She opened the door and left, closing it behind her.
*
He’d barely spoken to her over breakfast. In fact, he had barely spoken to Tawanda either. Tawanda had ordered a newspaper and had spent her time shouting out clues for the crossword over the croissants.
He’d had one cup of coffee and some toast, then he’d gone back to his room to get ready for the service. It was almost as if he had retreated back into himself, just when she’d thought he was about to trust her.
‘So, your friend, Mr Blu, he was a good man, yes?’ Tawanda asked as she pinned Autumn’s hair up.
Autumn smiled. ‘Yes, he was a very good man. He used to make me laugh so much. It was a miracle we ever got any music made.’
‘I know how you feel about his death, but you really must not blame yourself, child.’
‘I do blame myself, Tawanda. If it wasn’t for me, he would be alive. It is my fault. I just have to live with that. Although that might not be for long. Perhaps I’ll get off lightly.’
‘What you’re doing for your father is very brave.’
‘I know I might not get to see him again, but… well… up until now… he’s the man that provided all my good memories. He was the one I thought of all the time, and all those good times comforted me during the dark moments,’ Autumn admitted.
Tawanda picked up the can of hairspray and brandished it like a weapon. ‘A girl of your age should not have to have dark moments. It’s criminal. You have such a beautiful talent. It should not make your life dark.’
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Autumn said with a sigh.
‘Of course it matters. You have awards to win at the international show. I heard that song by the prostitute. She sounds like an ill cat.’
Autumn let out a laugh then closed her mouth as Tawanda began to spray the hairspray on her hair.
‘Now, you cannot speak. You let me tell you something. You and Mr Nathan, perhaps I was wrong. I see how he is with you. I see how he looks at you when he thinks no one sees. I tell you before, he is a good man, but he has been through dark times, just like you. Be patient, child.’
‘I don’t think we have that long,’ Autumn said, getting a mouthful of spray as she talked.
‘Have faith,’ Tawanda insisted. ‘Have faith.’
Thirty-Two
There were probably two dozen paparazzi outside the church, together with film crews from various television stations. Blu-Daddy had been popular worldwide, and the extensive coverage of this memorial service proved that.
Autumn played with her fingers in her lap as she sat in the back of the cab with Tawanda and Nathan. She had never felt so nervous. She didn’t know if she could actually do it. She wasn’t concerned about the photographers. Her mind wasn’t even on the fact she could be kidnapped at any moment. It was facing Blu-Daddy’s widow and seeing his children that troubled her.
‘There are a lot of people here,’ Tawanda commented, looking out at the packed sidewalk where reporters jostled for the best position.
One… two… three… four… five. Autumn counted the parking meters, the trees lining the edge of the park opposite, the long-range lenses.
‘You don’t have to do this,’ Nathan reminded her.
‘Yes I do.’
The reply was immediate. No matter how out of her comfort zone this was going to take her, she needed to do this, for Blu’s memory, for her own peace of mind.
‘No one’s expecting you to be here,’ he said.
‘You mean, that tiny article I’m assuming my mother got in the Daily Mail, about how I’m grief stricken and in hiding? What was that supposed to do?’ Autumn snapped. ‘Make sure there’d be fewer photographers for the kidnappers to navigate through on their way to grab me?’
She opened and shut her purse and tried to hide her trembling hands.
The cab stopped outside the entrance, and immediately, the cameras were trained on the car, and reporters shouted and screamed.
Autumn took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to summon up energy she didn’t really have in her. She grabbed the door handle and opened it.
Nathan put his hand over her and stopped her. ‘Wait, hang on. You can’t just get out. I’ll get out first,’ he said.
She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. ‘I just need to do this, now, before I change my mind.’
He nodded and leaned across her, opening the door and stepping down onto the side of the road.
‘I’ll be right behind you, child,’ Tawanda assured her.
Nathan held his hand out and she took it, holding on as she descended from the cab. She tried to ignore the shouts and clicking cameras.
Fine drizzle met them, and Nathan shielded Autumn protectively, not just from the rain, but from the pack of reporters. Each tried to elbow their way to the front, teeth bared, drool hanging from their lips, waiting for that exclusive quote or premium snapshot.
‘Autumn! A tough day for you! How do you feel?’
The question was yelled into the air, and she heard it, but she barely understood why it needed to be asked. Wasn’t it written all over her face? She felt like a murderess. She felt guilty and ashamed and desperately sad.
‘Head up, walk on,’ Nathan whispered to her.
‘Has Mr Regan been a support to you? We hear you’re getting engaged. Can you confirm that, Autumn?’
Autumn gritted her teeth and clutched Nathan’s arm. ‘I can’t bear this,’ she said.
Nathan hissed at the reporters. ‘Miss Raine has nothing to say. Have some respect, will you? This is a memorial service, not a fucking album launch.’
His comments and look of fury were captured for tabloid use, and the questions stopped.
‘Can we just sit at the
