The Rock Rollercoaster

26.

Hi. I don't really have anything to say up here. Enjoy?

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"I don't know whether to be mad at you about this, Lyra Jayne."

I scowled at my Dad over my spoonful of cereals. "It wasn't my fault he punched him. Besides, if you had known David, then-"

"But that's precisely the point!" Dad said, washing the dishes perhaps more aggressively than needed. "I didn't know him. He was your first real boyfriend, and I have no clue what he was like."

I was stunned. Dad had never seemed to care about anything to do with personal or sensitive issues before. What had changed? "Dad..."

"Don't tell me I'm just getting old, Lyra." He said, flicking bubbles at me. I laughed, unused to seeing the fun side to my father. "D'you know why I decided to jump on a plane and move in with you?"

I shrugged. "You wanted to get back in touch with old friends who had moved here."

"No. I wanted to be with my daughter." He huffed, drying his hands. "I was sat back home, reading article after article about how amazing this new band was... And then I saw pictures, and saw you with three other guys."

I grinned. "Were you impressed?"

He rolled his eyes. "Lyra, I'm actually being serious. I found out you were in a band, getting popular and I was mad. But mostly that was because you didn't feel like you could tell me what you were doing, and because you felt you had to run away in the middle of the night to be happy. With my money."

I squirmed. "Dad... It wasn't a case of I wasn't happy at home. I just... I was suffocating, I wanted to get out there and see things. I wanted to live the dream, as cliché as it sounds."

"I know, I know." He sighed. "I suppose I wanted to see you growing into yourself. When I saw those pictures of you with your band, my first thought was that I'd never seen you look so happy. So I'm here, because I thought maybe once in a while during your rockstar life, you might need your father."

I laughed and hugged him. "OK, Dad. Enough sentimental rubbish, or I might have to sing a song to shut you up."

"You know, you're singing is rather impressive. Better than when you were in that choir." He said, wrinkling his nose.

"I wasn't trying when I was in choir." I informed him.

"Maybe that's it then."

Nothing changed after our heart-warming conversation. I still went to Number Four everyday, where Nate was pushing us so hard I often couldn't speak at the end of rehearsal. He eased up a bit when he saw that I was struggling to talk though - I think it reminded him of my throat injury. The only time he'd been scared.

But Dad was in more after that, and I appreciated his company. We watched movies together and he even vacuumed the carpets and stuff. That was very handy, seeing as I had no time to do it myself. The tour started in a few days, and rehearsals often started at 9 in the morning, not finishing until at least 11 at night. Sometimes Nate and I would stay later, working on songs for the LP.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Monday morning was cold. The first really cold day since I arrived in New York. I bundled myself in thick tights and a huge red jumper, wrapping a scarf around my throat and cramming a hat onto my unruly hair. Pulling on my boots, I clicked the door shut softly so as not to wake my Dad.