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Stupid, stupid, stupid! I was such a moron! I let the best thing that had ever happened to me walk out of my life. For good. I gently placed my fingertips to my mouth and winced in pain. My incisors had pierced the inside of my bottom lip when Angel's knuckles pushed against it with great force and fuck, did it hurt! I was getting sick of the taste of my blood so I had to spit it out over the balcony, making sure that no one would be under it. Luckily, no one was. I walked back into the room and shut the sliding door.
"What the Hell did you say to her, Paul?" Richard asked.
"The wrong thing, obviously…" Tim muttered. I nodded slowly.
"You got that right," I laughed, trying to lighten the moment, "I… I offended her daughter."
"Jesus, Paul, when you fuck up, you do it properly, don’t you?"
"Thanks for reminding me, Mari." She stood up, walked over to me and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Y’know… you let her go," she added quietly.
"I know… and I’m going to have to live with that for the rest of my life." I walked away and stood with my back to the three of them, looking out at the day, wondering how I would face it this time.

When Gabs had left, I started to think about Adam again. I didn’t really want to, but there would always be a part of him lingering with me… in my baby girl. I remember the joy I felt when I found out I was pregnant and the sorrow I felt when Adam told me to ‘get rid of it’. Adam was a prick, Paul was a prick, why did I keep attracting pricks? Still, there was something different about Paul… maybe. I didn’t know, and frankly I really didn’t care anymore. The coffee was placed down on the table in front of me interrupted my thoughts again.
"There y’are."
"Ta, Gabs." She turned to walk away, but turned back again.
"Did ya get his phone number?"
"Didn’t work out as I thought it would."
"Bummer."
"Yeah," I breathed, blowing the steam off my hot coffee, "it is."

When the food arrived, I had lost my appetite. Eating a steak would’ve just made the pain worse. Tim and Richard dug into their meals without so much as a breath, and Mari just picked at her croissant. All this time to myself got me thinking again. I was wishing that Angel would come back again so I could apologise to her. Yeah, that was going to happen. Sure. I deserved that punch. I deserved more than that though. I didn’t know what I was thinking of when I said that. Probably myself. And now, through my stupidity and extreme childish behaviour, I’ve lost her.

I put Alex on a blanket on the floor and turned on the TV. She was lying on her stomach, like a skydiver. Her arms were out to her side, her legs were bent at the knees. She looked so adorable. All she needed now was a backpack with a parachute in it. I placed my hand on her head and ran my fingers through her fine, wispy hair. I didn’t need him. As long as I had my baby, I’d be fine. I would push all my thought of him to the back of my mind and forget about him. From this day forward, I wanted nothing more to do with Paul McDermott.

TBC

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FOUR MONTHS LATER…

I could tell that Paul didn't want to go out onto the stage. The three of us had sat down around the newspaper, reading the interview we partook a few days ago when we came into Sydney airport. The interview was conducted as we sat down in Arrivals. We had just gotten off the plane from Perth and Paul was the only one out of the three of us that couldn't get to sleep on that flight. I don't think it was the fact that he doesn't like flying, he's never had a problem with it before, but as we neared closer and closer to Sydney, his excuses came more frequently, getting worse as we went. We knew the real reason, but we didn't dare mention it to him. The last time I spoke of Angel, he just up and left. We didn't see him for three whole days and almost had to cancel a show in Adelaide. Just before we were about to go onto stage and announce his absence, he appeared just as quickly as he vanished, acting as if nothing had happened. I don't know what happened to him in those three days that he was gone, and to tell you the truth, I don't want to know either. We went on and did the show, not a problem and the audience loved us. Paul seemed very distant from then on. Since the day he came back, I haven't dared to say her name in his company again.

My eyes skimmed across a paragraph in the article:

    Due to popular demand, The Doug Anthony
Allstars will be making a second appearance in the
Sydney State Theatre this coming Friday and
Saturday nights (the 11^th & 12^th.) at 9pm.
    Their last performance at the State Theatre was a
memorable night to all who attended, but it seemed
that only two of the three Allstars are looking forward
to performing in Sydney again.
    "The audience was so responsive," Fidler lovingly
recalls, "I can't wait."
    Ferguson is quick off the block to interject.
    "I know I had a ball. The audience didn't lynch-mob
after the show that night, so I guess they enjoyed
themselves as well!"
    Paul (for circumstances unbeknownst to me)
refuses to speak of the evening altogether and starts to
gulp down his beer very quickly.
    Tim assures me that Paul is just as eager as they,
but he has a different way of showing it.

