Page 5 of Escape to the Country

His manager had fallen head over heels for a woman named Annie and they had been apart for a couple of weeks, thanks to the tour. Tom had picked up on the vibes that it had been a struggle for them both not to see each other during that time.

‘Don’t party too hard,’ warned Sam, as he shrugged on his jacket. ‘Remember Paris.’

Tom sighed at the memory before taking a sip of his sparkling water. He had been at his lowest ebb six months ago, having just lost his beloved Gran. She was the only one that had ever cared about him throughout his tumultuous early years when his own parents had been too busy partying to bring up their only son. But even the strongest woman he had ever known couldn’t beat the wretched disease and he had delayed his world tour to sit with her through those hard, sad, final days at the hospice.

His first gig after the funeral had been in Paris and the whole night had been a disaster.

‘I know I drank too much,’ he said, with a shrug. ‘You know how upset I was. But it wasn’t my fault that the band threw me in the fountain, was it?’

Suddenly he was splashed, literally, all over the front pages, hundreds of column inches filled with how poisonous fame could be, how easy it was to hide away in drink and drugs.

Not wanting to deal with life with the aid of a whisky bottle like his father, Tom had not drunk any alcohol for six months.

‘Just watch out for the paparazzi,’ said Sam. ‘We don’t want any more bad publicity.’

Tom rolled his eyes. ‘Anyone with a phone these days is basically paparazzi, you know that. But yeah, I’ll watch out.’

As Sam left, Tom briefly wished that he had someone to go home to. A pair of warm arms to wrap around him and hold him tight all night long.

He was surprised to find himself thinking that way. Having been rejected by most people when he was growing up, he normally didn’t rely on anyone else. But the loss of his gran had knocked his whole steady world off its axis. He missed her so much, he ached inside.

With the wave of grief threatening to overcome him once more, he felt a sudden need to blot out the rest of the world. He reached out and grabbed a shot of tequila from the tray of glasses that one of his backing singers had just brought over.

He would deal with real life when he woke up in the morning.

He briefly thought of Sam’s warning before downing his first shot.

What harm could a couple of drinks do?