LoveandLogic
Refugee
Ok, so I had my fill of some Bono, it's time for some Edge love!!! Eat your hearts out ladies!
And thank you, wo_speaking for the title!
and for the many wonderful, 
pictures of the man himself for inspiration! 
Disclaimer:: If anything, I'd say wo_speaking owns the Edge
lol! Just kidding! FICTIONAL!
Chapter One
Staring up at the grey sky of Ireland, Edge hummed softly to himself, enjoying the endless acres of freshly mowed, green grass beneath his naked feet. Breathing in the clean, country air, Edge exhaled and smiled. In the distance he could sense the smell of summer sifting in from an eastern breeze. Mountains and rolling, blooming pastures surrounded his newly purchased property.
Being a lead guitarists for the extraordinarily famous band, U2, Edge was excited to live a normal life, sleep in his own bed and eat from a plate in his kitchen instead of Styrofoam boxes. After a year of the non-stop Elevation tour following their newest album All That You Can’t Leave Behind with his band mates, three legs and 113 shows, he couldn’t wait to spend some time alone--just him, his Georgian Mansion and acoustic guitar. Don’t mistake him, Edge loved traveling, seeing new places and meeting new people. His fans were the most important people in his life aside from family and friends. However, he could live without the press, the cameras and countless hours of interviews.
Peace and quiet. That’s what he wanted.
Wrapping his long walk to an end, he traveled back up slight hill, admiring his new home from a distance. Six months he spent searching all of Dublin and it’s suburbs, desperate to find the perfect shelter, secluded from society, hidden from the human race. West Wicklow, Ireland was the ideal place for privacy. Sure, he had neighbors, a few, actually, with that he was ok. Just as long as he didn’t have a line of teenage fans picking grass out of his yard or trying to sneak past the gates for a glance or two.
No one would find him here. He was convinced.
Reaching the driveway, a familiar black Volvo parked up in front of his three-car garage. Great, thought Edge, Bono was here. Now, now, don’t get the wrong impression. Bono was as close to Edge as brother’s could be from two separate wombs. They grew up together, started a band, traveled the world side by side and even discovered the light of God with one another’s help. Bono was a fantastic singer, front man and humanitarian. All in all, his friend was a great guy in general and took good care of his wife and children.
Sometimes that made Edge envious…
“’Ey, mate!” Bono smirked at his friend, a loose cigar hanging from his mouth. “Beautiful place! Took me centuries to find it.”
Edge huffed. “Hardy-har, Bono. What are you doing here?”
“Oh, that’s real nice!” Bono shot back, feeling insulted. “I just wanted to check out your new place is all. What’s the name again?”
Edge sighed, giving in. Bono always got his way. He wasn’t going anywhere, Edge knew. Instead of trying to get rid of his fellow band mate, Edge played along with the singer’s endless chit-chat and thanked him.
“I’m really liking this house. Even though I haven’t even slept one night in it yet.”
Bono howled. “It took you forever to move in, mate! What was the hold up?”
Edge shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t ready. What’s the point of having such a big house when you have no one to share it with?”
Nodding silently, Bono understood where the guitarist was hinting about. Edge had been divorced, officially, for almost six years to this day. Aislinn, his ex-wife, stole full custody of their three children: Hollie, Arran and Blue Angel. If, and only if, Edge were lucky, he was allowed to see his girls every Christmas. When tour dates got in the way, he was shit out of luck. There was no winning with Aislinn, she had her lawyer wrapped around her finger, just how she had Edge tightly controlled for twelve years. Bono, having a child of his own, couldn’t even begin to imagine what his band mate was going through. Divorce shouldn’t involve the girls--those kids needed their father as much as he needed them.
Lost in thought, Edge went quiet, following Bono’s shadow as a guide. Coming to a stop, Bono gazed up at the large white house framed by tall trees and fat bushes, taking in it’s Georgian architecture and sash windows. Edge had found the perfect house, Bono admitted to myself, being careful on what to say to his quiet friend.
“Have you met any of the neighbors yet?” Bono asked, steering their awkward silence to a common conversation that wouldn’t upset Edge.
Shaking his head, Edge answered. “Not yet. But I have been spending all my time inside, unpacking and whatnot.”
“Ah-yes, good point. Hey, it’s still early, how about we call the guys over and have a cook out?”
Edge grunted under his breath. “Er…yeah, sounds…great.”