'Nice save, Tim,' I thought to myself, standing up and turning towards the table. I flicked open the three silver latches on my guitar case and opened it up, revealing a smooth, shiny black 12-string guitar. I ran my fingers down the strings from the neck to the bridge, the steel strings making a sound on the calluses on my fingertips. I picked it up by the neck and strummed a few chords, checking if it was still in tune. I remember an instance when I asked Paul and Tim to take care of my guitar for me whilst I went looking for my guitar strap (which, incidentally, they had hidden from me in the first place.) I came back after I found it stuffed inside Tim's makeup case and was about to ask why it was there, when we were announced and had to go on stage. Tim skipped out singing 'here we go skipping out on to stage, on to stage, on to stage…' and Paul stumbled on as he had just downed a full bottle of Jack Daniels. He was laughing so much that night. I missed his laughter right now. I quickly put the strap on my guitar and jogged out after them quickly. I strummed the first chord to 'Catholic Girls' and winced as my ears suffered the torture of a completely out-of-tune guitar.
"Father… what the fuck?!??" I could see Tim trying not to crack a smile and Paul was trying to keep the crowd quiet. The amount of alcohol he had consumed before the show didn't help much either. He was falling all over the stage and tripping over his own feet. I was so angry and amused at the same time. Paul ended up on the floor of the venue when he fell off the stage laughing. It was completely dark and all I could hear was his endless fits of drunken laughter.
"Hee hee hee, I'm so sorry, ha ha, Rich, really, I… ha ha…" Tim and myself had to go down there and find him, the only thing leading us to him being his giggles. We dragged him back onto stage and he collapsed when he tripped over his own microphone lead. This went on for quite a while and we didn't actually start the song until half an hour later at least. When Paul had finally composed himself enough to string two words together, he admitted that he and Tim had hidden the guitar strap and untuned the guitar while I was gone. Bastards.

It was better to be safe then sorry. I played a few chords when there was a knock at the door.
"Yes?" The door opened to reveal a young woman with a pair of headphones around her neck. It was the new sound tech. She didn't turn Paul's mike up too much. I liked her already.
"Fifteen minutes, Mr Fidler."
"Thankyou."

I knew the circumstances all too damn well… me. I was the reason he didn't want to comment about that night, or even be back in Sydney. He didn't want to run the risk of bumping into me. Ditto, Paul.
'Well, if that's so,' I thought silently as I stood in that alleyway again, 'then why am I here tonight?' I realised that after all this time, in a weird way I kind of missed him. I wanted to hear his sweet heavenly voice again. Also, I wanted to see Tim and Rich as well. I sat on the bumper bar of their van and tapped my toes to an unknown song, deep in thought. That was broken when I heard a pair of footsteps coming from the stage door.
"Excuse me, miss, but you can't sit… oh, hi!" It was the intimidating-yet-not-intimidating bodyguard-type guy.
"Wow, g'day, how are you?"
"Very tired, actually, rather worn out. Yourself?"
"Pretty much the same to be honest."
"Oh…" he smiled, nodding knowingly. "So, you waiting 'til the line dies down a bit?"
"No," I answered quickly, "I'm not going in."
"Nonsense, you have to come in! I insist." He pulled a mock-menacing face and I had to laugh. He wouldn't take no for an answer, best not to defy him.
"Oh, okay!" I sighed, obviously defeated.

I knocked on Tim's door with much hesitation.
"Yes, Richard?" How the Hell did he know it was me? I opened the door, stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind me.
"Um, Tim? I'm worried about Paul."
"Yeah, me too, mate," he added nonchalantly whilst combing his bangs unhurriedly. He turned his head from side to side, giving himself his best 'bedroom eyes' in the mirror.
"Well, you could've fooled me!" I returned, going to leave.
"Oi, Rich!" I turned back around to face him. He had turned to look at me. He lowered his voice a little, as if he suspected Paul to walk through the door at any given moment. "Look, as long as we don't talk about Miss You-Know-Who, he'll be right as rain."
"I hope so, Tim."
"He will be."
"Yeah, I guess he will. Oh, by the way, ten minutes to go."
"Ta for that, Richard."

