Second Chances

Chapter Ten

After a good night's sleep, I'm starting to feel much better about everything and I'm beginning to realise that keeping Paul firmly in the 'friends' category is a good thing.  They say it's best not to revisit old boyfriends and based on my previous experience, I'm starting to agree.  With my new, positive outlook, I'm quick to get into the shower and ready myself for the day ahead.  We are rehearsing this morning but this afternoon we'll be doing some individual interviews with our management.  They're only small things: a few questions for the tour programme mainly plus a little photo-shoot as well.  It's quite exciting really!  It's funny how life goes full circle...back in the day we used to do this sort of thing all the time and it became really monotonous and boring, but now that it's rare, I really enjoy it.  I don't even mind being asked what the S stands for! (And for the record - I think it was something to do with Simon's fascination with the number 19.)

I fire off a text to Jon to thank him again for the chat last night and head downstairs.  For the first time since arriving at Lilyath House, I feel like the tension surrounding myself and Paul's relationship has been lifted.

Maybe it's just that I'm trying to block it out though...

The usual early birds are at breakfast already and I settle into a nice conversation with Rachel and Jo about typically girly things (make-up, the latest goings on in Made In Chelsea and the celebrity gossip from Hollywood of course!)  My mood doesn't even dip when Paul and Brad join us.

Ok, that's a lie.

My mood does dip.  I know I go a little bit quieter - a little less brash - but I'm determined not to mope around him.  We do need to chat though, and I'm hoping we might be able to soon.  We need to just clear the air and move on.  Put a line in the sand so to speak.

Having finished our meals, the five of us head off to rehearsals together where we find Tina and Jon already warming up.  The mood between Paul and myself is still fairly light and friendly given the past 48 hours and I'm glad.  Things finally seem to be working out.

If only I knew what the rest of the day would hold.

-----

After a busy morning of group numbers including the now "fully mastered" Bring The House Down routine (Priscilla's words, not mine!), we break for lunch and we're taken one by one to have our individual interviews while the rest of us practise our solos.  I'm slightly relieved to hear that my interview will be late afternoon as it means I can get rehearsals out of the way beforehand.

After completing my third run-through of Straight Up (my cover of Paula Abdul's classic club tune), I'm feeling really good but exhausted!  The routine is really intense and although I like to think I'm fairly flexible and physically fit, it's really draining.  Fortunately when we perform it live I'll be able to have a long break immediately before and after it so I shouldn't collapse half way through!

A few minutes after I've got my breath back and taken on board some fluids, I'm summoned in for my interview.  I leave all of my things there and head in to the production office.  When I arrive, I'm given the list of questions that are going to be included in the programme.  They're all fairly typical questions for a reunion tour, for example: did you ever think you'd perform as a band again?  What have you been up to since the band broke up?  What do you enjoy the most about being back together?  Some of them make me laugh though, particularly when I'm asked what advice I would give my 18 year old self.  I bite my tongue from saying "don't get involved with a colleague" and instead settle for a thoughtful response about savouring the here and now.  Given my reputation as a party girl, he doesn't seem very happy with my boring response so I add in about taking everything with a pinch of salt - especially tequila.  He laughs and seems happier, moving on to the next question, although I'm left wondering if he's trying to make me sound like an alcoholic!

I eventually leave the office 45 minutes later and start to wander back to the studio.  I'm stopped in my tracks though when I hear my name being called from the other end of the corridor.  I look around and it's the last person I expect to hear calling after me.  Paul.  He closes the gap between us.  "We need to talk" he continues, this time in a quieter tone.
Oh god! I'm not ready for this!  I know we need to, but I'm not ready.  I can feel my heart racing and I must look terrified.  He looks at me with a serious expression on his face and it's doing nothing to calm me down.
"In here?" he asks pointing towards the sitting room door.  I nod dumbly in response and follow as he checks that it's empty.  As I enter, he closes the door behind us and I can feel the tension starting to build.  My brain is all over the place and I barely register him approaching where I'm stood until he reaches me.
"Han, sit down." he says quietly.  God, what's he going to tell me?  That he wants nothing more to do with me?  I'm terrified.
I sit down on the large sofa and look down at my lap.  I can't face looking at him right now.  After sitting down next to me, he sighs deeply and I chance a look up to his face.  I can see that he's really nervous so I decide to try and take the lead and start up the conversation.  If he's going to make me to talk about this with him now, then I at least want some level of control over the situation.
"Paul, the other night..." I start, but I'm cut off before I can continue.
"It's not about that Hannah," he quickly interjects looking directly into my eyes.  I'm confused.  If it isn't about what happened at the lake, what does he need to talk to me about in such secrecy?
"Your Dad phoned me about 10 minutes ago.  He said he couldn't get hold of you."  Hang on - my Dad?!  Why on Earth is my Dad calling him?  How does he even have his number?!  The look on my face must give away what I'm thinking as Paul continues.  "He...ummm...he still has my number.  From...last time."  Okay - that makes sense.  My Dad isn't exactly the best when it comes to technology so once he had Paul's number in his phone, he was unlikely to delete it.
"Ok.  But I don't get it."  I reply.  "Why was my Dad calling you?"
Suddenly something clicks.  Maybe it's the way Paul's sitting or the way he's looking at me.  I realise the chat wasn't a social one.

