Angel (16 page)

'Okay,' she replied, trying to keep the irritation
out of her voice. 'I think I'm going to head home,
I've got an early shoot.'

She couldn't help noticing that Mickey didn't
seem too concerned that she was leaving. As they
walked down the stairs into the main area of the
club, picking their way through the crowd of
people drinking, dancing and chatting, he had to
lean heavily on her arm just to stay upright. He
walked her to her limo, swaying unsteadily, and just
as she was about to get in, he whispered, 'Have you
got any cash on you, Angel?'

'Yeah – a couple of hundred,' she answered, her
heart sinking.

'Could you lend me some? I'm totally out and I
owe Johnny.'

She really didn't want to. Despite earning good
money, she was still conscious of what she was
spending and she'd already spent more than she'd
intended to this month. Reluctantly she opened her
bag, pulled out a wad of cash and silently handed it
to him.

'Cheers, babe.' He stuffed it into his pocket
without looking at it. 'I'll call you in the morning.'
He gave her a quick kiss and slammed the door shut,
walking over to his car without a second glance.

Angel sank back into the leather seat as her car
sped away, winding its way through back streets
and quiet neighbourhoods towards Hampstead.
The euphoria of the night and her coke-filled good
mood seemed to have deserted her. She looked out
into the darkness. This wasn't the first time Mickey
had asked to borrow money – in fact, over the last
two months she'd probably lent him close to five
grand. She couldn't understand why he needed it –
surely he was loaded? He had the flat that must be
worth at least a million, the Porsche, a recording
contract. What was going on? He never seemed to
have any cash on him and there was always some
excuse or other about his credit cards not working,
a royalty payment about to hit his accounts, and so
on. It didn't add up.

Oh, for God's sake
, she told herself,
you'll get it back
.

But would she? She thought of Cal as she
snuggled deeper into his jacket, breathing in his
scent. She couldn't imagine him borrowing money
off anyone, least of all his girlfriend.

The following morning Angel woke up with a
pounding headache and a horribly dry mouth – an
eight on her personal hangover scale. Not good,
not good at all. Very bad, in fact.

'Shit, shit, shit, I never should have drunk so
much,' she groaned to herself as she forced herself
out of bed and into the bathroom. She studied
herself in the mirror, squinting in the bright light.
She looked like crap; there were violet bags under
her eyes and she hadn't bothered to take off her
make-up from the night before. She ran a shaking
hand through her limp hair – her hair was having
a seriously bad day.
God, I hope Danni can put me back
together again
, she prayed, as she alternated hot and
cold water in the shower in an attempt to give her
circulation a boost and shake off the hangover.

There was only one thing for it – the Coca Cola
and white-bread toast cure. Three slices later,
washed down with an ice-cold glass of Coke and a
couple of paracetamol, she was starting to feel a
little more human. She could actually move her
head without being blinded with pain. She was just
brushing out her damp hair when her door buzzer
went. She padded over to the door and looked at
the monitor entry-phone video. Her heart missed its
usual beat when she saw Cal standing downstairs.

'Hi,' she buzzed down to him.

'Hi,' he buzzed back. 'I left my wallet in my
jacket. Okay if I get it?'

'Sure,' she replied, trying to sound casual. Cal
was the last person in the world she wanted to see
this early in the morning and with such a raging
hangover. She buzzed open the downstairs door.
She left her front door ajar and raced into her
bedroom, where she grabbed the nearest clothes –
a pair of pink Juicy Couture tracksuit bottoms and
a tight white vest. There was no time for make-up,
so she had to content herself with dabbing on a bit
of lip gloss.

'God, have you only just got up, lazy bones?' Cal
exclaimed, as he walked into the living room, taking
in her hair still damp from the shower. 'Some of us
have been up and training for the last three hours,'
he added.

'Here's your jacket. I didn't realise I had your
wallet as well, otherwise I'd have stayed longer at
the club!' she said teasingly. He grabbed it from her
and slung it on the sofa, their fingers brushing
against each other in the exchange. Despite her
pounding head, she felt a jolt of excitement at his
touch.

