fic: Power Out (rps: Cheryl/Kimberley)
Title: Power Out
Series: Spiralling (Part Two)
Author: noclueontheloo
Fandom: Girls Aloud, Cheryl Cole/Kimberley Walsh (RPS)
Word Count: 3437
Summary: And she hadn’t meant to say it at all, certainly not kneeling down in Cheryl’s kitchen with a tray of broken glasses on the limestone floor and half a dozen guests waiting outside for their aperitifs.
She had driven down early, despite the weather warnings - she had the Range Rover, she reasoned, and it seemed more a gentle sprinkle than a full-on snow storm.
Besides, the phone call had been timed with meticulous accuracy. Justin was busy pounding the treadmill per his usual evening session; Ashley was on his way home from training.
“There’s a match tomorrow, Stamford Bridge,” she had remarked and Kimberley had decoded it instantly.
“You want to meet?”
“I was thinking... I’m not going up there, I can’t be doing with all that right now, but, why don’t you come over?”
There were maybe half a dozen reasons why Kimberley shouldn’t have ventured down, the main one being the forecasted ten inches of snow. The second being it was far easier for Cheryl to accompany her husband up to Chelsea and for them to meet there.
Of course Cheryl was not in the habit of making life easy for herself. And Kimberley had developed an overwhelming ability to be sucked into her spiralling chaos. She fought it sometimes, when she was so inclined or when Cheryl stepped a smidgen too far off course. But still, she was easily drawn back in by any number of entreating promises or frantic declarations. Not that she believed any of it, truly, but she knew she wouldn’t stop; it was like drowning in honey.
As she drove deeper into the Surrey countryside the landscape changed drastically, flattened itself out against London’s sprawling masonry, the usually green vistas replaced with a glowing whiteness, and she thought for the first time, this is not good.
It may have taken over twice as long as usual, and her heart may have inadvertently given a flutter of relief when finally she swung the 4x4 into Cheryl’s sweepingly long drive, and all of this may have helped bypass the issue at hand - that the soft white spray had metamorphosed into a thick sticky deluge.
She was surprised when the electronic garage door remained firmly shut - the gate at the foot of the drive had already been open when she arrived. And so she was forced to abandon her vehicle to the elements, parked as near to the main entrance as possible as she made her way up the steps.
The forcefulness of Cheryl’s embrace was another first, usually that was left till later, sometimes much later.
But one glance at her watery eyes showed that all was far from normal.
“I am so glad to see you! You were ages, I was worried.”
“I know. I couldn’t really stop and call,” Kimberley responded as she trailed Cheryl down a darkened hallway towards the kitchen.
Cheryl turned once with a knowing look. Cheryl would have called. Cheryl would have juggled her phone and her mascara in one hand with the other planted firmly on the horn in moving traffic. But Kimberley did not do these things.
“Well, disaster has struck- the power is out!” she flung open the kitchen door melodramatically as she said this, normally the lightest room in the house, now dull and with an uncharacteristic chill.
“Oh,” she said. Oh, it was something worth a fair amount of concern, but Cheryl hadn’t broken down yet and she knew how to walk the tightrope when it came to her delicate emotions.
“We’re meant to have a generator for back-up, but that bloody man never got it serviced.”
“Oh dear,” Kimberley offered carefully, noticing the edge already creeping in to Cheryl’s tone, just a few heartbeats away from wringing her hands at him, from cursing her own existence. It wasn’t taking much these days, she noted.
“When did it happen? Have you spoken to him?”
“About twenty minutes ago. I was checkin’ the forecast ‘cos you still weren’t here,” she tried and failed to keep the slight accusatory twinge from her darkly alert eyes.
“I’d just logged on, literally and it went,” she snapped her fingers, “Everything went - then everything that needed charging started beeping at us and the dogs went mad. So I phone him ‘cos the generator is meant to pick up straight away. That’s how it works, isn’t it? Anyway, he never got it sorted, said he told me about it months ago - as if that means it’s my responsibility - but he’d just left it like that.”
Kimberley nodded in the appropriate places and placed her handbag onto the central table before pulling out a chair. She hadn’t come for another day of Ashley-ranting. She knew exactly what he was like, all his foibles, his many inadequacies. She didn’t need to hear Cheryl recount them to her over and over again. And she knew how useless they were together in situations like this, which required real, grown-up, practical logic.
“So what have you done since then?”
