?" He seemed to really like Stella, I assumed that was why he offered to stay and made great lengths and effort to keep her safe.
I didn't want to be alone, so I nodded, "Stay."
"Okay - I will." I led him to a spare room and dropped myself onto the bed with a sigh, making the mattress jump.
The air was thick and my breathing becomes quicker as I notice how close Ben is - I shuffle away and lean my back against the headboard without making it weird or like I was being rude. He sent me a small side smile and stayed sat at the edge with both the drinks - he leant towards me to pass me mine, "You know - I can't thank you enough for keeping an eye on Stella, living with her - the amount of times I've taken her home, had to put her to bed and dress her in more comfortable clothes -."
"It's - it's no problem, really - I suppose it's my duty," I answer with a forced smile, "Considering I feel slightly responsible."
"You? Responsible?" He asks in disbelief, tilting his head to the side.
Another sigh leaves my lips as I avoid eye contact with him, "Yeah - I don't know, sometimes I feel like I am. She moved to America years ago and I had a feeling that she'd struggle - but not to this extent."
He was silent for a moment, "It's not your fault - not at all - she was alright - but, not so much now."
He really loved her - I could see it in his eyes, even if he tried to deny it, it was obvious to me. But, like I'd established a long time ago - Stella did not have a great taste in guys, Brian was the first decent man that she'd been with. But now, she was completely hooked on Brian even though he wasn't good for anymore. I don't respond to him, as I did truly feel as though it was my fault, that she'd turned out this way.
"It's not your fault - alright? You don't need to beat yourself up so much - I'm sure you have other things to think about," He adds and speaks more sternly - he was certainly alluding to Roger and my career too, "And I'm not referring to the picture - I mean, just general things."
My mouth was parted as he stared back at me for a few moments - I don't think anyone had spoken so thoughtfully to me in a long time - it took me aback and I had to clear my own throat to knock myself out of the trance that he had me under. My thoughts resorted back to Roger, not knowing what to do. I wondered what he was doing at that second, what he was thinking. Whether he was waiting at home for a response or a call. I breathily giggle in a whisper, "I'm sure you have other things to worry about too - with your band and all."
He nods and brings his hand to the back of his head, scratching a little, "Yeah, I guess you could say that. That's why it's been nice, having someone to talk to - and help me with things - I don't usually open up to people like this."
I smile and take a sip of my drink - I needed it, "Anytime."
Ben assured me about anything - I'd felt completely alone a lot of the time, but when I spoke to him I felt like someone actually understood me, someone who actually felt the same way, was going through the same thing, having to deal with the responsibility of looking after another person. It made me want to stay longer, to help - to feel like I was needed. I felt as though my responsibility was to look after Stella for now - and I had to tell that to Roger.
"You can use the picture, okay?" I tell Ben with a reassuring and confident smile - I shuffle towards him and sit at the edge of the bed, "I'll do some illustrations - combine the two - if that's what you want, of course?"
I occupied my mind with that, keeping the guilt away from me. Stella was a handful and I still hadn't got in contact with Roger. I spent as much time as I could away with Ben, working on this new cover, which didn't take long at all - I was disappointed that I'd finished it within a few days. Ben made me feel happy - we shared a deeper connection after that conversation - after the cover and album had been completed, he reached for my hand, held it reassuringly and squeezed. We sat opposite each other, close with small and relieved smiles on our faces.
Then after the release of that album within the next week - afterwards it was straight back to making sure Stella was okay - she was, sometimes. The stress was gradually growing and I felt as though if I called Roger wouldn't be home to speak to me, or too busy. I wasn't in the right mind to talk.
"Why do you look so distressed?" Stella asks with a small grin as she lays herself back on the couch, "You need to enjoy yourself a little more - it's been what - a month since you've been to a party?"
I didn't want to say that it was her who was doing this to me. Who'd caused me to go absolutely insane.
"I'm not going to one of those parties."
"Why not? Don't be so boring - worry a little less," she grins wider and stands herself up to walk to the kitchen, getting herself a drink - I wasn't thinking straight, was too exhausted to stand up and stop her, "You're coming - tomorrow night."
I didn't even think to shake my head and refuse. I guessed that perhaps I'd better go with her - with how Ben struggled the last time, I needed to help.
