As I approach the children’s ward, I cancel Debbie’s fifth call today and turn my phone off – well, you have to turn your phone off in hospitals, don’t you? She’s trying to pin me down for some appointments but I’m trying to put wedding planning off until after Christmas. The plan is to finish up with Dylan before Christmas, then start writing the book in the New Year and get that finished ASAP too. Life would be so much easier now if I didn’t have wedding planning to try and squash into the mix as well.
I’m currently being ushered through the children’s ward by Mark Wright, head of PR for the Magical Star Foundation. Dylan is already in there visiting the kids and Mark has very kindly agreed to let me join him.
Mark is a handsome fellow. He’s got these kind eyes that focus on you when he talks to you, making you feel important, like you have his full attention. It isn’t just the way he listens to every word you say attentively, but the passion he throws into his own words… you can tell he really cares about his job, and you can tell that he really appreciates everything Dylan does here.
‘You seem like you have a good relationship with Dylan,’ Mark says, holding a door open for me. ‘That’s good, you know, for writing the book.’
‘I think we do,’ I reply. I’m never sure. It’s all or nothing with Dylan. He’s either completely human or a complete arsehole. Sometimes I feel sorry for him, and sometimes I want to slap him.
‘He doesn’t let many people in,’ Mark explains. ‘I worked with him for years before he considered me a friend. He seems to like you a lot, which is good for the book. No one ever writes warmly about him. Everyone just focuses on the negative things. Look at all the work he does here, and yet the likes of the Daily Scoop would rather report on his sexploits than the life-changing work he does.’
It means a lot to me that Dylan likes me and trusts me. I imagine being so famous means he constantly has people sucking up to him, so that must be why he appreciates absolute honestly and people around him who won’t pander to him.
‘I’m doing my best,’ I smile.
Mark ushers me into the relatives’ room, where Mitch and another man are sitting.
‘Hello, Mia,’ Mitch says cheerily. ‘Have you met Charles yet?’
‘I haven’t,’ I say, offering him my hand to shake. ‘Mia Valentina.’
‘Charles Pace,’ he replies. ‘I’m Dylan’s publicist.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I reply sympathetically.
Charles laughs.
‘It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it. I hear you’re writing his autobiography?’
I nod.
‘Then you have my condolences too,’ Charles laughs.
Charles isn’t especially tall, but he has broad, masculine shoulders. He’s wearing a smart, blue suit that doesn’t look like it came off the rack and his short blond hair appears effortlessly messy, although I suspect it took an expensive haircut and a lot of product to achieve that look.
‘So, today, Dylan is just having a chat with the kids. We’ve got Santa out there too, handing out presents. Someone will be along to take pictures soon,’ Mitch explains. ‘You’re welcome to go and join him for a bit, get a feel for his charity work.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply.
‘This way,’ Marks says. ‘I’ll show you to the day room.’
The day room looks like a paradise for kids, with the brightly coloured walls, a big TV, toys everywhere and Dylan and Santa in the middle, surrounded by happy kids who probably don’t know which one of them is the bigger deal. But then you look closer and you see how unwell some of the kids look. You see the wheelchairs and the oxygen pipes. You see the hair loss and the scars. You see almost everything that is awful about the world inflicted on those who are most helpless, and yet somehow they are able to smile and laugh at Dylan pulling faces behind Santa’s back. I have been in this room less than a minute and I already feel humbled. It’s easy to think that we have problems, that our lives are a mess, that we have it tougher than others… but we don’t have this to contend with. I can’t even imagine being a kid and trying to deal with something like this, nor could I imagine having my own children and watching them suffer.
My mind suddenly jolts back to my conversation with Leo about having kids. How could someone like me be responsible for a small human? And if something like this were to happen, and they really needed me, could I ever be strong enough to help them through it? I can’t even help myself through the day sometimes.
‘Mia,’ Dylan calls out.
‘Hello,’ I say, approaching Dylan. ‘Who’s your friend?’
Dylan is sitting with the cutest little girl. She’s got bright eyes and the cheekiest little smile that she’s hiding shyly behind a teddy bear. It’s heartbreaking, to see such a happy little girl looking so weak, with her pink headscarf covering her head.
‘This is Lily,’ Dylan tells me, holding her hand. ‘She’s only six, but she wants me to be her boyfriend. I keep telling her that she’s too good for me.’
‘Hello, Lily,’ I smile. ‘Dylan is right. You’re way too young and pretty for an old man like him.’
Dylan frowns at me for calling him an old man. He seems very sensitive about his age for someone in his late thirties. Then again, if I only slept with late teens/early twenty-somethings, I’d probably feel old too.
‘We’re best friends, though, aren’t we, Lily?’ Dylan says.
Lily nods, still hiding behind her teddy. You can tell she adores Dylan by the way she’s staring at him, and you can tell he really cares about her too.
‘Listen, Lily, I’m going to introduce Mia to some of your friends, is that OK? And when I come back, I’ll see if Santa has another present for you.’
Lily nods excitedly.
‘So, how are you?’ Dylan asks me, ushering me across the room.
I cock my head. He seems different today.
‘I’m good, thanks. How are you?’
‘Yeah, not bad,’ he replies. ‘Santa just told me I’m on his nice list this year, so I have that to look forward to.’
I laugh.
‘This is my main man, Naoki,’ Dylan says, offering out his hand for a fist-bump. Naoki obliges. ‘Naoki, this is Mia. She’s writing a book about me.’
‘Hi, Mia,’ Naoki says, offering me a fist to bump too. Why do I get the feeling Dylan taught him this?
