Angel (25 page)

Angel knew she was a terrible liar, but found
herself saying that she had only taken drugs once –
the night of the threesome. She knew they didn't
believe her and they kept pressing her on it.

At one point Sue leant over to her and touched
her arm. 'Look, Angel, it would be far better if you
were honest with us now. Either we'll find out or
someone else will and it won't look good. The
public hate a liar.'

'Well, Sue,' Angel replied, trying and failing to
look her in the eye, 'I'm sorry to disappoint you, but
I really don't take drugs. I'm a vodka girl, that's all.'

Sue raised her perfectly-shaped eyebrows in
disbelief and tapped her long red nails on the table
in irritation. 'Okay, have it your way, Angel. Now,
let's get back to the threesome – there are one or
two more details we need.'

After three hours they were through with Angel.
She dreaded to think what they were going to write
about her. She had pleaded with Carrie to get her
copy approval of the piece, but Carrie had snapped
that that had never been part of the deal. As soon as
Angel had closed the door on them she dashed into
the bathroom, desperate for a line.

That's funny
, she thought, as she took out the bag
of coke from its hiding place in the laundry basket,
I'm sure we had much more than this.
There was barely
enough for three lines, she calculated. She took a
couple of lines and then wandered towards the bedroom
to ask Mickey about the coke. When she
opened the door, she stopped abruptly, gazing
around her in disbelief. Mickey wasn't there.
Furiously, she pulled open the wardrobe. None of
his clothes were there. The bastard had obviously
done a runner. Where would he go, though? Back
to England? She shrugged – she didn't really care –
but she was frantic now for the rest of the coke.
Quickly, she searched through the bedside cabinet,
but there was nothing. She picked up her phone
and there was a text from him:
Sorry babe, had 2 go
back 2 London 4 work, hope press shit went ok x
. Angel
threw her phone on the sofa in a fury; she was
certain he was lying. He was hardly likely to board
a plane with a great stash of coke in his suitcase.
He'd probably checked into a hotel and kept the
drugs all for himself. Coke had been the one thing
making her stay in this place bearable; she simply
didn't think she could remain here without it, but
Carrie had told her not to leave until her side of the
story was published in a day's time. She counted
her money: she had five hundred pounds. She
reached once more for her phone and dialled Si's
number, begging him for his Spanish contact,
explaining that Mickey had left.

After several frustrating attempts, Angel tracked
down Si's contact. He refused to deliver again as it
was only five hundred pounds' worth this time and
said instead that he would meet her at the Tiger
Bar in an upmarket part of Malaga. Angel knew she
shouldn't leave the apartment, but decided she had
no choice. Realising she would stand out more in
her scruffy clothes, she showered, put on make-up
and chose a red silk dress with spaghetti straps and
a pair of jewelled flip-flops. She completed the look
with her huge dark glasses and a prayer that there
were no journalists hanging around the bar.

She felt quite giddy as she stepped out of the
front door and onto the street. It was nine o'clock
at night and Malaga was buzzing with people all out
to have a good time. She managed to hail a taxi. As
she sat back, all she could think about was the
dealer and the coke. It was five hours since her last
fix and her nerves were jangling. The contact had
told her he would be sitting at a table just inside the
bar. Feeling apprehensive, she got out of the taxi
and made her way inside. It was dimly lit and for a
moment she had difficulty seeing anything, so
reluctantly she took off her sunglasses. The contact
was sitting on his own and he raised his glass to her.
Nervously, she sat down at his table.

'You've got the money?' he demanded in
strongly accented English.

'Yes,' she replied. 'Five hundred.'

'Okay, I'll get you a drink, make things look
normal, and then we'll do the exchange.'

He nodded at the waiter and Angel ordered a
Diet Coke.

'You must be pretty pissed off with your boyfriend
doing a runner like that. He must be stupid
to leave a beautiful girl like you all on your own.'

The very last thing Angel wanted to do was to
make small talk with this man, whose eyes kept
flicking greedily up and down her body, making
her wish she'd worn her hoodie.

