‘Hey!’ Christian beams at me when he walks into the kitchen with his overnight bag. ‘Did ya miss me?’
‘Nah,’ I tease.
Actually, I did.
‘How was your assignment?’
‘Good. Much easier than I thought it was going to be.’
He was writing something about the music scene in Manchester. God knows what. It all goes right over my head.
‘Have you been outside?’ he asks in surprise, spying my shoes by the door.
‘Yeah.’ I try to sound casual. ‘Johnny was here.’
‘Johnny?’ He looks taken aback.
‘He came to see you.’ I explain how he thought he was being followed. ‘Wanted a fag so went into the garden.’
‘Decent of him,’ Christian says, and I’m not sure if I detect sarcasm. ‘What did he want?’
‘I don’t know,’ I reply.
He stares at me. ‘You okay?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ I don’t mean to sound defensive.
He wanders through to the living room.
‘Been at my whisky too, has he?’
Johnny’s empty glass is still on the coffee table. I’ve been reluctant to wash it up since he left.
‘I hope that’s okay.’
‘It’s fine.’ He sighs and slumps down onto the sofa. ‘Chuck us the phone, will you? I’d better give him a bell.’
I try to seem casual as I hand over the phone and wander back into the kitchen, but I really want to be around for this conversation. After a few minutes of listening without hearing Christian’s voice, I go back through to the living room.
‘Not there?’ I indicate the phone.
‘Going straight through to voicemail,’ he confirms.
‘Oh, right. I might go and check my emails. Is that okay? You’re not wanting to do any writing tonight, are you?’
‘No, it’s fine. Go for it.’
I climb the stairs and head into the office. My emails contain nothing of interest, and after a few minutes of sitting there, staring into space and thinking of Johnny, it occurs to me I could call Bess and tell her about seeing him again. I pick up the phone and instantly hear Johnny’s voice down the line.
‘Why didn’t you tell me she was living with you?’
‘I didn’t think you’d care,’ Christian replies.
‘Well, I do,’ says Johnny.
I hold my breath, listening.
‘In what way?’ Christian’s tone is suspicious.
‘You fancy her, don’t you?’ Johnny says. ‘I mean, the way you’ve gone on about her in the past…And now this. Getting her to move in with you. Are you two shagging each other or something?’
‘Piss off.’ Now Christian sounds annoyed.
The fax machine behind me starts to whir, noisily. Argh!
‘What’s that?’ I hear Johnny ask.
‘I don’t know,’ Christian responds.
I gently press the red button and put the phone back down in its cradle, more confused than ever.
Later that night, after Christian has gone to bed, I finally speak to Bess.
‘Did Christian say anything to you about it?’ she asks.
‘No. And I didn’t want to ask because that would have given away my eavesdropping.’
‘Do you think he
does
fancy you?’
‘I don’t know,’ I reply.
‘Do you fancy him?’
‘No. I don’t think so. I mean, sometimes I look at him and think he’s really attractive, and I wonder
why
I don’t fancy him…’ I try to explain.
‘Well, that’s obvious,’ she says. ‘Johnny.’
I have to laugh.
‘What?’ she asks.
‘Can you believe
I
, of all people, have fallen for Johnny Jefferson?’
She giggles. ‘It is pretty funny. Remember how I used to tease you all the time? You denied it and denied it, and all the time you
did
want to get into his pants!’
‘Oi!’ I laugh.
‘And what about that email you sent me from LA?’ she suddenly screeches. ‘You
had
been shagging him!’
‘I know,’ I answer, shamefaced. ‘I pressed Send by mistake.’
‘I still can’t believe you’ve gone to bed with Johnny Jefferson,’ she says in wonder. ‘It really sucks that you can’t tell people about it.’
‘I wouldn’t want to, even if I could.’
‘Why, because that would cheapen it?’ She giggles.
‘Yeah, actually. It would.’ I don’t like her thinking this is some kind of joke. It’s not. This is my heart we’re talking about.
‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘It just seems so surreal.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
I wait on tenterhooks for Christian to mention Johnny during the next couple of days, but he says nothing. I start reading the tabloids again, surfing the internet…All in the hope of catching some news about him. He’s consuming me again. Every part of me. And I don’t like it. I feel like I have to free myself of him all over again.
As the days become weeks, I catch the odd snippet about Johnny in the press. He’s back in LA, back to his old ways, drinking in bars, pulling groupies. It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would, and eventually I find I can go whole days with barely a thought about him.
One afternoon, in early May, Christian comes home after a meeting with his publisher.
‘I bumped into Clare today,’ he says, casually putting one foot up on his opposite knee. We’re sitting in the garden.
‘
Did you?
’
‘Yep. It was fine.’ He grins at me. ‘Didn’t feel a thing.’
‘That’s brilliant,’ I tell him. ‘Really good. Is she still with that Boris bloke?’
He shrugs. ‘Dunno. Didn’t ask.’
‘Really? Now
that’s
impressive.’
‘I thought so,’ he says, flippantly. ‘She asked about you, though.’
‘Did she?’ My eyes open wide. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said we were living together.’
I start to giggle.
‘Not like that,’ he chides. ‘I told her you were just my flatmate.’
‘Oh, right,’ I say, feeling my face heat up.
‘Told her you were too hung up on Johnny Jefferson to give any other lads a look-in.’
‘You didn’t!’ I’m horrified.
‘No, not really.’ He grins.
I slap him on his thigh.
‘You are, though, you know.’ He glances at me.
‘What, too hung up on Johnny?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you think I’m going to end up sad and alone?’ I joke.
‘Yeah.’ He laughs, hollowly. ‘You probably will.’
We both fall silent. After a while, I sigh and get up.
‘Meg…’
He grabs my hand and I look back at him, startled.
‘What?’
He gently pulls me back down to sit beside him. I look at him, nervously.
‘What?’ I ask again.
He lets go of me and runs his hands through his dark, indie-boy
hair. ‘Forget it,’ he says, looking down at the bright yellow tulips in the flower bed. He sounds frustrated.
‘Tell me,’ I say.
He looks back at me suddenly, intensely, and I’m surprised to feel my heart flip.
‘I care about you,’ he says.
‘I care about you, too,’ I reply, cagily.
‘No. I
care
about you. Too much.’ His dark-brown eyes still meet mine, and I want to look away, but find that I can’t.
‘Meg…’
He runs his fingertips down the curve of my waist. When I don’t stop him, he leans in closer. I don’t pull away, but I don’t move in towards him, either. He kisses me, slow and gentle.
He tastes nice…Sweet…I like him so much, I
want
to fancy him the way I fancy Johnny.
Johnny. You know it will never work. You have to move on.
I kiss Christian back, harder, desperate to feel the passion I felt with his friend.
Christian is perfect for me. He’s lovely, he’s intelligent, he’s mature, he wouldn’t mess me around. I like him so much.
But do you love him?
No.
Do you love Johnny?
Don’t think about that now.
‘I really want to make love to you,’ Christian says. His breathing has quickened.
‘Okay.’ I nod.
The earth doesn’t move, but it’s loving, it’s tender, there’s no feeling of dread afterwards.
He holds me in his arms and strokes my hair, and I try so hard not to think about the man who brought us together.
‘Are you alright?’ he asks.
I look up at him and smile. ‘Yeah. That was nice.’
‘Just “nice”?’
‘
Really
nice,’ I say. ‘Want to do it again?’
He chuckles. ‘Why not?’
‘I’ll bring you back some Pebbles,’ Christian promises, giving me a kiss on the lips.
It’s eight o’clock in the morning. He’s flying to LA tonight and I’m just leaving for work. We won’t catch each other this evening.
‘Say hi to Johnny for me,’ I call over my shoulder, then stop and turn around. ‘Actually, don’t,’ I decide.
‘Really?’ he asks.
‘Yes.’
He looks relieved. ‘See you next week,’ he says.
He’s going to LA to meet with Johnny about his book. Johnny has final copy approval, so this will be his last chance to read over the finished product and make any amendments before publication.