What was I doing in there? I was walking up the same corridor I walked down four months ago. Thinking back now, I felt like Dorothy from 'The Wizard of Oz'! Arm in arm… we might as well have been skipping! Me, Richard and… and Paul, dare I speak his name. Oh well, I guess I had to.
"Say, do you want to stand backstage and watch the show?"
"Ah, no, but I would like to see it." He tapped upon his chin and stroked his blond beard in thought.
"Tell ya what, take an 'access all areas' pass and you can go wherever ya want. Sound good?"
"Yeah, that'd be great!" He put a hand in his pocket and pulled out a backstage pass on a ball chain. I put it around my neck. The pass rested on the top of my stomach. "Thankyou." A wave of fatigue swept over me. I closed my eyes and willed it away.
"Hey, you okay?"
"Y-yeah…" I nodded, placing a hand to my temple, "I'm fine."

I walked across the corridor towards Paul's room. I knocked on his door, consciously trying to make a different sound.
"Come on in, Rich." What the Hell was this, a conspiracy? How did he know it was… ah, forget it. He was sitting at the desk, sketching like crazy. I looked at it over his shoulder. A scene of butchery: discarded and dismembered, bloodied corpses strewn along the floor of the drawing everywhere to be seen. But there was a break in the bloodshed: a young angel knelt amongst it all. She was praying to a higher source, a higher being. A tear fell from her eye. It was breathtaking. He was paying such extreme detail to the angel, she needed no colour, His pen stopped and he looked up at me.
"What do you think of her?" I wiped away the tears in my eyes.
"She's… beautiful." He nodded and went back to it. I felt for him. He was hurting… bad. I could feel it. He wouldn't and couldn't talk about her, so he drew her instead. Paul was different now. He'd be emotionally scarred.
"Rich?" I shook my head a little to snap out of it and looked at him.
"Yeah?"
"What'd you want?"
"Oh, I wanted to tell you that we have five minutes."
"Oh, thanks." As I left, he began to pack up his drawing and his apparatus.

I walked down another corridor. Three doors: two on one side of the corridor and one on the other side. Shit. The dressing rooms. I was about to walk past Paul's door when it began to open.
"Where's the bathroom?" I asked spinning around quickly, not a moment to lose.
"Down the hall and to your left."
"Thanks." I jogged off briskly around the corner and looked back. It was Richard: in costume, holding his guitar. He closed the door quickly. Maybe it wasn't Paul's room this time after all. The door opened again and a more familiar figure stepped out; his hair was a little bit longer and it seemed that some of it was in tiny plaits. He wore the same costume. He wiped at his eyes and looked down at the floor as he closed his door behind him. Surely he couldn't be upset about our argument… could he? Anyway, it didn't matter. I was here because he didn't want me to be, nothing more… wasn't it? I started to feel physically ill and turned for the bathroom.

Ah, my second home… the stage. Tim was his usual bouncy self and Paul was aggressive, but not overly aggressive. I started to strum the opening chords to 'Carnal Carnival' and Tim did his 'hi, we're the Doug Anthony Allstars' speech while I played. Dear God, don't let anything go wrong tonight, please?

I walked out of the bathroom massaging my stomach, remembering when Paul had done the same thing as we got out of the elevator back at that hotel. I remember how queasy I felt, and how he made it all go away just by touching me. Just being with him made everything alright that night. It felt like the first day of the rest of my life. Instead it turned out to be the nightmare that I couldn't wake up from. Yet I was still here, still in the same building with him. I walked out of the backstage area, back into the alleyway and walked to the front of the theatre. Someone tried to stop me but I showed him my pass and he apologised, quickly stepping out of my way like I was royalty or something. I walked through the lobby and passed a few more people who I just flashed my pass to and they let me through. They even opened the doors for me! I walked through the last door and their voices rang clear in my ears. I stood in the aisle with my hands in my pockets. I watched Richard for a while, who was busy strumming away. I looked over to Tim who was acting out lyrics. I then stared at Paul… who spotted me. He faltered, stopped singing, stared at me for a moment and rushed off the stage, leaving the audience to wonder what had just happened. Tim and Richard looked at each other in shock and looked out into the crowd to see what may have triggered him off. I quickly paced out of their view. I swallowed deeply. What did this mean? Did Paul regret his words? Did he still feel something for me? Did he actually… no, it didn't matter anyway, he was out of my mind, out of my life, out of my heart. If that was true, why the fuck was I still here? I could feel a headache coming on and I felt nauseous again. Damn. I breathed deeply and stayed out of sight.

