Angel (19 page)

Mickey smirked. 'Oh yeah, I should have told
you, I put a little something in your drink just
before, to calm you down. It's a pisser I've got to go,
because having sex on this particular number is
fucking fantastic. We'll do it another time.' She
started to protest, but he just kissed her cheek and
was gone.

Angel wanted to feel angry but found she couldn't
summon the energy. The room had steadied itself
and she was starting to feel very, very mellow. She
smiled to herself and carried on sipping her water.
A group of footballers from Chelsea suddenly
surrounded her. Usually she would have hated so
many men crowding round her, but tonight, in her
altered state, she loved the attention. They were all
so lovely and she felt so dreamy. She let the men kiss
her on the cheek, take pictures of her with their
phones and buy her a drink and she sat down at
their table.

'I've got to ask you, Angel,' said one of the men,
a cocky good-looking lad with a shaved head and a
diamond earring, 'how do your tits feel?'

Angel laughed and thrust her chest forward. 'I
think they feel fucking fantastic.' Before she could
think about it, she grabbed his hand and pressed it
to her right breast. 'What do you reckon?' She
smiled cheekily.

'You're right,' he said in delight, hardly
believing his luck. 'They do feel good.'

Who knows what might have happened next, but
suddenly Angel was aware of someone behind her.
The good-looking lad immediately removed his
hand from her breast and mumbled an apology.
Angel turned round and found herself face to face
with a very serious-looking Cal.

'Angel, I need to talk to you.'

'Oh? But I'm having fun with these boys. Why
don't you join us?'

But Cal took her arm and pulled her to her feet.

'So masterful!' she said sarcastically, leaning
against him for support. Cal didn't answer, but
marched her to the deserted upstairs part of the
club and sat her down on one of the sofas in a dark,
empty corner of the room.

'Are you drunk? Tony would go mad if he saw
you behaving like that at his engagement party.'

'Oh, hello, Cal, how are you? And no, I'm not
drunk. Mickey said he put something in my drink.
I didn't know, though, so don't shout at me.' It
didn't come out quite as clearly as that and Angel
had to repeat herself several times before Cal
understood.

'You'd better have some water,' he said abruptly,
and he went off for a few minutes and returned
with a bottle of water and a glass, which he filled for
her. 'Come on, drink this. I can't believe Mickey did
that to you. I told you to be careful.'

'I feel fine, honestly,' she protested, putting the
glass down. 'Actually, I feel great. I don't often get
to spend time alone with you.' Her voice had
become low and, she thought, very seductive, and
she moved closer to Cal. Then, and it was like
having an out-of-body experience, she found
herself moving further towards him and kissing
him. At first Cal resisted, but then it seemed to her
that he gave in and kissed her back. Angel pressed
herself against him. God, Mickey was right, she felt
amazing, incredibly turned on. She pulled away
from the kiss and slid onto the floor so she was
kneeling in front of Cal. As she started trying to
unbuckle his belt, Cal grabbed her arms and tried
to stop her, but Angel was being very persistent.

'What the fuck's going on here?' All of a sudden
Tony was standing by the sofa, looking absolutely
furious. 'What the fuck are you doing, Angie?
Leave him alone, you're embarrassing him and
yourself!'

It probably would have been a good idea not to
say anything, but as Cal pulled her up, Angel
shouted, 'Fuck off, Tony, we're enjoying ourselves!'

'Get real! You threw yourself at him and Cal's
too polite to tell you to fuck off, you stupid cow.
What the hell have you taken, you're clearly off
your head.'

'I'm not off my head, and it's not my fault
anyway. Mickey gave me something, that's all.'

'You're so selfish, you ruined my dinner and
now you're ruining my party. You're just a waster
like your mother.'

'What?' Angel finally managed to get up from
the floor and faced Tony.

'Just leave it, Tony,' Cal called out warningly.

'No,' Angel said. 'I want to know what he means
about my mum.'

Tony looked at her and gave a harsh laugh.
'Mum and Dad didn't think you should know what
your real mum was like. They told you she was a
teenage mum, too young to look after you. Bullshit
– she was a junkie. And you're turning out to be
quite a chip off the old block.'

Suddenly Gemma was there. 'Stop it, Tony,
you've said enough.' Tony looked as if he had
plenty more to say, but stormed back downstairs.

Angel found that she was shaking. 'I never knew
that. Oh, God, Gemma, is that true? Am I like her?'

'No,' her friend said firmly. 'I think you need to
go home and forget about tonight. Mickey was well
out of order putting that in your drink.'

'I'll take her home,' Cal said quietly.