In the meantime, I tried to start writing a response to Roger - there wasn't anything about him, or any of the Queen boys in the newspaper and I worried deeply. I didn't know what to say, whether it was just too late - I'd well and truly fucked up. All because I was drunk, my self deteriorating attitude and frustrations. I missed Roger more than anything - the way that he understood me more than anybody else did, our inside jokes, the way that he cared deeply for things that I cared about that usually he'd think would be stupid or not important, his kisses, his voice, the sex - it had been five months since we'd last slept together, five months since I'd seen him in the flesh.
About halfway through writing I was stopped by Stella, who reached for my hand and peered over my shoulder, "You're not writing to him, are you?" She huffs, "He hasn't made an effort - the stripper story bullshit, the lying - he cheated on you again - c'mon, don't worry - get up, let's go."
My ears perked up at the word 'again' - I believed that he hadn't slept with the stripper anyway, but was there something else now? "What do you mean? Again?"
She squints her eyes and furrows her eyebrows, "You've not seen? There's a picture, Barbara."
I gulped and shook my head slowly, "Show me, please."
"Shit - you're going to need a drink before - one second," she rushes - a minute or so later she was back with two drinks. I tried to keep my breathing calm and collected, but I did not know what to do - I downed the drink immediately. She had the paper in her grasp and I quickly took it from her - I had to flick through some pages before...
It was dated the 21st Of May - the day after The Car's album had released - my heartbeat quickened as I read the blurb. I couldn't quite believe my eyes and immediately, after feeling my eyes begin to water - I sniffle - I didn't know how to react, whether I should be calm - because while he was locking arms with this girl, did that mean that he'd slept with her? The drink began to take an effect and I wanted to do anything but look at the photo any longer. I wanted to go out.
The picture was dated weeks after he'd written the letter - had no response from me after he'd made an effort and I believed him about the stripper and I was beginning to realise that perhaps Stella had been the one to lie about Brian - I didn't know now - but a call hadn't been made since the letter was sent weeks ago. I sometimes did find it hard to believe that he'd wait five months to sleep with me after my lack of effort to speak to him. I sniffed my nose again and stood myself up slowly - I was going to write to Roger, the moment that I'd get back. Stella led me out of her home and stopped a taxi. This party took place in the exact same building and my whole body crawled with nothing but negativity, pressure and frustration.
The fingers on my right hand fiddled with the ring on my left finger. My eyes stared at the promise ring. I didn't know what to do with it now.
Then we were at the party - drinks were passed around and Stella was off to the bar for a drink. I stood at the bar with a shot in hand, downing it quickly - some people spoke to me and I have them short responses, some got me drinks and I stupidly took them, drank them. I saw Ben, like before, in his usual spot - I spotted his familiar blonde hair almost immediately - almost mistook him for Roger from his side profile - he was stood talking in silky pink striped shirt and black waistcoat.
He spotted me, waved a little - I grinned in response, stumbled towards him. His eyes were on me the whole time, an intense gaze that made me feel something that I hadn't felt in months. I'd see attractive strangers sometimes and I wouldn't bat an eyelid, but Ben was different.
The drunk Barbara was in pain, overthought things and had already come to the conclusion that Roger had cheated - I assumed that it was over between after many drinks. Cocaine was passed around the room like candy and for the first time in a long time, I took it - Ben and I had some together, decided that he'd let ourselves have a bit of fun after the stressful month we'd had so far. The drunk haze mixed with slow motion vision felt euphoric and rather - magical in some ways.
Ben also felt it too - his pupils were dilated and I laughed loudly as we seemed to spin together. My mouth parted with excitement about ten minutes later at the song 'Burning Love' by Elvis playing throughout the somewhat cramped room, "I fucking love this song!" I squeal excitedly and Ben seems to agree with me, lets me reach for his hand and pull him closer.
The dancing was nothing but a mess - I held him close to me, just to feel like I wasn't alone. To have him near meant a lot to me, numbed the ache in my heart - although I was too high and drunk to even realise or consider Roger, how he'd feel about this. Why should I care anyway? Our bodies collided together, his chest against my back - I teasingly and purposefully pressed against him and he reached for my hand again and twirled me into his arms - my hand flew onto his chest - the room was boiling and while it felt wrong, flutters spread throughout my body, made me feel even more out of my mind.
He laughed and joked with me and something happened between us within one second - a very short second where his smile fades just slightly, looking at me like I was the most beautiful girl that he'd ever seen. Like he was trying to read me, like he understood me. But he didn't, not in this moment. He leant forward and kissed me deeply. I didn't have the mind to even think or process anything, my head was spinning and my lips moved against his quickly.