Cheryl had extracted a cigarette from the pack on the table, eyed Kimberley as she lit it. “What d’ya mean? I’m hoping they’re gonna sort it out soon, it’s fuckin’ freezing.”
“Is it down in the whole road? I mean, it must be the snow.”
Cheryl gave her a wan smile as she tapped her cigarette. Her jerky fidgeting, flitting from room to room, had been calmed by Kimberley’s presence. She was always the best one for her in these times of crisis. She knew how to pace herself, not in a lumbering way, just slow and methodical where Cheryl would have been quick and reckless. She would ask Cheryl all the most obvious questions, one by one, helping to order her mind and stop the jumble of thoughts that always threatened to engulf her.
“Well I haven’t been next door, have I? Do you think I should phone Pat?”
Pat was Cheryl’s PA. An urgent, enlivened woman with a huge leatherbound notebook that she was always digging out, in addition to her myriad of electronic personal organisers. She was certainly no more capable of sorting out Cheryl’s electricity problem than Cheryl herself.
Kimberley rested her elbows on the table and examined her chipped nail while addressing Cheryl. She frowned, not remembering how exactly she had come to ruin her recent manicure, resigning herself to the task at hand.
“Let’s phone the company, yeah? Find a recent bill and look for the number.”
And it was the us in all of this that made Cheryl oblige. It put her at ease enough, with Kimberley there, so that even when she was put on hold - terrible crackly classical music blaring away for minutes on end, and then eventually told that there was a tree leaning on the line somewhere in the area, that the engineers couldn’t do anything about it until the tree people had been - even then Kimberley’s reassuring warmth against her shoulder was just enough to make it all bearable.
She suggested they go out for some lunch as clearly there would be no cooking done now. And by cooking Cheryl most likely meant getting Kimberley to arrange some salad leaves around something she herself had microwaved.
Of course the snow had thickened to a disturbing amount by the time they looked out the window again and the sight of Kimberley’s semi-immersed car was enough to change their minds.
“Shit, this better clear up today,” murmured Kimberley, attracting a quick nervous glance from Cheryl, a reflexive hand to her wrist, fingers gently rubbing.
“Don’t worry Kimba,” she offered quietly - inwardly reasoning, praying, that should Ashley be unable to return from London then Kimberley would hardly be likely to make the return trip herself, thus abandoning Cheryl.
She turned to her then, and the glow in her eyes distracted Kimberley enough from thoughts of crowded motorways and errant husbands that she knotted their fingers together, holding Cheryl’s cool slender hand for many minutes, just starring at it, at her, and wondering if there really was one specific thing that always made her reach for her, or if it was just the amalgamation of so many shared experiences that touching Cheryl seemed to be hers by right.
“I guess I’ll be making us lunch then,” Kimberley eventually offered slyly.
“I guess you will,” Cheryl replied with a grin.
* * * * *
The snow had continued to fall without respite the entire time Kimberley was there, blazing across Cheryl’s expansive grounds and thickly layering everything from the 4x4 in the drive to the cherry tree in the garden to the ornamental fountain on the patio.
It was quite beautiful but without any heat and even more so any real light, Cheryl began to worry.
She fumbled with the torch she had found, briskly opening and closing draws haphazardly in a search for candles and tea tree lights. She started looking in ridiculous places like the under the sink in the bathroom, leaving Kimberley to wander serenely about the kitchen, nearly as familiar with it as Cheryl herself, and pick out the matches, batteries, and other things she deemed useful.
Ashley’s match had been cancelled and several urgent phone calls had seen him sequestered away in a hotel which, Kimberley silently noted, it had been left for Cheryl to organise.
They eventually found a candelabra, lit it and some smaller candles in the front room, bringing with them another bottle of wine.
“Better take two - y’know, for supplies,” Cheryl had said with a wink.
Kimberley joked that she must be trying to get her drunk, but Cheryl hesitated, looking sheepish, almost embarrassed.
“I just don’t want to be stumbling around the place in the dark. On me own.”
And Kimberley thought it best, even though her heart gave a little involuntary twinge, not to indulge the moment too much because they still had a potentially icy night to get through.
“You’re not alone,” she offered quietly, rubbing her hand against her back, the contact brief, but just enough.
Outside the snow was relentless, illuminating the sky with its iridescence despite the late hour.
Cheryl tried to keep her spirits up, reclining in her favourite armchair, wine glass in hand, listening to Kimberley’s gentle steady voice recounting tales of the past week - shops she had been photographed in, clothes she had bought against her better judgement.
