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“Marcus, are you deliberately trying to annoy me? Home in London. You know we don’t go to Yorkshire until next week, the week before Christmas.”
Christmas. Yeah, I’d forgotten about that small event. “Tomorrow. I’ll come to the London house for a few days maybe, but I’m not going to Yorkshire. I’m spending Christmas in LA. We go off on tour in America at the start of the new year, so I need to be there.”
“I spoke to Xander and he said your plans may change. He was very cryptic.” She’s fishing again.
“No change, all as I said. We’ll sort out the rebellion and I’ll go back. Is Anthony in London?” I know he isn’t, but I want her to go on about him, to waste time so I don’t have to talk.
“Oh, no, but he’s coming tomorrow, so that will work out perfectly darling.” She then rambles on about how amazing my cousin Anthony is. How good his family is, and wasn’t it amazing he’d found such a lovely wife. How beautiful his children are, how lucky her sister, my Aunt Niamh, is. How jealous she, Rowena the eldest daughter, is that she hasn’t any grandchildren yet.
Anyone would think she hadn’t had a front row seat to my previous failed marriage, the heartbreak surrounding it. The memories sit in my gut like lead, too deep to brush away, too brutal to bury.
She’s still going on as I zone her out, my mind wandering to how my conversation stopper is going to go tomorrow.
“Oh good,” I answer like a robot before she can start describing Anthony's children in detail. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, about 11 a.m. Bye, Mother.”
“Conference call in 30 minutes,” Mick confirms to me as I end the call with my mother. “We should be back at the hotel by then.”
“Great,” I sigh. “Who’s on the call, do you know?”
“Yeah, usual label people, Tim, Patrick from the lawyers’ first, then James is going to join after thirty minutes.”
“Just James?” I question him.
“Yep, just James.”
This day is just getting shittier and shittier. And the worst thing is, I know it’s partly my fault.
The conference call is purgatory. Xander turns up at my hotel room for support, and even he’s wilting with the lawyers droning on. Everyone is peering at me with the classic ‘Marcus’s fault again’ stare. And the ‘Oh no! What do we have to get rid of now?’ look’s being passed around. I pay them enough fucking money, if they don’t pack it in, I’m going to lose my shit.
Tim must sense me just about to blow and he starts to wrap things up, telling the PR people to write a statement. I tell him I don’t want Evie named. James may be happy to have his first name out there, but I know it won’t take long for people (read: the paps) to find him, so we debate if we should just go for it.
The lawyers can’t believe they don’t want anything and are insisting we get something signed stating that’s the case. The sticking point is the paternity test. I’m not bothered, they all are. I say let’s talk to James about it and see what he thinks. If he doesn’t want to do it, I don’t want to make him do it. Tim and everyone else thinks I should push it.
When James joins the call, I’m shocked at how bad he looks. His demeanour has totally changed. He’s sullen, and looks like the world’s problems have just landed on his shoulders. It’s only been a few hours since I got thrown out of their home. Have my actions caused this reaction? Christ, what am I going to have to do to ensure he’s okay, change my whole personality? I’m not sure it was totally my fault, but it feels like it was. I scrub my hand down my face. I feel like shit. I need to help him going forward, not add to his woes. I try to smile at him, but he doesn’t respond, and looks frankly bored to death.
Mick and Xander look daggers at me as Tim introduces himself to James. He goes through the people, PR, Patrick the lead lawyer, and our head of security, Carl. James looks through them like they’re not even there, totally inconsequential. I sort of smile inwardly—they’ll think he’s as much of a pain in the arse as me at this rate.
Tim is playing very nice and, clearly having years of experience dealing with me and the guys, takes James’s attitude in his stride. When they ask James what he wants from us, he says, “Nothing.” Just like I told them. Tim tries to prompt him with ideas—tuition, upkeep, help with bills, the band—and he just shakes his head and says, “No.” Again.
“We want to make a statement,” Tim tells him. “Do you want us to name you?”
“Don’t care,” James replies bored. “As long as you keep my mother out of it, do what you need to do.”
Tim starts to say that leaks will happen and his name and hers will be out there, especially on the internet, and to be prepared for the good and the bad that could come.
“There won’t be anything on my mum on the internet.” James’s words ring with finality. I grin on the inside. He’s as protective of her as she is of him. Not sure how he intends to do that though, but he obviously thinks he can, he’s so certain so fucking sure.
“Well, we can’t guarantee that, James. Obviously we’ll try, but it takes two people to make a child, and people will be interested in who your mum is.”
“I didn’t say they won’t be interested, I'm just saying the internet will be wiped with any specific details about my mother.”
“We can’t do all that James.” Tim is starting to get a bit pissed by his attitude.
“I don’t expect that you can,” sneers James, “but my family will be able to, so I don’t want YOU to publish her name.” Tim doesn’t argue with him, but clearly thinks he's mad, so moves on to the matter of security.
“Carl, do you want to talk James through our plans for his and his mum's security?”
Carl’s just about to open his mouth when James holds his hand up and says, “I’ll stop you there, Carl,” and smiles at him in a totally charming manner that reeks of a young Jonno. “I appreciate the offer, but my family will sort out all security for us.”
