Christmas on Primrose Hill (27 page)

Jamie had DM-ed her several times to check she’d got out OK, little understanding that no one had had any interest in her the second she was no longer with him, but her replies had been muted. What had happened this morning had left her rattled. No, more than that, scared. How could he live like that, only safe with a bodyguard in tow, only safe for as long as he wasn’t recognized? And she knew he must never get to go unrecognized; his looks made people stare before they even clocked who he was.

‘Nets?’

‘Huh?’ She realized Dan had asked her something again.

‘If you’ve got plans, it’s cool.’

‘No, no,’ she said quickly. ‘I mean, Jules and I were going to see the new Bond tonight, but I don’t think, now . . .’ Her voice trailed off at the thought of seeing Jamie again, tonight, those things he’d said. She felt at war with herself, her nerves shredded. It would be so easy to go along with it all, allowing herself to be swept up in the glamour and excitement of a fantasy coming true, but hadn’t this morning showed her that real life would always intrude? She couldn’t pretend this was normal, and after this morning, neither could he.

She inhaled sharply, her mind made up. ‘Sounds good.’

He relaxed into a smile. ‘OK to hang at your place? I’m out of coal, so it’s a bit chilly . . .’

She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s fine. Dad’s engrossed in
HMS Victory
anyway. I don’t think he’s ever going to leave the kitchen again.’ She locked the glass door and pocketed the small key. Dan was standing still, watching her. ‘You OK?’

He blinked. ‘Yeah. Yeah. I’ll see you over there, then,’ he said, pulling the hood up on his puffa and walking backwards towards the door. ‘Toffee vodka, right?’

‘I would kill you,’ she laughed.

‘Don’t I know it,’ he grinned, turning on his heel and ducking his head low as he stepped out into the snow.

The flame flickered weakly in the black arched Victorian fireplace. Theirs was one of the only houses in the square to boast a ‘real’ fire, but the wood her father had last picked up at the service station wasn’t aged and it hissed and spat sparks out onto the orange Boucherouite rug.

Dan had ‘baggsed’ the sofa and was stretched lengthways across the orange velvet chesterfield, his feet dangling over the end and a bowl of crisps resting on his stomach. A fresh pint was positioned in perfect reach of his hand on the floor.

Nettie was huddled in her mother’s favourite chair, hugging a cross-stitched cushion that read, ‘Fall down seven times. Get up eight.’ Her face was pointed in the direction of the telly, but she had yet to notice that Dan had surreptitiously switched it over to the football highlights, his eyes sliding over to her every so often, grateful and incredulous that she hadn’t realized. She was still distracted by Jamie’s last message – the one she hadn’t responded to, checking that she was still coming tonight.

‘Hungry yet?’ Dan asked, trying to get her attention.

‘Hmm? Oh, no . . . Unless you are. I can eat if you want to.’

Dan frowned. ‘I’ve never known you so unbothered by your stomach before. You’re not on another of those bloody diets, are you?’

‘No.’ She realized she had forgotten her fruit-only resolutions earlier in the week, although the combination of terror and lust had seemingly revved up her metabolism, as her jeans felt looser than usual.

The doorbell rang and she waited a moment for her father’s voice to ring out, saying he’d get it. But all was silent from the kitchen and she got up with a puff.

‘Probably Jules,’ Dan murmured as she slipped into the hall.

‘Yep,’ Nettie said, recognizing the slight silhouette through the frosted glass.

‘Hey!’ Jules said in greeting as she opened the door. ‘You need to get a wreath put up on that d—’ Her eyes fell to Nettie’s ‘Saturday night in’ attire – Jack Wills tracky bums, fleecy striped socks and one of her dad’s old jumpers. ‘Seriously? That’s what you’re going in?’

Nettie closed the door to a sliver, frantically shushing her and trying to keep Jules’s voice from carrying throughout the house. ‘I’m not going, I told you.’

Jules barked a sharp laugh. ‘Ha! Right, pull the other one.’ She was looking sensational in second-skin over-dyed black jeans, thigh boots and a coral-pink leather biker jacket. Her smoky eye make-up alone must have taken half an hour.

‘I mean it, Jules.’ Nettie’s voice was a whisper. ‘Dan’s here and we’re just going to have a chilled one.’

‘But . . .’ Jules was gobsmacked. ‘We had plans.’

‘Yes. To go to the cinema. I never said I wanted to go to that concert.’

