I don’t know what I expected. For him to stop me from leaving, beg me to stay, tell me he made a mistake?
But no, in the end he’s the one who cuts the strings.
Later, on the plane, I stare out of the window, trying not to cry. I only lasted six months in this job–even less than Paola–and now I’m going home a failure.
Sadness presses into me, devastatingly, silently. I fold my arms across my chest and squeeze, tightly, trying to dispel the pain. It doesn’t work. I feel like it’s crushing me, and no one can help me release the pressure. I can’t talk about what happened with Johnny to anyone. Apart from him, Christian is the only person who knows about us, and that makes me feel unbearably, excruciatingly alone.
‘Mum says you lost your job.’
‘I didn’t lose my job, I quit,’ I patiently explain to my sister down the phone.
I’m sitting on the sofa at Bess’s place. It’s been my bed for the last month. Serena was away for the first two weeks, but she’s back now, and it’s kind of crowded. I need to find somewhere else to live, but I just can’t get motivated yet.
After watching daytime TV and working my way through several bags of Haribo Kiddies’ Mix, I finally got off my arse a week ago and found a job. My first port of call was Marie, my old boss. She spent the first couple of minutes going on and on and on about her brilliant new PA, which did nothing for my self-esteem, I have to tell you. When I finally got a word in edgeways to inform her I was out of work, it rendered her speechless with guilt.
‘Do you know what?’ she said finally, trying to be helpful. ‘I’ve just finished a job for the owner of a private members’ club in Soho. He said he was looking for staff. I can give you his number, if you like.’
Marie thought he meant clerical staff, but when he told me he needed waitresses, I thought, ‘Why the hell not?’ I’m fed up with looking after one person all the time. Okay, so with waitressing, you’re looking after a whole bunch of people, but at least it’s not personal. They come, they tip and they leave, and that’s just the way I like it.
‘I can’t believe you never called me!’ Susan complains.
‘Well, you never called me, either,’ I tell her.
‘I didn’t want to bother you. Mum always said you were so busy.’
‘I
was
busy,’ I admit. ‘Anyway, I can talk now. What have you been up to?’
‘Why did you lose your job?’ she asks, going back to Johnny.
‘It just didn’t work out,’ I say.
‘Come on, tell me what happened…’
‘You know what, Susan, I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to. I signed a confidentiality clause.’
Big mistake. Now she thinks something did happen and spends the next few minutes trying to get it out of me.
‘Tony’s angry you never got him a signed album,’ she says, eventually, referring to her annoying husband.
‘I didn’t know Tony wanted a signed album.’ I sigh.
‘You would have done if you’d called…’
Here we go again. Oh, it’s great to be home.
I haven’t heard anything about Johnny in the press. He’s been surprisingly quiet. Probably holed up at home having sex with Lola. I shudder at the thought.
It was difficult not being able to come clean to Bess. She was a little cold with me at first. She’s still distant, to be honest. I don’t know how we’ll ever get around that.
I hang up finally and slump back on the sofa, pointing the
remote control at the telly to turn the sound up. The living room is a mess. It isn’t easy living out of a suitcase for this amount of time. I’m sure I must be annoying Serena now, but she’s got a guilt complex about whether or not she should move out and let me have my old room back. I’m not sure that I want that. I do need to get my own place. I’ve even thought about buying a studio or something–I saved up a decent chunk from working with Johnny which would do as a deposit–but I don’t know. I might go travelling. I haven’t made up my mind yet.
Plenty of celebrities come into the members’ club where I work. It’s odd being on the other side, looking at them and knowing all about the worlds in which they live.
I’m at work at the moment, and am just returning to a table with an expensive bottle of red wine. There are two men dining together, one older, one younger. I see the older man surreptitiously slide a small clear plastic packet across the table to the younger guy, who I recognise as a presenter from a children’s TV show. I deliver their wine, then go and find my manager. We have a strict ‘No Drugs’ policy here.
‘Excuse me!’ I turn at the sound of an American accent. ‘Can we get a bottle of water, please?’
I try not to look surprised to see Isla Montagne sitting at the table in front of me, next to Will Trepper, the cool British actor she moved here to be with.
‘Sure. Still or sparkling?’ I ask.
‘Still.’ She looks at me through narrowed eyes. I ignore her and turn away.
‘I recognise you,’ she says a short while later, when I bring her water.
‘Do you?’ I act innocent.
‘Yes. Did I know you in LA?’
‘No,’ I say.
‘Hmm. I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere.’
I pour the water and take their order. When I return later with their food, she bolts upright.
