‘Sure you are,’ I say, drily. ‘So back to Christian. Have you guys really known each other since childhood?’
‘Yep.’
‘Wow. It must’ve been weird for him when you became famous.’
He shrugs and leans back in his chair.
I giggle. ‘I don’t know how I’d cope with seeing my best mate become a worldwide sex symbol…’
He chuckles and reaches out to finger the stem of his wine glass. He’s not being very chatty.
‘It must be so nice, though, to have that sort of history with someone. Have you always been best mates?’
He turns down his mouth and nods his head, then lifts up his wine glass and swirls the wine around. He takes a sip.
He clearly doesn’t want to talk about Christian. I don’t know why.
‘Nice wine,’ I remark, changing the subject.
‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘So what about you?’ he asks. ‘Got any friends since childhood?’
‘Just one,’ I answer. ‘My friend, Bess. We met at secondary school, though, so I haven’t know her as long as you’ve known Christian.’
‘Tell me about your ex-boyfriend.’ He smirks.
I smile and lean backwards in my chair. He leans forward and puts his elbows on the table.
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Why did you split up? Six months ago, was it?’
‘That’s right.’ I take a mouthful of wine.
‘Who called it off?’
‘It was kind of mutual.’
‘Bullshit.’ He grins. ‘You finished it, didn’t you?’
I laugh, outraged. ‘No, it was mutual!’ I insist, and lean forward again, reaching for the bread. I can see he doesn’t believe me. ‘We just ended up being more like brother and sister,’ I explain.
He looks at me, his green eyes sparkling in the candlelight.
‘It was mutual,’ I state again.
‘I can’t imagine any hot-blooded male having brotherly feelings towards you, Meg. Maybe he’s gay.’ He winks and pours us more wine.
‘Tom is not gay.’ I sigh. ‘He was a nice guy. He
is
a nice guy. We’re still friends,’ I tell him, determinedly.
‘Friends,’ he humphs. ‘Poor old Tom is probably just waiting on the sidelines, hoping you’ll take him back.’
‘Stop it!’ I laugh.
‘How old is he?’
‘Twenty-four.’
‘Just a baby. You need a real man,’ he jests.
‘
I’m
only twenty-four, remember.’
He shakes his head. ‘I still don’t believe it.’
I don’t answer, but inside I’m pleased.
‘When was the last time you spoke to him?’ Johnny asks.
‘Just before I came over here,’ I reply. ‘I must give him a call to touch base soon.’
‘You tease,’ Johnny says.
‘I am not a tease! He doesn’t fancy me anymore!’ I insist.
‘Whatever you say, Nutmeg, whatever you say.’
‘Nutmeg?’
‘Yep, Nutmeg. It suits you. In fact, I think that’s what I’ll call you from now on.’
‘Shall I call you JJ, then?’ I hit back.
‘Not if you want me to answer.’
I laugh. ‘Okay, enough about my love life. What about yours?’
‘I don’t talk about my love life, Nutmeg. You should know that. A celebrity like oneself should never divulge personal details.’
‘That’s so not fair.’
‘Life isn’t fair,’ he says, melodramatically and sits back to make room for the waiter who has just emerged with our food.
Johnny sticks to his word about not drinking more than a couple of glasses, so by the time we finish our meal, I’m feeling quite warm and fuzzy.
On our way out, I’m determined to see if I can spot any celebs.
She looks a bit like…No.
Is that? No.
Wait! Yes! It
is
Ben Affleck!
Before I can stop myself, I nudge Johnny eagerly.
‘What?’
‘Is that Ben Affleck over there?’
He peers through the crowded tables. ‘Uh-huh.’
At that moment Ben glances up and sees Johnny. He lifts up his hand in recognition and Johnny does the same.
The paparazzi are out in force as we walk down the steps, but this time I don’t care: the wine has tripled my confidence.
One of the valet attendants brings the bike around and Johnny climbs on, pulling his helmet over his head. I do the same, then he kicks the bike into action and we roar off, flashbulbs popping in our faces. I actually find myself laughing.
‘What?’ He tilts his head back to hear me.
‘Nuts!’ I shout.