For a moment she relaxed and forgot, let the rolling deep tones wash over her, the alcohol sliding easily down her throat, her eyelids becoming increasingly heavy. But every now and then Kimberley would shift and her bracelets might jangle in such a way, and the candle might flicker, and suddenly their shadows loomed a little too large against the wall so that Cheryl was snapped back into herself a little too harshly, pulse racing to catch up.
Kimberley watched her from the couch, as she slowly slid down towards the carpet, curling her feet under her, seeking the comfort of something real and firm that could not flicker or bend or sway, that could not slip away from her, through her fingers like quicksilver.
She watched as her hands moved increasingly quickly, touching anything, her hair several times, her wedding ring, the rim of the glass, over and over again. Her tongue, like a serpent’s, constantly flicking out, licking her lips, eyes concentrating a little too acutely on one object at a time.
She watched and she knew and she understood, sliding down to meet her on the floor, crawling slowly over to her, taking care not to spill any of her wine as she did so.
“You know,” Kimberley began softly, “This is a little bit like camping-“
“I hate camping,” Cheryl stated blankly, her voice reverberating off the walls and into the darkness.
They both flinched slightly and then Kimberley reached her arm out, across both her knotty shoulders, willing Cheryl to just release all the tension that was constantly festering away underneath her skin.
She rubbed her thumb in small circular motions, kneading, coaxing, all the time murmuring quiet placating words, telling her how marvellous she’d been on that mountain, how brave and strong, how much harder that had been then this, now.
And Cheryl could only shake her head and pucker her lips, sniffing loudly as she did so. “I don’t want to be brave,” she rasped out, her throat burning at the admission, “I’m tired of being brave.”
And it went the way it always went from here, when that single crystal cut tear decided it would trace a slow silvery path down her cheek. Kimberley would wipe it gently and then another would form and then she would steal herself to wait, to hold back and let Cheryl reign it all in. If she held her too soon then the waves would roll in one after the other and suddenly Cheryl would be at war with the world - from her inescapable childhood to the insurmountable trappings of fame, the burdens of Cheryl Cole would be reiterated chapter and verse until she was sobbing uncontrollably, crouched into a tiny ball while Kimberley stroked her hair and looked on helplessly.
She’d tried many different approaches to this blackening mood - these spells, turns, panic attacks, whatever you wanted to call them. She’d coax her out of them with feeble jokes, offer distraction through something immediate. But trying to pull focus could be a danger in itself, when she was hovering on the precipice like this - even the slightest imperfection, the most nuanced detail could set her off again.
And on a few occasions Kimberley had become so exasperated that she’d sunk to the lowest of blows, the shock tactics, the emotional blackmail; she’d threatened to walk out when Cheryl had reached screaming level, had been so hysterical that’s she’d basically started throwing around her scatter cushions and magazines, one narrowly missing Kimberley’s head.
Even before Kimberley had formed the words Cheryl had the wherewithal to look contrite. “If you carry on doing that I’m gone. Do you hear me Cheryl? I’ll be out of that door and I won’t come back.”
Of course it was playing dirty, with Cheryl’s abandonment issues front and centre to her many breakdowns. It had been a particularly fractious week for Kimberley.
On another occasion, she’d veered off in an entirely different direction, surprising herself with the ferocity of her reaction, Cheryl’s wet cheeks in her hands, face crumpled.
“Stop crying now,” she’d demanded, “It’s fine. I love you Cheryl, I love you, so stop crying.”
And she hadn’t meant to say it at all, certainly not kneeling down in Cheryl’s kitchen with a tray of broken glasses on the limestone floor and half a dozen guests waiting outside for their aperitifs.
And so it went.
And even now, with the cold grip strangling the room, she was beginning to fall into that wide-eyed abyss, the one that made her throat clench and her top lip tremble.
So Kimberley gently freed the wine glass from her grasp, set it on the table and took hold of her, letting her sink into her lap like a child, hair spilling everywhere.
They sat quietly for minutes on end, the low rumble and creaks from the house punctuating the silence.
When she did speak, her voice was tiny, uncertain and faraway, as if she wasn’t addressing anyone inparticular.
“I hope Ashley’s ok.”
She sighed and, given the cover of darkness, rolled her eyes. But she was well-practiced at keeping her voice neutral.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” she reassured.
Cheryl turned in her arms, so her face was looking up, eyes flashing in the faint candle glow.