‘Johnny Jefferson’s PA! That’s it, isn’t it?’
I glance around to make sure no one heard her. In the clear, I nod.
She leans back in her seat, looking pleased with herself. ‘I knew it! What are you doing working here?’ she asks, snobbily giving my black and white uniform the once-over.
‘I felt like a change.’
A customer sitting a few tables away indicates that he wants the bill. Relieved, I excuse myself and get back to work.
Later, when the club has emptied out and I’m tidying up for the night, Isla calls me over again to her table. She and Will have been huddled up in a corner couch for the last couple of hours.
‘I need a PA, if you’re interested…’
‘Um, thank you, but I wasn’t very good at it.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Charlie was jealous of you.’ She laughs a tinkling laugh.
Now I’m curious. ‘Whatever happened to Charlie?’
‘She went to New York to look after her mother for a bit.’
‘Her stepmother?’ Poor Charlie, having to look after that evil alcoholic.
‘No, her real mother.’
‘I thought her mum was dead?’
‘What on earth made you think that?’
‘I don’t know, actually. Is her real mum the alcoholic, then?’
Isla looks at me like I’m a bit dim. ‘No,’ she says, speaking slowly. ‘Her real mother broke her leg in a skiing accident last month. I think I remember Charlie saying her stepmother does have a drinking problem, but Charlie hardly ever sees her. Her mother got a massive alimony payout when she and her daddy got divorced years ago, hence why Charlie’s such a spoilt brat.’ Isla laughs that tinkling laugh again.
‘Oh, right.’
‘So,’ she says, ‘what do you think? Wanna get out of this joint and come be my PA?’
Will Trepper is looking up at me with sparkling blue eyes. I’m kind of tempted. But not that tempted.
‘Thank you, but, like I said, I wasn’t very good at it.’
Isla rolls her eyes and looks at Will. He shrugs. ‘Whatever,’ she says. I go back to clearing tables.
Later that week, Isla reappears at the members’ club.
‘Hello again,’ she says.
‘Hi,’ I answer. ‘What can I get you?’
‘I spoke to Johnny,’ she says, off-handedly.
My heart starts to beat, double time.
‘He said you were a really good PA.’
I gulp. ‘He did?’
‘Yes. He was pretty surprised to hear you were working here.’
I don’t say anything.
‘So what do you think? Want to come work for me?’
‘I already told you—’
‘That you were a crap PA, yes, yes, I know,’ she fobs me off. ‘But now that I know you were
lying
, the offer’s still there.’
I sigh. ‘Look, I really appreciate you asking and everything…’
‘Are you
really
going to turn me down?’ she challenges me.
I meet her eyes for a moment, aware that my manager is watching me from the bar area.
‘Yes,’ I reply, turning away.
‘What was that about?’ my manager asks me later.
‘Nothing.’
‘She didn’t look too happy to me, Meg. I suggest you tell me what that was about so I can undo any damage you’ve done,’ he says, pedantically.
‘She offered me a job,’ I tell him, which makes him start in surprise. ‘I turned her down,’ I add, and don’t wait to see his reaction before getting back to work.
It’s only later, when I’m sitting at ‘home’ on the sofa, that Isla’s words start to sink in.
Johnny knows where I am.
I’ve been trying so hard not to think of him. I’ve avoided conversations that involve him, magazines and newspapers that may feature him. I’ve even walked out of French Connection because they started to play one of his songs. And now…Now…He knows where I am. He could come and find me if he wanted to.
My heart aches at the thought of it.
Stop it, Meg! He’s a bastard! I feel like slapping myself across my own face to snap myself out of it.
That’s a life that you left behind. He’s not coming for you. No one’s coming for you. MOVE ON!
But my throat begins to swell up and before I can stop it, I start to cry.
Dammit! Where are the bloody tissues when you need them? I go into the bathroom and pull on the toilet roll, trying to stifle
my sobs. It’s after midnight and Bess and Serena are asleep. I blow my nose and return to my so-called bed. But as soon as the tears stop, they start again. I sob, silently, into my pillow.
‘What’s wrong?’ I hear Bess’s concerned voice from above the sofa.
Obviously not sobbing that silently, then.
‘Nothing,’ I tell her. ‘Go back to bed.’
She comes and joins me on the sofa.
‘Meg, tell me what’s wrong.’
‘I can’t!’ I wail, then shoot a worried look at Serena’s (aka my) bedroom door.
‘Don’t worry,’ Bess says, ‘she wears earplugs. And snores like an elephant,’ she adds, cocking her head to one side.
