Angel (22 page)

'So you've done all right for yourself, ain't you,
with all that modelling? Got your own place, have
you?'

Angel nodded.

'And you've got me to thank for those looks, I
looked just like you when I was your age.'

Angel pretended to sip her tea. Even when she
had discovered her mum was a drug addict, she
had still held on to the fantasy that their meeting
would be special and life-changing. She had
imagined her mother throwing her arms around
her, begging for her forgiveness, and that in spite
of everything there would be a connection
between them. Now she looked at her mother and
felt nothing except pity, and, if she was really
honest, disgust. She was just about to make her
excuses and leave when someone opened the front
door.

'That'll be Lee, my boyfriend,' her mother told
her.

A man in his late thirties, big built, with a shaved
head, a tattoo of a dragon on one meaty forearm, a
cobra on the other and a mean look in his eye,
walked into the room.

'Who's this, then?' He glared at Angel.

'She's Angel, my daughter.'

He carried on staring at Angel, then there was a
sudden flash of recognition in his hard eyes. 'Oh,
you're that glamour bird, ain't you?'

Angel just nodded, then turned to her mum.
'I've got to go, Tanya, it was good to meet you.'

She started walking towards the door, desperate
now to leave and get away from these people, but
Lee was still in the doorway, blocking her exit.

'Excuse me,' Angel said to him.

'Didn't you bring nothing for your poor old
mum, then?' he demanded, his alcohol- and
cigarette-loaded breath making her feel sick.

Angel hesitated.

'I bet your house don't look like this, does it?
Your mum could do with some new things.'

Angel bit her lip. He was a bully and she didn't
like him one little bit. She turned and faced her
mother, who was hunched on the sofa with an
eager glint in her eyes. Angel opened her bag and
pulled out five hundred pounds in cash, which she
handed to her. She'd got into the habit of carrying
around quite large sums with her because she was
fed up of being hassled at cashpoints by people
wanting her autograph or sneaking pictures of her
with their mobiles.

Immediately, Lee legged it across the room,
grabbed the money from Tanya and counted it.

'That all? I bet you could take out more with
your cash card. I could take you to the cash point
down the road.'

Wordlessly, Angel got out her purse and showed
Lee that there were no cards.

'I don't believe in them,' she lied, thankful that
something had made her leave her cards at home.
'And now I've got to go, I'll be late for work.
Thanks for seeing me.'

She walked out of the room as quickly as
possible. Once she had slammed the front door
shut behind her she ran to the lift, hit the button
and looked fearfully back at the flat. Dreading
another encounter with Lee, she decided to run
down the stairs instead, not stopping until she'd
run all the way through the council estate.

As soon as she hailed a taxi she rang Gemma, but
frustratingly, she was on voicemail. She then tried
Mickey, who was back from tour at last.

'Can I see you?' she asked.

'Sure, babe, come on over.'

What Angel really needed was someone to talk to,
someone who'd help her make sense of the meeting
and her own conflicting emotions, but Mickey was
far too preoccupied with getting ready for a glossy
magazine awards ceremony, where he was going to
be presenting one of the awards. He barely paid
any attention to Angel's account of what had
happened and she finally lay on the bed knocking
back wine in a desperate attempt to numb her
feelings, while Mickey tried on numerous outfits
and demanded her opinion.

Honestly
, she thought,
he's worse than a girl!

Finally he chose a white suit and a black shirt,
then exclaimed, 'Aren't you going to get ready?'

'Oh, Mickey, I've had such a shit day, I really
don't want to come.'

'But they're expecting you!' he said angrily.
'Come on, we'll get a cab to your place right now.'

'I'm too pissed.'

'Well, why don't you have some of this, it will
sober you up.' Mickey flung a small white packet at
her.

Not giving herself time to think about the irony
of snorting coke, just hours after leaving her junkie
mother, Angel laid out a line on Mickey's bedside
table. She just wanted to forget that today had ever
happened and she didn't want to be alone.

The awards night passed in a blur. To the outside
world Angel must have looked like she was having
a ball, dressed to thrill in one of her revealing
outfits. She was wearing a white shirt of Mickey's,
pulled in at the waist with a big black belt, tiny gold
shorts and gold Gucci heels. She deliberately
messed up her hair to give it that 'just got out of
bed' look and emphasised her eyes with false eyelashes
and lots of liner – slutty but sexy. She chatted
and laughed and flirted her way through the night.
She drank steadily and periodically retired to the
bathroom with Mickey for more of the other stuff.
She didn't want to think, all she wanted was to close
the door on her feelings, terrified of what might
come out if she didn't. Mickey's presentation went
well and he was pleased with himself. When they
finally got back to Angel's flat in the early hours of
the morning, they made love for the first time in
ages. Angel longed for him to tell her that he loved
her, but as soon he had finished he turned over and
fell straight asleep again.

In the morning Angel felt like hell. Her raging
hangover was made worse by the fact that she was
flying out for a really important shoot today for
M
,
a gig Carrie had been trying to get her for ages. It
was the most upmarket of the lad mags, more
sophisticated and stylish than its rivals. She was due
to fly to the South of France later that morning.

