Loving Danny Page 13

  I recognised the sound of Danny’s engine before I saw his car. For once I was pleased that he was speeding up my road; sod the speed limit – it meant he cared. As he screeched to a stop he flung open the passenger door for me.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he asked again. I was shaking with cold, fear and anger and he looked panic-stricken.

  ‘Oh Danny, I’m so pleased to see you!’ I cried, leaning over and flinging my arms around him. ‘Please take me back to your flat. I don’t want my parents to see me.’

  He clasped me so tightly that I couldn’t breathe. ‘For God’s sake, what’s happened?’

  ‘It’s my parents. We had a row. They don’t want me to see you any more.’

  ‘What?’ he said, loosening his grip. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ I said. ‘They think you’re a bad influence.’

  ‘What? I thought they liked me?’

  ‘Please drive, Danny.’

  ‘OK, but will you please tell me what’s going on?’

  As we drove I told Danny about how Dad had bumped into Martin Stevens and the argument it had caused. He listened intently, his expression growing stony cold with anger.

  ‘Your idiot parents don’t know what they’re talking about,’ he said. There was no longer concern in his voice, only indignation and spite.

  ‘I think they mean well,’ I said, trying to placate him. Angry as I was, I didn’t like to hear him talk about my parents so hatefully. He didn’t know them well enough to judge them. ‘They’re just overreacting.’

  ‘They’re trying to control your life, more like. What right have they to tell you not to see me?’

  ‘None, Danny,’ I said. ‘They can’t make me break up with you.’

  ‘Damn right, they can’t. I hope you told them that.’

  ‘Of course I did. I don’t think they believed it when I walked out.’ I managed a shaky little laugh at my own gall. ‘I’ve never done anything like this before.’

  ‘Well, maybe you should have. You’ve let them push you around for too long. They don’t understand you like I do – they’re just trying to turn you into a clone of them. Listen, Omi, as far as I’m concerned, you can stay at mine as long as you like. Sod your parents.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, still uncomfortable with the way he was slating my parents. I was angry with them, sure, but they had their good points, and when it came down to it, I loved them. Why were Danny’s emotions always so extreme? He saw everything in black and white. ‘Maybe they’ll calm down by the morning,’ I suggested.

  ‘It’s already the morning,’ Danny reminded me.

  I looked at my watch. ‘Damn, I’m due in the office in less than seven hours.’

  ‘You hate that job. Why not pack it in right now? You don’t want to be a lawyer anyway.’

  ‘I need the money, Danny.’

  ‘I’ve got enough money for both of us. I’ll see you right.’

  ‘Thanks, Danny, but I’m not sure.’ I thought on the spot. ‘I’m due a week off anyway. I’ll call in tomorrow and tell them I need a few days’ break now.’

  ‘Great,’ he said. ‘We’ll have a lovely time, you and me. Just you wait and see.’

  Chapter 13

  We did have a lovely time – for the first few days, at least. Being at Danny’s, away from my parents and the stifling environment of my home, gave me a sense of freedom; it was like being on holiday. Arranging a break from work had been no trouble. By the time I called in – at ten o’clock on the morning after I’d left home – it was evident that Dad had already been in touch with Mr Stevens to smooth the way. He came on the line and, in a rather fatherly manner, told me that the practice had agreed to give me a couple of weeks leave ‘to get your head together’. After that, I should come in to discuss my future. I had no idea whether or not I would go back; I honestly didn’t care one way or the other.

  It felt strange staying in such a big house, with its gated drive and huge garden. It could not have been more different from my house, where the walls and ceilings were thin and everybody knew each other’s business. Danny’s parents’ house was so vast and so quiet; once I was shut safely away in his flat, there could have been a party going on in the main house and I wouldn’t have known about it. I still hadn’t met Mr Evans – he was away on another business trip – but Mrs Evans made me nervous and I dreaded bumping into her in the hall. Ever since our first meeting, when I’d almost knocked over her precious vase, she’d made me feel awkward and clumsy. And because she expected me to be clumsy, I succeeded in acting like it, tripping over my feet and banging into things whenever she was around me. When she spoke to me, I stuttered. It’s funny how someone else’s perception of you can have such a strong, unconscious effect on the way you behave.