She shrugged, grateful when her drink arrived.
The dealer obviously wanted to carry on talking,
but Angel cut across him.

'I'm sorry but I have to get back to the apartment.
Do you think we can do the exchange now?'

Reluctantly, the dealer nodded. Angel reached
into her bag and pulled out the envelope of cash,
passing it to him under the table. He slipped it
inside his magazine and surreptitiously counted it.
He nodded his head once he'd finished, then
passed a package under the table back to Angel,
which she put straight into her large beach bag.
Just as she was getting ready to leave, a camera
went off in front of her, the flash temporarily
blinding her.

Shit
, she thought, panicking.
Press.

'Who's your boyfriend then, Angel?' a voice
called out. Sue must have been watching Angel's
apartment. The dealer pushed Angel out of the
way and ran out of the bar muttering Spanish
expletives. Angel tried to follow him, but saw to her
horror that the street outside was crawling with
press. She turned back into the bar and tried to
push her way past Sue. 'Come on, Angel, you can
see them all outside, why don't you and I have a
nice little chat and then we'll get you somewhere
safe, where no one else can bother you.'

'Fuck off,' Angel spat.

'We know he's a dealer. Getting your fix, were
you?' Sue wheedled.

Angel was saved from having to reply as two
security guards appeared and manhandled Sue out
of the bar, much to her great disgust. 'You can't do
this to me,' she shrieked, 'I'm press!'

Trembling, Angel sat at a table as far away from
the window as possible. Tears pricked her eyes as
she wondered how on earth she was going to get
out of the bar and back to the apartment. She put
her head in her hands, feeling totally lost.

Suddenly a voice she recognised called out her
name. She looked up and to her complete amazement
she saw Juan standing before her.

'I thought it was you! This is such a coincidence.
It's like that line in Casablanca – of all the bars in all
the world you had to walk into mine! What are you
doing here?' Juan beamed at her, but Angel's face
crumpled as she burst into tears. Juan immediately
sat down next to her and put his arm round her.

'What's wrong? Why are you crying?'

'Oh, Juan, I'm in such a mess,' she sobbed.

Somehow she managed to tell Juan something of
what had happened to her. If he was shocked about
the drugs, he didn't show it, but instead held her
hand and stroked her hair soothingly.

'Listen, you can come back to my apartment and
stay there, the press won't find you; we'll go out of
the back entrance.'

Drying her tears, Angel murmured, 'Thank
you.'

Half an hour later, Angel was curled up on Juan's
sofa while he made her a hot chocolate and an
omelette, refusing to take no for an answer, saying
that she looked far too skinny and pale. All Angel
could think about was that she hadn't had her fix
yet. Checking that Juan was busy in the kitchen, she
grabbed her bag and nipped into the bathroom.
This is the last one
, she told herself,
the very last one
.
When she emerged, Juan was setting the table.

'Won't my being here be a problem with Rosa?'
Angel asked.

'Rosa's away, but I will tell her. And, no, it won't
be a problem.'

Angel smiled and sat down. Just being close to
Juan and seeing his warm smile lifted her spirits
slightly; it seemed ages since she had seen a friendly
face. To her surprise, she actually managed to eat
the omelette and finish the hot chocolate. But when
she caught Juan looking at her, she was taken aback
by his serious expression.

'I think we should get rid of the drugs you
bought tonight, Angel. You've got to stop.'

Angel felt cold and sick. 'Juan, I can't, please
don't make me. I'll do it tomorrow.' She wasn't
even convincing herself.

Juan shrugged and said, 'The trouble is,
tomorrow never comes, does it?'

Angel tried to disagree, but Juan suddenly
seemed weary and told her he was going to make
up a bed for her.

As Angel pulled on one of his T-shirts and
crawled into bed, she felt sadness wash over her.
She was alienating everyone she was close to. Juan
used to adore her but now seemed disappointed in
her. What was she doing? She longed for
reassurance, for love. She longed to feel someone's
arms around her. She was lost.