“Wonderful!” Bono boasted, completely oblivious to Edge’s disapproval.
In a matter of seconds, Bono whipped his phone, jumping in his feet as he spoke to Larry, their drummer and then Adam, their bassist. Along with them would be their wives, girlfriends and children. Amusingly, Edge had to admit to himself that Bono was the glue of the band, always keeping them connected in one way or another, on and off tour.
Setting up a picnic area in the back yard, the two men went to work, starting up the grill and cooling bottles of Guinness in a cooler by the pool. It wasn’t long before Adam and Larry showed up. When there were no women present, Bono stiffened.
“Where are the honey’s?” He asked in an almost boyish tone.
“Shopping. You know how they are.” Adam answered and rehearsed a very good mock of an everyday naggign wife. “‘We don’t want to be around all you badgering, drunken men all night sitting around and blah, blah, blah.’”
Three pitches of laughter filled the air and, although he would never say it aloud, Edge was somewhat relieved at the absence of wives and children. It was hard enough not being able to enjoy the pleasures of family without having it in front of his face, witnessing his mates loving up on their devoted partners. It was pathetic, all Edge wanted was to find a decent woman. A woman who would love him and provide him with the necessities that he no longer possessed. He hasn’t found one yet, in spite of his fame and riches. Women, he found, were greedy more than anything.
“Earth to Edge!” Larry waved his hand in front of his face. “Hello? Are you in there?”
Edge swiped the drummers hand away like a pesty fly. “Piss off, man, c’mon. I’m here.”
“Sorry, but you have company.”
What did Larry mean by “company?” Turning in the direction Larry was pointing, Edge was surprised to see three, old women standing at the backyard gate, all dressed alike in sundresses, flat shoes and salt and pepper hair. Gliding towards them, Edge smiled politely and opened the gate.
Adam nudged Bono in the side. “Looks like your ladies showed up.”
“Me?” Bono joked back. “You’re the one who has a thing for strippers.”
Edge shot his two mates an evil glare and muttered for them to shut up before gliding towards the women. Edge smiled politely and opened the gate.
“Afternoon, ladies.” He said. “How can I help you?”
“We’re just dropping by to meet our new neighbor, I hope we weren’t disturbing anything. I’m Fiona and this Cait and Biddy.” Introduced a very tall, elegant lady. She didn’t look too bad for her age, Edge thought. Her skin was aged but not harmed from the sun, considering there wasn’t much in the land of Ireland. Blue eyes twinkled behind a frame of thin wrinkles.
“I’m Dave,” Edge responded, providing his neighbors with his given name instead of nickname while kissing the back of Fiona’s hand.
Giggles suppressed from his company, sounding more like a bundle of school girls than grown women.
Cait was much shorter compared to her friends, the top of her head reaching at Edge’s chest. She was cute and petite, streaks of ruby shining delicately in the light of her white, curly hair.
Biddy appeared as if she were a looker back in the day: long legs, slim torso and the most beautiful, stunning smile Edge had ever seen on sixty-odd year old woman. Although, she was the quietest out of the trio, a blush emerging to her thin cheeks at her turn to be kissed by the celebrity.
“It’s a pleasure,” Edge assured, inviting the ladies back to the pool to chit-chat. Edge enjoyed meeting new people, young or old and he knew that he had no other option than to converse with those next door. Cait was only a property line away, Fiona a few hundred feet and Biddy next to Fiona.
All joking aside, Larry, Adam and Bono sat down at the pool side with their company, anxiously wanting to hear more about them. Not only was the band taught to be people person’s, they enjoyed being around other souls, hearing their stories. Bono always says that the youth can only gain knowledge from those who have experienced knowledge. And they were, after all, Edge’s protectors, even if they were only three, old gossipy ladies.
And gossipy were they! Sipping on tea that Edge had brewed for them, Cait, Biddy and Fiona revealed every secret that made up the tiny community. He was sure that the girls knew who they were, presently the biggest rock band in the world but they didn’t hint at it in any shape or form. They found more amusement in talking about Mr. Burns and his house of cats.
“Fifty-one cats?” Bono’s blue eyes could have popped out their sockets. “No way does one man own fifty-one cats in one house!”
Cait shrieked. “It’s true! I’ve seen them myself! Cats of all colors, breeds and sizes! I’ve seen him talking to them like they’re human!”
“Can you blame him? He’s never been married, never had children. His cats are his only company.” Biddy spoke softly, feeling sorry for a helpless, poor, lonely man.