It's bad.

"Han," he says before taking a deep breath, "Tanya's been involved in a car accident.  She's..."

My world stops spinning in that moment.

I can't breathe.

I can't speak.

I can't even hear what he says.  All I take in is "hospital", "operation" and "taxi".

Tanya's hurt.

My big sister.

She's one of my best friends.  My confidant.  She knows me better than I know myself.  She even told me before we started rehearsals that I needed to be careful not to let history repeat itself.  Thinking of her being hurt is horrifying, especially if it's bad enough to require an operation.

Unable to hold it in, I burst into tears, burrowing my face into my hands.  Paul moves nearer and peels my hands away, pulling me into his chest and tucking my head under his chin.  He holds me and strokes my back as I cry and he tries to reassure me that it'll be ok.  But he doesn't know that.  He doesn't know she'll be ok.  No one does.  We stay like that for a few minutes and he rocks me gently as my tears eventually subside and I begin to regain my composure.  As my senses return, I feel his heart beating against my cheek as it has on so many previous occasions, and I'm aware that he's still stroking my back and whispering comforting words into my hair.  Yesterday I would have done anything to be in this situation with him but today...well, today is a whole new day.  Right now I'd rather be dealing with the anxieties around our relationship rather than the thought of my sister being in hospital.  I eventually pull away from him and offer him a small smile in thanks.  He reciprocates and for the first time in days, I see him.  I really see him.  The man who was my best friend.  The man who would do anything for me.  The man I fell in love with.

"I didn't really take in what you said," I say eventually.  "What happened?"  My hands are shaking and I can't seem to stop them, no matter how many times I try.  He reaches over and places his hand on top of mine and gently strokes back and forth over the soft skin.  Eventually my shakes subside and he answers my question.
"She was on her way back from seeing a friend.  She pulled out at the junction and some idiot wasn't looking..." he trails off, and I realise that he's still stroking my hand.  "The impact was on her side of the car.  A witness called 999 and they've taken her to Peterborough City Hospital."

Peterborough City?!  Isn't that...

"What?  She's here?  In England?"  Tanya and her family live abroad - they have done for years.
He nods.  "It was meant to be a surprise.  They came over a few days ago."
Guilt overrides me.  I know what he's saying.  They've come over to see the tour.  The reason they're here is to see me perform.
"Oh my God!  It's my fault!"  I cry and Paul immediately puts his arm around me.
"This is not your fault Hannah.  Don't you dare say that!  It's that idiot's fault, not yours.  You cannot blame this on yourself.  I won't let you."  There it is again...that flicker of the passionate man I knew so well.  I remember him saying something similar to me when he told me he was going to leave the band back in 2002.  We sit in silence while I process everything that's happened.  Paul eventually breaks the silence.
"I've spoken to Simon.  Told him that you need indefinite absence.  I've also arranged for a taxi to come and get you.  I'm not sure when exactly.  I need to check with Tim."
I twist my body so that I can face him.  "Thank you," I whisper, "you didn't have to do that."
His reply is simple and the sincerity that it holds scares me slightly.  "Yes I did."  I know what he's saying.  He did it because it's me.  Because it's us.  Well...was us.  For what we represented.  Breaking the awkward tension that's starting to build, he continues.  "I'm not sure what time it's coming.  You'd better go and pack some things for a few days.  I'll find out for you."
I nod dumbly and we both stand up and head towards the door.  Just as Paul is about to turn the handle, realisation hits.
"Paul," I say startling him, "do the others...?"  I leave the question hanging in the air.
"No, they don't know anything.  Only Simon and Tim do.  I wouldn't do that to you."  He seems slightly affronted that I'd think that he'd tell the others before me, but I just needed to check.  I don't want to see them.

We go our separate ways and I head to my room to pack.  It's a slow process and I can't really organise my thoughts regarding what I need.  I know I need to be quick, but all I can think about is Tanya lying there in a hospital while they operate on her.