Suddenly Angel was overcome with shame. 'No,
I can get a taxi on my own.'

'No way,' replied Cal firmly. 'We'll go out the
back so the photographers won't see you.'

Angel was incapable of walking on her own and
finally, trying unsuccessfully to support her to the
exit, Cal picked her up, told her to put her arms
round his neck and carried her down the stairs.
Angel closed her eyes; everything was spinning
madly and she could see two Cals. Outside he
managed to get her into a waiting taxi and sat next
to her. And that was all Angel could remember.

She woke up with a splitting headache and a mouth
that felt like she'd been eating cotton wool. She
gingerly raised her head from the pillow and
lowered it back down again immediately. Oh, God.
She felt spectacularly bad. She closed her eyes and
groaned, desperately trying to remember what had
gone on the night before, but could only recall
walking into the club – the rest was a complete blank.

'How are you feeling?'

Angel's eyes sprang open. There, standing next
to her bed, was Cal, drinking coffee and looking
handsome as ever.

'What are you doing here?' she croaked,
suddenly aware that she was naked under the
duvet, except for a pair of briefs. She pulled the
cover tightly around her.

'Don't you remember? I brought you home last
night.'

'Why?' Angel asked in astonishment.

Cal looked at her, puzzled. 'You really don't
remember?'

'No,' Angel replied, feeling more and more
anxious about what had happened. 'I remember
arriving at the party and seeing Gemma and Tony
and that's it.'

'Mickey put something in your drink, and let's
just say it had a bit of an effect on you. I thought it
best if I brought you home. I was going to go back
to the party, but I really didn't want to leave you.
You were so totally out of it.'

'Oh my God.' Despite her splitting headache,
Angel sat up.

'You left Tony and Gemma's party and didn't go
back?' She groaned. 'Tony's going to kill me.'

'He's cool about it. He didn't want you left on your
own in the state you were in. Listen, I'm going to
make some tea and toast, you need to eat something.'

Angel lay back down in bed carefully. She felt so
awful she didn't even care what she looked like.
What the hell had she done last night? She had a
horrible feeling that she must have disgraced
herself in some way.

The doorbell went. It was Gemma.

'How is she?' she heard her friend asking Cal in
the hallway.

'Okay, I think, just a bit disorientated,' he
answered.

Too bloody right
, Angel thought. Then Gemma
walked into her bedroom, her face concerned.

'Hiya, Angel, how are you feeling?'

'Like shit,' replied Angel. 'And I don't know what
the hell's been going on – did you know that Cal's
here?' At that moment the man himself walked into
the bedroom, carrying a mug of tea and a plate of
toast.

'Cheers, Cal,' Angel managed to mutter.

'Listen, I've got to go to training. Don't worry
about last night, I've already forgotten about it.' He
gave Angel the briefest of smiles, said goodbye to
her and Gemma and was gone.

Angel sat up and put on her robe. Gemma sat on
the bed next to her and handed her the tea.

'Oh my God, Gemma, what have I done?'

'Drink the tea and I'll tell you. And it's okay,
everyone knows you were off your head and it
wasn't your fault.'

With a mounting feeling of dread, Angel drank
the tea.

'Okay, you've got to tell me what Cal was doing
here.'

Gemma gave a deep sigh and told her everything.
When it came to the part where she revealed
what Angel had been trying to do to Cal when Tony
found her, Angel gave a cry and covered her face
with her hands.

'I can't believe I did that. Oh, Gemma, I know I
never had a chance with him before, but now, God,
he must think I'm a complete whore.'

'I'm sure he doesn't, Angel, he wouldn't have
brought you home if he did. He was really worried
about you – we all were.'

'I can't remember him bringing me home at all.
And he must have undressed me! I feel so
embarrassed!'

'Forget Cal, there's something else I need to tell
you.'

As Angel looked at her friend, she had a sick
feeling in the pit of her stomach; she had never
seen Gemma looking so serious.

'You can't remember what Tony told you last
night, can you?'

Angel shook her head. 'I don't even remember
seeing him.'

'He was very angry when he saw you with Cal,
and he told you about your mum.' Gemma reached
out and held onto Angel's hand. 'Angel, it's not
good news, are you sure you want to know?'

'You've got to tell me,' Angel replied urgently.