Edge turned compassionate. “That really is a sad thing. People find love in all sorts of objects, no matter if it’s music, art, family, friends or, in this case, fifty-one cats.”
Fiona flipped her hand. “Posh, you two are too sappy!”
Snickering under his breath, Adam shook his head and flipped the hot dogs on the grill until they were a golden brown. Handing out plates, Bono told the girls to help themselves to the smorgasbord of hamburgers, steaks, chips, salads and pastries. It was a lot of food for four men so luckily they had three stomachs more to join.
Sitting at the large, white concrete, three-sixty table, the seven of them ate, talked and drank. Fiona kept fluttering her eyelashes at Larry, finding the blond, super-model worthy drummer overly handsome. Larry shifted in his seat uncomfortably and twitched his lips, failing over and over to smile. Bono about choked on his food, trying his hardest not to burst into laughter. Even Edge, the most grounded out of them all, found it difficult to ignore the old woman hitting on his best mate.
“You remind me of my dear, old husband, Albert.” Fiona pinched Larry’s cheek like that embarrassing grandmother you had when you were five. “He had a nice head of blond hair like yours when we first met. He wasn’t as built as you, though, dear.”
Biddy chimed in. “Albert was a very handsome man, Judy!”
“He sure was.” Fiona said sadly, her face drooping with thought and sorrow.
Edge asked. “Did he pass away?”
“Yes, three months ago. Ah, we had a wonderful marriage, forty-five years of love and silly arguments. Time flies by, boys. Enjoy life while you’re young. Never be afraid to take chances!”
“And don’t become a hermit like that poor sap Alexandra.” Cait added sarcastically, pointing a thumb over her shoulder at the three story house behind Edge’s.
“Alexandra?” Curiously, Edge asked.
Biddy shoved her girlfriend gently and lowered her voice. “Don’t speak of Alexandra. She’s just a lost child.”
“Lost child?!” Fiona laughed cruelly.
All four men leaned into the girls, huddled together like a group of elementary children exchanging a secret that was not to be told. Waiting for someone, anyone, to explain, Edge pushed on through the silence.
“What’s wrong with her?”
Biddy sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with her. Ignore these two old crows.”
“She never comes out of the house!” Cait informed.
Adding quickly, Fiona hissed. “And she has this huge greenhouse that she spends all day in.”
Bono’s, dark eyebrows crossed. “What’s so wrong with that? So she likes flowers? What girl doesn’t?”
“You don’t understand.” Biddy glanced at the rock star. “She moved her five years ago. No family, no husband, no kids.”
“And she never leaves the property.” Said Fiona.
Like a ping-pong ball out of control, Edge’s eyes struggled, shifting from one woman to the next to the next, desperately attempting to keep up with the rushed words exchanged back and forth between the three women.
“She does too go out. She goes to the market.”
“Once a week!”
“What difference does it make?”
“She still goes out!”
“She does yard work, too.”
“For only an hour or two.”
“She reads every night on the porch.”
“I bet she doesn’t sleep.”
“She’s probably running away from the law.”
“Nonsense! She just likes to be kept to herself.”
“Oh, Biddy, you’re so naive.”
“Am not! I’m logical!”
Feeling dizzy, the band hushed the ladies, calming them before things got too far and food started to be thrown about Edge’s brand new property and pool. Fanning herself, Fiona giggled, speaking on behalf of herself and her two followers.
“Apologies, gentlemen, we sometimes start and can’t stop.”
“It’s quite alright,” Bono flashed them one of his famous crooked smiles and winked. “At least Dave won’t have to worry about a nosy neighbor living behind him.”
“You won’t ever hear a peep out of her.” Biddy nodded. “She’s not a nuisance at any costs. Just very reserved.”
Nodding back, Edge didn’t mind that. He did, however, buy the property for one reason and one reason only: alone time. The less disturbances, the merrier. Conversations of the mysterious neighbor exchanged rather forthwith to more civilized topics such as Edge’s new house and families, children, grandchildren.
Edge, nonetheless, could not focus on their limitless chatter. In the distance, on the small hill behind the Georgian mansion, Edge pondered, all his concentration on the house behind his own and the woman who resides there. At times, Edge really hated being so analytical, especially at something so silly as gossip from three old hags he had just met only hours prior.