“I couldn’t get him into The Draycott. That’s the one he knows. We’ve stayed there before. But they were fully booked. I couldn’t...”
“Babe, I’m sure he’s fine,” Kimberley repeated, having heard the whole hotel booking saga just hours earlier.
“I had to settle for The Bentley. Do you think that’ll be alright? It’s still five star. Do you think he’ll like it?”
And that slight catch to her tone, the undercurrent of neediness, almost desperation to please him, this man whom she so often outwardly hated, it nearly killed Kimberley whenever she heard it.
Because Cheryl used to be so much stronger than this. So much better. And she didn’t know what was worse, the guilt she felt at Cheryl’s pathetic behabiour or the shame that she was doing exactly the same thing - had a clear view of what was going on between Cheryl and her husband, yet couldn’t keep her at arm’s length, kept returning for more.
“I’m sure he’ll love it,” she offered with a smile, “It’s named after his car.”
“Yeah,” Cheryl chuckled slightly, her smile nervous, her eyes seeking affirmation.
And Kimberley could only respond in that symbiotic way they had, with just a look or a glance able to unite their thoughts; she ran her fingers through Cheryl’s tangled brunette locks, then, slower, delicately traced a finger along her top lip.
Cheryl shivered nearly immediately afterwards. “I’m freezing. I think I might turn in.”
She unfolded herself as she stood, her back arching, her arms outstretched as if welcoming her shadow.
Kimberley could only rise to her feet as well, there was no point just sitting in the dark on her own.
They took the torch and candelabra and climbed the main staircase, holding onto each other as their cramped unsteady feet made slow work in the blackness.
When they arrived at the landing Cheryl passed Kimberley the torch and motioned towards one of the many spare rooms.
“Here, you take this one. There’s clean towels in there, although God knows if it’s worth havin’ a wash with ice cold water.”
Kimberley did as she was told, accepting wordlessly that this was not to be one of those nights. The kind where they didn’t sleep at all, but clung and moved together and moaned and Kimberley laughed too loudly and Cheryl gave herself too freely.
They were going to remain chaste tonight. Probably for the best, she told herself, tightening her grip on the torch.
Cheryl turned to make her way to her bedroom, the candlelight blinking as she swayed. Then quickly she stuttered, twisted and swooped in for a fleeting kiss.
“Goodnight,” she whispered, pausing and hovering before Kimberley’s lips, before leaning in for another kiss, softer and wanting.
“There better not be any ghosties under me bed tonight.”
“Don’t say that, Cheryl!” Kimberley giggled, swatting her arm. “Not as I’m about to go off in the dark.”
“You’re alright, you’re in the new bit. Me - I’m on me own with all the hundred year old creaks.”
Kimberley arched her eyebrow playfully at that, tugged her closer, “Well you could always come into my room if you get scared.”
“Can I?” and any earlier hesitancy and childlike uncertainity was now replaced by something exclusive to Cheryl and Kimberley. The way they danced around each other sometimes, both wanting exactly the same thing, both knowing it.
“I’m surprised you didn’t just let me sleep with you,” she shrugged.
And the dimpled smile and glinting eyes showed which way Cheryl had chosen to take that remark. “Well, I didn’t want to make any assumptions,” she replied, feigning nonchalance.
Kimberley didn’t need to wait any longer. She took her hand.
* * * * *
And though her skin was burning, her body wouldn’t stop trembling, even when they had piled on an extra duvet and all the spare blankets.
“it’s not warmer,” she complained, “it’s just heavier.”
So Kimberley held her, squeezed her, crushed her, just to see if she could break, if the lack of heating really was why Cheryl lay shivering.
And Cheryl brought her knees up to her chest, turned, bringing her back flush with Kimberley’s side, and thought of how this wasn’t the night she would have wanted. She thought of the unopened silky slip of a nightdress she still hadn’t worn for Kimberley. She thought of how its smooth cool fabric would have slipped through her fingers.
She thought of how the last time they had shared a bed it was at Kimberley’s cousin’s house, after a party, miles from home and heady with excitement. She had told Kimberley that night that she was a very bad influence and Kimberley had laughed and found new ways of making her cry out.
But tonight there was none of that. She reached behind her, searching for Kimberley’s long firm arm, narrow where her husband’s was wide, bending in a way that his never did, around her stomach, under the hem of her pyjamas, fingers splayed against her abdomen.
Her fingers stroked lightly and then stilled. But it was Kimberley who lay awake, listening to Cheryl’s breathing as it fought against the darkness.
