I Knew You Were Trouble

Chapter Twenty

Paris, France

‘You are not serious.’

Less than a week later, we’re back in the Arctic climes of northern Europe, staying in yet another hotel. This one is called The Sinner, on Rue du Temple. Outside, it’s freezing. The hotel has a weirdly kinky vibe to it, classy yet edgy, with four-poster mahogany beds built into the wall. It’s the kind of hotel where I imagine Parisian husbands come to cheat on their wives. There are forty-one rooms altogether, the entire hotel booked for three nights by the tour’s band and crew.

In Rome, Ziggy continued the filming moratorium and banned me from taking any concert footage, keeping members of Rebel Heart separate on purpose and moving Duncan’s and my hotel booking to a shabby pensione near the Colosseum. It felt like a punishment. I spent an evening interviewing crazed Italian fans queuing outside the Stadio Olimpico and eating pizza in a low-ceiled bistro overlooking the weed-ridden banks of the Tiber.

I’ve heard nothing from Aidan. I haven’t seen him. I know he’s annoyed with me for not telling him about my prior relationship with Duncan.

Now that we’re in Paris, and he’s staying in the same hotel, I have a good mind to go and ask the reception staff which room Freddie Mercury is in.

I’m staring out of the car window. Bodhi has pulled up to an airfield on the outskirts of Paris. I glare in disbelief at the sight of the commercial helicopter in front of me on the other side of the chain-link fence, the rotary blades already beginning to whir.

‘Very serious,’ J.B. answers me in the back of the vehicle. He is carrying a large bouquet of roses he picked up en route. He looks both smart and sexy in a suit and overcoat, minus a tie.

Bodhi doesn’t accompany us to the reception. Inside, a crew member brings us both a headset, testing out our comms. He gives us each a safety briefing, in both French and in English. I ask if I can film during the journey. He checks with the pilot, who is content.

J.B. leads me onto the chopper. I’ve never been in a helicopter before. The journey to Sorbiers, just outside Saint- étienne in the Loire region, in the east of France – where J.B. is from – is going to take one hour and forty minutes. He’s paid for our entire return journey out of his own pocket.

In the air, over the roar of the blades, I gaze in wonder at the ground below, passing by in a grey-green haze. I try to push any thoughts of Aidan out of my mind, but he’s there, always. I hate the distance between us, and that things remain unsettled with him, and that, perhaps worse, neither of us has had a chance to fully explain.

‘Where will we be landing?’ I ask.

‘I told Audrey to come to our meeting place,’ J.B. says, the headset crackling. ‘It’s the point where her father’s fields meet the road. I used to sneak through the woods to see her when we were young. The pilot will set us down in the field.’

‘Does she know you’re coming?’

‘She suspects it. I contacted her parents and asked them to give us some space. They won’t be there. At least I hope not.’

‘Do you know what you’re going to say to her?’

He looks out of the window, licking his famous pillowy lips. ‘I only know that I have to win back her heart,’ he says.

It’s half past ten by the time the pilot sets us down in Audrey’s father’s field. J.B. waves at her from the window, holding the bouquet of flowers. I lean forward to see a twenty-four-year-old Audrey laughing, covering her mouth in surprise at the sight of the helicopter, holding their baby son, Xavi, on her hip and pointing to the helicopter as the infant reaches out.

After the pilot clears us for departure from the cockpit, I follow J.B. from the back of the helicopter, ducking low under the rotary blades and keeping my camera close as I make a run for it over the frosted ground, before the helicopter takes off again. I manage to capture on film the sweet reunion of J.B. swinging a toddling Xavi into his arms, before greeting the woman that he loves with a simple hug and some flowers.

I’ve done my research on their break-up ten months ago, covering social media and gossip websites worldwide, most pertinently in France. A devastated Audrey left Paris, and moved back to her parents’ home with her three-month-old son, whilst J.B. rejoined the band, getting caught back up in Rebel Heart fever. They released a joint statement suggesting that the break-up was amicable and that they would continue to co-parent Xavi, going forward into the next phase of their lives. It had a certain PR sheen to it.

I smile as J.B. introduces me, telling me that Audrey has already given her permission for me to film them together, but that she hadn’t expected it to be today. Audrey is striking, with a pointy nose and light brown hair that curls at the ends, her face refreshingly make-up free.