Even though, the sun was burning down low through the pastures, glowing and melting on the two houses, his own and Alexandra’s, in hues of gold’s, yellow’s and red’s. And, wandering hazily, Edge’s brain intruded one question: was she watching the sun as well?
Alexandra sat in the windowsill of her bedroom, one foot hanging lazily over the ledge, the other propped up against her tiny chest. Spacing out, she daydreamed about her rather dull life, of all the loneliness and countless nights of insomnia. Many people, most people, normal people, like her new neighbor, enjoyed the sunsets, gawked at it’s painted strokes of bright and stunning colors, hiding any evidence of a plain, white canvas underneath. Alex, on the other hand, dreaded the calling of the night. What was there to look forward to? She could never sleep and if she did, it would last for only a few hours, that is, until the nightmares punched their way through any form of serenity.
The day is as dark as the night is long and after a daily routine of tending to her garden and making a poor attempt to paint something interesting, she gave up for the remainder of the time and found a nice resting spot by the window, staring down at the party that was occurring next door.
She knew all about the new arrival. Fiona never failed to be the bear of news and she heard her over talking to Mrs. McGregor about the Georgian Mansion being bought. If memory serves her right, Fiona described him as, “The guitarist of U2, you know, that famous rock band from Dublin? I do believe his name is Eddie? No! Erm, Edward. No, no, that’s not right. Something that has to do with corners. Edge! What a silly name, really, Edge.”
“It’s a nickname,” said Mrs. McGregor.
“Oh, I know that, you ol’ bird!”
Alex chuckled at the remembrance of the gossip. Edge wasn’t hard to remember. Then again, Fiona was getting old, well into her late seventies. And although she meant well the majority of the time, she knew that the old bag liked to talk. And talk. And talk…especially about Alexandra above all.
So it wasn’t much of a shock when Fiona dragged her two puppies, Biddy and Cait, along for the ride to intrude on the poor sap who just moved into his house this very day. Watching as the three old women ate the picnic food and laughed and joked with the four members of U2, Alexandra couldn’t peel her attention away. She knew they were talking about her, about how she never leaves her home, how she is still, “So young and full of time ahead of her!.”
Ha. Young, indeed. Alexandra had just celebrated her twenty-ninth birthday alone, in the greenhouse with her many rose bushes, daisies, daffodils and lilacs, all the plants that were hard to grow in such a grey and rainy environment that made up Ireland.
Drifting back to the gathering by her neighbor’s pool, Alexandra was curious as to why the Edge, one of the most famous men in the world, chose to live in such a place as Wicklow? Wouldn’t he be more comfortable in the suburbs of L.A. or in a large apartment over looking Central Park? Strange that he would pick such a small, unknown, uninteresting town.
Then again, she moved here, didn’t she? Maybe he moved here to get away from all the chaos of the city life? And he picked the shiniest gem of all houses in the area. The Georgian Mansion was like a dream, three stories tall, a winding driveway and a sturdy raven roof. She only dreamed about seeing the inside, to lavish in it’s spacious rooms and feel the wool carpet beneath her feet. He had money, he could afford it, she reminded herself.
Sitting, watching, Alex’s thoughts kept going back to the same question: why Wicklow? Was he running away from something like she was? Did he want to leave behind all his troubles and stress? What did he have to stress about? What could possibly trouble him? He was rich, famous, admired by millions upon millions, worshipped like a God. What could be so bad about that?
Why did she care?
More than likely, he sure as hell didn’t care about Alexandra and her secrets. No one really cared about her anymore. At first she was the topic of all topics, her name snaking off every tongue of every nosy neighbor. Now, after five years of keeping to herself, she became somewhat of a legend, an urban myth next to the likes of Bloody Mary. She made no friends and wanted no friends. Life was complicated as it was without having to bring another person into it. Besides, she would never want to put that sort of damper on another human being.
Staring at the sun, daydreaming of the tall, lengthy rock star only yards away from her home, Alex felt uneasy, almost as if she were being burned by curious eyes.
Breaking away from the sky, Alex turned her observation and searched the grounds, hoping that she wasn‘t being paranoid. She wasn’t. From the patio of the Georgian Mansion, next to the large pool, stood the celebrity, his eyes distant and, even from a rich distance, the brightest, most glorious shade of hazel.
Their sights locked momentarily and Edge, always the one for being a gentleman, waved up to the girl in the window. Alexandra blinked, swung her leg over the sill and scurried back into the bedroom, slamming the window shut and closing the curtains.