He laughs and pulls up at a red light. I see a flash go off out of the corner of my eye and spy a photographer pointing his lens at us from a black people carrier.
‘We’ve got company,’ I say.
‘I know,’ Johnny answers. ‘Hang on.’
The light turns green and he speeds across the intersection, leaving the photographer standing. I hear the car wheels squeal as he sets off in pursuit of us. At the next intersection Johnny runs through an amber light. I look back to see the driver slam on his brakes. He skids halfway across the pedestrian crossing, but is fortunately clear of oncoming vehicles.
‘Bloody hell!’ I screech.
‘Wanker!’ Johnny shouts. He takes a right at the next junction
and heads down some quieter back streets, just to make sure we’ve lost him. It seems we have.
I relax into him as he rides out of the city and joins the highway. I press my face into his leather jacket, the scent of it filling my nostrils. I wrap my arms tighter around his waist.
‘Where are we going?’ I shout.
‘I want to show you something,’ he shouts back.
We take an exit and start winding up into the hills. A sign tells me we’re on Mulholland Drive, and then I look to my left and get a clear view of the city; the multicoloured lights sparkle in the darkness.
After a while Johnny pulls up in a lay-by and kicks his bike stand down. He hops off and removes his helmet, hanging it over his handlebars. I swivel my legs across and he stands in front of me, smiling as he unbuckles my helmet. He puts his hands on my waist and helps me down, then steps over a low wall and climbs a few metres down the slope. There’s a big boulder off to one side and he sits down on it, patting the space beside him.
We sit side by side in comfortable silence for a minute or so, staring down at the lights.
‘Sometimes I come up here to write,’ he says, eventually.
‘Do you?’ I ask. ‘Doesn’t anyone spot you?’
‘Not so far. It’s quite amazing,’ he comments.
‘How is the writing going?’ I ask.
‘Not bad.’
‘Will you play me some of it sometime?’
He glances across at me and I wonder if he’s going to make a crack about my taste in music, but he looks away again.
‘Maybe,’ he answers. ‘In fact I’ve been thinking we should get away. Go to Big Sur or somewhere, just take a break from the city.
I need to put my head down and crack on with the writing now, and I can’t concentrate round here.’
‘Sure, okay.’ My voice is calm, but inside I feel a rush of excitement at the prospect of going away with him.
‘Maybe Christian would be up for coming over, too,’ he muses.
‘That’d be nice,’ I say. I’d really like to see him again. ‘Do you think he’ll bring his girlfriend?’ I ask.
‘I doubt it.’ Johnny’s tone hardens.
‘Why not?’ I press.
He remains silent.
‘You’re a funny one,’ I say, smiling. ‘Why don’t you just tell me?’
He sighs. Finally he glances sideways at me, studying my face. ‘Christian and I have a bit of bad blood when it comes to women.’
‘You didn’t shag one of his girlfriends, did you?’ I blurt out.
Johnny doesn’t answer.
‘You did, didn’t you?’
‘Mmm,’ he replies.
‘Bugger,’ I say, trying to play it down a little. ‘How did that happen?’
‘Ah, it was fucking stupid,’ he says, running his hands through his hair. ‘We had this flirty thing going on. It never seemed to bother Christian.’
Because he trusted you, I’m thinking.
‘Then one night I got pissed and came on to her.’
‘She could have turned you down,’ I point out, trying to make him feel better.
‘She did. I was pretty persistent. It was just as Fence were really starting to make waves in the industry. I had a big head. Even bigger than I have now,’ he says, self-deprecatingly. ‘I thought I could have anything I wanted.’
‘And you wanted her,’ I add, simply.
Silence.
‘Well, she obviously wanted you too if she went along with it.’
‘Guess so.’ He scratches his chin. ‘But she seriously regretted it. I tried to apologise the next day, but the guilt was too much for her. She came clean to Christian and that was it. I lost my best mate.’
He reaches down and picks up a stone from on top of the boulder and hurls it down the slope. Then he continues. ‘I came back from band practice to find he’d moved all his stuff out of the flat.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘I don’t know. He and his girlfriend broke up. I tried calling him, but he never answered his phone and eventually he changed his contact details.’