I amble behind them on the path back with my camera, towards the cottage further up the hill, the wintery air going through me. J.B. walks on one side of his son, Audrey on the other, Xavi squealing in delight as they swing him up and down, their conversation in French. Theirs looks like a friendship.

I glance at my watch. J.B. has about three hours to turn that around.

The house is warm, with a rustic feel, a large table in the centre of a kitchen with teal blue walls and dried corn hung in a wreath above an AGA. There is a younger female cleaning up, who Audrey informs me is their nanny, Clotilde, who doesn’t speak any English. Audrey hands me a mug of coffee. I had agreed in advance with J.B. that I would film from inside, through the window, whilst he speaks with Audrey outside, beside a fence that cordons off the front garden. It turns out that the light is perfect. J.B. said that he didn’t want the whole world to know what he was going to say to Audrey, because he believed there was a small chance she could still reject him.

‘Lexi,’ J.B. says in my ear, and I can tell he’s nervous. ‘Tell me when you are ready.’

Swiftly, I set the camera up on a tripod, giving J.B. a nod. Clotilde takes Xavi, who likes to babble whilst sitting on a mat on the floor with his toys that crinkle and jangle. When he tries to wander off, Clotilde pulls him into her lap, where he squirms.

‘I hope your mamma says yes, Xavi,’ I smile down at him when J.B. has escorted Audrey outside. Xavi looks up at me and grins, drool all around his mouth. ‘Otherwise, we’ve come a long way for some emotional angst.’

Outside in the garden, J.B. looks awkward, his hands thrust in the pockets of his overcoat, his collar pulled up. I feel my heartbeat quicken, sending him some silent words of encouragement. Audrey has gripped her fingers together as he speaks to her in French, her face open and hopeful. It’s clear the depth of feeling she still has for her childhood sweetheart.

As the minutes pass, J.B. moves closer to her. I check the focus on the camera. Then comes the moment he takes Audrey’s hands in his, looking down, searching her face, still talking. Audrey’s smile reaches her eyes. Whilst J.B. is mid-sentence, she reaches up and stops his mouth with a kiss, her fingers coming to rest against his cheeks. My heart swells. Initially surprised, in response, J.B. encircles Audrey’s body with his arms, consuming her almost, their kiss turning hungry as their bodies move together with so much passion that I almost feel my camera lens is intruding.

‘See, Xavi?’ I whisper, as Clotilde smiles at the scene out of the window. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a little brother or sister on the way very, very soon.’

Lunch consists of fresh, crusty bread, French cheeses, wine and cold meats at the kitchen table. Xavi is in a highchair gurgling again, gumming a slice of raw carrot. Audrey fusses over him lovingly. J.B. then pulls Audrey into his lap and she squeals. He kisses her so deeply that for a second time today, I hardly know where to look.

Audrey drapes her arms around J.B.’s shoulders as her gaze settles on me. ‘So, Lexi. Jean tells me that you are the woman that Aidan is so crazy for,’ she hums in her pretty French accent, and J.B. almost spits out his drink. Clotilde takes Xavi.

My lips twist. I laugh nervously. ‘What has J.B. told you?’

‘It’s very true,’ J.B. says, wiping his mouth. ‘I’ve never seen him so… how do you say… caught up.’

‘And Lexi… what do you think of Aidan? Do you like him too?’

Audrey may look sweet, but she’s direct as hell. ‘He’s nice, of course. He’s younger than me. And very in demand from other women.’

J.B. frowns. ‘ Non , non ,’ he says, dismissing my comment with a wave of his hand. ‘In two months, I’ve not seen him look at another girl. Not since you came along.’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘I beg to differ. So does the internet.’

J.B. eats a slice of cheese, letting out a growl of disagreement. ‘You’re talking about Samara. She doesn’t want to let him go. Aidan is like her… prize. Sure… it looked like a kiss in those pictures, I know, but believe me… it’s all in the past between those two. He told her again in Dubai he’s not interested in a relationship.’

I sip my wine, sceptical. ‘The camera doesn’t lie,’ I say.

‘No, but sometimes… with the wrong angle… it can misinterpret.’

‘And the Haven girl? In Australia?’

He finishes his mouthful, giving a shrug. ‘Okay. There was that one girl. But she’s history. Aidey’s a nice guy, you know. He thinks he’s letting people down by telling them “no”. He has trust issues. He’s been betrayed before.’