‘How do you know what a snoring elephant sounds like?’ I ask, tearfully.
Bess grins at me. ‘You almost sounded like your old self then,’ she says, before her face falls. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that…’
I look down at my hands. Do you know what? Fuck confidentiality clauses!
‘You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you,’ I warn.
‘Of course not!’ Bess hisses.
‘Seriously. I could get sued…’
‘Meg, shut up.’
‘Okay…’ I take a deep breath, and tell her the whole sorry story. She does squeak the odd, ‘Oh my God’, but on the whole is remarkably restrained.
‘And so here I am,’ I say, finally.
She shakes her head at me in wonder. ‘I can’t believe you had sex with Johnny Jefferson!’ she exclaims for the zillionth time.
Her reaction would have made me laugh a month ago. Now I just feel sad.
‘How the hell did you keep it quiet?’ she asks.
‘I wanted to tell you. I so wanted to tell you. But I couldn’t.’
‘Yes, you could’ve,’ she says, pulling a face at me.
‘No, Bess, I couldn’t…’
‘Yes. You. Could. Have,’ she says again.
I sigh. ‘I was worried you’d tell Serena and she’d go and sell the story to
heat
magazine or something.’
She berates me. ‘I wouldn’t have told Serena! She can’t keep a secret for buggery! She’s a bit annoying, to be honest.’
I giggle. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’ She nods. ‘Makes a mean spaghetti carbonara, though. Nice change from burnt beans on toast.’
Now I laugh.
‘I knew I’d have you laughing again.’ She smiles at me. ‘You’ve been depressing the hell out of me since you got back.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about it. Are you okay?’ She hands me another couple of pieces of toilet roll and I dab my eyes.
‘I will be. Doesn’t feel like it right now, though. God,’ I sniff. ‘I only lasted six months. Even bloody
Paola
lasted eight months!’
‘Don’t beat yourself up about it,’ Bess says, nonchalantly. ‘He fell for you much quicker than he fell for her. If anything, I’d say you should be feeling pretty damn smug, right about now.’
Huh. I really hadn’t thought of it like that.
I’m still on edge, a week later, when I come into work for the afternoon/evening shift to see a blond-haired guy sitting at a table, facing a wall. I know almost instantly that he’s not Johnny, but it’s that split second beforehand that worries me. I’m clearly not over him. I’m clearly nowhere near over him. Even though he treated me terribly, I’m still thinking he might come for me. It’s stupidity of the highest degree.
So it’s because I’m so jittery about every blond-haired customer that I don’t even notice the dark-haired one until I’m standing right in front of him.
‘Christian!’
‘Hello, Meg.’ He smiles up at me.
‘How did you find me?’ I ask in surprise, before adding, ‘
Did
you find me? Or are you just here by chance?’ Please don’t let it be the latter. That would be embarrassing.
‘Johnny told me you were working here.’
‘Johnny? Did he?’
‘Yes,’ he says, calmly.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, hoping that doesn’t sound rude.
He shifts a little uncomfortably before answering. ‘I wanted to see…I wanted to see if you were okay.’
Out of the corner of my eye I notice my manager. ‘Can I get you anything?’ I ask, taking out my notepad. ‘My manager is watching me,’ I mouth.
‘Ah, okay. Yes,’ he says, perusing the menu. ‘I’ll have the…Hmm, what’s good?’
‘I can thoroughly recommend the roast chicken. The chips are the best.’
‘Actually, I’d better just grab a coffee.’ He snaps his menu shut and I hold out my hand for it. ‘Can you chat later?’
‘I’ll try to come back when he’s on his fag break,’ I whisper.
Half an hour later, as promised, I go back to see Christian.
‘So what are you doing? Apart from working here. Where are you living?’
‘With my friend Bess,’ I tell him. ‘On her sofa. Do you remember her? You met at the Wembley concert.’
‘That’s right,’ he says.
‘It’s crowded,’ I continue. ‘In fact, I’ve just started looking around for a flatshare. So if you hear of anything…’
He nods, thinking for a moment.
‘Anyway, sorry, I’m rabbiting on. What about you? What have you been up to?’
At that point my manager comes back into the room. I glance over at him, immediately on edge.
‘Your manager back already?’ Christian asks.
‘Mmm.’
‘Tell you what, I have to shoot off now anyway. Got a meeting
with my publisher.’ He raises his eyebrows, faking importance. ‘But I wanted to know if you’d have dinner with me sometime?’
‘Dinner?’
‘Yeah, you know, just to catch up. See how you are…’ he adds.
