'So go,' she said wretchedly. 'Go back home to your beloved big skies, and breathe it all in deep. Fill your lungs, Abel, but I promise you it won't make you as happy as I can, if you'll let me. I know you better now.' She moved close to him and touched his arm, almost crying at the familiar scent of him. She ached for him to hold her. 'I love you.'

He looked down at her, and she up at him, and the connection that had been there from the first moment they'd met was as strong as ever.

'I'm not anti-love, Genie,' he said, as the lift jolted into life. 'I'm just anti-loving you.'

Genie leaned against the wall and wrapped her arms around herself to hold the pain in as she watched him walk away, taking her heart with him back to the flip side of the world. He didn't look back.

Chapter Seventeen.

If Genie had imagined that Abel would go home and then realise he'd made a huge mistake and come back for her, she would have been disappointed. Days dragged into weeks, and the first and last thing she did every day was to check her emails and texts, with her heart in her mouth in case his name was there. It wasn't.

Life on Deanna's sofa was an endless round of late night gla.s.ses of wine and heart to hearts, but they could do little to ease Genie's distress. She'd fallen fast, hard and completely for Abel; he'd rolled into her life and taken over it from the first moment she'd laid eyes on him.

She'd always imaged falling in love would be about romantic candlelit dinners and picnics in the park, a gradual build up to a grand pa.s.sion, not a rush of white hot l.u.s.t and emotion that would leave her reeling and trying to stay standing up. He'd blown her away from the second he'd had her write her number on his arm, and she missed his presence in her life more than she knew how to put into words.

The theatre paled into a poor second. She was almost glad not to have to get up on stage, she wasn't sure her body would have been capable of conning an audience into believing she was having a good time up there. Ever since he'd arrived, she knew now that she'd danced only for him in her head. Had she have been more watchful of her own emotions, she'd have seen the signs, but she'd been so wrapped up in battling him that she hadn't noticed herself falling. She'd fallen all the same, and she'd let herself get so badly injured that she wasn't sure how in h.e.l.l's name to mend herself.

The doctor couldn't cure her. Deanna couldn't cure her. Genie couldn't cure herself. She was hopelessly in love with a man who didn't love her back, one who'd deliberately moved himself as far away around the globe as he could to be away from her. It was a pretty categorical rebuff.

Abel buried himself in work. He'd been a fool to ever go back to London: he'd come home feeling ashamed, with his tail between his legs, bashed, beaten and worse off in every possible way. His shoulder hurt like h.e.l.l in the weeks immediately after his return, but he welcomed the physical pain because it went some way towards blocking out the other worse stuff.

He hadn't expected to spare any more thoughts for his mother, yet she still weighed heavily on his mind. Somewhere deep inside he'd harboured childish hopes that there was more to their relationship than apathy and bad memories, but the plain truth was that there wasn't. There just wasn't. He'd lost his mother in London as surely as if he'd stood at her graveside and thrown in a handful of earth, and she'd taken any answers about his father to that metaphorical grave with her too. Abel struggled on, orphaned by circ.u.mstance, alone by choice.

He didn't think of Genie at all. No way.

He didn't think of her in the shower in the mornings as he tried to scrub her from beneath his skin.

He didn't think of her as he ran on the beach, trying to pound all thoughts of her into the sand.

He didn't think of her at night when he chased her out of his dreams and woke clammy all over, reaching across the cold, empty sheets. He saw her time and time again as she'd been just before the ceiling came down, coltish in his oversized shirt, stunned by his rage. Shame dirtied him, and if he'd stayed it would have dirtied her too.

How long would this go on for? It had been eight weeks, and already it felt like eight years. His arm had now mostly healed thanks to diligent exercise and the best physiotherapy that money could buy, yet inside he was still every bit as f.u.c.ked up as the day he'd flown home. His head was a mess, and whichever way he looked at it, he couldn't see a way out of this besides to keep getting up every morning, hoping it wouldn't hurt quite as much.

In five days the theatre would be repossessed. Genie had been mentally crossing the days off in her head with a big black marker, like a captive etching marks into the wall of their prison cell. There was nothing to be done but wait, so she just let the days wash over her one by one. She was ready to drown. What use was the theatre now? So much had changed. Her uncle had moved onto the next stage of his life, happily sliding into a disreputable retirement with Robin. She couldn't imagine herself ever performing again either: her limbs were heavy, her body didn't want to move to music and her skin was as grey as the London skyline.

She knew that she'd gone as low as she could physically and mentally go, and as hard as it was going to be, in five days time she was going to hand over the keys to this place and draw a line in the sand. Her uncle had raised her well. He'd taught her optimism, and pride, and to walk through life with her gla.s.s half full. She'd let it run dangerously close to empty. Five days, and then no more.