Part Three
Series: Spiralling (Part Two)
Author: noclueontheloo
Fandom: Girls Aloud, Cheryl Cole/Kimberley Walsh (RPS)
Word Count: 3437
Summary: And she hadn’t meant to say it at all, certainly not kneeling down in Cheryl’s kitchen with a tray of broken glasses on the limestone floor and half a dozen guests waiting outside for their aperitifs.
She had driven down early, despite the weather warnings - she had the Range Rover, she reasoned, and it seemed more a gentle sprinkle than a full-on snow storm.
Besides, the phone call had been timed with meticulous accuracy. Justin was busy pounding the treadmill per his usual evening session; Ashley was on his way home from training.
“There’s a match tomorrow, Stamford Bridge,” she had remarked and Kimberley had decoded it instantly.
“You want to meet?”
“I was thinking... I’m not going up there, I can’t be doing with all that right now, but, why don’t you come over?”
There were maybe half a dozen reasons why Kimberley shouldn’t have ventured down, the main one being the forecasted ten inches of snow. The second being it was far easier for Cheryl to accompany her husband up to Chelsea and for them to meet there.
Of course Cheryl was not in the habit of making life easy for herself. And Kimberley had developed an overwhelming ability to be sucked into her spiralling chaos. She fought it sometimes, when she was so inclined or when Cheryl stepped a smidgen too far off course. But still, she was easily drawn back in by any number of entreating promises or frantic declarations. Not that she believed any of it, truly, but she knew she wouldn’t stop; it was like drowning in honey.
As she drove deeper into the Surrey countryside the landscape changed drastically, flattened itself out against London’s sprawling masonry, the usually green vistas replaced with a glowing whiteness, and she thought for the first time, this is not good.
It may have taken over twice as long as usual, and her heart may have inadvertently given a flutter of relief when finally she swung the 4x4 into Cheryl’s sweepingly long drive, and all of this may have helped bypass the issue at hand - that the soft white spray had metamorphosed into a thick sticky deluge.
She was surprised when the electronic garage door remained firmly shut - the gate at the foot of the drive had already been open when she arrived. And so she was forced to abandon her vehicle to the elements, parked as near to the main entrance as possible as she made her way up the steps.
The forcefulness of Cheryl’s embrace was another first, usually that was left till later, sometimes much later.
But one glance at her watery eyes showed that all was far from normal.
“I am so glad to see you! You were ages, I was worried.”
“I know. I couldn’t really stop and call,” Kimberley responded as she trailed Cheryl down a darkened hallway towards the kitchen.
Cheryl turned once with a knowing look. Cheryl would have called. Cheryl would have juggled her phone and her mascara in one hand with the other planted firmly on the horn in moving traffic. But Kimberley did not do these things.
“Well, disaster has struck- the power is out!” she flung open the kitchen door melodramatically as she said this, normally the lightest room in the house, now dull and with an uncharacteristic chill.
“Oh,” she said. Oh, it was something worth a fair amount of concern, but Cheryl hadn’t broken down yet and she knew how to walk the tightrope when it came to her delicate emotions.
“We’re meant to have a generator for back-up, but that bloody man never got it serviced.”
“Oh dear,” Kimberley offered carefully, noticing the edge already creeping in to Cheryl’s tone, just a few heartbeats away from wringing her hands at him, from cursing her own existence. It wasn’t taking much these days, she noted.
“When did it happen? Have you spoken to him?”
“About twenty minutes ago. I was checkin’ the forecast ‘cos you still weren’t here,” she tried and failed to keep the slight accusatory twinge from her darkly alert eyes.
“I’d just logged on, literally and it went,” she snapped her fingers, “Everything went - then everything that needed charging started beeping at us and the dogs went mad. So I phone him ‘cos the generator is meant to pick up straight away. That’s how it works, isn’t it? Anyway, he never got it sorted, said he told me about it months ago - as if that means it’s my responsibility - but he’d just left it like that.”
Kimberley nodded in the appropriate places and placed her handbag onto the central table before pulling out a chair. She hadn’t come for another day of Ashley-ranting. She knew exactly what he was like, all his foibles, his many inadequacies. She didn’t need to hear Cheryl recount them to her over and over again. And she knew how useless they were together in situations like this, which required real, grown-up, practical logic.
“So what have you done since then?”
Cheryl had extracted a cigarette from the pack on the table, eyed Kimberley as she lit it. “What d’ya mean? I’m hoping they’re gonna sort it out soon, it’s fuckin’ freezing.”