‘Um, sure, okay,’ I say, uneasily. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.
‘When are you free?’ he asks, unperturbed.
‘Er, tomorrow’s my night off.’
‘Perfect. Where are you living? Want to go somewhere local?’
‘London Bridge. But I don’t mind travelling. Where do you live?’ I ask, interested.
‘Belsize Park,’ he says. ‘North London.’
‘So let’s meet centrally, hey?’ I grin. ‘Bar Soho?’
‘Eight o’clock?’
‘Done.’
Christian gets up, chucking some money down on the table. ‘Oh, and I got you something.’ He hands over a paper bag. ‘It’s nothing,’ he adds, quickly. ‘Look when your manager’s not watching you,’ he whispers out of the corner of his mouth.
‘Eek. Okay. See you tomorrow!’
I open the bag when he’s gone and can’t help but giggle. It’s full of Pick ’n’ Mix sweets.
‘Does Johnny know you’re having dinner with me?’ I give Christian a wary look across the table. He leans back in his seat.
‘No,’ he says, shortly. ‘Do you want him to?’
I scratch my head. ‘No. I don’t know.’
‘I haven’t really spoken to him much since we last caught up.’
‘In LA?’ I ask. ‘After that night?’
‘Yep,’ he says, tapping his fingers on the table.
‘I feel bad,’ I say.
‘Why?’ He looks confused.
‘For causing a rift between you two.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Meg. Nothing’s changed. Not really. We’ll be the same as ever next time we catch up. No, I’ve just been too busy writing to get in touch with anyone. Except you,’ he adds.
I smile at him, not feeling uneasy anymore. In fact, not feeling anything except completely comfortable.
‘Fuck,’ he mutters, suddenly.
‘What?’
He glances sideways. ‘My ex has just walked in.’
I follow his gaze to see a tall, curvy brunette with wavy hair talking to a waiter. She’s with a broad-shouldered, olive-skinned man.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask Christian. He nods, but I can see he’s anything but.
‘Shall we do that thing?’
He grins at me, knowing exactly what I’m talking about. ‘Go on, then.’
I reach across the table and put my hand on his. We both lean in and gaze into each other’s eyes, adoringly.
‘Christian,’ I say, ‘thank you sooooo much for my present. It was incredibly thoughtful.’
He smiles back at me, lovingly. I can see he’s trying not to laugh. ‘Meg, you deserved it.’ He reaches across and strokes the corner of my lip. ‘You’ve got a little ketchup…’
‘Have I?’ I giggle and pick up my napkin.
‘Clare! Hello!’ I hear him say, and look up to see his ex standing next to the table.
I beam up at her.
She glances down at me and smiles, frostily. ‘Hello, Christian.’
‘Clare,’ he says, warmly, ‘this is Meg. Meg, Clare.’
‘Nice to meet you!’ I gush, shaking her cold hand.
‘Hi.’ She looks awkward. ‘This is Boris.’
‘Hi, there,’ Christian says, jovially, shaking Boris’s hand.
‘We’re just having a bite to eat,’ Clare says.
‘Well, what do you know. So are we!’ Christian enthuses, and I kick him under the table. Don’t be too OTT, mate.
‘I recommend the burgers,’ he says.
Clare gives him a haughty look. ‘I’m a vegetarian, remember?’
He laughs. ‘Oh, shit, sorry. Of course you are. Well, have a good one!’ he says. ‘You too.’ He grins at Boris, who as yet hasn’t said anything.
Boris nods and puts his arm around Clare’s waist, ushering her towards a table where their waiter is patiently holding menus. Christian stares after them.
‘Christian,’ I say, firmly.
‘Mmm?’ he answers, distracted.
‘Eyes on me. Don’t give the game away.’
‘Right, yes, got it.’ He refocuses his attention. He flexes his hands and picks up his knife and fork, before putting them down again.
‘You haven’t lost your appetite, have you?’ I ask, concerned.
He takes a deep breath. ‘Have a bit,’ he replies.
I push my bottom lip out. ‘Do you want to go? They do really good desserts, here…’ I try to tempt him.
‘Maybe we could go and get an ice cream in Leicester Square instead?’ he suggests.
‘Ice cream? In this weather?’ I ask, then slap my hand on my forehead. ‘Sorry, I forgot who I was with for a second. Yeah, let’s.’
‘That was a bit weird,’ he says, a little while later, after we’ve walked hand in hand out of the restaurant.
I rub his arm. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah,’ he says.
‘Had you really forgotten she was a veggie?’ I ask.