She didn't wake until eleven the next morning.
Juan was drinking coffee and reading the paper
when she walked into the living room. After he
asked her how she was feeling, he told her he had
called Jeanie in Brighton at her salon to let her
know Angel was okay, got Gemma's number and
then called her.

'What?' Angel exploded. 'You had no right to do
that!'

'She's been worried sick about you, Angel – all
your family have. They don't care about the story in
the press; they just want to know that you are all
right. They want to help.'

'I don't need anyone to help me, there's nothing
wrong with me!' Angel shouted, but even as she
spoke she was aware of how empty her words
sounded. She did need help. Pretending to storm
out of the room in tears, Angel rushed to the
bathroom, quickly took out her stash and laid out a
line, hating herself for doing it, but at the same time
unable to stop. She was startled by Juan knocking at
the door, and, quickly hiding her stash once more,
she opened the door.

'Listen, Angel, I have to go and open up the
bar, but I'll be back in a couple of hours. I'll go
to your apartment and pick up your clothes.
I've made you some hot chocolate. Please phone
Gemma.'

Angel nodded, thinking,
No way
.

After Juan had left, she took a long shower and
put on her red silk dress. It was hot outside and
Angel went and lay on a lounger on Juan's
balcony. It was good to feel the sun on her skin.
After a while, making sure that she couldn't be
seen from the street below, she slipped off the
dress and lay back down on her stomach. She felt
herself drifting off to sleep, only surfacing when
someone called her name. She looked up, rubbing
her eyes. Expecting to see Juan, Angel had the
shock of her life when it was Cal who walked onto
the balcony. Feeling completely disorientated
from the sun and the sleep, she sat up, forgetting
that she was naked.

'What are you doing here?' she demanded, then,
realising her compromising position, she quickly
grabbed her silk dress and slipped it back on. Cal
had turned away and she said, 'It's okay.'
Yet again
Cal had her at a disadvantage.

'I've come to take you home,' Cal replied.

'I'm perfectly capable of getting on a plane by
myself,' Angel snapped.

Cal sighed and sat down on a chair facing Angel.
He was wearing dark glasses and she couldn't see
his eyes.

'I don't think you are. Unless you stop now,
you're bang on course to ruin your life.'

Angel forced a laugh. 'Oh, come on, don't be so
melodramatic. This is just a blip.'

'Don't you remember what your real mum was
like when you met her?' Cal said seriously. 'Christ,
what about my mum? Do you really want to end up
like them?'

'I'm not like them!' Angel retorted.

'Okay, prove it to me. We'll get rid of the drugs
right now – this stops here in this apartment.'

'No,' Angel said quickly. 'I just need a few more
days to get my head straight, and then I'll stop.'

'You never will if you have that attitude.'
Suddenly Cal got up from the chair and headed
back into the apartment. With a horrible realisation
dawning, Angel ran after him, but he was already in
the bathroom, rifling through Juan's things, clearly
searching for her drugs.

'No!' Angel shouted as he opened the bathroom
cabinet and found her stash in the bag of cotton
wool where she'd hidden it. He held the drugs over
the toilet bowl, ready to drop them in. She grabbed
his arm, frantically trying to reach for the drugs,
but Cal was too strong for her and he shook the
powder out of the plastic bag and flushed it away.
Angel slumped back against the bathroom wall,
sobbing hysterically.

'What did you do that for? I was going to stop.'

'Be honest, Angel, you weren't,' Cal said gently,
then walked over to her and took her in his arms.

'Shush, it's going to be all right. I've got flights
booked for tomorrow morning and I've booked
you in at a clinic.'

Angel buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed
harder.

'Here, drink this; it will make you feel better.' Cal
handed Angel a cup of tea. She sat curled up on the
sofa, suddenly feeling cold and shivery. Juan had
dropped off her clothes before going back to his
bar, but she hadn't brought anything warm with
her.

'I've found this as well, thought it might take
your mind off things.' Cal held up a Scrabble board
and Angel couldn't help smiling.