Sometimes I hate being right. Why did something have to go wrong after I asked it not to? Was it some sort of metaphysical crack at my expense? Thanks, God, thanks a bunch. I don't know why, it was just a feeling I had. Maybe I was a psychic. Who knows? Maybe something to fall back on if and/or when the group splits. 'Ask Madame Richard'. Anyway, we were right in the middle of performing 'Drugs' when Paul just suddenly stopped singing, looked out into the audience for a while with a distressed look upon his face. Then he ran off the stage, leaving us dangling. God, why didn't you just drop the trapdoor and hang me where I stood? Tim covered for him by saying 'I'm sorry, but we seem to be having some technical difficulties. Young Mr McDermott seems to have lost his mind and we have to go help him find it. Be back soon!' He then pirouetted off the stage. I looked through the crowd to see if I could find the problem. Then I went off to find Paul.

"I saw her, I saw her…" seemed to be all he could get out.
"Saw who, Paul?" Tim asked. He swallowed deeply and looked up at us, his pained eyes glistening with fresh tears. So many had he shed in these last four months.
"Angel. I saw Angel." His voice was no louder than a whisper. Man, this was really tearing him apart and I couldn't bear to see one my best friends so upset. I placed my guitar on the floor and put my arm around his shoulder. He broke down completely in my arms and buried his head in my chest, his shoulders heaving heavily. I wrapped my arm tighter around him and placed my other hand on his head, stroking his hair sympathetically.
"Shhh," I soothed, "you're okay."
"No, I'm not. I'm losing my mind, Rich," he sobbed, "I see her everywhere in everything. How am I supposed to go out on to a stage and perform in front of so many people and not lose it?" He was right, loath I admit it. In Melbourne, Adelaide and Perth, Paul kept searching the audiences for her. We knew it, but he didn't know that we knew it. He wouldn't show it. Every single time, he'd cover it up somehow and go on with the show, leaving Tim and I to worry ourselves stupid. Either that or he’d change the subject. "I’ve been looking for her in the audiences at all our shows, but I never found her until tonight." He lifted his head from my chest. "What's wrong with me, Rich?" I turned my head to the side and looked down at him. His eyes were red-raw were crying. He looked like a child who had been separated from his parents in a overcrowded supermarket. Lost, scared, searching. I had to tell him.
"Honestly? Even if it's something you don't want to hear?"
"Honestly." I exhaled deeply and smiled.
"Paul, you're in love." He lowered his head and nodded slowly.
"Yeah, I am."

Wow, Paul fell apart upon sight of me. My stomach was in knots and flipping somersaults at the same time. I didn't know how to react. So many voices in my head advising me to go in so many directions. I felt like Sybil. As I kept talking to myself, the crowd began to cheer again and the trio stepped back out on to the stage together. Paul was his usual smutty self again, gyrating at the poor unsuspecting teenage boy in the front row.
"Sorry about that, uh…" he started.
'This should be interesting,' I thought quietly, 'or funny.' He began to cry like a five-year-old child. Thankfully, it was part of the joke.
"I, uh… I thought I saw Elvis and it scared me!" The audience was in hysterics and I rolled my eyes. "But he did, he really did!" He blinked a lot and rubbed at his eyes while pouting. Cute.
"Meanwhile, you'll notice that Paul is looking a bit hazy. That would be because we drugged him up to the eyeballs before we came back out." Tim always had a talent for improvisation. Paul nodded exaggeratingly and Richard rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I'm warning you now, he may think that we are all aliens and that the UFOs are coming for us, so just be aware."
"Yes, thanks for that, Tim." Richard adjusted his microphone, tightening it again. "Anyway, we're coming up to the middle of the show…" Paul began to ‘ice-skate’ around the stage, his eyes wide and a goofy-looking grin on his face. Tim tried to catch him but Paul started to run away, clucking like a chicken. The crowd was in stitches and Richard continued to talk, not taking any notice of them. Paul all of sudden appeared behind Richard and scared the fuck out of him, causing him to move away from his microphone in utter shock. Paul then stood on his tiptoes, trying to say something into it. He then began to jump up and down, saying one syllable at a time.
"Look… at… me… I'm… Rich-… -ard!" Poor Richard stood over the side of the stage clutching his chest, catching his breath again. Paul laughed and began to strum an imaginary guitar, swaying side to side with the beat. Richard walked back and pushed him out of the way, sending him crashing into Tim. Tim caught him and slapped him across the face.
"Snap out of it, boy!" Paul began to laugh like a maniac, looking at his tensed hands.
"Blood, Mother, blood! Get it off my hands, Mother!" I shook my head, surrendering to the humour of it all.