‘Nah.’ He shakes his head and grins at me.
‘Oh…Good one,’ I say, impressed.
‘Cheers.’ Still grinning, he adds, ‘Thanks, by the way. Really appreciated that.’
‘I’m sure you’d do the same for me.’ I smile, thinking of my ex, Tom. And then suddenly I’m remembering Johnny. My smile drops, just as Christian glances at me.
‘So where do you want to live?’ He changes the subject.
‘I don’t know,’ I answer. ‘Anywhere, really. As long as it does-n’t take me too long to get to work.’
‘And are you going to carry on working there?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, a touch defensively.
‘Did Isla Montagne really offer you a job?’ He looks at me sideways.
‘Yeah, she did.’ I smile. ‘Johnny said I was a good PA, apparently.’ I roll my eyes, trying to seem unbothered.
‘Well, you were,’ Christian says. ‘Much better than that Paola lass.’ He jokingly repeats the joke he made when we were on tour.
‘In every way, do you reckon?’ I say, before clamping my hand over my mouth. ‘Sorry, that was really inappropriate.’
He chuckles, but doesn’t say anything.
Much later, after we’ve eaten ice cream, wandered the streets, stopped for coffee and chatted the night away, Christian and I stand deep in the heart of Tottenham Court Road tube station,
between both platforms. He’s going north on the Northern Line; I’m going south.
‘You know what?’ he says to me. ‘I have a spare room, if you want it.’
‘Er…Really?’ I ask, surprised.
‘Yeah.’
‘Were you thinking of renting it out?’ I check.
‘No,’ he admits. ‘But if you’re as good a flatmate as you are a PA, I don’t reckon I can go wrong.’
‘Well, you’d have to ask Bess for a reference on that one,’ I say, before adding, ‘Actually, don’t. The living room’s a mess. Oh–should I have admitted that?’
He chuckles. ‘Why don’t you come round for tea sometime? Check it out?’
‘Okay. When?’
‘Are you free any time this weekend?’
‘Sunday afternoon. Would that work?’
‘Great.’
He scribbles his address on a pad, just as a tube train rushes down the line behind me.
‘That’s me!’ I say, grabbing the piece of paper and reaching up to give him a peck on the cheek.
‘See ya, Megan.’ He smiles at me.
Christian’s flat is stunning. It’s a maisonette in a large, white, Georgian terrace. The lower ground floor features a living room to the front with a huge bay window, and a kitchen and dining room to the back, with French doors leading out to a small garden. Upstairs there are two bedrooms, a large bathroom and a small office.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say, for about the dozenth time. I’m actually wondering how the hell he afforded to buy it, especially as super-expensive Hampstead is only a short walk up the hill. It occurs to me that maybe Johnny helped him, but almost as soon as that thought comes to my mind, Christian explains.
‘I got very lucky on the property market,’ he says.
‘Oh? How do you mean?’
‘I bought a small studio in Islington as soon as I got a job after uni. Made a bit of money on it.’
‘Enough to buy this?’ I ask, surprised.
‘No, but enough to buy a one-bedroom and do it up. And then a couple of years later I made enough to upgrade again, and again a couple of years after that. Like I said, I was pretty lucky.’
‘Doesn’t sound to me like you were lucky,’ I say, impressed. ‘Sounds like you were smart.’
He smiles down at me. ‘So what do you reckon? Want to move in?’
‘I would
love
to. But are you sure? If you’ve never rented your room out before…Don’t you want your own space?’
‘You forget I used to live with my girlfriend,’ he says. ‘And actually, I hate living alone. I’m a company kind of guy.’
‘Me too.’ I smile. ‘I’ve been thinking about buying a studio flat, but I think I’d get lonely.’
He asks me how much I used to pay at Bess’s and we agree a monthly amount, bills not included. Then he walks into the kitchen and puts the kettle on. I go and stand by the French doors, looking out into the bare winter garden. It’s very neat and tidy. I bet it’s beautiful in the spring. Happiness surges through me at the thought that I’ll be here to see it for myself.
‘Do you get out in the garden much?’ I ask, after he’s handed me a mug.
‘Yeah, a bit. Quite like gardening, actually. You?’
‘I haven’t had a garden since I’ve been living in London, but yes, I really like the idea of it.’
‘Well, I’ve got me bulbs planted and me shrubs pruned,’ he says, in a jokey Farmer Joe-style voice. ‘So in a couple of weeks, it’ll be boooootiful out there.’
I laugh. ‘You idiot.’ I sip my tea. ‘So when can I move in?’