The knock at my door startles me and I'm relieved to see that it's only Paul.
"Hey," he says trying to add a small smile.  "Tim says the taxi should be about half an hour."
"Thanks," I mumble in reply.
"How are you getting on?" he asks.  In truth I'm not getting on at all well so I simply twist my body so that he can see the random contents that have been thrown into my case so far.  He looks at me carefully.  "Do you want some help?"
I don't feel like I can trust myself to speak so I simply step fully out of the way in acceptance.  We work together to fill the case with everything I'll need for a few days, only talking to ask for various items.  With my case packed, Paul wheels it over to my door, placing my handbag on top.  He walks back to where I'm sat on the bed and joins me.
"Will you text me when you get there?"  He asks.  "Just so I know you're ok?"
I nod and feel an overwhelming urge to hug him.

So I do.

It's so nice to be in his arms.  There's nothing in the hug.  Just solace and comfort between two friends, but it just means everything.  For those few minutes I can just pretend that everything's ok and he's holding me safe from everything that can hurt me.  Just like he used to.  When I feel him place a kiss into my hair and he tells me that the taxi will arrive soon, I know I need to pull away.  He stands up and starts to walk to the door, but I stop him before he can leave.

"Paul" I call, halting him in his tracks.  Part of me knows that it's probably a really bad idea to ask him what I want to, but I know it's what I need.  "Will you..." I stutter, struggling over the words.  "Will you...come with me?"  I pause and look at him in the eyes.  "I don't think I can do this on my own."  The seconds pass and I can see that he's mentally weighing up the pros and cons.  It'd mean him seeing my family again.
"Are you sure you want me to?"  He asks.  "I mean, maybe one of the others might be better."
"No," I reply.  My facade is starting to drop despite my attempts to stay strong.  "I want you.  You know them.  They know you."  I pause, desperation seeping into my voice.  "Please?"
He nods in agreement and I let out my breath.  "Of course I will.  I'll meet you downstairs in a minute ok?"
I offer him a smile and he leaves, closing the door behind him.

Knowing that I'm inevitably going to have to face the others when I head downstairs, I take some time to reapply the makeup which is currently streaked across my face.  When I eventually go down, I see Paul talking to Tim in the office and his case is next to him.  His favourite black jacket is thrown over the top of it.  Two days ago that was around me.

Maybe him coming isn't a good idea after all.

He spots me as I'm contemplating whether I should ask him to stay and he offers me a smile.  In that moment, I know that I'm making the right decision.  He's my friend.  I need his support.  A few moments later he heads over to me and tells me that the taxi is about 10 minutes away.  I nod dumbly in reply, not really sure what to say.  I hear the door to the dance studio open and the rest of the band laughing and joking.  My immediate response is to hide.  I don't want them to see me like this.  I don't want them to ask.
"Come on," Paul says, taking hold of my suitcase and ushering me towards the doors.  "Let's wait outside."  I follow him into the warm sunshine and he sits down on the steps, rooting around in his jacket for his packet of Marlboro.
"You don't mind do you?"  he asks, referring to the packet.
"Of course not.  Go ahead."
He lightly taps the end of the cigarette against his knee before lighting up.  I idly notice that he's using the same lighter I bought him years and years ago - a bright pink one with a P on it.  I can't help but laugh and he looks questioningly at me until he realises why.
"Don't take the piss," he laughs before plastering a serious mask on his face.  "I'll have you know that this is a very rare lighter from the distant country of Americana-land.  It's worth a lot of money!"  That was the stupid reason I gave him when I bought it for him.  In all honesty, I was hoping that a bright pink lighter might encourage him to quit.
"I'm surprised it's still working!" I comment through my laughter.
"Well I did tell you that I don't smoke much anymore!"  He replies and I realise it's the truth.  It must be if he's still using the same lighter almost 10 years later.
I'm about to respond when the taxi pulls up.  Paul takes a few puffs of his cigarette before stubbing it on the ground, reaching for our luggage to carry it to the boot.  We settle into the back seat and I stare out of the window in silence.  I try to call my parents but neither of them answer so I send a text instead.  Hopefully they'll pick it up.

"I'm on my way.  I should be there by 9 at the latest.  Is there any change?  Tell her I love her.  I love you all so much xxxx"

Sending the message brings all of my emotions back to the forefront of my mind and once again I find myself crying.  I frantically try to wipe away my tears before Paul can spot them but he's too perceptive and he moves into the middle seat.  He pulls me to him, placing his arm around me and holding me whilst I cry into his shoulder.  Every so often I feel him place a kiss into my hair and eventually I fall asleep against him, exhausted by the day's events.