In a sober person's mind - this was extremely wrong. Two people using each other - Ben was using me as he was in pain over Stella while I was using him because I was in pain over Roger - and we were seeking comfort from each other because of this shared frustration - we understood each other in that way. But I had no clue as to what was going on, the kiss wasn't pleasant, not gentle or soft - it was messy, like this situation, like my mind, like my life at the moment. And for some goddamn reason, I continued to kiss him as his arms wrapped around me tightly, wouldn't let go or loosen his hold on me - took me away from the party, away from the awful building - I wasn't myself that night.
I didn't like to think about it - didn't remember most of it. I was alone in the morning, like I'd expected - Stella wasn't home. I sat myself at the dining table silently with my head buried in my hands. The newspaper from before that contained the picture - I hadn't looked at it since last night.
Instinctively, my hand reached for the paper, slid it so that it was directly in front of me, I skimmed through the pages until I saw it again - in a new light. I noticed immediately, Roger's red eyes, the way that he was slouched and unhappy - he was visibly struggling and I was still sat here in America. I felt guilty, terrible, awful, distraught. I hadn't made any effort and this was the aftermath - it was all my fault. I needed to go home. I couldn't stay here any longer.
The front door squeaked open and slammed shut and there Stella was with defined eye bags and her shirt uneven, her collar up. She groans and sits herself down opposite me, "Morning," she has her eyes closed for a few moments before opening them and witnessing a tear fall from my right eye, "Hey, what's going on?" Her eyes then land on the newspaper, "Oh, that."
I breathe shakily and try to steady myself for a few moments, "I - I need to go home."
"What?"
"He's in pain - I'm in pain. I need to see him, to make sure that he's alright. I - I miss him - so much and I love him so much too - and I've neglected him," I explain between a few sobs, just breaking down in front of her, "If - I'd have just let him - talk or if I'd written back - or called him then things would've been - better. He probably thought that - I wasn't going to come back - or that I'd moved on - but I haven't and I didn't tell him! So I need to go - I know that I'll kick myself and regret it if I don't see him - I just need my home - and that's with Roger, not here - I hope you can understand."
Stella was quiet until she sniffles slightly, her own eyes watering slightly - she nods a little, "Okay."
I wiped a another tear away from my eye and decided that I'd be completely honest, "You need help Stella. Help that neither me or Ben can give you. I can't just let myself rot looking after you. I felt and still feel responsible for the way the you are right now and I shouldn't, but I do. You need to realise what is actually good for you," I explain as I come clean, telling her that things were not okay with her, "And when you've had help, you need to understand that Brian isn't good enough or capable of looking after you properly. Open your eyes a little more and you might find someone who can love and look after you without playing games with you," I add sternly, referring to Ben as I begin to stand myself up. I don't want to look at her, I hated watching people in pain - but she deserved it, some pain to realise that she needed help.
"Wait," I hear her mumble as I begin to take a few steps towards my bedroom, "I lied. Roger didn't - about Brian. Brian did stay here for - um, a few weeks before going to Roger. Roger didn't wait weeks to call you, he - he called the day after he found out."
I turned my head and looked over my shoulder - I nod and bow my head again, making me feel more guilty, even though I had a feeling, "I know."
She averts her eyes down to the table, not able to look at me, "I lied because - because I know that you're right. That I'm wrong. I make so many bad decisions and I should've listened to you before - but, well - I didn't want to admit it, didn't want another lecture from you."
My head nods once and give her a sympathetic stare, "I'm going to go and pack my things," I respond in a mumble and continue to walk towards my bedroom.
I remembered that Roger and I weren't living in London anymore - if I was still welcome to join him - I didn't know, a lot of explaining had to be done. The more I thought about him alone, the quicker I packed my things - my hands fumbled within the fur coat I'd brought when I first left for tour - my heart beat became rapid as I felt for the Polaroid. It was in the left pocket - had the address on the back. My fingers continuously wiped the tears away as I left, giving Stella a hug and farewell was tough too - but I had to go.
And I hoped that I had enough money on me to go to the airport and buy a flight back on a spare seat that hadn't been booked. If I'd have still been on the record label then this would've been a lot easier. But I was desperate and willing to do anything.
The promise that we'd made was on my mind - it always was. The drugs and the drink last night - it made me forget briefly, but I remembered and wholly agreed that the promise that we'd made was truer than anything that me and Roger had ever told each other. I held onto the promise tightly and hoped that it was still intact, not shattered into millions of pieces. I wasn't completely sure - whether we'd be okay - whether we'd go back to normal immediately.