Bess comes round that night to keep me company and watch a chick-flick.
‘How’s it all going?’ she asks.
‘Really good,’ I say.
‘So you’re definitely attracted to him now, then?’
‘Yes.’ I laugh. ‘It would be a bit weird me sleeping in his room every night if I wasn’t.’
It’s been a month since Christian and I first slept together. And it
is
going well. I do really like him.
‘I’m happy for you,’ Bess says. ‘He’s a nice guy. What does his mum think?’ she asks. I filled her in about the wedding debacle back when it happened.
‘He hasn’t told her yet,’ I say. ‘Too soon.’
‘Fair enough.’ She grabs a bowl of popcorn from the coffee table and starts to chow down on it. ‘So,’ she says offhandedly, ‘are you over Johnny, then?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I think I am.’
‘Good. What about him being done for drink-driving, hey?’
‘
What?
’ I bolt upright.
‘Oh, you don’t know?’
‘No! What happened?’
‘Last night. He was on his motorbike. There are pics of him being pulled over in today’s papers.’
‘I haven’t read them. Bloody hell. Is he in jail?’
‘He’s out on bail, apparently.’
‘God. What an idiot.’
‘I’ll say. Shall we watch this movie, then?’
‘Sure,’ I reply, but my mind is elsewhere.
Christian calls me from LA to touch base the next day. I ask him about the drink-driving incident.
‘Yeah. It’s a bit of a pain, actually. My publisher wants it covered in the book. Reckons it will be a nice end point.’
‘How are you going to manage that? I thought it was going to the printers soon?’
‘It’s supposed to be, yes. They’re pushing back the publication date a little so we can get in the court hearing and any jail time, if necessary.’
‘When is the court hearing?’
‘His lawyers are trying to get one, asap. He’s got them working overtime.’
‘How’s Johnny about it? Is he okay?’
‘Pretty pissed off, as you can imagine,’ he says. ‘Reckons the cops were out to get him.’
‘They probably were.’
‘Yeah, well, what do you expect when you’re out drinking and doing drugs every bloody night? He’s as bad as he was when we were on tour, you know…’
‘Is he?’ I ask, nausea creeping up on me.
‘Afraid so. In fact, I’m going to change my flight and come home Thursday, instead.’
It’s Tuesday, now.
‘Why? Had enough?’
‘Yeah.’
I feel pity for Johnny being left on his own, but I know I can’t say that to Christian.
‘Do you want me to change the flight for you?’
‘No, it’s okay. Johnny’s PA can do it.’
My head throbs. ‘Johnny’s PA? Has he got another one?’
‘Yeah. Some Danish woman. Not very attractive. Not a patch on you, gorgeous.’
‘Aah.’ I feel warm again. ‘Have you told Johnny about us?’ I ask, tentatively.
‘Not yet,’ he says. ‘But I was planning to tonight. If that’s okay with you?’
‘Yes,’ I decide. ‘That’s fine.’
‘Meg,’ he starts.
‘Yes?’
‘I love you.’
I pause before replying. ‘I love you, too.’
In the late hours of Thursday night or the early hours of Friday morning, I’m not sure which, someone starts pounding on the door downstairs.
The knocking keeps coming, so I go downstairs to the front door and look through the peep-hole.
It’s Johnny.
I flatten myself up against the wall. What is he doing here? Oh God, I’m in my crappy PJs. What should I do?
‘Meg, open up!’ he whispers, loudly.
I hurriedly smooth my hair down and wipe the sleep from my eyes. I glance down at my outfit. Urgh. Okay. I’m opening the door.
He rushes past me, into the corridor.
‘What’s wrong? What are you doing here?’ I look back outside in alarm, wondering if he’s being chased. He pushes the door shut and tries to take my hands.
‘Meg, Meg, Meg,’ he says, over and over again. He’s drunk.
‘Johnny, stop it. Where’s Christian?’
‘Meg,’ he moans, taking my arms in his hands.
‘Johnny! Where’s Christian?’ I ask in alarm. ‘Is he okay?’ Panic rises up inside me as I start to imagine he’s here to deliver bad news.