'Would you like a drink?' she asked him. 'A
coffee, I mean, or some water?'

'A coffee would be great,' he replied.

He followed her into the kitchen, which was too
small for two people, really. As she busied herself
making him a cafetière of coffee, she felt very
conscious of him standing next to her, especially
since she wasn't wearing any underwear and she
couldn't help but notice that her nipples had
sprung to attention and were showing through her
thin cotton vest.

'Hung over?' he asked sympathetically, noticing
the can of Coke and the half-eaten toast.

'Yeah,' she sighed. 'Please don't give me a hard
time, though. I feel like shit and I've got a shoot in
a couple of hours. Thank God for make-up!' She
rubbed her aching face with her hands, smoothing
down her hair and taking a deep breath. The
kitchen felt suddenly claustrophobic.

'Actually,' Cal replied, 'I've always thought you
look great without all that stuff.'

'Come on,' she said wearily, 'look at me, I'm in a
right state!'

'No, you're not, you look very natural, very
pretty.'

Wow. This was new. Angel wasn't used to getting
compliments from Cal, and she could feel herself
blushing again, which reminded her of their
awkward conversation last night. She sighed,
handed him his coffee and he followed her into the
living room. They sat at opposite ends of her brown
leather sofa and Angel turned to face him, tucking
her legs up and clasping her hands over her knees,
trying to hide her conspicuous nipples.

Cal shifted about uncomfortably, taking a sip of
his coffee, putting it down, taking it back up. She
realised he wanted to get something off his chest.
Oh no, she thought, sneaking a peek at the clock.
Here we go again
. And sure enough . . .

'So, I was about to ask you last night how it was
going with Mickey,' Cal finally said, sounding
serious.

'Oh, that. It's going great, really great,' she said
breezily, giving him a bland smile. She squirmed a
bit when she remembered Mickey borrowing yet
more money from her, but pushed that firmly to
the back of her mind.

'It's just, you know, he's got quite a reputation.'

'For what?' she challenged, looking him squarely
in the eye.

'Well . . .' Cal paused, looking slightly awkward.
'Drugs and women, mainly.'

'Oh, come on,' she scoffed, 'you should know
better than to believe everything you read.'

'It's not what I read, Angie, it's what I've been
hearing from friends. Apparently it's quite a habit
he's got. He's a coke addict, Angie. You really,
really don't want to get involved in all that.'

He looked at her intently, his face open and
worried. She blushed again, liking his concern, but
then she shook her head firmly. She refused to
believe all that about Mickey. Images came to her,
unwanted images of Mickey chopping up lines,
laughing maniacally and she quickly got up,
walking over to the window. She felt Cal's eyes
on her back and turned around, joking feebly, 'I'm
not going to answer you if you keep calling me
Angie.'

He changed tack too quickly for her hung-over
brain to click into action.

'OK, Angel, no more jokes. Are you taking
drugs?' His voice was firmer now and he looked her
straight in the eye.

If she hadn't been so tired, she would have
known this was coming. Trying to be casual, she
laughed it off. 'Oh, come on, who isn't these days,
for God's sake!'

But he didn't smile, just gave her a long look.
'I'm not, Angel, and none of my friends are.'

'Look,' she sighed, sinking back into the sofa, 'I
just do it every now and then when I'm out, it's not
a big deal, honestly. I'm not addicted or anything,
I can take it or leave it.'

He leant closer to her, his face serious. 'Trust me,
Angel, you may think that now, but sooner or later
you won't be able to just take it or leave it any more.
Take it from me, it will fuck you up for sure.'

'Oh, come on, Cal,' she groaned in exasperation.
'Give me a break! I'm a model. It's part of the
territory. Sometimes I just need a little something.'
So what? What's the big deal?

'If Tony knew, he'd go ballistic. You know that,
don't you?'

'Well,' she retorted coolly, 'Tony doesn't need to
know and I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell him.'