An hour later, when Angel felt she had no more tears
left to cry, she forced herself to get up and take the
bath Gemma had run for her. She felt shell-shocked
by the news that her mother had been a heroin
addict. Within just a few minutes, her secret picture
of her real mother had been ripped apart. She
hadn't been a teenage mum too scared to bring up a
daughter on her own, who had always regretted
giving her baby up for adoption. She was an addict
who had abandoned her daughter without a second
thought. Angel had dreamt of being reunited with
her mum one day, discovering that they were soul
mates, finding the unconditional love she had never
felt at home. Now, that dream was shattered. Angel
felt more miserable than she ever had before.
What
was the point of any of this?
she thought as she looked
round her perfect bathroom with its very expensive
walk-in shower and the huge Victorian bath with the
authentic silver taps she had chosen so carefully.
What was the point of her perfect flat in the perfect
location? What was the point of her career, of being
famous, if you didn't feel loved? She sank onto the
floor, crying bitterly.

'How are you feeling?' Gemma asked as Angel
emerged some forty minutes later.

'I still feel like shit,' she sighed, her eyes puffy,
her face pale. 'Can we go for a walk on the Heath?
I need to clear my head.'

As soon as they left the streets behind and walked
in the fresh air, surrounded by trees and open
space, Angel started to feel slightly better. She had
been silent for most of the walk, lost in thought, but
finally she spoke.

'Gemma, I'm going to find my real mum. I've
wanted to do it for ages, and now I've got to know
the truth.'

'Are you sure?'

'I don't think I can feel any worse than I do at the
moment. I find out my mum was a junkie and probably
still is. That I was off my head and disgraced
myself in front of the man I've been in love with for
years, ruining any possible chance I might ever
have had with him. What can be worse than that?'
Angel grimaced. 'Come on, let's walk to that café
and have a drink. But, please, promise me again
that Tony was the only one who saw what I was
doing?'

'Promise,' replied Gemma, thinking that now
would not be a good time to tell her that she'd let a
complete stranger grope her breast.

For the next few weeks Angel tried to keep as busy
as possible. The moment she was alone she started
obsessing over what had happened that night with
Cal. Mickey was away touring the UK with the band
and she hardly got to see him. Whenever they
spoke on the phone, all he did was go on and on
about his career, how the band were dragging him
down. Wanted seemed to have peaked and now
they were on the slide and not selling records
as they used to. Mickey was desperate for a solo
recording contract, but so far no one wanted to
sign him. Angel was getting a little pissed off
massaging his ego, when he never seemed that
interested in
her
work. Gemma was busy planning
the wedding and working extra hours to pay for it,
so Angel only got to see her when they were
working together on shoots. If she ever had any
free time during the day, she'd go to the gym – a
different one from the one where she'd met Cal,
though. She just couldn't face him quite yet. Or
she'd go riding for hours. She bought a new horse,
Star, and kept him at a stable a few miles from
where she lived. As always, riding was great therapy
for her, a chance to escape the anxiety and
pressure. She made sure her social diary was
packed: nights out with her glamour girlfriends
and Jez, her fantastic hairdresser. Every single
invitation for premieres, charity parties, or new
product launches that Carrie passed on to her,
Angel forced herself to go to.

She also had plenty of work on, for which she was
grateful. As well as her regular tabloid and lad-mag
shoots, she was chosen as the face of an Italian
designer label specialising in watches, jewellery,
sunglasses and jeans. For the first shoot she was
flown off to the Maldives.

'It's a hard life,' Gemma said as the pair of them
sipped their Slippery Nipple cocktails in their fivestar
water bungalow and looked out at the dazzling
blue Indian Ocean after the photo shoot on the
white sandy beach.

During a rare day off, Angel set into motion her
plan to meet her birth mother, contacting the
relevant agencies. She was told it could take
several months and there was no guarantee that
her mother would want to see her. But Angel had
a feeling that she would.

Mickey was not much of a support during this
time. She had been furious with him for spiking her
drink, but when she'd tackled him about it he had
just told her to chill out.

'It was no big deal, babe. I bet you felt really
mellow, then went home and got your Rabbit out.
Next time I promise I'll be there.'

She couldn't believe he was being so casual about
it, but as she could hardly say what had actually
happened, she just snapped angrily, 'Just don't
ever do it again, okay?'

Worse than that, he didn't seem to understand
why Angel wanted to meet her real mum.

'You've already got a mum, what do you want
another one for?' he said unsympathetically on one
of Angel's visits to see him on his tour. The band
were in Glasgow for a couple of gigs and Angel had
hoped they'd patch things up a bit, would spend
some time together, just the two of them. But when
Angel flew in first thing in the morning in order to
spend as much time with him as possible, Mickey
didn't even bother to come and meet her at the
airport, but sent his car instead.