‘What, he never talked to you about it? Shouted at you? Beat you up?’ I ask in disbelief.
‘Nope. Nothing. He just disappeared off the face of the earth.’
‘Bloody hell,’ I say.
‘I tried to get hold of him through his parents, but they effectively told me to go fuck myself.’
‘
Really?
’
‘Well, not quite. But his mum did say I should leave Christian alone. Give him some space. And then things with Fence really took off, we went on tour and I just kind of moved on.’
‘God,’ I say. ‘So when did you get back in contact?’
‘Well, you know about my breakdown.’ He gives me a wry look.
‘I’ve read a little about it.’
‘Well, after the band split I kind of fell into a black hole. It took a couple of years for me to climb back out again.’ He says it
so matter-of-factly. ‘And then when my solo career took off I just always felt like something was missing. I lost contact with the band–that was messy,’ he explains. ‘And I didn’t feel like I had any friends.’
‘It must’ve been lonely,’ I say.
‘Yeah, well, I brought it on myself, Nutmeg,’ he responds, flippantly. ‘Anyway, eventually I saw a piece Christian had written for the
NME
.’
‘About you?’ I ask, warily.
‘No. He never wrote about me,’ he states. ‘But I followed his work for a while and after a really long time, I plucked up the courage to email him.’
‘Did he email you back?’
‘Yeah.’
‘So what happened? How did he come to forgive you?’
‘Hmm. I still don’t think he has.’
‘Seriously?’ I ask. ‘What, even after you apologised?’
He shifts on the boulder, uncomfortably. ‘I never actually apologised.’
‘Oh.’ I say.
‘I know. It’s shit of me,’ he admits. ‘But it really
was
weird. We never talked about it. He was cool straight away, and seemed genuinely pleased to hear from me. And I was so happy to have my mate back that I didn’t want to rock the boat by bringing up the past.’
‘I can understand that,’ I say. ‘When was this?’
‘A couple of years ago.’
‘Wow. That recent? Well, at least you’re friends now.’
‘Yeah. He’s the only person who I truly trust.’ I hear sadness in his voice.
‘Is he really the only person you trust?’ I don’t believe it. Surely it’s just one of those things famous people like to say. ‘What about your family?’ I ask. ‘Blood being thicker than water, and all that.’
‘I don’t have any family. My dad always was a fuck-up and a half. My mum’s dead. My aunty–my mum’s sister–died of breast cancer two years before Mum did. Dad was adopted. Grandparents passed away. Only had them on Mum’s side because Dad ran away from home at the age of fifteen. And that’s it, really. Christian was the closest thing to a brother I ever had.’
We sit in silence for a while as I take this in. My heart goes out to him.
‘Anyway, fuck!’ he says, suddenly. ‘What are you doing, getting me to talk about all this bullshit. Come on.’ He gets up and stretches, looking away at the city lights. I stand up. I want to say something to comfort him, but find I don’t have the words, so in the end we walk silently back to his bike and he takes us home.
The next morning I lie in bed for a while, contemplating the events of the night before. I feel differently about Johnny after he opened his heart to me, and at the moment I don’t think there’s anything I want more than for him to trust me the way he trusts Christian. I want to feel closer to him. It’s not just a silly physical attraction thing anymore. I actually care for him. I’m desperate to see him today.
I go down to the office feeling like I’m in a dream state, unable to concentrate. A call from a journalist snaps me out of it. He wants to know who Johnny was with at the Ivy last night. I laugh and tell him it was me, just his PA. That Johnny fancied a pizza and Serengeti was out of town so I went along to keep him company. It all sounds very fair to me, so I hope the gossip columnists see it like that. I wonder what the protocol is for this sort of thing. Should I put out a statement or wait for people to ask? I Google Johnny Jefferson and am surprisingly under-prepared to see pictures of myself getting off his bike. ‘Who’s that girl?’ one person has written. I clap my hand over my mouth in shock and peer closely at the screen.
‘What’s the damage?’ Johnny asks from the doorway.
My head shoots up to look at him. I suddenly feel shy.