She got up off the sofa to bring the conversation
to a close. God, this was turning out to be a bitch of
a day. When he didn't move, she walked over to
the fireplace, as if she'd been meaning to all along,
and rearranged a picture frame. Her head was
spinning. Why was he having a go at her? And
since when had Cal ever cared about what she got
up to?

She turned back to face him. 'Hey, Cal. I'm not
going to come over all Danniella Westbrook, if that's
what you're worried about.' She tilted back her head
and pointed at her nose, moving closer to him. 'See,
it's all still there.' Snapping her head back down, she
swayed a bit, then realised with a start how much of
her body she had exposed. Her breasts were practically
in his face and her Juicy Couture bottoms,
which had seen better days, were slipping down her
slender hips, very nearly revealing quite a bit more
than she intended. She swiftly hoisted them up and
crossed her arms.

She'd meant it as a joke, but he didn't seem
amused.

'I know all about addiction from my mum, if you
remember,' Cal said.

'Oh, and how is she?' Angel asked, thinking that
Cal would lose the moral high ground now as he
probably hadn't seen his mum for ages.

'Doing much better, thanks, she's finally agreed
to get treatment for her alcoholism. I've arranged
for her to go to a clinic and last week she actually
came and watched me play.'

'Oh, that's good,' Angel mumbled, torn between
feeling happy for Cal and resentment that he was
having a go at her. She changed the subject again.

'So how's Simone?' she finally asked.

'She's great,' he replied abruptly, got up and put
his cup on the coffee table. As if on cue, his mobile
started ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket and
flicked it open impatiently.

'Hey. Yes, okay. I'll be with you in half an hour.
See you.'

'Does that mean the lecture is over?' Angel
demanded, still annoyed at having been spoken to
like a child. He'd made her feel like Kevin the
teenager – she almost felt like stamping her foot
and saying, 'It's not fair!'

'Temporarily,' he said abruptly. 'But you're not
off the hook. I'm just going to meet Simone at the
gym.' Angel frowned at the thought of the two of
them working out together. 'Thanks for the coffee,
Angel, and I hope your hangover gets better,' Cal
said as she opened the door for him. He turned to
go, but suddenly reached out and gently touched
her arm. 'I didn't mean to give you a hard time,' he
said, much kinder now. 'It's just, you're Tony's little
sister. I don't want any bad shit happening to you.'

So that was how he saw her. How stupid of her to
imagine it was anything else. She moved abruptly
away, taking a hold of the door.

'I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself,
and I don't need you preaching at me,' she
snapped, starting to close the door. He just
shrugged, unimpressed, and she immediately
regretted her quick words. She shouted after him,
'Have a good workout with Simone.'

'Thanks,' he called back cheerfully. 'I might give
you one sometime. Although—' she could see him
pause on the stairs and raise an eyebrow '—you'll
have to promise to wear something a bit less
revealing than that. See you tomorrow night at
Tony's engagement dinner, Angel.'

The conversation left her reeling. She walked
slowly back into the lounge. Maybe all his talk about
drugs was a sign that he genuinely cared about her?
She felt annoyed again about the way he was being
negative about Mickey. She loved Mickey. She
looked out of the window, catching a last sight of
Cal's long legs striding down the road. God, he was
gorgeous. And so confusing. When she turned, her
eyes fell on his jacket, still slung over the back of the
sofa. She ran back over to the window but he was
already getting into his car.
Oh well
, she thought,
I
can give it back to him at the dinner
.
Simone will freak
.
She smiled at the thought. And then she couldn't
resist – she held the jacket to her face and breathed
in deeply, lost in the smell of his aftershave one
more time.

Angel had her outfit for the engagement dinner all
planned out – a simple little black dress with
diamante straps, which was long enough for her dad
not to raise an eyebrow, sexy without being tarty,
and a pair of black satin Gina thong sandals with
diamante trim. She was going for understated makeup
and wearing her long blonde hair loose. She had
tested the whole kit out in front of her bedroom
mirror, analysing her reflection and thinking, with
some satisfaction, that that cow Simone wouldn't be
able to look down her nose at her this time. She was
booked in to do a shoot during the day, but she'd
make it back home in plenty of time to change for
the evening. Before she left, she laid everything out
on her bed, ready and waiting for her. She slammed
her door shut, mentally preparing herself for a long
day and an even longer evening.