'Yeah, right, like my addiction to a class-A drug
can be beaten by Scrabble. Thanks, Cal, but I really
don't think so.'

'Come on, it would be better than moping on the
sofa, or are you afraid I'll beat you?'

An hour later, the pair of them were fully into
the game and to Angel's secret satisfaction, she was
winning by ten points. Cal was sitting at the other
end of the sofa and every time it was his turn to
come up with a word, Angel found herself gazing at
him. He had recently had his already short hair
shaved close to his head, making his rich brown
eyes, with their long lashes appear even more
striking. He was taking care of her. The contrast
between him and Mickey came home to her and she
realised that she'd been having a relationship with
a boy. Cal was a man. He'd even interrupted his
training to come over and bring her home. Angel
thought he had never looked so handsome or so
unobtainable. How could he have any respect for
her now? He had seen her at rock bottom, he knew
about the threesome and the drugs. What chance
could she possibly have with him?

'Hey, no need to look so serious, you're
winning.' Cal suddenly looked up at her.

Not wanting to show how upset she was, she
quickly made up an excuse. 'Actually, Cal, I'm
knackered, I'm going to go to bed.' She got up from
the sofa and walked towards the bedroom. At the
door she paused, turned round and said, 'Thanks
for everything.'

'We all just want you to be okay, Angel,' he
replied.

Why
, she thought as she got into bed,
couldn't he
have said
I
want you to be okay? Because
, said a mean
little voice inside her head,
he's only doing this for
Tony and Gemma. He doesn't care about you, and why
would he? Look at you: you're pathetic
.

Three hours later, Angel was still unable to get to
sleep. She felt cold, anxious and paranoid. It had
been six long hours since her last fix and she felt as
if she was unravelling. She needed something to
calm her down. Unable to lie still any longer, she
got out of bed, tiptoed past Juan's bedroom, past
Cal lying on the sofa and into the kitchen. She
opened the fridge and poured herself a glass of
wine, took a deep slug and was just about to go back
to the bedroom when Cal whispered, 'You can't
sleep either, then?'

She started and replied, 'No, I feel too wound
up. What's your problem?'

'This sofa is killing my back.'

Angel considered her reply for a few seconds,
then said, 'Well, you can share my bed if you like,
it's a double.'

'Thanks. If I stay on this sofa much longer I
doubt I'll ever walk again.'

Angel got into bed first and curled up on the far
side of the bed, hardly daring to breathe. Even with
the curtains drawn, the room was still light from the
street lamp outside, so she was able to surreptitiously
observe Cal getting into bed. He was wearing
black Calvins that hugged his body and barely left
anything to the imagination. His naked torso
looked muscular and smooth and she longed to
touch him. She had made sure that she was occupying
as little room in the bed as possible, but as soon
as he got in she could feel his warmth.

'Goodnight then, Angel.'

'Goodnight, Cal.'

Half an hour later, Angel was still awake and
acutely conscious of Cal lying next to her. If only
she dared, she could reach out and touch him. She
listened to him breathing. Was he asleep?

'Can't sleep still?' Cal whispered.

'No, I feel too stressed,' she lied.

Cal moved towards her. 'I could give you a
shoulder massage, if you like. Our physio's taught
us how to do them – they're good for getting rid of
tension.'

It was probably the last thing in the world that
would help Angel relax, but she found herself
agreeing and turned over onto her tummy. She
was wearing a vest and French knickers, but as
soon as Cal slipped the straps from her shoulders
and touched her back, she felt as if she was lying
there naked. As his strong hands massaged her
back she felt consumed with desire. She longed to
turn round and kiss him.

'You feel really tense and knotted up,' Cal told
her, pressing hard on her shoulders. Angel willed
herself not to think about Cal touching her skin.
Imagine it's a really old man who's doing it, a really old,
ugly man
, she tried to tell herself, but Cal's hands
didn't feel like an old man's . . .

'How does that feel now?' Cal asked after a few
more minutes of massaging her.