Now was not the time for friends. Especially a friend as famous, and as mysterious, as her neighbor.
And thank you, wo_speaking for the title!
and for the many wonderful, pictures of the man himself for inspiration! Disclaimer:: If anything, I'd say wo_speaking owns the Edge
lol! Just kidding! FICTIONAL!Chapter One
Staring up at the grey sky of Ireland, Edge hummed softly to himself, enjoying the endless acres of freshly mowed, green grass beneath his naked feet. Breathing in the clean, country air, Edge exhaled and smiled. In the distance he could sense the smell of summer sifting in from an eastern breeze. Mountains and rolling, blooming pastures surrounded his newly purchased property.
Being a lead guitarists for the extraordinarily famous band, U2, Edge was excited to live a normal life, sleep in his own bed and eat from a plate in his kitchen instead of Styrofoam boxes. After a year of the non-stop Elevation tour following their newest album All That You Can’t Leave Behind with his band mates, three legs and 113 shows, he couldn’t wait to spend some time alone--just him, his Georgian Mansion and acoustic guitar. Don’t mistake him, Edge loved traveling, seeing new places and meeting new people. His fans were the most important people in his life aside from family and friends. However, he could live without the press, the cameras and countless hours of interviews.
Peace and quiet. That’s what he wanted.
Wrapping his long walk to an end, he traveled back up slight hill, admiring his new home from a distance. Six months he spent searching all of Dublin and it’s suburbs, desperate to find the perfect shelter, secluded from society, hidden from the human race. West Wicklow, Ireland was the ideal place for privacy. Sure, he had neighbors, a few, actually, with that he was ok. Just as long as he didn’t have a line of teenage fans picking grass out of his yard or trying to sneak past the gates for a glance or two.
No one would find him here. He was convinced.
Reaching the driveway, a familiar black Volvo parked up in front of his three-car garage. Great, thought Edge, Bono was here. Now, now, don’t get the wrong impression. Bono was as close to Edge as brother’s could be from two separate wombs. They grew up together, started a band, traveled the world side by side and even discovered the light of God with one another’s help. Bono was a fantastic singer, front man and humanitarian. All in all, his friend was a great guy in general and took good care of his wife and children.
Sometimes that made Edge envious…
“’Ey, mate!” Bono smirked at his friend, a loose cigar hanging from his mouth. “Beautiful place! Took me centuries to find it.”
Edge huffed. “Hardy-har, Bono. What are you doing here?”
“Oh, that’s real nice!” Bono shot back, feeling insulted. “I just wanted to check out your new place is all. What’s the name again?”
Edge sighed, giving in. Bono always got his way. He wasn’t going anywhere, Edge knew. Instead of trying to get rid of his fellow band mate, Edge played along with the singer’s endless chit-chat and thanked him.
“I’m really liking this house. Even though I haven’t even slept one night in it yet.”
Bono howled. “It took you forever to move in, mate! What was the hold up?”
Edge shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t ready. What’s the point of having such a big house when you have no one to share it with?”
Nodding silently, Bono understood where the guitarist was hinting about. Edge had been divorced, officially, for almost six years to this day. Aislinn, his ex-wife, stole full custody of their three children: Hollie, Arran and Blue Angel. If, and only if, Edge were lucky, he was allowed to see his girls every Christmas. When tour dates got in the way, he was shit out of luck. There was no winning with Aislinn, she had her lawyer wrapped around her finger, just how she had Edge tightly controlled for twelve years. Bono, having a child of his own, couldn’t even begin to imagine what his band mate was going through. Divorce shouldn’t involve the girls--those kids needed their father as much as he needed them.
Lost in thought, Edge went quiet, following Bono’s shadow as a guide. Coming to a stop, Bono gazed up at the large white house framed by tall trees and fat bushes, taking in it’s Georgian architecture and sash windows. Edge had found the perfect house, Bono admitted to myself, being careful on what to say to his quiet friend.
“Have you met any of the neighbors yet?” Bono asked, steering their awkward silence to a common conversation that wouldn’t upset Edge.
Shaking his head, Edge answered. “Not yet. But I have been spending all my time inside, unpacking and whatnot.”
“Ah-yes, good point. Hey, it’s still early, how about we call the guys over and have a cook out?”
Edge grunted under his breath. “Er…yeah, sounds…great.”
“Wonderful!” Bono boasted, completely oblivious to Edge’s disapproval.