'Oh, God, Mickey,' she groaned, trying to force
down a slice of toast. 'What am I going to do?'

'Hair of the dog, babe, it's the only way,' he said,
laying down a line of coke on the bedside table.

'But I've never taken it in the morning – that's
the slippery slope, isn't it? I don't want to end up
like my mum!'

'Don't be soft,' he replied unsympathetically,
more concerned with arranging his hair in the
mirror. 'It's only one morning.'

He's right, isn't he?
Angel told herself. It was an
emergency, it would never happen again. She took
it without further hesitation and was able to
shower, get dressed and make it to the airport on
time. Gemma was already waiting at the check-in.

'Why didn't you call me back last night? I was
really worried, you sounded so upset on the phone.'

'I went to an awards night with Mickey, I'm
sorry, we got back late.'

'Oh, is that why you look like shit?'

Angel groaned. 'Just promise me you can put me
back together again, please.'

'I'll do my best,' Gemma replied tersely. 'And
when we get on the plane I want to hear how it went
with your mother.'

But when they boarded the plane and were
settled in business class, Angel was reluctant to tell
her friend. Partly because she was worried about
being overheard and partly because she didn't want
to reveal just how awful the meeting had been.

'Let's wait until we're at the villa, I don't want
anyone hearing us.'

Gemma seemed to understand and listened to
music while Angel flipped through a pile of celebrity
gossip magazines. Suddenly she froze, looking at a
picture of Simone and Cal, photographed leaving
an exclusive London restaurant. Cal had his arm
protectively round Simone and they were both
smiling away. ARE THEY OR AREN'T THEY?
demanded the headline in huge letters. Feeling sick,
Angel anxiously read on. The article was asking if
Cal and Simone were engaged; apparently the 'lovestruck'
couple had been seen poring over rings in
Tiffany's, and had then been spotted at a number of
stately homes – allegedly looking for wedding
venues. When Simone was asked directly by a
journalist if they were engaged, she would neither
confirm nor deny the rumours.
A sure sign
, Angel
thought bitterly,
that the rumours were true
.

She held up the page for Gemma to see.

'Is this true, then?'

Gemma scanned the article quickly.

'God, I've got no idea.'

'Oh, come on, Tony's Cal's best friend, he would
know!'

'He hasn't mentioned it to me, and I would think
he would, don't you? You know you can't believe
some of the stuff those magazines come up with.'

Angel flung the magazine away from her. The
thought of Cal marrying Simone was like a knife in
her heart. She knew she didn't stand a chance with
him, and she was with Mickey anyway, but that
didn't mean she could bear the thought of anyone
else becoming Mrs Bailey. Depression washed over
her. Gemma would soon be married, several of her
other friends were also engaged, but there was no
hint that Mickey had plans to ask her – not that she
was sure if they even had a future any more. And
meeting her mother and now this picture of Cal
and Simone. All of a sudden she felt horribly alone
and the hangover was making her feel so much
worse that she wanted to crawl back under her
duvet and pull it over her head.

'Cheer up!' Gemma exclaimed. 'It's probably not
true. I bet you the journalist asked Simone and
she's so desperate for Cal to ask her that she
planted the whole story.' Angel hung her head
miserably. 'Come on!' Gemma told her: 'This is the
shoot you've been wanting to do for ages, don't
blow it because of some stupid article.'

They were staying at the place where the shoot was
taking place the following day. It was a stunning
location. The white modernist villa was built round
a dazzling aquamarine infinity swimming pool and
the surrounding gardens were full of orange trees
and purple bougainvillea. As soon as they got there,
the people from the magazine fussed around them,
pouring them ice-cold drinks and showing them to
their luxurious rooms. Once she'd had a quick
shower, changed into a bikini and hit the pool,
Angel felt slightly better. Her head cleared and as
she surveyed the beautiful gardens and breathtaking
views of the Côte D'Azur, it almost felt like
the meeting with her mother had never taken place.

They all had supper outside on the terrace in the
warm night air and Angel made sure she stuck to
water. She really didn't want to blow the shoot
tomorrow and at ten, she decided to hit the sack.
She had to get up at six to get ready and this was one
night that she definitely needed her beauty sleep.

She slept for nine hours, but instead of feeling
refreshed when she woke up, she was strangely
agitated and unsettled. Thinking it was just the
consequence of meeting her mum, she tried to
block it out. But at breakfast she had very little
appetite and could only manage orange juice and
some fruit salad instead of her usual bowl of
porridge. Then it was off for hair and make-up.
Naomi, the stylist, wanted her hair poker-straight
and so the hairdresser spent a long time blowdrying
it and using straightening irons to achieve
the look. Then it was Gemma's turn to get started
on her make-up.

'You're very quiet,' she commented to Angel,
brushing foundation on her face. 'Are you okay?'

'Yeah, fine,' Angel muttered, feeling anything
but. She really needed something to perk her up,
otherwise this was going to be a bitch of a day. She
and Gemma still hadn't had their chat about
Angel's mum.

Half an hour later, Gemma had done her usual
fantastic job. Angel's skin looked golden brown and
flawless, her eyes were stunning with shimmering
eye shadow and long lashes, and her lips were
seductively glossed.