While there was a delay in me catching a plane - about a three wait. I got to Gatwick airport at one in the morning, graveyard hours and a taxi to the address on the back of the Polaroid. My heart pounded - nervous, scared - not emotions that I'd wanted to feel on the way to see the new house - my thumb traces over the Polaroid and my lips pour slightly as I picture Roger alone in such a huge place.
The building was intimidating looking at night - especially with the lights all turned off. I took slow steps in the rain towards what looked like the front door - it was green on either side of the path, surrounded by grass. When I stood at the door I'd completely forgot exactly what I was going to do, or say, or think. And it was one in the morning, if he was home, then he was asleep. I remembered after a few seconds of thinking, that Roger had mentioned a spare key in the letter he'd written me. In the soil of one of the plants on the side of the porch. There were two plants to choose from. I picked the red coloured flower's pot, his favourite colour.
I had to dig my fist into the soil to get it and sighed, tired as I pushed the key into the door, unlocking and opening it.
I was faced with a long hallway and stepped forward, putting my bad down beside the shoes - this was definitely the place, there was Roger's leopard print fur coat, hung up on the coat pegs along with a few of mine and a pink one that I didn't recognise. My mouth was parted as I looked around, I anticipated the moment where I'd find Roger. There must've been more than two bedrooms. While journeying my way through it I stumbled upon a few things that made me feel worse about myself - he'd hung up my decorative plates on one of the walls in the living room. I quietly walked upstairs and looked around - my eyes were drawn to a closed white door, I walked towards it slowly.
I brought my fist to the door and knocked quietly. Awaiting a response, but getting none - I slowly turn the knob and open the wooden door. I catch my breath as I breath in - my eyes widen at the room. My easel, my books, the sofa - he'd created an art studio for me to paint. The room was connected to a very pleasant balcony. And in the corner of the room was a baby grand piano - as if my heart hadn't got over the first thing. My heart fell as I thought about him making and doing all of this for me. What had I done for him? Nothing good.
I let myself walk towards the piano - it was shiny, beautiful, stunning, gorgeous - those were the words that came to mind. My finger traced over the top and I stared sadly down at the instrument, how it must've been neglected too, like Roger had been. I slowly sat myself down on the stool and scanned the room - the effort had completely gone unnoticed by me and I lifted up the lid covering the piano keys with raised eyebrows.
I played the first few notes of 'Wings' after playing me Roger's tune from when we were kids. But I was afraid that it'd upset me too much so I stopped. Singing the tune to 'Wings' brought me all the way back to the moment I'd written it, when I was finally coming to terms with my feelings for Roger - I didn't know how I could take him for granted like I had done the past few months. It all came flooding back to me, the struggle of having to live without him while he was touring in Japan in 1976 - when he came home after months of not seeing him - we hadn't even communicated that much then. How had we fucked up so badly this time?
My fingers played the notes that I hadn't played in months - the fact that I'd not played it in a while brought back the memories all while I was playing - I didn't enjoy it as much as I usually did, but tried as I closed my eyes and hummed the tune.
Roger stood before me minutes later at the door frame - I didn't notice until the moment I'd finished the song and opened my eyes. His eyebrows were furrowed slightly and I could see that his eyes were watering with the way that they glistened against the twilight that was peeking through the curtains from the outside. I caught my breath and my fingers trembled against the piano keys, making a very off sound of combined notes. I stood myself up immediately in a rush, a panic.
He steps forward once as if he's trying to decipher the fact that I was here and a single tear falls from his eye, breaking my heart all over again. His mouth twitches slightly upwards, like he doesn't know whether to be upset or happy and he wipes the tear away with his finger.
I couldn't take it anymore - seeing him cry made me cry and I stride towards him, without caring whether he was angry, whether he hated me right now or was upset. I wrapped my arms around him tightly and nuzzled my face against his neck - he did the same and I could feel the wetness of his tears falling onto my skin.
We didn't utter any words in that moment. That would be for when we sit ourselves down.
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But also
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But still
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I hope you enjoyed this chapter even tho I feel like it was a lot sadder than the last one. I'm just glad that she went back to see him.
Thank you so much for all of the comments and the votes. It makes me happy to see that people are feeling as sad as me lmao. And again I still kinda left you on a cliffhanger lol.
Sorry about that 😂😈
I can't believe this book now has 27.6K reads. Wowza. Thank you so so much!!! See you in the next chapter!!!
I xxx