In a matter of seconds, Bono whipped his phone, jumping in his feet as he spoke to Larry, their drummer and then Adam, their bassist. Along with them would be their wives, girlfriends and children. Amusingly, Edge had to admit to himself that Bono was the glue of the band, always keeping them connected in one way or another, on and off tour.
Setting up a picnic area in the back yard, the two men went to work, starting up the grill and cooling bottles of Guinness in a cooler by the pool. It wasn’t long before Adam and Larry showed up. When there were no women present, Bono stiffened.
“Where are the honey’s?” He asked in an almost boyish tone.
“Shopping. You know how they are.” Adam answered and rehearsed a very good mock of an everyday naggign wife. “‘We don’t want to be around all you badgering, drunken men all night sitting around and blah, blah, blah.’”
Three pitches of laughter filled the air and, although he would never say it aloud, Edge was somewhat relieved at the absence of wives and children. It was hard enough not being able to enjoy the pleasures of family without having it in front of his face, witnessing his mates loving up on their devoted partners. It was pathetic, all Edge wanted was to find a decent woman. A woman who would love him and provide him with the necessities that he no longer possessed. He hasn’t found one yet, in spite of his fame and riches. Women, he found, were greedy more than anything.
“Earth to Edge!” Larry waved his hand in front of his face. “Hello? Are you in there?”
Edge swiped the drummers hand away like a pesty fly. “Piss off, man, c’mon. I’m here.”
“Sorry, but you have company.”
What did Larry mean by “company?” Turning in the direction Larry was pointing, Edge was surprised to see three, old women standing at the backyard gate, all dressed alike in sundresses, flat shoes and salt and pepper hair. Gliding towards them, Edge smiled politely and opened the gate.
Adam nudged Bono in the side. “Looks like your ladies showed up.”
“Me?” Bono joked back. “You’re the one who has a thing for strippers.”
Edge shot his two mates an evil glare and muttered for them to shut up before gliding towards the women. Edge smiled politely and opened the gate.
“Afternoon, ladies.” He said. “How can I help you?”
“We’re just dropping by to meet our new neighbor, I hope we weren’t disturbing anything. I’m Fiona and this Cait and Biddy.” Introduced a very tall, elegant lady. She didn’t look too bad for her age, Edge thought. Her skin was aged but not harmed from the sun, considering there wasn’t much in the land of Ireland. Blue eyes twinkled behind a frame of thin wrinkles.
“I’m Dave,” Edge responded, providing his neighbors with his given name instead of nickname while kissing the back of Fiona’s hand.
Giggles suppressed from his company, sounding more like a bundle of school girls than grown women.
Cait was much shorter compared to her friends, the top of her head reaching at Edge’s chest. She was cute and petite, streaks of ruby shining delicately in the light of her white, curly hair.
Biddy appeared as if she were a looker back in the day: long legs, slim torso and the most beautiful, stunning smile Edge had ever seen on sixty-odd year old woman. Although, she was the quietest out of the trio, a blush emerging to her thin cheeks at her turn to be kissed by the celebrity.
“It’s a pleasure,” Edge assured, inviting the ladies back to the pool to chit-chat. Edge enjoyed meeting new people, young or old and he knew that he had no other option than to converse with those next door. Cait was only a property line away, Fiona a few hundred feet and Biddy next to Fiona.
All joking aside, Larry, Adam and Bono sat down at the pool side with their company, anxiously wanting to hear more about them. Not only was the band taught to be people person’s, they enjoyed being around other souls, hearing their stories. Bono always says that the youth can only gain knowledge from those who have experienced knowledge. And they were, after all, Edge’s protectors, even if they were only three, old gossipy ladies.
And gossipy were they! Sipping on tea that Edge had brewed for them, Cait, Biddy and Fiona revealed every secret that made up the tiny community. He was sure that the girls knew who they were, presently the biggest rock band in the world but they didn’t hint at it in any shape or form. They found more amusement in talking about Mr. Burns and his house of cats.
“Fifty-one cats?” Bono’s blue eyes could have popped out their sockets. “No way does one man own fifty-one cats in one house!”
Cait shrieked. “It’s true! I’ve seen them myself! Cats of all colors, breeds and sizes! I’ve seen him talking to them like they’re human!”
“Can you blame him? He’s never been married, never had children. His cats are his only company.” Biddy spoke softly, feeling sorry for a helpless, poor, lonely man.