The shoot was for the cover of
Tackle
– an eight-page
spread of pictures of her, along with an interview. This was a big deal, Carrie
had said more than once, and it showed better than all the jobs she'd recently
done that she was going places with her modelling. Angel wanted everything
to be perfect. Jez had touched up her roots the day before, and she had gone
to bed early in order to have a healthy glow and had been drinking mineral
water all morning, for once mindful of Danni's instructions. But from the
minute she arrived at the studio, everything went wrong. Danni had left a
message to say she had food poisoning and couldn't make it and the magazine
had booked Stephan instead, an arrogant idiot who seemed to have no idea how
to make the most of Angel's features and who refused to listen to her ideas
either. She ended up caked in heavy make-up, which she thought made her look
like a drag queen, and Stephan piled her hair high up on her head, making
it look like a pineapple. The stylist appeared to have done nothing more than
grab a handful of underwear, and Vince, the photographer, looked like a right
surly bastard.

Jesus Christ
, thought Angel, gritting her teeth as
she considered herself in the mirror, dressed in a
red satin basque, a red fur-trimmed thong and
black patent thigh-length boots.
I look like a hooker!
She paused for a moment, trying to think. Should
she call Carrie? No, it was too late, she had to get on
with the shoot. She tottered into the studio.

'So, how do you want me?'

'I thought we'd start off with these?' Vince held
up a pair of handcuffs and ordered the stylist to cuff
her to the bed.

'Ow!' Angel exclaimed as the metal pinched her
skin. The stylist barely apologised, just stepped to
the side, watching her indifferently.

'Okay, baby,' Vince called out, 'I want you to
writhe around and lick your lips.' Angel rolled her
eyes – she hated being called 'baby' – but she did as
she was told. Then it was off with the cuffs and he
ordered her to slip a hand inside her thong and
half close her eyes. Then he wanted her on all fours
on the bed, pouting at the camera and thrusting
her arse into the air. She did everything he asked
for without complaining, but felt increasingly
uncomfortable and angry. She hated the way he
wanted her arranged like some porn star. It was so
tacky. She especially didn't like doing all this in
front of the two male journalists from the magazine
who had turned up to watch the shoot, their beady
little eyes feasting on Angel's beautiful body.

When Vince was satisfied with what he'd got, he
told her she needed to change into the next outfit.
God knows what that will turn out to be
, thought Angel
grimly,
a rubber bondage suit?
She pulled herself
together and marched over to the photographer.

'Before I do anything else, Vince, I'd really like
to see the Polaroids,' she said firmly. He looked like
he wanted to refuse her request, but when she
didn't back down, he reluctantly handed her a pile.
Angel flicked through the pictures with an expert
hand. Finally, she looked up at Vince, fixing him
with a furious look.

'I look like shit!' she exclaimed. 'I'm supposed to
look sexy, but not like I'm advertising a sex
chatline! There's no way I'll go with these pictures.
You've done it your way, now please can we try it
mine? Then we'll see what looks better.' She
ignored his pissed-off expression and stalked back
into her dressing room. She slammed the door,
marched into the tiny bathroom and started wiping
off the layers of make-up. She hated when
photographers didn't want to hear her opinion and
treated her like some dumb bimbo. She'd been in
the business long enough to know what worked and
what didn't.

When she emerged from the bathroom, calmer
and with a clean face, she asked Stephan to give her
a kind of Bardot look with dark, smoky eyes and
pale glossed lips. He pursed his lips dismissively,
but did what he was told. She waved away the
stylist, rifling through the piles of underwear and
finally settling on a pair of white lace French
knickers and a white silk camisole. She found a
diamante collar, which she put round her neck, and
she took down her hair and wore it loose. When she
came back, the two journalists looked suitably
impressed. She looked sensational. The white set
off her gorgeous, tanned limbs and her white-blonde
hair and it was a thousand times sexier than
the garish red underwear.

