day entertain giants like McCartney, Jagger, Daltrey, in his own

house. And his wedding, too. Good Christ, he was married. A married

man with a gold ring on his finger.

Tapping his bare foot to the beat of the music that crashed its way up

the stairs, he'd studied the ring. No going back, he'd thought

comfortably. He was Catholic enough, and idealistic enough to believe

that now that the deed was done, it was forever.

It was one of the biggest days of his life, he'd thought as he'd fumbled

in his shirt pocket for the pack of cigarettes he'd left downstairs. One

of the biggest, he'd thought again with a sigh. And if his father had

been too drunk or too lazy to pick up the b.l.o.o.d.y tickets he'd sent to

Ireland, what did it matter? Brian had all the family he needed right

here.

He'd pushed thoughts of yesterdays out of his mind. From now on there

would only be tomorrows. A lifetime of them.

"How about it, Emma? Want to go down and dance at your Dad's wedding?"

She'd kept her shoulders rounded and barely shook her head. The smoke

twining mystically in the air had made her temples throb.

"Want some cake?" He had reached out to give her hair a gentle tug, but

she'd cringed away. "What's this?" Baffled, he'd patted her shoulder.

Already queasy, Emma's stomach had rolled with a combination of terror

and too many sweets. After one hiccup, she'd lost her cake and tea all

over her father's lap. Wretched, she managed a single moan before

curling back over Charlie. As she lay too sick to defend herself from

the beating she was certain was coming, he'd begun to laugh.

"Well, I imagine you're feeling a good bit better." Too high to be

disgusted, he'd staggered to his feet then held out a hand. "Let's get

cleaned up."

To Emma's amazement there had been no beating, no cruel pinches or

sudden smacks. Instead he had stripped them both down to the skin in

the bathroom, then hauled her into the shower. He'd even sung as the

water had poured over them, something about drunken sailors that had

made her forget to be sick.

When they were both bundled in towels, he had woven his way to her room

to slip her into bed. His hair had been wet and sleek around his face

as he'd fallen over the foot of the bed. Within seconds, he'd been

snoring.

Cautious, Emma had crawled out from under the covers to sit beside him.

Gathering her courage, she'd leaned over and pressed a

damp kiss to his cheek. In love for the first time, she had tucked

Charlie under Brian's limp arm, and gone quietly to sleep.

Then he had gone away. Only days after the wedding the big car had

come, and two men had carried out luggage. He had kissed her and had

promised to bring her a present. Emma had only been able to watch

wordlessly as he'd ridden away, and out of her life. She hadn't

believed he was coming back, even when she heard his voice over the

phone. Bev said he was in America where girls screamed every time they

saw him, and people bought his records almost as fast as they were made.

But while he was gone, there wasn't as much music in the house, and

sometimes Bev cried.