Edge turned compassionate. “That really is a sad thing. People find love in all sorts of objects, no matter if it’s music, art, family, friends or, in this case, fifty-one cats.”
Fiona flipped her hand. “Posh, you two are too sappy!”
Snickering under his breath, Adam shook his head and flipped the hot dogs on the grill until they were a golden brown. Handing out plates, Bono told the girls to help themselves to the smorgasbord of hamburgers, steaks, chips, salads and pastries. It was a lot of food for four men so luckily they had three stomachs more to join.
Sitting at the large, white concrete, three-sixty table, the seven of them ate, talked and drank. Fiona kept fluttering her eyelashes at Larry, finding the blond, super-model worthy drummer overly handsome. Larry shifted in his seat uncomfortably and twitched his lips, failing over and over to smile. Bono about choked on his food, trying his hardest not to burst into laughter. Even Edge, the most grounded out of them all, found it difficult to ignore the old woman hitting on his best mate.
“You remind me of my dear, old husband, Albert.” Fiona pinched Larry’s cheek like that embarrassing grandmother you had when you were five. “He had a nice head of blond hair like yours when we first met. He wasn’t as built as you, though, dear.”
Biddy chimed in. “Albert was a very handsome man, Judy!”
“He sure was.” Fiona said sadly, her face drooping with thought and sorrow.
Edge asked. “Did he pass away?”
“Yes, three months ago. Ah, we had a wonderful marriage, forty-five years of love and silly arguments. Time flies by, boys. Enjoy life while you’re young. Never be afraid to take chances!”
“And don’t become a hermit like that poor sap Alexandra.” Cait added sarcastically, pointing a thumb over her shoulder at the three story house behind Edge’s.
“Alexandra?” Curiously, Edge asked.
Biddy shoved her girlfriend gently and lowered her voice. “Don’t speak of Alexandra. She’s just a lost child.”
“Lost child?!” Fiona laughed cruelly.
All four men leaned into the girls, huddled together like a group of elementary children exchanging a secret that was not to be told. Waiting for someone, anyone, to explain, Edge pushed on through the silence.
“What’s wrong with her?”
Biddy sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with her. Ignore these two old crows.”
“She never comes out of the house!” Cait informed.
Adding quickly, Fiona hissed. “And she has this huge greenhouse that she spends all day in.”
Bono’s, dark eyebrows crossed. “What’s so wrong with that? So she likes flowers? What girl doesn’t?”
“You don’t understand.” Biddy glanced at the rock star. “She moved her five years ago. No family, no husband, no kids.”
“And she never leaves the property.” Said Fiona.
Like a ping-pong ball out of control, Edge’s eyes struggled, shifting from one woman to the next to the next, desperately attempting to keep up with the rushed words exchanged back and forth between the three women.
“She does too go out. She goes to the market.”
“Once a week!”
“What difference does it make?”
“She still goes out!”
“She does yard work, too.”
“For only an hour or two.”
“She reads every night on the porch.”
“I bet she doesn’t sleep.”
“She’s probably running away from the law.”
“Nonsense! She just likes to be kept to herself.”
“Oh, Biddy, you’re so naive.”
“Am not! I’m logical!”
Feeling dizzy, the band hushed the ladies, calming them before things got too far and food started to be thrown about Edge’s brand new property and pool. Fanning herself, Fiona giggled, speaking on behalf of herself and her two followers.
“Apologies, gentlemen, we sometimes start and can’t stop.”
“It’s quite alright,” Bono flashed them one of his famous crooked smiles and winked. “At least Dave won’t have to worry about a nosy neighbor living behind him.”
“You won’t ever hear a peep out of her.” Biddy nodded. “She’s not a nuisance at any costs. Just very reserved.”
Nodding back, Edge didn’t mind that. He did, however, buy the property for one reason and one reason only: alone time. The less disturbances, the merrier. Conversations of the mysterious neighbor exchanged rather forthwith to more civilized topics such as Edge’s new house and families, children, grandchildren.
Edge, nonetheless, could not focus on their limitless chatter. In the distance, on the small hill behind the Georgian mansion, Edge pondered, all his concentration on the house behind his own and the woman who resides there. At times, Edge really hated being so analytical, especially at something so silly as gossip from three old hags he had just met only hours prior.
Even though, the sun was burning down low through the pastures, glowing and melting on the two houses, his own and Alexandra’s, in hues of gold’s, yellow’s and red’s. And, wandering hazily, Edge’s brain intruded one question: was she watching the sun as well?