She started her shoot by kneeling on the bed in
the vest and knickers, looking dreamily at the
camera, then started experimenting, first with
removing the camisole and covering her breasts
with her long blonde hair, then taking off the
knickers but putting the vest back on and lying on
her stomach, so the camera got a shot of her long,
tanned legs and pert bum. Finally, after ordering
the two men from the magazine out of the room,
she took everything off except her diamante
necklace and lay back against the pillow, with her
hair fanned out and with her hand covering her.

'And? How does it look?' She was in a better
mood now, pleased with herself for taking a stand.
She wrapped herself in the sheet and padded over
to Vince, who was considering the Polaroids.

'I think we'll go with the white,' he replied
casually. That was it, no apology for wasting her
time, no acknowledgment that she'd been right all
along. She allowed herself a tiny smile and turned
to go, when he said, 'But I want a different
backdrop and different bedding, so the stylist will
have to go out and get it right now.'

What? He was doing that just to piss her around,
wasn't he? He couldn't take the fact that she'd
openly humiliated him by doing the shoot her own
way. Bastard. Angel checked the clock on the studio
wall: four o'clock already. This really was the
longest day in history. She took a deep breath,
faced him and tried to keep her voice even. 'Okay,
but I have to finish by half past six, it's my brother's
engagement dinner and I can't be late.'

'Sure, whatever,' said the photographer. 'We'll
be done by then.'

Of course, they weren't. The stylist didn't get
back until half past five and then took for ever
sorting out the bed. Vince made Angel do all the
poses again, even though she was convinced that
her first shots were the best ones, and she was
getting angrier by the minute, sure that he was
doing this out of spite. At half past seven, they were
finally done. She had just twenty minutes to get to
the restaurant and absolutely no time to go home to
shower and change.

'Oh God, what am I going to do,' she groaned,
running into the changing room without giving the
photographer another glance. The stylist took pity
on her and lent her a vintage silver sequined shrug,
which she suggested Angel wear over the white
camisole, along with her low-rise jeans and her
silver Ginas. Angel brushed out her hair, applied
some clear lip gloss, and left on her dramatic black
eye make-up. A dash of her favourite Chanel
perfume and that was it. She hoped the silver shrug
would make it look as if she'd gone to some effort,
but she knew her dad wouldn't approve of the jeans
or the amount of cleavage she had on display. He,
like Gemma, had not liked the idea of her having a
boob job and the last thing Angel wanted to do now
was draw attention to her breasts. At least she had
had the foresight to tuck Tony and Gemma's
engagement present in her bag when she'd left that
morning: first-class Eurostar tickets to Paris and a
weekend at the Ritz. She knew that Gemma had
always wanted to go to Paris but that Tony had
never got round to taking her. Perhaps, if she
flashed the envelope around a lot, it would take
everyone's attention away from the fact that she was
underdressed for the Savoy.

She felt her stomach knotting with anxiety as she
sat in the taxi, contemplating a quick hit-and-run
on one of the shops they passed. But there was no
time, really, she was already going to show up
seriously late as it was. And she had so wanted
tonight to go well. Her parents had only met
Mickey a few times and she sensed that her dad
hadn't taken to him. She paid the taxi and raced
into the restaurant, oblivious to the admiring looks
of the other diners as she ran to her table.

'About time, too,' was all her dad said when she
arrived breathlessly. He and her mum were sitting
at one end, opposite Gemma's mum and dad,
Jeanie and Bill. Tony, Gemma, Cal and Simone
were grouped around the other. There were two
empty chairs.

'Sorry,' she said, bending down to give him a
quick kiss and then kissing her mum. 'I was doing
a shoot and although I said I had to leave on
time, it completely over-ran. Isn't Mickey here yet?'

Her dad shrugged and she looked at Tony, who
shook his head.
Fuck
, she thought. The evening
couldn't have got off to a worse start as far as she
was concerned.

'Lovely to see you, Angel,' Jeanie said, getting up
to give her a hug.

'Looking lovely as ever,' put in Bill kindly. Angel
smiled at both of them gratefully, and greeted the
rest of the table, but the air was decidedly tense as
she slipped into her seat.