  Emily brought some of my stuff round on the second evening. She told me Mum was waiting in the car outside, so she couldn’t stay long.

  ‘She’s really worried about you,’ she said. ‘Talk to her, Nay.’

  ‘I can’t. I’ll ring her when I’m ready.’

  ‘It’s horrible at home. Mum and Dad have been arguing and dinner time is worse than ever. Come home, Nay. I’m sure you can sort things out.’

  ‘I want to be with Danny,’ I said, trying to sound stronger than I felt. ‘Until Mum and Dad accept that, I’m staying put.’

  Emily shrugged. She looked so sad that I felt guilty. I hadn’t meant to make everybody miserable. As much as I loved being with Danny, I knew I wouldn’t feel completely happy or settled until I had made things right with my parents.

  After Emily had left I went downstairs to see Danny. He’d given me a key to his flat, but I still felt that I had to knock before I went in. Every time I did it he laughed at me. ‘I do wish you’d chill out, Omi. The only person who knocks is the cleaning lady. Make yourself at home.’

  ‘Sorry, Danny, I can’t help it.’

  ‘Stop apologising,’ he said, playfully squeezing my cheeks. ‘You seem really tense. What is it?’

  ‘Oh, you know, it’s just Emily coming round and thinking about all that stuff with my parents.’

  ‘Your bloody parents again,’ he hissed, rolling his eyes. Then, seeing that he had hurt me, his expression brightened. ‘I just love having you here, Omi. I really hope you’ll stay forever. Just you and me.’

  He kissed me and everything felt better, instantly.

  At first, Danny treated me like a princess, cooking me breakfast and dinner and generally fussing around me. He’d take me out wherever I wanted to go and buy me presents, like perfume and sweets. He even decided to take it upon himself to teach me to play the guitar, declaring me a natural when I mastered two chords at our first lesson. I’d never spent so much time with one person and I was surprised to find that we never irritated each other or ran out of things to talk about.

  If I let myself ignore the situation with my parents, and the fact that this set-up could only be temporary, I could pretend that this was what it was like to be grown up and living with someone. Even mundane things, like going to the supermarket with Danny, made me feel closer to him. We’d walk down the aisles, hand in hand, and when other shoppers looked at us I felt proud because we were ‘a couple’ and everyone knew it.

  But for Danny, at least, the novelty of having me around soon wore off. By Wednesday he had already started to lapse into his old routines and I found myself having to fit into them. Danny liked to spend a lot of time alone, strumming his guitar or reading in silence. I hadn’t realised before how lazy he was; he rarely got up before twelve and he didn’t go out until nightfall unless he had to. If I tried to wake him early he’d be grumpy and tetchy, so I learned to amuse myself until I knew it was safe to talk to him. I watched hours of morning television, painted my nails and practised guitar chords on an old acoustic that he had lent me. By the end of the first week, however, the lessons had all but dried up; it appeared that Danny had run out of patience for teaching me.

  I didn’t want to adm
it it to myself, but I was starting to feel bored and, strangely, lonely. I couldn’t help wondering if Danny might be growing tired of me, and each time that thought crossed my mind I felt sick and panicky. I tried to come up with ways of making him fall in love with me again, dressing up in the clothes he liked best and taking time to do my hair and make-up. I even wrote myself lists of amusing anecdotes that I knew might make him laugh, so that I could reel them off at a moment’s notice and he’d remember how much fun we had together.

  But for every moment that I feared Danny might have cooled towards me, there was another when his words and actions suggested that he loved me as much as ever. Sometimes, he would gaze into my eyes and tell me how special I was, how much he needed me. He would start writing a song and tell me that I had inspired it, that having me around was making him more creative than ever. Or he’d present me with a gift or make me a fabulous meal for no reason at all. His behaviour was so erratic that I didn’t know whether I was coming or going. Was I doing or saying something wrong sometimes to make him cross with me? Could it be something of which I wasn’t even conscious?