In the early months of their romance, if they
hadn't seen each other for a few days he would have
pulled her straight into bed with him, and that was
what Angel was hoping for. But when she walked
into his hotel suite, Mickey was busy getting ready
for an interview with a journalist and only gave her
the briefest of hugs.

'I've got to talk to this guy, then I'll be free, babe.
You can come with me if you want.'

As the whole point of her trip had been to see
Mickey, Angel decided she might as well tag along.

'Okay, I think that's all the information I need right
now,' the lad-mag journalist said at the end of his
interview with Mickey.

Mickey looked peeved. 'But you haven't asked
me about the next album, Dean.'

Dean shrugged. 'That's all I need for now.' He
hesitated. 'Well, seeing as you're here, Angel,
would you mind answering a few questions?'

Angel was reluctant. 'Well, isn't this article
supposed to be about Mickey?'

'Oh yes,' Dean replied hastily. 'This would just
be a small part at the end.'

Angel looked at Mickey to get his reaction, but he
muttered something about needing to use the bathroom,
got up from the table and walked out of the
hotel bar.

Dean didn't just have a few questions. His
interrogation of Angel ranged from whether she
was going to be the new Bond girl (news to her) to
what underwear she found most sexy on a man. It
lasted an hour, double the length of time he had
spent with Mickey, and Mickey himself didn't
come back. Every time she tried to stop Dean, he
would say, 'Oh, just one more little one.' Finally
Angel exclaimed, 'Enough!' and Dean, realising
he couldn't push his luck any further, thanked her
profusely and left quickly.

Wanker
, Angel thought, and reached for her
mobile. 'Hey, Mickey, where are you? I couldn't get
rid of that journalist.'

'Oh, come on, Angel,' Mickey replied nastily, 'I
bet you had a great time, talking about your
favourite subject – yourself.'

'Hey, that's not fair!' Angel was stung by his
accusation. 'I didn't want to do it in the first place
and if you had bothered to come back it would have
been a damn sight easier to get rid of him.'

'Whatever,' Mickey replied. 'I'm in the room.'

'How about I take you out for lunch?' she asked
when she saw Mickey lying on the bed, drinking
wine. And that wasn't all, she realised, noticing the
telltale white powder marks on the bedside cabinet.

Mickey shrugged. He obviously wasn't going to
make it easy for her. She tried again. 'I asked at
reception and there's a great Italian nearby. I've
booked a table.'

'If that's what you want,' he answered offhandedly.

'Oh, for fuck's sake, Mickey,' she said. 'Can't you
just forget it?'

'I suppose so, but I can't help feeling pissed off
that a journalist would rather talk to someone who
is only famous for getting her kit off than a serious
musician,' Mickey said abruptly, getting up to
collect his jacket.

Angel stared at Mickey in disbelief; he had never
spoken to her so harshly before.

'That's such a horrible thing to say. I'm a model,
and you're making it sound like I'm some kind of
prostitute!' She felt tears of hurt and anger pricking
her eyes and Mickey seemed to realise that he'd
gone too far.

'Babe, I didn't mean it to sound like that. I was
angry with the journalist, not you,' and he got up
from the bed and hugged Angel, but she didn't feel
comforted.

They were polite with each other over lunch,
except when Angel brought up the subject of his
drug-taking. He'd gone to the bathroom again and
was so long that Angel just knew he was taking
another line, and when he returned to the table she
challenged him. 'You seem to be taking a lot of coke
at the moment, Mickey. Is everything okay?'

'I'm not,' he snapped back, then added, 'Okay, I
probably am taking more than usual, but it's this
tour, I'm sick of it.'

'I know, Mickey, but you want to watch it, you
don't want to end up with a problem.'

'I'll be the judge of that,' he said abruptly.

They spent the rest of the afternoon shopping
for clothes for Mickey and pretending to be the
perfect couple. Angel had been so looking forward
to seeing him. She wanted him to show her some
affection, to take her mind off what she'd heard
about her real mum, but, if anything, being with
Mickey made her feel even worse.

Mickey's mood seemed to improve after his gig,
which went down a storm with all the screaming
girls, but instead of wanting to spend the rest of the
night with Angel, he insisted they go out clubbing
with the band. They barely said a word to each
other the whole night, because they were constantly
surrounded by people and fans. And it wasn't until
they got into bed together that they were finally
alone. Angel wrapped her arms round him,
longing to feel close to him, wanting the release that
making love would bring her, but Mickey just gave
her a quick kiss, turned over and fell straight
asleep. She lay in the darkness, unable to sleep. She
had been trying to tire herself out so much these
past weeks so that she wouldn't have any time to
think about Cal and what had happened. But lying
next to Mickey and feeling so alone, her thoughts
returned to Cal with painful inevitability. She felt a
surge of shame. Gemma and Tony were getting
married in a few months' time and Angel could
only pray that Cal would have forgotten all about
what had happened. Realising she was never going
to be able to sleep, she got up and channel-surfed,
finally going to bed at six. At nine, Mickey woke her
up, saying he had to do a radio interview.