She turned round to face him. It was now or
never, she decided, as she reached up and, putting
her arms round his neck, pulled him towards her
and pressed her lips against his.

Don't resist
, she willed him,
please don't
. And he
didn't. He kissed her back, she definitely wasn't
imagining it. Their kiss started off slow and tender,
built up and became hot and deep. Now Angel
could caress his body, and she ran her hands down
his back, pressing her body against his, and she
knew he was as aroused as she was. But suddenly
Cal was pulling away; he was sitting up on the bed,
his head in his hands. He sighed deeply and
muttered, 'Angel, this is a really bad idea – it's not
what you need right now. Sorry.' And to Angel's
intense disappointment, he got up and walked out
of the room.

Needless to say, Angel didn't sleep for the rest of
the night. It wasn't until six that she finally drifted
off; her last thought before sleep finally came to her
was how on earth was she going to be able to face
Cal in the morning? After what seemed like ten
minutes but turned out to be two hours, she woke
to Cal telling her they had half an hour to get to
the airport. Angel had a hurried shower – there was
no time to put on any make-up or agonise over
what to wear, she just had to grab her jeans and a
vest and tie her hair up in a ponytail. Cal was
waiting in the lounge when she emerged from the
bathroom. Angel could hardly bring herself to look
at him.

He cleared his throat. 'About last night—'

'I'm so sorry,' Angel butted in. 'It was all my
fault—'

'No,' Cal cut across her, 'I don't want you to
think that. It was both of us – in fact, if it was
anyone's fault it was mine. The last thing you need
at the moment is for me to behave like that. Can we
just forget it?'

Angel nodded, but inside she was thinking it was
like a cruel rerun of their encounter in the
Brighton club. Was he interested in her? Or did the
fact that she so obviously wanted him seem like too
good an offer to turn down? And how would she
ever forget that kiss, or what his body had felt like,
or his touch? She wasn't ever likely to forget the
experience – it was burnt into her skin. As they
drove to the airport and checked in, Angel kept
hoping that Cal would have something else to say
about last night, that he would admit that he
couldn't just forget what had happened either. But
he said nothing. He was withdrawn and serious and
Angel didn't know how to reach him when he was
in that mood, so she pretended to watch the inflight
movie and read a magazine.

'I've arranged for you to go straight to the clinic
when we land – a car will be picking you up,' Cal
finally said when they were half an hour away from
Heathrow. 'It's better to start the treatment as soon
as possible, I believe.'

Cal sounded so cold and detached that Angel
couldn't believe he was the same man as yesterday,
who had comforted her and made her laugh and
then kissed her like no one else ever had before.

'Sure,' she replied, suddenly frightened about
what to expect.

'Don't worry,' Cal said, as if he had read her
mind. 'You'll be fine. You're a strong person,
Angel, and I know you can beat this.' And he gave
her the briefest of smiles.

And that smile was all Angel had to go on for a
month.

The first week in the clinic was the hardest. She
didn't want to confront her problem; she didn't
want to take responsibility. But one thing she did
take responsibility for was ending her relationship
with Mickey, and the first night she was in the
clinic, she asked to use the telephone (she'd had to
hand in her mobile). They let her use it, and while
someone hovered close by to make sure everything
was okay, she rang Mickey. He didn't answer
his phone, so she had to leave a message.
Pity
, she
thought, because she had wanted to tell him
exactly how she felt and hear his reaction.

Her message was simple and to the point; she
spoke calmly and firmly. 'It's over, Mickey. I never
want to see you again.'

Over the next few days, she was helped by Jim,
one of the other patients, a thirty-year-old TV
producer who had been in the exact same place two
months earlier. He had been to several rehabs in
the past and relapsed straight afterwards and he
painted a grim picture of what life could be like if
she didn't get treatment.

'I lost all my friends, because they hated what
I'd become. All I ever did was borrow money or
steal from them so I could buy drugs. My girlfriend
left me and took our son with her – I
haven't seen him for a year. All I cared about was
my next fix. It isn't a life, Angel.'