  If only I had been honest with myself I would have realised that I was not the problem – Danny was. And it wasn’t only me – he no longer seemed to be absorbed by anything for long. The new demos he had talked about The Wonderfulls making never materialised and very few gigs were lined up. Band rehearsals still took place in his flat, but lately they were more shambolic than ever. Only half the band would turn up at any one time, so they couldn’t ever get any real playing done. Instead, whoever had made it on that particular night would jam with Danny for a while, and then they’d get a takeaway and some six-packs of beer and sit around getting stoned until they crashed out.

  I felt even more of a spare part than before. I’ve never been the sort of girl who’s ‘one of the lads’ and Danny’s mates made it perfectly clear that I was in the way. One evening, when I was in the kitchen getting myself a drink, I overheard Andy referring to me as ‘her indoors’ and then laughing. Danny didn’t really defend me, he just laughed and told Andy I was ‘no trouble’. I was hurt, but I couldn’t show it. Was that what Danny really thought of me? Or was he just being blokey in front of his mates? Too upset to put on a front, I excused myself and went to bed. And by the next day, it was forgotten. Danny was in such a sweet, affectionate mood that I chose not to say anything.

  On an icy Monday afternoon, a week after I’d arrived, I asked Danny if I could borrow his laptop to work on the band’s website. It hadn’t been updated for a while and I was worried that the fans would begin to lose interest if there wasn’t some new hype for them to talk about. He seemed reluctant to get it for me.

  ‘Don’t bother, Omi,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing new to put up.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s good to change it a bit anyway. I’ve got some pictures I haven’t used.’

  ‘If you can be arsed.’

  ‘Danny . . .’ I began, gently, worried about his reaction to the question I was about to ask. ‘Is everything all right with The Wonderfulls? It’s just since the gig, since you didn’t get signed, you’ve seemed like you don’t really care any more.’

  ‘Of course I care,’ he replied, turning away from me. I realised that he looked tired, older even, his eyes hollow and his skin blotchy.

  ‘Yes, but you’re not really playing or rehearsing. You were going to record some demos, get some more interest . . . You haven’t even finished any new songs.’

  ‘Musician’s block,’ he muttered. ‘It happens.’

  ‘Maybe I could help?’

  He laughed at me. ‘What, with your two chords?’

  ‘That’s cruel.’ My mouth fell into an involuntary pout. I emphasised it comically so he wouldn’t know how much his comment had hurt me. It was his fault that I hadn’t progressed with the guitar; he was a poor teacher. Playing came instinctively to Danny – he couldn’t explain things clearly had little patience when I complained that my fingertips were hurting and he had simply stopped bothering to teach me. I could have said, ‘You’re the one who gives up if things don’t come easy not me.’ But I didn’t want to fight.

  ‘Yes, it is cruel,’ he said, smiling apologetically. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ I continued, feeling the frustrations of the past few days welling up inside me. ‘But I do know that sitting around drinking and getting stoned with your waste-of-space mates isn’t going to help.’ The instant the words were out, I knew I’d sounded just like my mother.

  Danny sneered. ‘Get off your high horse, Naomi. Sometimes you can be so prissy. If you don’t like it, you can get back to your boring friends and oh-so-middle-class parents and your law firm.’

  I flinched. The flip side of knowing someone intimately is that they recognise exactly which buttons to press to hurt you, and Danny had gone too far now. I was no longer prepared to pussyfoot around him. If he wanted a fight, he could have one. You know what?’ I spat. ‘Maybe I will.’

  ‘Go on, then. If you don’t want to be here with me, then go.’

  He looked me dead in the eye, daring me to get up and walk out. I knew he didn’t think I would actually do it. He expected me to crumble, to apologise and to ask him to hold me and kiss me until our disagreement was forgotten. But I couldn’t bring myself to do that. I was angry, and, more to the point, I was in the right. Wasn’t I?