She ran her hand over the dusty reception desk, remembering her first encounter with Abel right there on that spot. He'd been so c.o.c.ky, and she had been so intent on finding out what he wanted that she didn't take the time to really look at him. Sure, she'd noticed he was hot, but she should have seen more, should have taken the time to notice the vulnerable man behind the facade. Because no one was really what they seemed at face value, were they? Everyone has more to them if you bother to look, and she'd bothered to look to late.

A tap on the locked gla.s.s doors made her frown and look up. Wasn't it obvious that the place was closed? Was the scaffolding not enough of a sign that things were deeply amiss in here? Genie was flouting every safety rule in the book by being here herself, yet she was drawn back day after day, to keep the old girl company, holding a bedside vigil for a beloved.

Outside, a girl was huddled against the gla.s.s, her hair as dark as the goth circles drawn around her eyes. Genie sighed, knowing she was going to have to go and be polite because she'd now made the mistake of making eye contact.

Unlocking the door, she pushed it open.

'We're not looking for dancers I'm afraid,' she said, barely looking at the girl. 'We're closed.'

The girl dragged her thin jacket around her skinny body. 'I'm not a dancer,' she mumbled, thrusting a sc.r.a.p of paper at Genie, leaving her no choice but to take it. 'I'm looking for him.'

Unfolding the paper, Genie looked down, reading the rounded, childish handwriting slowly.

Abel Kingdom. Theatre Divine.

She folded the paper back up with a terse shake of her head.

'He isn't here.'

A hesitant flicker of uncertainty pa.s.sed through the girl's heavily kohled eyes. 'So when's he coming back?'

Genie half laughed, half sighed, wrapping her arms around her torso. 'He isn't.'

The girl's eyebrows knitted together. 'Never?'

It was as if she were speaking the word Genie hadn't dared to. She shook her head, her eyes looking past the slight frame of the stranger and back over the weeks when she'd had him here and missed every chance she'd had to create anything other than conflict.

'I don't think he is, no.'

The girl's shoulders slumped. 'Do you know where he's gone?'

'Home.' Genie said. 'He's gone back to Australia.'

'No!' the girl exclaimed, unguarded and alarmed, and her tone of voice finally pulled Genie from her self-indulgent state. Looking at her visitor properly for the first time, Genie realised her mistake. Despite the heavy make-up, this girl couldn't be more than sixteen years old. Younger, possibly. As Genie watched her carefully she pulled herself together, shoving her chin in the air with an air of shabby defiance.

'Right,' she said, s.n.a.t.c.hing the folded paper back from Genie's fingers and shoving it into the pocket of her sprayed on jeans. 'Figures.' She hesitated for a moment as if she was going to say something further, then turned and walked back down the steps.

Genie watched her slender body move away, and on impulse followed her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Many years ago she herself had been abandoned on these steps. She wouldn't turn her back on someone else in trouble now.

'Who are you?'

The girl turned back and shrugged. 'I don't know.' She stared for a second and then turned away again. Genie was faster this time, stepping around her onto the pavement.

'I'm sorry I was sharp,' she said. 'Please. If you're looking for Abel I can probably help you.' She didn't miss the badly disguised flare of hope in the girl's brown eyes. 'Come back inside. We can talk easier in there.'

's.h.i.t,' the girl said, wide-eyed, as she looked at the state of the place. Genie gestured for her to take a seat in the back row of the stalls. 'It looks like someone dropped a bomb on the stage.'

It was as apt a description as any. Genie certainly felt as if someone had dropped a grenade right into the middle of her life and pulled out the pin. Sitting down alongside her visitor, she crossed her legs and studied her.

'So. Let's start again. I'm Genie Divine,' she said. 'This is my family's theatre.' She didn't add that it wouldn't be by this time next week.

The girl's eyes darted around, taking in the beauty and the damage that surrounded them.

When she finally looked back at Genie, it was to reply, tentatively. 'I'm Lizzie. Lizzie Kingdom.'

Genie looked at her, and then stared at her. 'Kingdom?' she said, slowly, as if it were another language.

The girl, Lizzie, nodded.

'Are you related to Abel?' Genie asked, trying to fathom the link.

One of Lizzie's delicate shoulders lifted as she huffed out. 'Apparently.'

This wasn't making any sense. 'You might have to help me out here, Lizzie. I don't get it.'

Lizzie shook her head and her slender fingers played with the hem of her faded tee shirt. 'I don't either, really.'

The jaded tone of her voice struck Genie as odd for someone barely more than a child. Even though she'd known Lizzie for all of ten minutes, the urge to wrap her arms around her came from nowhere. She didn't though; she just sat and waited for her to speak again.

'I think he's my brother.'

'Oh,' Genie said, winded. Thinking back to their lunch date upstairs, Genie was certain he had told her he had no siblings. Had he lied? 'Does he... does he know about you?'

Lizzie looked down, hiding her eyes. 'Dunno.'

It was like trying to do a jigsaw with a blindfold on. Genie tried another tack. 'How old are you, Lizzie?'