“Is it down in the whole road? I mean, it must be the snow.”
Cheryl gave her a wan smile as she tapped her cigarette. Her jerky fidgeting, flitting from room to room, had been calmed by Kimberley’s presence. She was always the best one for her in these times of crisis. She knew how to pace herself, not in a lumbering way, just slow and methodical where Cheryl would have been quick and reckless. She would ask Cheryl all the most obvious questions, one by one, helping to order her mind and stop the jumble of thoughts that always threatened to engulf her.
“Well I haven’t been next door, have I? Do you think I should phone Pat?”
Pat was Cheryl’s PA. An urgent, enlivened woman with a huge leatherbound notebook that she was always digging out, in addition to her myriad of electronic personal organisers. She was certainly no more capable of sorting out Cheryl’s electricity problem than Cheryl herself.
Kimberley rested her elbows on the table and examined her chipped nail while addressing Cheryl. She frowned, not remembering how exactly she had come to ruin her recent manicure, resigning herself to the task at hand.
“Let’s phone the company, yeah? Find a recent bill and look for the number.”
And it was the us in all of this that made Cheryl oblige. It put her at ease enough, with Kimberley there, so that even when she was put on hold - terrible crackly classical music blaring away for minutes on end, and then eventually told that there was a tree leaning on the line somewhere in the area, that the engineers couldn’t do anything about it until the tree people had been - even then Kimberley’s reassuring warmth against her shoulder was just enough to make it all bearable.
She suggested they go out for some lunch as clearly there would be no cooking done now. And by cooking Cheryl most likely meant getting Kimberley to arrange some salad leaves around something she herself had microwaved.
Of course the snow had thickened to a disturbing amount by the time they looked out the window again and the sight of Kimberley’s semi-immersed car was enough to change their minds.
“Shit, this better clear up today,” murmured Kimberley, attracting a quick nervous glance from Cheryl, a reflexive hand to her wrist, fingers gently rubbing.
“Don’t worry Kimba,” she offered quietly - inwardly reasoning, praying, that should Ashley be unable to return from London then Kimberley would hardly be likely to make the return trip herself, thus abandoning Cheryl.
She turned to her then, and the glow in her eyes distracted Kimberley enough from thoughts of crowded motorways and errant husbands that she knotted their fingers together, holding Cheryl’s cool slender hand for many minutes, just starring at it, at her, and wondering if there really was one specific thing that always made her reach for her, or if it was just the amalgamation of so many shared experiences that touching Cheryl seemed to be hers by right.
“I guess I’ll be making us lunch then,” Kimberley eventually offered slyly.
“I guess you will,” Cheryl replied with a grin.
* * * * *
The snow had continued to fall without respite the entire time Kimberley was there, blazing across Cheryl’s expansive grounds and thickly layering everything from the 4x4 in the drive to the cherry tree in the garden to the ornamental fountain on the patio.
It was quite beautiful but without any heat and even more so any real light, Cheryl began to worry.
She fumbled with the torch she had found, briskly opening and closing draws haphazardly in a search for candles and tea tree lights. She started looking in ridiculous places like the under the sink in the bathroom, leaving Kimberley to wander serenely about the kitchen, nearly as familiar with it as Cheryl herself, and pick out the matches, batteries, and other things she deemed useful.
Ashley’s match had been cancelled and several urgent phone calls had seen him sequestered away in a hotel which, Kimberley silently noted, it had been left for Cheryl to organise.
They eventually found a candelabra, lit it and some smaller candles in the front room, bringing with them another bottle of wine.
“Better take two - y’know, for supplies,” Cheryl had said with a wink.
Kimberley joked that she must be trying to get her drunk, but Cheryl hesitated, looking sheepish, almost embarrassed.
“I just don’t want to be stumbling around the place in the dark. On me own.”
And Kimberley thought it best, even though her heart gave a little involuntary twinge, not to indulge the moment too much because they still had a potentially icy night to get through.
“You’re not alone,” she offered quietly, rubbing her hand against her back, the contact brief, but just enough.
Outside the snow was relentless, illuminating the sky with its iridescence despite the late hour.
Cheryl tried to keep her spirits up, reclining in her favourite armchair, wine glass in hand, listening to Kimberley’s gentle steady voice recounting tales of the past week - shops she had been photographed in, clothes she had bought against her better judgement.