I was relieved. Paul seemed to be different. I think making him realise what he felt was what had helped him cope. We got through the rest of the show with no real hitches. We had come up to the slow song close to the end of the show and Paul began to sing. I would never have anticipated what had happened next.

"Baby, do you understand me now? Sometimes I seem a little mad…"
He sang it so beautifully, his voice rich with feeling. I knew that he wouldn't be looking into the audience for this song, so I stepped back into the light.
"…Don't you know no one alive can always be an angel? When things go wrong, you're bound to see some bad…"
Didn't I know it? Everything seemed to be right to start with but the next morning everything turned sour. I wiped at my eyes slowly.
"…I'm just a soul whose intentions are good, oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood..."
He seemed to be singing it about me. I looked at him standing there, his arms by his sides; his eyes focused on the ceiling, his hair glistening under the soft blue light. My vision kept blurring and I kept wiping my tears away.
"I've tried so hard not to be misunderstood…"
I felt like crying out to him that I was there, that he wasn't seeing things. I felt like walking down that aisle and standing there, letting him see me. No, I'm just being stupid… and weak. It's just the way he sings. I wiped hastily at my eyes again, looking at Richard… who was looking directly at me. His eyes widened and I placed a finger to my lips, mouthing the word 'please' to him. He nodded slightly and I stood there, watching the three of them sending the female members of the audience into bouts of rapture. As the song came to a close, I mouthed the words 'goodbye' to Richard and turned away. He continued to sing but I knew he was watching me leave.

Oh my God, I couldn't believe it, she really *was* there! I wanted to tell Paul, but we were in the middle of a song and performing in front of a part of the population of Sydney! Not a good time to say, "Hey look Paul, it's Angel, she’s standing right there!" I knew it was she, even though I was only able to see her face wet with tears. Just before the song had finished, she began to walk away again, and vanished as quickly as she appeared. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't tell him. She asked me not to. I felt guilty that I couldn't tell him, but I didn't want to break her word. I wasn't that type of person. My word was my bond.

The show finished relatively fast and Paul went straight to his room, no questions, no complaints. I think he'd had some inspiration while he was performing and was struggling to keep it in his mind so he could either write another song or draw or paint another picture. The door closed quickly behind him and Tim was already in his room. I went into mine, put my guitar in its case and went searching for Chris. If anyone could, he could find Angel.