'Fourteen.' Lizzie looked up again, her expression guarded. 'Why?'

Genie shook her head, still confused. 'And you've never met Abel?'

'I'd never even heard of him until a couple of days ago.'

Okay. 'So who told you?'

There it was again, that jaded, hunted look. 'My mother.' She paused. 'Our mother.'

'Your mother told you out of the blue that you have a brother you've never even met?'

'Well, she didn't exactly tell me.' Lizzie rolled her eyes. 'I found his name and address on a piece of paper in the kitchen bin yesterday. 'She grabbed it off me and ripped it up when I asked her about it, yelling and all that.' Lizzie's mouth turned down in distaste. 'Didn't matter. I remembered what it said and wrote it down again.'

Genie sat quietly, listening to Lizzie and trying to work out how Abel could not even know his sister existed.

'Do you live with your mum, Lizzie?'

Lizzie snorted and looked away. 'Sometimes.'

How could a young girl, a child really, live anywhere sometimes? She waited silently for Lizzie to elaborate.

'I lived there when I was a kid,' she said.

Genie nodded, a little heartbroken already for this tough little girl. Because she was little. She was still a kid.

'Then the social got involved, and I lived a whole load of other places too. Sometimes back with her. Sometimes not.' Lizzie shrugged. 'Doesn't matter. I'm old enough to look after myself now.'

She so obviously wasn't that Genie wanted to wrap her in a blanket and give her hot chocolate.

'And the first you knew of Abel was this piece of paper?'

Lizzie nodded. 'I asked her who it was. Because of the surname, see? She did some more yelling and said he'd called round out of the blue weeks ago, flashing his cash and laughing at us.'

It didn't sound at all like the Abel Genie knew. 'I'm not sure he even knows you exist, Lizzie,' she said, carefully.

'Probably won't care,' Lizzie said, full of false bravado.

Genie couldn't offer Lizzie any guarantees, but everything inside her told her that Abel didn't know that this child had even been born. It made sense. He'd left at eighteen. His mother could have had another child, if she'd had him at a relatively young age, and by the sounds of it, he hadn't been home since. The dark parts of him that she hadn't understood were slowly starting to become clearer. He'd had the same start in life as the girl beside her, and looking at her now, there were obvious similarities. Lizzie shared Abel's dark, expressive eyes, and the same full mouth. Realising those things made it almost hard to look at her.

'You remind me of him,' she said softly, without thinking.

'Do I?'

Genie nodded. 'Yes.'

'Are you his girlfriend?'

The ghost of a smile touched Genie's lips at the idea of being Abel's girlfriend. It seemed too childish a term to apply to the feelings she had for him.

'No,' she said in the end. 'But I do know him pretty well.'

Did she? In some ways maybe, and yet she'd learned things about him today that had subtly painted him more clearly in her mind. She knew the man he was, but she still had much to learn about the child he'd been.

'Will you let me email him for you?' she asked, trying to work out how best to help both Lizzie and Abel. She had his email address from business messages her uncle had forwarded. She didn't let herself feel anything for herself; this wasn't about her.

'All right.' Lizzie shrugged, aiming for casual and not managing it as well as she must have hoped. She added, in a rush, 'Shall I come back again another day?'

Genie watched the girl gather herself together to leave. 'Where are you sleeping tonight, Lizzie?'

Lizzie's mouth twisted with sarcasm. 'Home. She works on Tuesday nights, thank G.o.d.' Lizzie drew air quotes around the word 'work' as she spoke.

Genie nodded, walking Lizzie to the door. Lizzie's tone set off a whole series of alarm bells. 'What does your mother do?' she ventured, every bit as fake casual as Lizzie had been earlier.

'She likes to say she's a hostess.' Lizzie laughed, a thin, miserable sound that said she thought it anything but funny.

Genie didn't push any further. She'd heard enough to draw her own conclusions, and her heart twisted for the man on the other side of the world. Reaching out, she laid a hand on Lizzie's shoulder.

'Come back and see me again tomorrow?'

Lizzie hesitated, then nodded and hurried quickly down the steps and away.

It turned out to be a difficult email to write. Genie pressed delete more times than she could count, trying to keep her own emotions out of her words. She so wanted to ask him to come back for her. She typed out how very much she loved him and then deleted it. She told him instead of the girl she'd met that afternoon; how Lizzie shared Abel's eyes, the scant details she'd revealed of her home life.

How should she end the email? Love Genie? Regards, Genie? In the end she simply signed it G, her heart in her mouth as her finger hovered over the send b.u.t.ton before she pressed it, breathing out hard when it was done. Glancing at the clock in the corner of her screen, Genie calculated it would be the early hours of the morning now for Abel. She didn't need to check out the time difference. She knew it by heart.

Closing her emails, she locked the theatre doors and headed for Deanna's flat, which pa.s.sed for home just now.