Alexandra sat in the windowsill of her bedroom, one foot hanging lazily over the ledge, the other propped up against her tiny chest. Spacing out, she daydreamed about her rather dull life, of all the loneliness and countless nights of insomnia. Many people, most people, normal people, like her new neighbor, enjoyed the sunsets, gawked at it’s painted strokes of bright and stunning colors, hiding any evidence of a plain, white canvas underneath. Alex, on the other hand, dreaded the calling of the night. What was there to look forward to? She could never sleep and if she did, it would last for only a few hours, that is, until the nightmares punched their way through any form of serenity.
The day is as dark as the night is long and after a daily routine of tending to her garden and making a poor attempt to paint something interesting, she gave up for the remainder of the time and found a nice resting spot by the window, staring down at the party that was occurring next door.
She knew all about the new arrival. Fiona never failed to be the bear of news and she heard her over talking to Mrs. McGregor about the Georgian Mansion being bought. If memory serves her right, Fiona described him as, “The guitarist of U2, you know, that famous rock band from Dublin? I do believe his name is Eddie? No! Erm, Edward. No, no, that’s not right. Something that has to do with corners. Edge! What a silly name, really, Edge.”
“It’s a nickname,” said Mrs. McGregor.
“Oh, I know that, you ol’ bird!”
Alex chuckled at the remembrance of the gossip. Edge wasn’t hard to remember. Then again, Fiona was getting old, well into her late seventies. And although she meant well the majority of the time, she knew that the old bag liked to talk. And talk. And talk…especially about Alexandra above all.
So it wasn’t much of a shock when Fiona dragged her two puppies, Biddy and Cait, along for the ride to intrude on the poor sap who just moved into his house this very day. Watching as the three old women ate the picnic food and laughed and joked with the four members of U2, Alexandra couldn’t peel her attention away. She knew they were talking about her, about how she never leaves her home, how she is still, “So young and full of time ahead of her!.”
Ha. Young, indeed. Alexandra had just celebrated her twenty-ninth birthday alone, in the greenhouse with her many rose bushes, daisies, daffodils and lilacs, all the plants that were hard to grow in such a grey and rainy environment that made up Ireland.
Drifting back to the gathering by her neighbor’s pool, Alexandra was curious as to why the Edge, one of the most famous men in the world, chose to live in such a place as Wicklow? Wouldn’t he be more comfortable in the suburbs of L.A. or in a large apartment over looking Central Park? Strange that he would pick such a small, unknown, uninteresting town.
Then again, she moved here, didn’t she? Maybe he moved here to get away from all the chaos of the city life? And he picked the shiniest gem of all houses in the area. The Georgian Mansion was like a dream, three stories tall, a winding driveway and a sturdy raven roof. She only dreamed about seeing the inside, to lavish in it’s spacious rooms and feel the wool carpet beneath her feet. He had money, he could afford it, she reminded herself.
Sitting, watching, Alex’s thoughts kept going back to the same question: why Wicklow? Was he running away from something like she was? Did he want to leave behind all his troubles and stress? What did he have to stress about? What could possibly trouble him? He was rich, famous, admired by millions upon millions, worshipped like a God. What could be so bad about that?
Why did she care?
More than likely, he sure as hell didn’t care about Alexandra and her secrets. No one really cared about her anymore. At first she was the topic of all topics, her name snaking off every tongue of every nosy neighbor. Now, after five years of keeping to herself, she became somewhat of a legend, an urban myth next to the likes of Bloody Mary. She made no friends and wanted no friends. Life was complicated as it was without having to bring another person into it. Besides, she would never want to put that sort of damper on another human being.
Staring at the sun, daydreaming of the tall, lengthy rock star only yards away from her home, Alex felt uneasy, almost as if she were being burned by curious eyes.
Breaking away from the sky, Alex turned her observation and searched the grounds, hoping that she wasn‘t being paranoid. She wasn’t. From the patio of the Georgian Mansion, next to the large pool, stood the celebrity, his eyes distant and, even from a rich distance, the brightest, most glorious shade of hazel.
Their sights locked momentarily and Edge, always the one for being a gentleman, waved up to the girl in the window. Alexandra blinked, swung her leg over the sill and scurried back into the bedroom, slamming the window shut and closing the curtains.
Now was not the time for friends. Especially a friend as famous, and as mysterious, as her neighbor.
thank you, ladies! 