He comes into the office and puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘You alright, Nutmeg?’
‘Oh, yeah, yeah, I’m fine!’ I answer, overenthusiastically in an attempt to mask my discomfort. I’m glad he’s remembered the nickname he gave me.
He calmly pulls up a chair and I budge across for him. He’s wearing his trademark sunnies in the house again.
‘Chuck us that,’ he says.
I pass him the mouse and he starts to click. He chuckles at the sight of the first picture, one of me walking into the restaurant behind him.
‘You look like a rabbit caught in the headlights.’ He turns to me and grins, but I can’t see his eyes behind his dark glasses.
‘You make me laugh with your sunglasses,’ I tell him.
‘Hey?’
‘You. Wearing your sunnies in the house.’
He moves them to the top of his head. ‘Better?’
‘Ooh, no, not from the state of those bloodshot eyes,’ I say in an overly camp fashion.
He grins and slides them back down again, continuing to browse the gossip sites.
‘That is so embarrassing,’ I say eventually, and rest my head on my hands.
‘Don’t be embarrassed,’ he says. ‘It’s fucking funny when you think about it.’
‘I hope Serengeti thinks so.’
His mobile starts to ring. He glances down at the caller ID and
laughs. ‘We’re going to have to see about that.’ He flips his phone open.
Serengeti is clearly furious.
‘Yeah, I fancied a pizza,’ he tells her, calmly. ‘She’s my PA. It’s her job to accompany me.’ He looks across at me and winks. I smile back at him, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl. If he’s not bothered, why should I be? We haven’t done anything wrong, so if Serengeti has a problem with it, big deal.
After he’s hung up, he leans back in his chair and surveys me. I reach for my diary.
‘So, don’t forget you’ve got a check-up at the doctor’s at one o’clock today, and a soundcheck for MTV at three.’ He’s recording an acoustic set for them next week.
‘Mmmhmm,’ he says, looking at me calmly.
There’s a knock at the door and we look up to see Rosa standing there, smiling warmly at us.
‘Coffee for my kids?’
‘Yes, please,’ we chorus.
‘Come on, let’s go and join her in the kitchen,’ Johnny suggests as soon as she leaves.
He takes his sunnies off as we stand up.
‘Your eyes really do look a bit painful,’ I say. They’ve been looking like this since yesterday morning. ‘Shall I get you some drops?’
‘Er, sure, okay,’ he replies.
I go and hunt some out in the medicine cabinet and head to the kitchen. Johnny is sitting at the table and Rosa is fiddling with the coffee machine.
‘Tilt your head back.’
He does. I hold his face still as I apply a couple of drops to one red-tinged eye.
‘Ouch,’ he says, blinking furiously. I dab at the corner with a tissue and then attend to the other eye. His face is warm and tanned, and the two-day-old stubble on his jaw rubs against my palm. I look back into his eyes to find him staring at me.
I let go of his jaw and turn around to see Rosa watching us quietly.
‘Here you go,’ she says, putting our coffees on the table.
I pull up a chair and sit down. I feel nervous for some reason.
Johnny taps his long, tanned fingers on the table and doesn’t say anything. I find I’m a bit lost for words, too. I take a sip of coffee.
Rosa breaks the silence. ‘How did your concert go?’
I realise Rosa hasn’t seen Johnny since the day of his comeback gig.
‘Yeah, yeah, really well, thanks,’ Johnny answers.
‘Did a lot of people turn up?’
‘We had a good crowd. Shit, Meg,’ he says abruptly.
‘What?’
‘I forgot. I can’t go to the doctor’s today because I promised TJ I’d drop round before the MTV gig. Can you rearrange for later in the week?’
‘Sure, I’ll sort it.’ I stand up.
‘Thanks,’ he says.
I leave the room, feeling Rosa’s eyes boring into my back.
When Davey turns up later that afternoon, Johnny’s nowhere to be seen.
‘Do you know where Johnny is?’ I ask Rosa. She’s chopping onions in the kitchen and has her back to me.
‘He went out on his bike,’ she says, shortly.
‘What do you mean? Davey’s here to pick him up for his MTV soundcheck.’