‘You didn’t have to say it!’ Jules almost shrieked. ‘You were as manic as me trying to buy the freaking tickets six months ago. It went without saying . . . I thought you were joking!’

‘Sssh!’ Nettie hissed desperately, putting the door on the latch and closing it behind her as she came to stand on the step. ‘I just don’t want to, OK? Please don’t make a big deal about it.’

There was a long silence as Jules stared at her in angry disbelief as it dawned that Nettie wasn’t joking. ‘Look, what the hell happened with you two last night? You’re being dodgy as hell. One minute you won’t even look at him, the next you’re huddled in a corner, whispering on your own together, and now you’re being weird
again
.’

‘Look, I know what I’m doing. It’s for the best, Jules.’

‘Aye, aye,’ Dan’s voice piped up, the door opening wide behind her, ‘what’s going on here, then?’

‘Nettie’s bailing on me, that’s what!’ Jules fumed back.

Nettie looked between her two friends pleadingly. ‘Dan and I have got plans, Jules.’

‘
We
had plans!’

‘Different plans. And they changed, so . . .’

‘Oh, right. So I’m just expected to go on my own, am I? Rock up to the VIP area like Billy No Mates?’

‘Go where?’ Dan asked, baffled.

‘Jamie’s playing at the O2 tonight and he asked us to go, that’s what! Only, Nets is trying to make out she’s got to honour a commitment to watch telly with you instead.’

Dan looked back at Nettie with unusual scrutiny. ‘Why didn’t you say?’

‘Because I just don’t want to go, all right?’ She looked back at Jules. ‘And I’m sure they’ll all be really welcoming and friendly. It’s not like you can talk at these things anyway.’

Jules glared at her. ‘I would
never
do this to you. I’d never drop you in it, even if I was in your shoes.’

‘I’m sorry, Jules. I just . . . can’t.’

‘That’s it, is it? You can’t?’

‘Hang on, is this about last night? Did something happen?’ Dan asked, straightening up so that he towered over her in the doorway. ‘Did he try it on with you? Did he try and make you do something you—’

‘No! It was nothing like that. Really. I . . .’ Nettie shrugged hopelessly, looking back at Jules. ‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’

‘No, you won’t. Everything’s run on your terms. Your story’s so much worse than everyone else’s; no one else’s problems can possibly compete. We just have to get on with it, while you . . . you get the special treatment.’

‘Jules—’ Nettie said, her cheeks stinging like every word was a slap.

‘Forget it,’ Jules said, turning on her heel and storming back down the path, almost going flying on an icy patch. The snow wasn’t settling, but the temperatures were plummeting again.

‘Jules!’ she called, making to run after her; but she stopped abruptly in her tracks as a uniformed driver suddenly jumped out of a glistening Mercedes that was parked on the street and helped Jules to the car. Nettie’s mouth dropped as he opened the gleaming back door and Jules climbed in, disappearing behind the blacked-out windows. She’d hired a limo?

Nettie shivered as she looked onto the reflected vision of her house, wishing she could see her friend through the windows. It was a moment before she realized the driver was walking up the path towards her.

‘Hello?’ she said questioningly.

‘Good evening. Are you Dan Parker?’

Dan nodded back stiffly, reaching suspiciously for the package the driver held out to him. The driver looked across at Nettie. ‘And, Miss Watson, I was instructed to give you this in the event that you didn’t accompany Miss Grant.’ He held out a white envelope.

‘What’s that?’ she asked.

The driver didn’t reply – he probably thought she didn’t need him to tell her it was a white envelope – and she took it from him, opening it with fumbling hands.

‘Prefer mine,’ Dan mumbled, only just suppressing a grin as he tore open his package. Nettie was aware of the way he sucked in his breath as the silky red football shirt fell free of the tissue paper, black scrawled signatures – some personalized to Dan himself – all over the front.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me . . .’ he said under his breath, holding it up to the street light. But Nettie wasn’t concentrating. It wasn’t joy she was feeling at the sight of her gift, a handwritten note. It was a threat of sorts, really, and the shock made her laugh out loud.

‘
If you don’t show, nor will I.
’

She looked back at the driver. ‘This is a joke, right?’

The driver didn’t respond. Nothing about him suggested ‘jokey’.

‘He surely doesn’t mean . . .’ she faltered.

The driver’s expression was impossible to read – had he read the contents of this? – but a tiny shrug of his hands indicated he knew nothing beyond these orders.

