November 4th, 2004
Christine felt so lonely again as she lay on her couch, a pillow clutched to her chest, head resting on it as she watched the mindless drivel on TV. Ever since releasing In the Meantime she'd been left mostly alone; Lindsey phoned a few times as usual, but he was caught up with his own life and couldn't talk for long, even if he did always end every call with a quick "I love you, Chris, yeah? Remember that." The album seemed to go under the radar and she wasn't too surprised. It was mostly just to please her but every time she sat down at the piano it felt wrong. She felt lonely. She'd never played properly without people there, she always had a tutor, or Indigo, or the band.
Her mind kept wandering back to Indigo and she found herself thinking that maybe she had been the only true love of her life. After all, she still thought about her now, in her sixties, wondering what her sweet little blue haired girl was doing now. Did she still dye her hair? Did she still remember Christine?
She turned onto her side, holding the pillow close as she closed her eyes, tricking herself into imagining it was the smaller woman, imagining the soft pillowcase was one of her soft knitted sweaters and that they were cuddling in bed in their little one bedroom flat again. But she opened her eyes. She couldn't kid herself.
She fell asleep with a soaked pillow, hearing the sound of the mail being delivered and wondering if she could be bothered to get up and rifle through more junk mail. Christine's eyes kept falling back onto the phone on the table in front of her, wondering if it was too early to try and call Lindsey if he even had time for her anymore. The more she thought about it, the worse it seemed- a lump in her throat growing as she reached daringly across and dialled his number.
"Hi, Chris?"
"Did I wake you? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called-"
"No, don't worry, I was awake- and you know you can call whenever you like."
"I'm sorry, I just, I feel so bad, Linds. I feel so alone."
"Oh, love," he murmured, "I'm sorry...I can't be with you for a few more months, but I promise, if you want me to come and see you, I will."
"Thanks," she said weakly, "How're things going with you?"
"Business as usual," he said, "Now, why are you changing the subject?"
"Because I haven't spoken to you in ages."
"Do the others not call you?"
"No."
"What? That's insane! We've been friends for over thirty years!"
"I don't think we have, Linds," she said, "I've been your friend for over thirty years, Stevie doesn't care and neither does Mick. He's busy trying to open that restaurant of his. And John's my ex-husband."
"Your ex-husband who still loves you."
"Not enough to call, he's got his own life now. In Maui. He doesn't want to come back here for me."
She heard Lindsey sigh and sit down,
"I want to come back to see you, so badly, but I can't just yet. I promise. I will be back to see you, we haven't forgotten about you, Chris."
"Thanks," she murmured, "I'm sorry, I'm so depressing today."
"Would you consider trying to find a therapist? Not that I'm brushing you off- I'm just worried."
"I don't know," she admitted, "I'm scared to."
"Then how about you hold out until I come to visit and we try to find one together?"
"Yeah, sure," she smiled, "Thanks, Lindsey."
"Is there anything you can do to keep your mind occupied until then? How about museums? Have you been to your locals yet?"
"No, I guess I could try," she said, "There's a few I see on the way to the shops."
"What about finding a hobby?" he suggested, "Do you still play the piano?"
"It's not the same."
"Then what about gardening? I don't know, it's just an idea."
"Yeah, that sounds good," she moved through to her hallway, checking the lock on the door before heading up towards the bedroom, "Do you mind if we just talk a bit longer?"
"Sure, you want to go to sleep listening?"
"Can I?"
"Of course," he murmured, "If you don't speak for say...ten minutes, I hang up?"
"Yeah, thank you."
"I love you, angel."
November 12th, 2004
"Chris," Lindsey murmured, flinging his arms around her, feeling how skinny she'd become, almost able to count her ribs under her thick jacket, "Hey."
Christine let tears fall as he hugged her tight in the doorway, burying her face in his chest.
"Mmmm," he murmured, rocking her, "There's my favourite girl."
"You came?"
"I promised, didn't I?"
A few hours later, they were sat at the kitchen table, with Lindsey's hands clasping hers gently.
"Have you found any therapists?" he asked softly, "I can't give you what they can."
"No. You said you'd help me."
"Of course I will, I just wondered if you'd come across any," he reassured her, "It's going to get better, yeah?"
"Yeah," Christine said weakly, smiling at him.
"So I'll have a look around tomorrow, and we'll find some things to do to get you out of the house for a bit, huh? I saw an art gallery on the taxi ride here, it looked nice. We could repeat our little date from Mirage."
"Without being discovered?"
"Of course," he smiled, "And we'll end it in a better dinner than room service."
"Are you trying to get me into bed again?"
"No," he snorted, "Not that I wouldn't love that, you're every bit as sexy as you were then."
She raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue,
"It's just, well...me and Richard, we're trying again."
"Oh, I'm so glad for you," she perked up, "I loved seeing you two together."
"We're teething still, feeling things out, but I'm glad. I've missed him."
"So, tell me about this art gallery."
He pushed a leaflet across to her,
"I think it's the same painter from our date too, doesn't that one look familiar."
"A lot of orange and blue, it might be," she grinned, "What a coincidence."