To make matters worse, she found herself sitting
opposite Cal and Simone. Taking in Simone's chic
black Galaxy dress and very subtle make-up, she
wished that she was wearing her black dress. Why,
oh why, she cursed herself, had she not just taken
her outfit to the shoot, just in case?

Cal smiled at her. 'What was the shoot for, then?'

'
Tackle
,' she replied.

'And you wore?' asked Simone, arching a
perfectly shaped eyebrow, her voice heavy with
innuendo.

You really are a cow
, thought Angel again. It
seemed to be the only thing Angel could think in
her presence. She turned sideways, so that only one
half of the table could hear her.

'I wore a smile, and this,' she replied, touching
her diamante collar.

'Oh, God,' groaned Tony. 'Don't let Dad hear
you!'

'Don't you mind posing nude?' Simone persisted.

Angel shook her head. 'It's my job. It's what I do.
And it's not like I show everything! I'd never do any
top-shelf stuff!'

'I can't imagine it,' Simone exclaimed. 'I'd be so
embarrassed!'

'But you're an actress,' put in Gemma, smiling at
Angel. 'Haven't you ever had to take your clothes
off for a role?'

'No, I have not!' replied Simone –
a little too hotly
,
thought Angel. 'I have a no-nudity clause in my
contract.'
Hmmm
, Angel wondered,
perhaps Miss Goody
Two Shoes has some skeletons hidden in her cupboard?
Many actresses started out doing topless modelling to
pay the rent. Why would Simone be any different?
With any luck, a celeb mag would get hold of photos
one day soon, and then her smug, self-satisfied
expression would be wiped right off her face.

'So where's Mickey? Held up in the studio?'
demanded Simone loudly, obviously keen to
change the subject while still trying to find something
that would get Angel into trouble.

'Probably,' said Angel coolly, not rising to take
the bait but taking a large sip of her champagne
instead.

'I saw the match last weekend, Cal. That was a
great goal, but then their defence was woeful, wasn't
it?' She addressed Cal directly, openly excluding
Simone. So she showed up half an hour late and her
boyfriend still wasn't here, keeping everyone from
ordering, and she wasn't dressed for the occasion,
but that didn't mean that she wasn't more than a
match for Simone, the cow.

Simone giggled, ignoring the jibe. 'Don't tell me
you're interested in football, Angel?'

'Of course she is,' Cal retorted. 'Look at who her
dad and brother are – and you were even quite a
good little player yourself, if I remember correctly,
weren't you?'

'I don't know if Dad would agree with that.'
Angel smiled, enjoying Cal's defence of her and the
sulky look on Simone's face. But her mini-triumph
was short-lived. Her dad grumpily called out from
the other end of the table that they'd give her fella
ten more minutes and then they'd be ordering,
with or without him.

Angel nodded. 'He'll be here, Dad,' she said, but
under the table she crossed her fingers and prayed
that Mickey would get here any minute now.

Mickey finally arrived when they were halfway
through the starters. He made a great show of
greeting everybody, double-kissing all the women,
including Michelle, who blushed, and ostentatiously
shaking the men's hands. Finally he gave
Angel a kiss on the lips and sat down, saying with a
disarming smile, 'I'm so sorry, everybody, I was
held up in the studio.'

Angel was very aware of Tony, Cal and her dad
sizing up Mickey. She knew her dad would
absolutely hate the way he was dressed – a white shirt
unbuttoned to the chest, showing off his tanned,
smooth skin, jeans that hung so low he showed off
his tight white Calvins, and brilliant white trainers
that had clearly never been used for any real
exercise. She also knew that Mickey's carefully
tousled dark-blond hair with its highlights and his
heavy silver bracelet and selection of rings would go
down like a lead balloon with her dad, who was of
the old school when it came to male grooming,
considering anything other than deodorant downright
poofy. Sensing their disapproval, Angel started
being deliberately attentive towards Mickey, fussing
over him, sharing her starter with him and pouring
him a large glass of champagne.