She read the words again and again, vaguely aware of Dan reading over her shoulder. He couldn’t mean he wouldn’t go on stage tonight. Could he? He wouldn’t let down all those people . . . There was no way he could mean that, and yet . . . what other translation could there be? They hadn’t made any plans for the campaign next week. They hadn’t made plans for anything beyond tonight.

She looked back at the driver, too stunned to move.

Behind him, the rear window of the car slid down and Jules’s furious face peered out. ‘What’s going on?’

The driver arched an eyebrow. ‘I’ll wait, shall I?’

They were quiet in the car. Jules still wouldn’t look at her, and the bottle of champagne was untouched in the ice bucket between them.

‘Look, I’m sorry, OK?’ Nettie tried again, placing a hand lightly on Jules’s arm, but she snatched it away. ‘You were right. I know I’ve been selfish and . . . self-absorbed.’

Jules stuck her nose in the air.

‘You’ve had a lot going on too, I know that. Mike totally should have given you that promotion in the summer: you deserved it. We all know he’s so threatened by you he’s terrified of giving you extra power. He knows you’re the real leader of this team, not him.’

‘Damn straight.’

‘And I know it’s been really hard living without a washing machine.’

‘You’ve got no freaking idea,’ Jules muttered.

Nettie lowered her voice, knowing she was stepping onto thin ice. ‘And I also know you’re still cut up about he-who-must-not-be-named, even though you’ll deny it to the death.’

‘Oh no. I am
over
him. He was a lying, cheating
git
,’ Jules said fiercely, whipping round so quickly her own hair hit her in the face.

‘I agree,’ Nettie said quickly. ‘I never liked him.’

‘Thought he was God’s gift just because he had that sexy grin—’

‘Ugh!’ Nettie pulled a face.

‘And looked fit in the buff.’ Jules stopped talking abruptly, her eyes misting over. Nettie reached for her arm again, the gesture breaking her trance. ‘I was glad to see the back of him.’

‘Totally,’ Nettie nodded firmly. ‘He’s nowhere near good enough for you. He was punching way above his weight scoring with a girl like you, and one day, one day he’ll realize it.’

‘And it’ll be too late.’ Jules’s eyes were shining.

‘Yeah.’ Nettie squeezed her hand.

‘Way too fucking late,’ Jules murmured, dropping her gaze.

‘If he could only see you tonight, he’d die of regret on the spot.’

Jules gasped. ‘Instagram me,’ she said, contorting herself into a seductive pose. ‘And make sure you get as much of all this in as poss. It’s got to be clear we’re in a limo.’

‘Of course,’ Nettie said, twisting in her seat as Jules quickly uncorked the champagne and filled a glass to hold. She flashed a truly dazzling smile. ‘Which filter?’

‘Hefe. I always look good in that.’

Nettie smiled, relieved she’d been forgiven. ‘Done.’

She passed the phone back to Jules and looked out through the dark windows. The O2 was just ahead of them, billowing against the horizon, and they had been crawling along in heavy traffic for several minutes now. They stopped at some sort of security checkpoint and she saw the driver flash a pass, upon which a barrier was raised and they pulled into an adjoining lane, clear of traffic.

Ahead, blue lasers swung and flashed in the sky like samurai swords. This was the only place to be in London tonight, and they were VIP all the way.

Jules giggled with excitement and held up her glass as they sped up again. ‘Bottoms up, then.’

The same thing happened twice more – the driver flashing a pass to various security guards – and Nettie only just had enough time to drain her drink as they drew up to a large loading area round the back that was cordoned off and heavily guarded.

‘Here we go,’ Jules squealed as the door was opened and she stepped out, straight into a wave of noise. ‘Whoa!’ she cried, putting her hands to her ears.

‘Wow!’ Nettie echoed, doing the same.

Ron was waiting by the door, seemingly for them. Nettie smiled her thanks to the driver, wondering whether to tip him, wondering whether he’d radioed ahead.

‘Don’t worry – we’ve got some noise-cancelling headphones you can use if you want,’ Ron said as they ran up to the door, eager to get out of the cold. Nettie wasn’t in the best-considered outfit, given the very limited time frame she’d had to get ready, and she felt underdressed compared to Jules, in her boyfriend jeans, strappy heels, acid-peach T-shirt and khaki jacket.

‘Are you
kidding
?’ Jules laughed, hooking her arm through Nettie’s and dragging her onwards as he quickly turned and led them both through a long, concreted corridor. He walked quickly, the girls almost having to break into a trot to keep up.