After lunch, I help J.B. clear away the dishes whilst Audrey and Clotilde take Xavi upstairs.

I lean closer to J.B., lowering my voice. ‘We have about an hour and a half. Do you want me to take Xavi out for a walk with Clotilde? Whilst, you two… you know.’ I flip-flop my head from side to side for effect. J.B. doesn’t seem to understand at first. ‘Whilst you two get reacquainted?’

The penny drops. His eyes light up a cheeky smirk creeping onto the pillowy lips. ‘You don’t mind?’

‘Of course not. We can take Xavi outside for a while.’

J.B. reaches for a towel and dries his hands. ‘Let me talk to Audrey.’

Five minutes later, Audrey is helping Clotilde load Xavi into his stroller, dressed in a snow suit, and together we lift it outside. ‘He will probably sleep,’ Audrey says, a little jittery. ‘He usually does. We walk around the fields every day. You go in a loop, see, down that way, along the trees, then take a right. Clotilde can show you. It takes about an hour. We feed the horses just down there if he’s awake.’ Leaning down, she tosses a bag of carrots into the bottom of the stroller just in case.

I give a nod. Xavi’s eyelids are already drooping. Clotilde takes the handlebar of the stroller before Audrey throws her slender arms around my shoulders.

‘ Merci, cherie ,’ she whispers, pulling back and searching my face. There are tears in her eyes. ‘You have no idea what this time means to me.’

Xavi sleeps the entire way, as I listen to the sound of my boots, the soles of Clotilde’s tatty brougues and the wheels of the stroller crunching against the icy path under a white sky. I enjoy the peaceful quiet, compared to so many loud stadium gigs recently that I’ve almost lost count. Clotilde smiles at me but we don’t exchange words.

There are fifteen days to go until Christmas. After the Paris gigs and two upcoming ones in London, the tour will go on a break in six days until the New Year. I look forward to being able to go home to my London flat, to wallow in my pyjamas in front of mindless TV shows. Duncan will no doubt invite me for Christmas in Edinburgh again, but I get the feeling his mother won’t appreciate me showing up for another year in a row. She thinks it’s odd he still brings an ex-girlfriend home for the holiday period. I have to agree with her, this year especially. She’s the sweetest woman, but I can tell that Duncan’s mother is waiting for the year when he will bring a current girlfriend home for Christmas lunch.

Checking on Xavi, we keep moving, the wheels of the stroller keeping it gently rocking as Clotilde pushes it along. Babies are something so unfamiliar to me. The idea of having one of my own terrifies me. Even the thought of the relationship before making the decision to have a baby is hard to stomach. I’ve only slept with four men in my entire life, and none of them even came close to qualifying as father material, other than perhaps Duncan. I think about J.B. and Audrey for a moment, disregarding the first image that pops into my mind of the pair of them writhing around naked on a bed not too far away. The intensity of their connection is hard to fathom, the level of their attraction so set in stone. J.B.’s lifestyle caused him to pull away, but Audrey seems to have an anchoring effect, bringing him back to her with a surety that leaves a lump in my throat. J.B. never lost Audrey’s heart. I hope, for Xavi’s sake and any more children that may follow, that it remains that way. The pain of a broken family is all I’ve ever known, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

I think about Aidan. I’m pretty sure I’ve screwed things up with him, though we’re both equally to blame. The trust is gone again, and we’re cut adrift. He’s as angry with me as I was with him, but hearing J.B. talk about him in the kitchen, I can’t help but believe what he told me, and I’m left wondering if the kiss with Samara Al-Noori was more innocent than it looked.

J.B. and Audrey allow me to film their emotional goodbye from a distance, though they are so wrapped up in one another, and in Xavi, that neither of them notices me or my camera. J.B. will return in a week for Christmas, yet the way they are clutching at one another, their foreheads resting together, and the ardour of the kisses, makes it seem as though they will be parted for a lifetime. As the helicopter pulls high into the sky, on our return journey to Paris, J.B. squeezes my hand.

‘Today was one of the best days of my life,’ he says into his headset, grinning, still waving from the window at Audrey carrying Xavi at ground level. ‘ Merci , Lexi.’

My smile masks a pain in my chest, not knowing if I am capable of a love quite like it.

That night, after the Paris show, I sit in the corner of the bar at The Sinner Hotel, watching as Aidan walks in with the rest of the band, a woman on his arm, and laughter on his lips.