For a moment she relaxed and forgot, let the rolling deep tones wash over her, the alcohol sliding easily down her throat, her eyelids becoming increasingly heavy. But every now and then Kimberley would shift and her bracelets might jangle in such a way, and the candle might flicker, and suddenly their shadows loomed a little too large against the wall so that Cheryl was snapped back into herself a little too harshly, pulse racing to catch up.
Kimberley watched her from the couch, as she slowly slid down towards the carpet, curling her feet under her, seeking the comfort of something real and firm that could not flicker or bend or sway, that could not slip away from her, through her fingers like quicksilver.
She watched as her hands moved increasingly quickly, touching anything, her hair several times, her wedding ring, the rim of the glass, over and over again. Her tongue, like a serpent’s, constantly flicking out, licking her lips, eyes concentrating a little too acutely on one object at a time.
She watched and she knew and she understood, sliding down to meet her on the floor, crawling slowly over to her, taking care not to spill any of her wine as she did so.
“You know,” Kimberley began softly, “This is a little bit like camping-“
“I hate camping,” Cheryl stated blankly, her voice reverberating off the walls and into the darkness.
They both flinched slightly and then Kimberley reached her arm out, across both her knotty shoulders, willing Cheryl to just release all the tension that was constantly festering away underneath her skin.
She rubbed her thumb in small circular motions, kneading, coaxing, all the time murmuring quiet placating words, telling her how marvellous she’d been on that mountain, how brave and strong, how much harder that had been then this, now.
And Cheryl could only shake her head and pucker her lips, sniffing loudly as she did so. “I don’t want to be brave,” she rasped out, her throat burning at the admission, “I’m tired of being brave.”
And it went the way it always went from here, when that single crystal cut tear decided it would trace a slow silvery path down her cheek. Kimberley would wipe it gently and then another would form and then she would steal herself to wait, to hold back and let Cheryl reign it all in. If she held her too soon then the waves would roll in one after the other and suddenly Cheryl would be at war with the world - from her inescapable childhood to the insurmountable trappings of fame, the burdens of Cheryl Cole would be reiterated chapter and verse until she was sobbing uncontrollably, crouched into a tiny ball while Kimberley stroked her hair and looked on helplessly.
She’d tried many different approaches to this blackening mood - these spells, turns, panic attacks, whatever you wanted to call them. She’d coax her out of them with feeble jokes, offer distraction through something immediate. But trying to pull focus could be a danger in itself, when she was hovering on the precipice like this - even the slightest imperfection, the most nuanced detail could set her off again.
And on a few occasions Kimberley had become so exasperated that she’d sunk to the lowest of blows, the shock tactics, the emotional blackmail; she’d threatened to walk out when Cheryl had reached screaming level, had been so hysterical that’s she’d basically started throwing around her scatter cushions and magazines, one narrowly missing Kimberley’s head.
Even before Kimberley had formed the words Cheryl had the wherewithal to look contrite. “If you carry on doing that I’m gone. Do you hear me Cheryl? I’ll be out of that door and I won’t come back.”
Of course it was playing dirty, with Cheryl’s abandonment issues front and centre to her many breakdowns. It had been a particularly fractious week for Kimberley.
On another occasion, she’d veered off in an entirely different direction, surprising herself with the ferocity of her reaction, Cheryl’s wet cheeks in her hands, face crumpled.
“Stop crying now,” she’d demanded, “It’s fine. I love you Cheryl, I love you, so stop crying.”
And she hadn’t meant to say it at all, certainly not kneeling down in Cheryl’s kitchen with a tray of broken glasses on the limestone floor and half a dozen guests waiting outside for their aperitifs.
And so it went.
And even now, with the cold grip strangling the room, she was beginning to fall into that wide-eyed abyss, the one that made her throat clench and her top lip tremble.
So Kimberley gently freed the wine glass from her grasp, set it on the table and took hold of her, letting her sink into her lap like a child, hair spilling everywhere.
They sat quietly for minutes on end, the low rumble and creaks from the house punctuating the silence.
When she did speak, her voice was tiny, uncertain and faraway, as if she wasn’t addressing anyone inparticular.
“I hope Ashley’s ok.”
She sighed and, given the cover of darkness, rolled her eyes. But she was well-practiced at keeping her voice neutral.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” she reassured.
Cheryl turned in her arms, so her face was looking up, eyes flashing in the faint candle glow.
“I couldn’t get him into The Draycott. That’s the one he knows. We’ve stayed there before. But they were fully booked. I couldn’t...”