‘You’d better send him away, then.’
‘Is everything alright, Rosa?’ I’m a touch anxious now. The tone in her voice is making me feel uncomfortable.
‘Look, Meg.’ She turns around, waggling a large chopping knife. ‘It’s none of my business, but you be careful.’
‘What do you mean?’ I play dumb.
‘All’s I’m saying is, that Johnny, oh I love him an’ all, but you don’t want to get involved.’
‘Rosa, I would never—’
She gives me a look that stops me dead in my tracks.
‘Alright,’ I say. ‘Alright.’
Johnny doesn’t come back that night, and the next morning Rosa comes to tell me that he’s gone away.
‘How long for?’
‘Shouldn’t be more than a few days. Hard to tell with that boy.’
‘Why didn’t he call me?’ I ask, feebly.
‘I don’t know, Meg.’
‘But he’s got an interview tomorrow, will he be back for that?’ I feel like a moody teenager, complaining to her mother.
‘I don’t know,’ she admits. ‘Perhaps you’d better reschedule.’
I don’t understand. Why would he just go off like that? And why didn’t he tell me? I feel quite ill.
On Wednesday, there’s still no sign of Johnny. After I’ve cancelled his interview and the journalist has made sure I’m fully aware of how much of an inconvenience it is, I sit there staring into space for a while. I try to pull myself together and do some work, so I log onto Facebook. Johnny’s Hotness rating has gone through the
roof. I should be delighted, but my heart’s not in it. For the first time since I arrived in LA, I feel a pang of homesickness. I wish Bess was here. I decide to call her. It’s Wednesday night in the UK.
‘We were just talking about you!’
‘Really?’ My mood immediately improves at the sound of her bubbly voice. ‘Who’s “we”?’
‘Serena and me. I was just saying there’s no way—’
‘Who’s Serena?’ I interrupt.
‘Oh, sorry, I forgot you don’t know her. She’s new at work. Anyway, I was just saying there’s no way you’d go for a romantic dinner with Johnny Jefferson at the Ivy without calling me to chat about it afterwards.’
‘Er…’
‘You DIDN’T!’
‘Well, not a romantic dinner. He just wanted some company because Serengeti was out of town.’
‘MEG!’
‘What?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘There wasn’t anything to tell.’
I really don’t want to talk about this. Johnny leaving has taken the shine off the whole event.
‘So what happened? Serena said you went on his motorbike?’
‘How does Serena know about it?’
‘She saw it on Samson Sarky and recognised you from your photo.’
‘What photo?’
‘The one of you and me by the pool in Italy that’s on your dressing table. So what was the motorbike—’
‘Why was Serena in my bedroom?’ I butt in.
‘Oh.’ Bess falls quiet. ‘Sorry, I forgot to tell you. She was looking for somewhere to live. I hope you don’t mind, but I told her she could move in on the weekend.’
‘Of course I don’t mind,’ I assure her, although it’s not exactly how I feel. We were always going to rent my room out temporarily, but I didn’t expect it to happen quite so soon after I left. ‘If she wants to use my sheets and things to get her by until she buys some, that’s cool,’ I say, feeling generous.
‘Sure, okay,’ Bess says, and I detect something in her voice.
‘Oh, do you mean she’s already moved in?’
‘Yes, this weekend just gone.’
‘Oh, right! Sorry, I thought you meant this weekend coming.’
‘Yeah. That’s okay, isn’t it?’ she asks.
‘Of course!’ I try to sound light-hearted. ‘She’s already been using my sheets, then!’
‘Erm, yes. Sorry,’ Bess says uncomfortably, ‘I honestly didn’t think you’d mind.’
‘Not at all. Bess, seriously, it’s alright. Why didn’t you mention it when we spoke on Saturday, though?’
‘Sorry,’ she says again. ‘I just forgot. Are you sure it’s okay?’
‘Yes, it’s fine. Listen, I’d better go. I should be working.’
‘You still haven’t told me about the Ivy!’ she gripes.
‘Some other time.’