'See?' said Gemma. 'You'd never know how
trashed you were.'

Next the stylist Naomi came in holding up the
first outfit for the shoot – a tiny white bikini, which
Angel was to wear with a gorgeous emerald necklace.
Gemma went to get some water and Angel
took the opportunity to whisper to Naomi, 'I'm
feeling a bit strung out, do you have anything?'

Knowing exactly what Angel meant, Naomi told
her to go to the bathroom and she would find what
she wanted in the cabinet. Seizing her opportunity
before Gemma returned, Angel rushed into the
bathroom, found the coke and quickly took a
line. She sniffed and rubbed her nose and almost
at once the agitation she had felt disappeared.
It's because of seeing my mum
, she told herself.
This
is just to get me through the day, I haven't got a problem.

Angel gave one of her very best performances in
front of the camera that day; she oozed sexuality as
she posed in the different bikinis and jewels. After
the white bikini and emeralds came a tiny black
one, which she wore with a diamond choker and
matching bracelet; a hot-pink one, which she wore
with a gold chain around her waist; and a silver
one, which she wore with a pair of diamante heels.
Finally the photographer wanted to do a series of
topless shots. Because they didn't want to get
Angel's hair wet, she was sprayed with water so her
skin glistened, then photographed emerging from
the pool – a twenty-first-century Venus, the water
cascading off her beautiful body.

'I think those are some of the best pictures you've
ever done,' Gemma told her friend when the shoot
was finished.

'You think so?' Angel asked, but feeling inside
that it was true. Later that night, after another
alfresco supper, everyone involved with the shoot
went to a chic club in Nice. To celebrate the day's
success, Angel drank quite a bit of champagne,
expecting to feel relaxed and mellow, but once
again the nagging feeling of agitation returned. So
when Gemma was chatting to someone else, Angel
quietly asked Naomi if she could get her something.

'I'll give you the money,' she said, discreetly
handing her a wad of cash. Looking over at Gemma
still talking, Angel got up and followed Naomi to the
bathroom, where the two locked themselves in a
cubicle. Naomi laid down two lines and handed
Angel a small package of her own.

For the rest of the night, Angel felt fantastic. She
hit the dance floor and danced for ages, flirting
with the journalists from the magazine who were
there to interview her. Then she rejoined the group
at the table and carried on drinking heavily. At one
point she noticed Gemma looking at her warningly,
but Angel just smiled back, raising her glass to her
friend.

The next morning she felt rough, but she had her
emergency supplies and was able to laugh off
her hangover. After breakfast she and Gemma were
driven back to the airport. Angel couldn't help
noticing how unusually quiet Gemma was being.

'Are you okay?' she asked her friend.

'I'm fine, I was thinking about you.'

'Why? I'm okay,' Angel said quickly.

'You seemed so different last night,' Gemma
replied, still thoughtful.

'I was just letting my hair down, you know, after
all that shit with my mother.'

'Well, I don't know, because you still haven't told
me.'

Realising there was never going to be a right
time, Angel quickly told Gemma about the meeting
with Tanya. Gemma looked shocked but Angel felt
strangely detached.

'And how do you feel now?' Gemma asked,
concerned.

Angel shrugged. 'I'm all right, I just want to
forget about it.'

'Don't you think you should talk to someone
about this? What about Michelle?'

'No way. Like I said, I just want to forget it. I
don't want to give her any more head space, she
doesn't deserve it,' Angel told her friend abruptly.

As soon as they landed at Heathrow, Angel
texted Mickey to let him know she was on her way
round. She couldn't wait to see him, although deep
down she knew that this was less about wanting to
be with him and more about getting her hands on
his supplies of coke.

She had barely embraced him when she asked if
he had anything on him.

'Of course, babe, it's in the bathroom, help
yourself.' He tried to kiss Angel, but she was a
woman on a mission and pulled away, hurrying to
the bathroom, desperate for a fix.

Mickey laughed at her when she re-emerged.
'Babe, you're going to have to get your own supply
sorted, I'll give you my dealer's number. He'll
deliver to your house.'

'No, I don't want it! I just need some now,
because I'm tired and still stressed out from seeing
that vile woman,' Angel replied hotly.

'Okay, whatever.' He shrugged.

'So what are we doing tonight?' she asked. Now
she'd had her fix, she was up for some partying.

'We could go to Buddah if you like.'

'Cool, I'll go home and get changed and get the
car to come and pick you up around ten.'

Back home, Angel slung her Louis Vuitton overnight
bag in the corner of her bedroom; she
couldn't be bothered to unpack. She poured herself
a glass of wine and took a shower. She was a
beautiful golden brown from having been in the sun
and decided to make the most of it by wearing as
little as possible. She chose a white midriff-baring
halter-neck top and white pleated mini and her gold
Guccis. She called the chauffeur service she always
used to book a driver and limo for the night. Half an
hour later, Chris came and picked her up in the
limo and they drove round to Mickey's. As soon as
he sat down next to her in the car, he checked that
the screen separating them and Chris was closed
and pulled a small package out of his jacket.