She pulled him towards her. 'Haven't you even
got time for a cuddle?' She slipped her hands
around him.

'Sorry, babe,' he replied, pulling away, 'got to go.'

'Okay, I know you can't keep Radio Glasgow
waiting. See you soon, I guess.' Angel couldn't help
the sarcastic edge in her voice; she was fed up with
coming a poor second to Mickey's pop ambitions.

'Don't be like that,' he told her. 'I'll be back in
London soon and we can spend loads of time
together. Love you, babe.' He kissed her lightly on
the lips and was gone before she could reply.

Does he, though?
Angel wondered. It didn't really
feel like it any more.

She had her first TV appearance the next day.
She was going to be one of the contestants on a
musical quiz show. Carrie told her it would be
'good for her profile' to take part, but Angel had
her doubts. The regulars on the quiz were all
comedians who liked nothing better than taking
the piss out of the other panellists and the last
thing she wanted to do was make a complete fool
of herself. Gemma agreed to come with her as her
make-up artist, and, more importantly, to try to
keep her calm.

As soon as they arrived at the studio, Angel
regretted her decision. She felt totally out of her
depth. She and Gemma were directed to a dressing
room but before Gemma could get started on her
face, Angel had to pour herself a large glass of white
wine to steady her nerves.

'Why did I agree to take part, I must have been
mad!' she groaned.

'You'll be fine,' said Gemma. 'I bet you know
more than you think.'

'And I bet I know why they wanted to have me
on – so they could make lots of tit jokes.'

Both girls jumped as there was a knock on the
door.

It was the host, Derren Sylvester. He was a DJ in
his twenties, from Manchester – good-looking in a
laddish way, renowned for his put-downs and
womanising. He was
so
not the kind of man Angel
found attractive, though he thought he was God's
gift, and after kissing Angel and giving her a
lecherous once-over, said, 'Glad you could make it,
I've been wanting to have you for ages.'

'Yuk!' Angel exclaimed after he left. 'How oily
was he? And did you see him looking at my tits?'

Gemma agreed, pretending to throw up.

'Do you know what?' Angel exclaimed. 'If they
want tits, they can have them!' She had planned to
wear one of her little vest tops and her very low-cut
jeans, but suddenly she decided to have more fun.
She put on a white shirt, knotted just above her
navel, and unbuttoned to show maximum cleavage
and a hint of her black lace bra, a short black pleated
skirt (longer than her usual ones but still indecently
short), black over-the-knee socks, which looked like
stockings, and trainers. Gemma completed the look
by plaiting her long blonde hair in pigtails. She
looked like a very naughty schoolgirl.

'Knock 'em dead, kid,' Gemma ordered her as
the PA came to take Angel onto the set.

As Angel took her seat next to the two other
panellists on her team, she was very aware that she
was the only woman there. She had definitely been
booked so she would make a fool of herself and
make the rest of them look clever.

'I'm really nervous, I've never done telly before,'
she told Nick, her team captain, a flamboyant gay
comedian with an acid tongue.

'Don't worry, darling,' he told her, patting her
hand patronisingly. 'No one's expecting you to
know all the answers. Love the outfit by the way –
very Britney. We always have drinks after the show,
you must stay for those.' Her other team-mate was
a moody indie musician who barely acknowledged
Angel.

Then the theme music started.
It's only TV
, Angel
told herself,
nobody dies
. Derren introduced the
teams, cracking jokes about their large assets.
Hilarious
, thought Angel –
not
. And then the game
started. To Angel's enormous surprise and to
everyone else's judging by their expressions, she
got every single one of her questions right, and
buzzed in with the right answer several other times
when the other team couldn't answer. When it
came to singing the melody of a well-known song
for the captain to guess, she was pitch perfect. Her
team won and that was largely down to Angel. Nick
obviously realised that she wasn't a dumb bimbo
because at the end he insisted that she came for a
drink to celebrate. Angel made her excuses – all she
wanted to do was crack open a bottle of wine with
Gemma and have a good laugh, not spend the next
few hours in a room full of comedians all leering at
her and trying to outdo each other with their witty
remarks.

'You were fantastic, Angel,' Gemma told her
friend. 'I'm so proud of you and you looked bloody
gorgeous.'