  Realising that I’d talked myself into a corner, there was nothing for it but to act on my words. I may not be someone who relishes confrontation, but I’m no walkover. I stood up, marched to the door, and, without turning back to look at Danny, I opened it and slammed it behind me. Then I grabbed my coat and my gloves and left the flat as quickly as I could. I was panicking slightly – I didn’t have any idea where I would go; I didn’t have my phone with me, so I couldn’t call anyone, and home certainly wasn’t an option. My parents would love it, I thought, if I’d turned up, my tail between my legs, with nowhere else to go. There was no way I wanted to give them that satisfaction.

  For about ten minutes or so, I just walked, letting my feet take me wherever they wanted to go. The streets around Danny’s house were unfamiliar and I worried that I might become lost. But I soon came upon a landmark that I recognised: the gates of the park where Danny and I had spent our second date. It seemed apt that I had found my way to this park, with its happy memories; it was as though I had been meant to find it.

  There were very few people about, just a couple of dog-walkers and some young boys playing football. Walking alone in a wide-open space just a couple of hours before nightfall probably wasn’t the most sensible idea, but that didn’t occur to me. I felt safe in that park, protected by the same trees and the same grass that had hosted my lovely picnic with Danny only four months earlier. If I listened carefully I could almost hear our laughter still echoing in the breeze. Everything had been so simple then, before other people – and real life – had intervened.

  I headed for the playground and, ignoring the sign that read Under-12s Only, sat down on one of the swings. My eighteen-year-old bottom was too wide for it and the metal joints dug into my flesh, making me wince. It didn’t seem fair to me that only children were supposed to go on the swings. I had never grown out of it. I still loved the sensation of freedom – flying through the air, reaching higher and higher with each kick of my legs, my hair flowing behind me and the wind on my face, until I was in danger of going over the top. As soon as I had my own place with a garden, I decided, I would install a swing – just for me.

  As I swung, my anger dissipated. I wondered if Danny would come looking for me. Surely he must have realised that I wouldn’t have gone home and maybe he, too, would be drawn here. I imagined him coming up behind me and pushing me on the swing, refusing to stop until we were both laughing so much that we had forgotten what we had argued about.

  But he didn’t come. After an hour, I decided to return to his flat. In my mind, I knew
exactly how the conversation would go: I planned to tell him that I was sorry and that I knew it wasn’t my place to interfere in The Wonderfulls. Then he would apologise too, tell me he wanted me to stay and we’d kiss and make up. In my eagerness to create a perfect end to a horrible day, I’d forgotten that conversations never seem to pan out quite the way you’ve planned them.

  Chapter 14

  Danny’s flat was unexpectedly dark and oddly quiet when I let myself back in. It made me wonder if he had gone out looking for me, but his car was still in the drive and his favourite leather jacket was hanging from a hook in the hall. I had never known the flat to be silent; Danny always had some sort of music playing – there was a stereo system or radio in every room bar the toilet. He also had a habit of leaving the light on in each room he entered, so the place was always well lit. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was a peculiar atmosphere in the flat, the darkness as eerie as the silence.

  Something – an instinct, a sixth sense perhaps – stopped me from calling out Danny’s name or switching on the lights myself. With my coat still buttoned up, I made my way first into the kitchen and then into the living room. There was no trace of Danny in either room, no coffee cups, plates or papers providing any evidence of recent activity. He must be in his bedroom, I thought. But the door was shut tight and I could hear no movement behind it. Had Danny gone to bed? He couldn’t have. It was only a few hours since he had got up. Was he ill? What could he be doing in there?

  I grasped the handle and pushed the door, letting it open a fraction. ‘Danny?’ I said softly. ‘Are you in there?’ There was no response. I peered through the crack, tentatively pushing the door a little further. In the faint light I could just make out a shape, a human form in front of me on the floor. ‘Danny?’ Again, no answer. With my heart hammering against my chest, I inched my way closer. Now I could see that the figure was hunched over, its head between its legs, rocking gently back and forth. ‘Danny, are you OK?’ The figure began to whimper, its breathing laboured and wheezy. ‘Danny, what’s happened?’ Still there was no reply.