Twenty-two years later

 

Silas grabbed a bottle of water from the courtesy table and twisted the cap. It was a warm afternoon in July, slightly muggy with the promise of rain later. Festival season in the UK, where it seemed standard to spend half your summer in a muddy field. Wild Dogz were topping the bill here tonight, but in the meantime Silas had been engaging with lots of press, chatting to the other musicians gathered together in the backstage area, signing autographs and posing for photos with lucky fans who had ‘access-all-areas’ passes. Basically backstage here simply meant lots of enormous marquees strung together, however it was well organised and comfortable, and he wouldn’t have to get wet until he went out on stage.

He drained the bottle of water and flipped it into a recyclables bin. He’d been sober for seventeen years, sworn off all alcohol and drugs, and felt better for it. He was fifty-five years old, nearly fifty-six, and he was fitter than he’d ever been. He worked out every day, had a private chef who toured with him, and generally tried for keep a positive attitude about life. For his age, he looked great, and he could still do three hour stints on stage when he needed to.

These days Wild Dogz were at the top of their game. Legends. They could still sell out a gig in Europe in fifteen minutes, but they chose to play only forty to fifty gigs a year now, in batches spread across the whole twelve months, allowing those members of the band with families to enjoy the rewards that success had brought them. They’d worked hard for it after all. Sixteen studio albums, three live albums, two soundtracks and two compilation of rock covers. They still pulled in big bucks.

For Silas’s part, he loved the live scene as much as he ever had, and yet he was equally as happy enjoying time alone on the ranch he owned back home in Buckhorn, far away from the hustle and bustle of city life, the music business, and all the fuss those two things implied.

He looked around at the mix of famous faces and unknowns bustling around in the tent. He wanted to get out to the stage area, and hear Muse do their thing, when his eye was caught by a young woman hovering at the edge of the tent. Cute. She eyed him openly, curiously, and he returned her stare with a smile.

She had long dark hair, flowing free, and wore a white vest top over black jeans and cowboy boots. When he smiled at her, her face lit up and she walked over.

“Hi,” he said, trying to catch what it said on the pass dangling from the neon-orange lanyard around her neck. “I’m Silas.”

“I know,” she said, her lips curling slightly. He noticed she didn’t offer her name in response, and her face was pale, dark circles under her eyes showing the signs of recent strain. Silas was unsure how to proceed.

“Are you a musician, or media or …”

“Err, none of those. I had an invite. My Aunt wangled it somehow. She has connections in the business.”

“Who’s your Aunt?”

The young woman gestured to a crowd in the corner, but Silas couldn’t pick anyone out he recognised. “She’s looking out for you, huh?”

She giggled. “She certainly is. She doesn’t want me to get hit on by anyone in the music business.”

“That’s very wise.” Silas nodded. “You shouldn’t trust anyone in this business.”

“That’s what my Mum says,” the woman smiled although there was a certain amount of ice in her grey eyes. “And she speaks from experience.”

Silas frowned. “Does she?”

“She does.” The young woman held his gaze for a fraction too long and Silas felt a premonition.

“Flick?”

Silas looked up as the young woman turned to greet the newcomer. A petite woman in her late forties, early fifties, with jet black hair in a sharp and stylish bob headed their way. In a short black dress and knee high leather boots, Silas recognised her immediately. “Terri?”

“Hello darling,” Terri leaned in to allow Silas to kiss her on the cheek. “How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you. I didn’t know you had a niece.”

Terri smiled and hugged the young woman who stood at least six inches taller than her, even without heels. “Strictly speaking, Flick is not a blood relation. Not of mine anyway.”

Felicity took a deep breath and stuck out her hand, “Hi Dad.”

“Dad?” Silas looked from Felicity to Terri.

Terri nodded. “Yes. Felicity here is your daughter. Yours and Jane’s.”

Stunned, Silas stared in wonder at Felicity. He could see the resemblance now, the hair colour, her nose, the shape of her chin – they were all Jane, but her eyes and mouth, that was down to him, no doubt about it. She looked a little like his own mother, remembered only in photographs. “Wow,” he said, struggling to articulate the feelings swirling inside him. “Wow.”

“I suppose it is a bit of a shock for you,” said Terri.

“All this time? And I didn’t know?” Silas said. “Why didn’t Jane tell me?” Terri shrugged. Her lips were firmly sealed. “Did Dewey know?” Terri pursed her lips and Silas ran a hand through his hair. “Man.”

He turned back to the young woman. She was easily as beautiful as her mother, clear eyed, intelligent. He had no other children, as far as he was aware, so finding a daughter he never knew existed was a revelation. “Felicity,” he said in wonder. “Do you go by Fraser?”

“On my birth certificate it says Felicity Ella Garfield Fraser. But you can call me Flick,” Felicity said. “Everyone does.”

“You don’t like Felicity? I have to call you Felicity. Your mother loves that name.”

Felicity cocked her head and smiled genuinely for the first time since Silas had met her. “You remember that?” she asked.

Silas shook his head and clamped his hands to the side of his face, struggling to comprehend the situation. “Every minute of every hour I spent with your Mom is ingrained in my mind, Felicity. I’ve never loved another woman the way I loved Jane in my entire life.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Felicity said, her face serious, pain in her eyes. “That’s why we came.”