Page 74 of I Dreamt That You Loved Me

He pulled me against his side. “It’s crazy how well you know me.”

“Gabriel doesn’t want to be a rock star,” I told Ian.

“Sounds like you’ve got your head on straight,” Ian said. “You get that record deal and you call the shots. Stay true to yourself, mate. Wish I’d learned that lesson sooner. Lost too many friends and fucked up too many relationships.”

While they talked, their mutual admiration evident, I filled a pitcher with ice, sparkling lemonade and a generous amount of Pimm’s. My favorite summer cocktail.

“Hey, babe, I’m out of cigarettes.” A girl with long, blonde hair in cutoffs and a tank top wrapped her arms around Ian and kissed him before plucking a pack of Camels out of his back pocket. After he lit her cigarette she turned and leaned her back against his chest, giving us a little wave.

“Hi, y’all. I’m Mandy. I love your dress.” Her gaze swung to Gabriel. “And your shirt. You guys look all psychedelic like sparkly rainbows.” She waved her hand through the air and watched it like she was seeing unicorns.

She must have been because my dress was white eyelet, and Gabriel was wearing faded black cargo shorts with a striped Panama shirt he bought at a secondhand shop. He got a kick out of it because the name Jimmy was embroidered above the palm tree on the pocket.

“I’m tripping,” Mandy said. “I did shrooms and everything’s all…” She swirled her hands in the air.

“You’ve got shrooms?” Gabriel said, perking up.

“Yeah,” Ian said. “You want some?”

I grabbed Gabriel by the collar and yanked him against my side. “No. He’s good.”

“Maybe later,” Ian said, ambling away with Mandy, who was asking if everything was always so bright and shimmery.

“Very rock and roll,” Gabriel said.

“You never wanted to be a rock star, remember?”

He picked up his knife and threw it into the air, catching it by the handle. “Let’s cut up this fruit.”

“Stop showing off,” I muttered.

He leaned over and kissed my temple while I hacked up an orange and massacred some mint leaves.

I didn’t want to lose Gabriel to the world of rock and roll.

None of the Rogue Prophets had managed to hold on to a long-term relationship. Their marriages had all been destroyed by too much time on the road or too much alcohol and drugs or because they’d cheated on their wife one too many times.

I didn’t want the big, bad world to change Gabriel. But none of that was within my control.

If he wanted to do mushrooms, he was going to do mushrooms.

There was nothing quite as surreal as watching your boyfriend jamming with the Rogue Prophets, playing your dad’s guitar, and singing “Baby Blue” on a makeshift stage in a converted mill.

Earlier, we were chilling on the back deck, drinking Pimm’s and listening to Ian’s stories. I’d heard his road stories a hundred times, but they were always entertaining, and they were all new for Gabriel.

My mom, of course, had chimed in with little anecdotes about me, which had prompted Ian to tell a story about the time we were at Glastonbury.

“This must have been back in ’80 or ’81. Cleo was nine or ten. Ole bossy boots,” Ian joked. “They’d set up this charity that year to raise money for kids with disabilities and when Cleo found out about it, she runs up to me and Nicky and she’s in tears. So he pulls her into his arms and asks her what’s wrong, who hurt her. He was ready to beat up anyone who even looked crossed-eyed at his baby girl,” Ian said with a laugh.

“So Cleo says, ‘Daddy, I needallyour money to help the kids. And I need all your money too, Uncle Ian. So, like a million dollars.At least. Youhaveto help because it’s not fair.’ She was so upset. She’s a lot like Nicky. He always had a cause. He gave all his money away to charity. He said one person doesn’t need so much when there are so many people in the world suffering.”

I don’t remember my dad being so protective of me, but after Ian told the story, that memory came back to me so vividly. What I remember most is how much I used to adore my dad and how proud I’d been to watch him on that stage while I was surrounded by all his fans in a field in Somerset.

“He was a right pain in the arse,” Curtis said gruffly. “He never had any money on him. We’d go to a restaurant and when the bill came, he’d say, ‘Oy, Curtis, spot me twenty quid, yeah?’ I knew I’d never see that money again.”

Everyone laughed.

“But the apple didn’t fall far from the tree,” Curtis said. “Baby Blue’s just like her daddy. You could have been set for life but you would have made him proud. He would have liked what you did.”