‘So, Naoki has problems with his…’ Dylan pauses for a second. ‘It’s no good, I’m too thick to remember.’
Naoki laughs.
‘My heart,’ Naoki, who can’t be more than eight, replies with a giggle.
‘Man, I thought it was your feet – it’s a good job I’m not a doctor. They do let me wear this white coat, though, so I can impress girls. Tell Mia what we think about your heart problem.’
‘Is sucks, man,’ he replies, sounding like a mini Dylan.
‘Yeah, man, it sucks,’ Dylan repeats back to him, holding Naoki in the most delicate of headlocks. ‘Naoki thinks he’s cooler than I am because he has a girlfriend and I don’t.’
‘You could be his girlfriend,’ Naoki tells me.
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out.
‘Naah,’ Dylan starts. ‘Mia is getting married – to a fireman.’
‘Cool,’ Naoki gushes.
‘I reckon I could take him in a fight, though,’ Dylan assures his friend.
‘Dylan, the photographer is here,’ Mitch says, interrupting.
‘I’ll go wait in the relatives’ room,’ I say.
‘OK, I’ll be with you soon,’ Dylan replies.
I walk back into the room just as Santa is putting his beard back on, ready to go back out there.
‘Oh my God, you’re not real?’ I gasp.
‘I work for the real one,’ the man pretending to be Santa assures me as he walks past me, giving me a cheeky wink. ‘The real guy can’t be everywhere at once.’
‘Phew,’ I reply theatrically, taking a seat on the sofa.
Everyone else is busy, so I’m just sitting here on my own.
Dylan is simply amazing with these children. The way he has a special friendship with each kid, the way he makes them forget about their problems when he’s in the room – you can tell he really, really cares.
I don’t know much about Dylan’s own kids. I know that, during his very short marriage, his wife had twins, but after they split up – and I only have the press reports to go on – Dylan stopped having anything to do with his ex-wife and his kids. It amazes me, that someone who clearly loves kids so much could be so uninvolved with the lives of his own flesh and blood. His twin daughters must be five years old now, a similar age to some of the kids here. He must think about them, but he refuses to talk about them. I know he finds it hard, talking about his family, but no publisher in the world is going to pay him – or me – to write an autobiography that glosses over the tough stuff that people actually want to read about. No one cares how many birds he shagged in one night. People want to read about the real human behind the music, and about this Dylan, who I’ve met today. I didn’t realise he was doing so much with his status and his money for good causes. I thought he was just another rockstar, drinking too much and sleeping with anything that moved.
It’s heartbreaking, to see what these kids are going through firsthand, but it’s amazing to see the hospital, their families, the charity and Dylan all doing everything they can to make their lives better, to make sure these kids are as happy as possible. I know it must be scary, to have kids, knowing you’re going to have to protect them from so much, but I’m starting to understand why people do it, and with support like this around, surely anyone can get through anything? Seeing Dylan with these kids, it kind of makes me want my own someday, so I can give this unique kind of love to something so precious.
I don’t have to sit for long before Dylan walks in, carrying two cups of coffee.
‘Here you go,’ he says, placing a mug down on the table in front of me.
Dylan takes a seat next to me, exhaling deeply, like he’s been holding it in for hours. He picks up a wooden abacus from the toy box on the floor and fidgets with it as we chat.
‘You OK?’ he asks.
‘Yes,’ I reply.
‘Good,’ he says. ‘I know it’s tough out there.’
‘It’s heartbreaking,’ I correct him. ‘I don’t know how you do it, keeping so bright, making those kids so happy.’
‘Naoki, the little badass, has had three heart attacks. Three, Mia. And look at him, still going strong, still loving his life. This hospital is amazing, man, the things they do for these kids and their families, and so much of it thanks to Magical Star.’
‘It’s amazing what they do, but it’s amazing what you do too. Lily is clearly in love with you.’
‘Yeah.’ Dylan coughs in an attempt to clear his throat. ‘Lily is amazing. I’m giving her family some money, to take her to Disney World if she’s well enough. Off the record, no one needs to know it’s from me.’
‘Dill, that’s amazing,’ I beam. ‘I’m sure that will mean so much to her.’
‘She’s such a sweet little thing,’ he says. ‘She’s shy, but she talks to me. She tells me about what she wants to be when she grows up and…’
I wrap an arm around Dylan to comfort him. I can tell he’s upset, even though he’s doing his best to hide it.
‘It’s OK,’ I assure him.
‘The truth is, she isn’t going to grow up. She’s too sick and there’s nothing anyone can do. I can’t get my head around it.’
Dylan, a mixture of upset, angry and frustrated, quickly changes the subject.
‘You called me Dill,’ he says.
‘Oh, sorry,’ I reply. ‘Don’t you like that?’
‘No, I do,’ he tells me. ‘Someone I used to care about very much used to call me Dill.’
I smile and suddenly I realise something. I know what’s different about Dylan today: he’s sober. I mean, he’s visiting children in hospital, so you would hope so, right? But even so… it’s nice to meet sober Dylan.
‘Can I just say something?’
Dylan nods, looking at me with his sad, dark eyes.
‘I know you’re a bit of a prick sometimes,’ I start, raising my hand to halt his almost immediate interruption in protest of my character analysis of him. ‘But I know you’re a good person, deep down, underneath the bravado and the bullshit.’
‘Well, thanks, I suppose,’ he laughs. ‘You’re not so bad yourself. I really hope we stay in touch after the book is done.’
‘Me too,’ I reply.