“Babe, I’m sure he’s fine,” Kimberley repeated, having heard the whole hotel booking saga just hours earlier.
“I had to settle for The Bentley. Do you think that’ll be alright? It’s still five star. Do you think he’ll like it?”
And that slight catch to her tone, the undercurrent of neediness, almost desperation to please him, this man whom she so often outwardly hated, it nearly killed Kimberley whenever she heard it.
Because Cheryl used to be so much stronger than this. So much better. And she didn’t know what was worse, the guilt she felt at Cheryl’s pathetic behabiour or the shame that she was doing exactly the same thing - had a clear view of what was going on between Cheryl and her husband, yet couldn’t keep her at arm’s length, kept returning for more.
“I’m sure he’ll love it,” she offered with a smile, “It’s named after his car.”
“Yeah,” Cheryl chuckled slightly, her smile nervous, her eyes seeking affirmation.
And Kimberley could only respond in that symbiotic way they had, with just a look or a glance able to unite their thoughts; she ran her fingers through Cheryl’s tangled brunette locks, then, slower, delicately traced a finger along her top lip.
Cheryl shivered nearly immediately afterwards. “I’m freezing. I think I might turn in.”
She unfolded herself as she stood, her back arching, her arms outstretched as if welcoming her shadow.
Kimberley could only rise to her feet as well, there was no point just sitting in the dark on her own.
They took the torch and candelabra and climbed the main staircase, holding onto each other as their cramped unsteady feet made slow work in the blackness.
When they arrived at the landing Cheryl passed Kimberley the torch and motioned towards one of the many spare rooms.
“Here, you take this one. There’s clean towels in there, although God knows if it’s worth havin’ a wash with ice cold water.”
Kimberley did as she was told, accepting wordlessly that this was not to be one of those nights. The kind where they didn’t sleep at all, but clung and moved together and moaned and Kimberley laughed too loudly and Cheryl gave herself too freely.
They were going to remain chaste tonight. Probably for the best, she told herself, tightening her grip on the torch.
Cheryl turned to make her way to her bedroom, the candlelight blinking as she swayed. Then quickly she stuttered, twisted and swooped in for a fleeting kiss.
“Goodnight,” she whispered, pausing and hovering before Kimberley’s lips, before leaning in for another kiss, softer and wanting.
“There better not be any ghosties under me bed tonight.”
“Don’t say that, Cheryl!” Kimberley giggled, swatting her arm. “Not as I’m about to go off in the dark.”
“You’re alright, you’re in the new bit. Me - I’m on me own with all the hundred year old creaks.”
Kimberley arched her eyebrow playfully at that, tugged her closer, “Well you could always come into my room if you get scared.”
“Can I?” and any earlier hesitancy and childlike uncertainity was now replaced by something exclusive to Cheryl and Kimberley. The way they danced around each other sometimes, both wanting exactly the same thing, both knowing it.
“I’m surprised you didn’t just let me sleep with you,” she shrugged.
And the dimpled smile and glinting eyes showed which way Cheryl had chosen to take that remark. “Well, I didn’t want to make any assumptions,” she replied, feigning nonchalance.
Kimberley didn’t need to wait any longer. She took her hand.
* * * * *
And though her skin was burning, her body wouldn’t stop trembling, even when they had piled on an extra duvet and all the spare blankets.
“it’s not warmer,” she complained, “it’s just heavier.”
So Kimberley held her, squeezed her, crushed her, just to see if she could break, if the lack of heating really was why Cheryl lay shivering.
And Cheryl brought her knees up to her chest, turned, bringing her back flush with Kimberley’s side, and thought of how this wasn’t the night she would have wanted. She thought of the unopened silky slip of a nightdress she still hadn’t worn for Kimberley. She thought of how its smooth cool fabric would have slipped through her fingers.
She thought of how the last time they had shared a bed it was at Kimberley’s cousin’s house, after a party, miles from home and heady with excitement. She had told Kimberley that night that she was a very bad influence and Kimberley had laughed and found new ways of making her cry out.
But tonight there was none of that. She reached behind her, searching for Kimberley’s long firm arm, narrow where her husband’s was wide, bending in a way that his never did, around her stomach, under the hem of her pyjamas, fingers splayed against her abdomen.
Her fingers stroked lightly and then stilled. But it was Kimberley who lay awake, listening to Cheryl’s breathing as it fought against the darkness.
Part Three