I hang up feeling worse than I did before I called her. Sorry, but
no
. I
don’t
like the thought of some other girl who I’ve never met sleeping in
my
bed, using
my
sheets, only two and a half weeks after I’ve left the bloody country! The more I think about it, the more worked up I feel.
Oh, maybe I’m overreacting. It’s not that big a deal. Bess was
always going to get a new flatmate. I’m just feeling a little out of sorts at the moment.
I wonder when Johnny will be home.
On impulse I pick up the phone and dial a number. The person at the other end picks up on the second ring.
‘Hi, Tom, it’s Meg.’
‘Meg!’
‘Hi! How are you?’ I ask, feeling better again.
‘I’m really good. How are you? How’s your job?’
‘It’s cool.’
‘Are you all settled in now?’
‘Yeah, pretty much.’
‘I was just talking to Lucy the other day. She said to say hi to you.’
Lucy is Tom’s stepsister.
‘Did she? That’s nice.’
‘Yeah, she can’t believe you’re working for Johnny Jefferson. She didn’t want to seem cheeky by asking, but if there’s any way you could get her a signed pic, I know she’d really love it.’
I still feel a tinge of sadness after speaking to Bess, but Tom’s warm voice is going a long way towards cheering me up.
‘Of course,’ I reply. ‘What’s she up to these days, anyway?’
‘Well, you know she’s back with James…’
‘What?
No!
’
‘No, I’m only kidding.’
‘You bastard!’ I laugh. James was Lucy’s old boyfriend. He was a nasty piece of work.
‘She and Nathan have just been over,’ Tom tells me.
I met Nathan the Christmas before last. He is a lovely guy.
‘Are they still property-developing in Oz?’ I ask.
‘Yeah. And here, too. In fact, they’ve just finished a barn conversion in Somerset, and now they’re back in Australia, ready to tackle the next project. Anyway, you didn’t call me to talk about my stepsister, did you?’
‘No, sorry. I just felt like a chat.’
‘You’re not homesick already?’
‘Is it really that obvious?’
‘Yes, Meg, I can hear it in your voice.’
‘What do you mean? I’ve been really chirpy!’
‘You think you have, but you can’t fool me.’
Dear Tom, he knows me so well.
‘I hope that rock star is being nice to you,’ he warns.
‘He is,’ I say. ‘Everything’s been good. It’s been amazing, in fact. Oh, you know…I guess I just feel a long way from home sometimes. But I don’t want to talk about me. How are you? What have you been up to? How’s your love life?’ I force extra verve into my voice for the last question.
‘Funny you should say that…’ he says, and I can tell he’s smiling.
‘What? You haven’t got a girlfriend!’
‘I’ve just started seeing someone, yes,’ he replies, sounding a bit too pleased with himself.
‘Oh wow, Tom, that’s great. Do I know her?’
‘No. We met at Nick’s birthday bash. She goes to university with him.’ Nick is Tom’s younger brother. ‘You’d really like her,’ he adds.
‘What’s her name?’ I can’t help but feel a little empty inside.
‘Caroline. Carrie for short. I’ll introduce you next time you’re over.’
Not a flash-in-the-pan kind of relationship, then.
‘When
are
you coming over?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know,’ I answer, truthfully.
Bill said I could go back in three months to sort my flat out, but with our trip to Big Sur, recording the new album and going on tour later in the year, I don’t actually know if I’ll be able to get away.
‘Listen, Tom, I’d better get on with some work.’
‘Hey, are you okay?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine!’
‘You don’t sound fine, Meg. You don’t mind me getting another girlfriend, do you?’ he asks, concerned.
‘Of course not!’ I reply hotly.
‘Well, okay, then…’ He sounds unsure. ‘I mean, it was always going to happen at some point, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, Tom! Seriously, it’s fine.’
I know I sound aggravated now, and if I’m being truly honest with myself, I am. It’s not that I want him back. I’m not even jealous of his new girlfriend. But I did think I’d be first to find someone else.
Dammit, I must stop feeling sorry for myself! Look where I am! Look what I’m doing! Think of all the people who would kill…
I sigh. I guess I’d better get some work done.
I log onto MySpace and start trawling through Johnny’s comments.