‘He’s fine, he’s fine!’ He cups my face with his hands.
‘Where is he?’ I demand.
‘LA!’ he shouts, frustrated.
‘What are you doing here?’ I shout back, equally frustrated and more than a little confused.
‘I had to see you,’ he says, desperately.
I push him away violently. ‘He told you, then.’
He looks at me in anguish.
‘I get it.’ I’m angry. ‘You don’t want me until
he’s
got me. Is that right?’
‘No…I miss you, Nutmeg.’
‘My name is MEG.’
He looks hurt. ‘Don’t say that.’
‘How did you get here before Christian?’ I ask. His plane’s not due until the morning.
‘Jet.’
I assume he means his private one.
‘Meg, please…’ He comes towards me again.
I put my hand up to stop him. ‘Haven’t you hurt him enough?’
He looks bewildered.
‘He loves me, you know. He
loves
me,’ I repeat, hoping it will sink in.
‘Nutmeg…’ He runs his thumb down the side of my neck.
‘Stop it!’ I bat his hand away. ‘Why are you doing this? I’m
happy
, Johnny. I
like
Christian!’
‘There!’ He practically shouts, pointing at me. ‘You said “like”!’
I step backwards. ‘I
love
him,’ I say, determinedly.
He shakes his head and leans back against the corridor wall, opposite me. We still haven’t made it further than the front door.
‘You said “
like
”,’ he says again, this time more slowly. ‘You
love
me.’
‘I do not!’ I bite back. ‘I
love
Christian and I don’t even
like
you! You’ve been a wanker to me since the first day we met!’
‘I have not!’
‘You have!’ I yell, crossly, before suddenly remembering the neighbours.
I must calm down. ‘Go home, Johnny. I’m not doing this again. You’re jealous and you’re drunk, and I don’t want anything to do with you.’
His shoulders slump, dejectedly, and he leans his head back against the wall and gazes at me.
Don’t look at me like that, I think to myself.
‘I’ll go to rehab,’ he says, simply.
‘You’ll what?’
‘I’ll go to rehab,’ he repeats.
I’m flabbergasted. ‘You would do that? For me?’
He shrugs. ‘Yeah.’
‘Oh, I get it,’ I say, sarcastically. ‘You’re going to have to go to rehab anyway, right? Is that the deal your lawyers are putting together?’
He looks shifty.
‘Argh!’ I push him in the chest. ‘Go, go, go!’
He grabs my wrists. ‘I love you.’ His tone is urgent.
I stop struggling and stare at him in shock.
‘Please…Meg…’ He puts his hands on my waist and tries to pull me in.
My chest hurts. I can’t go through this again.
He starts to kiss me and I melt into him, just like I used to.
No.
NO!
I pull away and push him backwards again. Then I open the
door. ‘Leave. I love Christian. You won’t hurt me again. GO!’ I shout.
‘I’m coming back for you,’ he warns, stepping outside. ‘After rehab. I’m coming back.’
I slam the door in his face and run upstairs to sob my heart out.
‘Where is he?’ Christian demands hours later. ‘Was he here?’
‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘He’s gone now,’ I hurriedly tell him, when I see the look on his face. ‘I told him to leave.’
He drops his bags on the floor of the living room. I’m sitting on the sofa in my PJs. I haven’t had the energy to get dressed this morning.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks, coming to join me.
‘I’m fine.’
Actually, my eyes are red and puffy from crying so much, but I’m hoping Christian will see what he wants to see.
‘He went mad when I told him,’ Christian says, looking away.
‘Shit!’ I exclaim, seeing the side of his face. It’s tinged red and blue.
‘He punched me.’ He lets out a half-hearted laugh.
‘He
punched
you?’ I ask in disbelief.
‘Yeah.’
‘Oh, no, you poor thing!’ I touch his face gently and he flinches. Compassion wells up inside me.
He meets my eyes. ‘You told him to leave?’
‘Yes,’ I reply.
He smiles at me, softly.
‘Come here,’ I say, and wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his neck.
I feel safe again.