I walked around backstage, looking for Chris or Angel. When I found Chris, Angel was with him. He was laughing and chatting to her and she had her back to me. I couldn't see if Paul or Tim was around, so I thought it best to be careful.
"Rachel?" I called, walking towards her. She turned around and I stopped. She wore black leggings and a white cotton blouse with buttons that stopped under her bust, falling from the top of her stomach. From that point down and from her elbows, the shirt was white chiffon. Her cheeks were glowing. She looked positively radiant. She rested her hand on her stomach. Her stomach was slightly obtrusive, just starting to become noticeable. Uh oh. She was pregnant.
"Richard!" she smiled, grabbing me and pulling me into a firm embrace. I was careful not to squash her. "What's the matter, Rich, am I too forward?"
"I don't want to hurt you… or the baby."
"Oh, don't worry about that, it's tough!"
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. I know these things second time around." Her smile faded away. "Besides, it takes after its father." She looked up at me, blinking a few times. Paul. He was the father of Angel's baby. Double uh oh.
"Are you going to tell him?" She looked at her stomach as her hand began to move over it by unintentionally.
"No."
"Don't you think he has a right to know?"
"What he doesn't know won't hurt him… or me." I grabbed her arms softly, making her look at me.
"But he loves you, Angel." She shook her head sadly.
"He's too wrapped up in himself to love me or anyone else… and I'm not going to wait for him to come around all my life. I'm going to live my life, have my child, take care of my daughter and I'm going to do it all without so much as a thought about Paul. I'm moving on. I have to."
"Then why are you here tonight?" The half-smile returned.
"I came to see you… and Tim. How is he?"
"He's great. He wants to marry Victoria."
"That's wonderful. I wish him all the happiness in the world."
"What about you, Angel, are you happy? Really genuinely blissfully happy?"
"Yes I am. I'm happy that I'm pregnant, Paul gave me what I wanted."
"So you were using him?"
"Oh no! Not at all. It just… worked out for the best, I guess." She changed the subject. "So, how are you doing? Are they being nice to you?"
"Yeah, we're getting along alright." I couldn't not talk about it. "Angel, you have to tell Paul."
"No, I can't tell Paul, and neither can you. Please? Promise me you won't tell him." I'm a man of my word and as I said before, my word is my bond.
"Alright, I promise that I won't tell him." She hugged me again and I hugged her back.
"Thankyou, Richard," she whispered, "oh, why can't I find a man as good as you?"
"But you did, Angel. Paul is a good man… when he wants to be. He just doesn't know how to act around you. He always fights with those he cares about. Why do you think Tim and I still put up with him?" She smiled again, tears forming in her eyes.
"You see that's where you and I differ, Richard. I didn't want to fight. I wanted him to love me as much as I loved him, but it just wasn't to be. I wanted him to be himself, like he was with me that night before. I wanted to be able to delve deep into his soul and learn about the real him, but he shut himself off from me before I had the chance. You can't have a relationship like that, it’s a waste of time and emotion. We can't go back now and pretend nothing ever happened because it has… and it's growing inside of me." I blinked a few times to get the tears out of my eyes. The words she spoke were so heartfelt, so pained. She was suffering as much as he was. "I will love and care for this child as much as I would've loved Paul… if he'd have let me."
"Well then don't be a complete stranger!"
"How will I maintain contact with you? You're touring all around the country and…"
"Not anymore. Make that 'world'."
"Huh?"
"We're going to Europe!" Her eyes widened.
"Bullshit! Really?"
"Yeah, we're going to perform at a festival in Scotland called the 'Edinburgh Fringe Festival'!" She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me tight.
"I'm so happy for you! You're gonna knock 'em dead!"
"God, I hope not!"
"You know what I mean!" I couldn't help laughing.
"Yeah, I do. So, give me your phone number and I'll call you when we get back. I want to see you again, see how you and the baby are doing."
"Okay then. Ummm…" She looked around for a pen and a piece of paper. We found a pen, but no paper. "Do you have sweaty palms?"
"Uhhh… no…"
"Good." She then grabbed my hand and wrote on my palm:

I looked at my palm, memorising it just in case.
"Thankyou. I will call you when we get back from Scotland."
"Great, I'm looking forward to hearing from you then."
"Me too. Take care of yourself… and the baby."
"Well, if it doesn't kill me, I'll be surprised. I'm getting sick of morning sickness all through the day!"
"That can't be too good!"
"No, Alex was never this stubborn."
"Sounds like to me that baby is already taking his father’s traits."
"I've been trying not to notice! I won't be able to ignore it when it starts kicking!"
"It'll probably start punching holes through the placenta for fun!" We were laughing so hard that we didn't hear Paul calling "Richard!" out until it was almost too late. She left just before he arrived.
"There you are! We're going now, you comin' or what?"
"Yeah, I am." I was still smiling as we walked back towards our rooms.
"What are you so happy about?" Oh God, how I wanted to tell him that I had seen Angel. How she was carrying his child. I felt sad keeping it from him.
"Nothing important, Paul," I said as cheerfully as I could. "Nothing at all."