Paparazzi Princess (13 page)

‘Hey, Jess,’ called Meg.

I turned and saw my crowd hovering around the drinks counter. Pia, Henry, Flo and Meg.

‘Yay,’ I said. ‘The gang are back together. I’ve missed you guys sooooo much.’

Flo and Meg gave me a big hug and, not to be left out, Pia came to join in.

‘Lesbos,’ said Josh as he came up behind me.

‘You’re just jealous,’ I said.

‘Well
I
certainly am,’ said a familiar voice.

I turned and there he was, looking as heart-stoppingly gorgeous as always in black jeans and a black T-shirt. Tom. I told myself to close my mouth, breathe and be coo-el.

‘Oh hellar. Hor are ye-ou?’ I said in a voice that was supposed to sound sophisticated but came out like I was being throttled.

‘You had a voice transplant over the holidays?’ asked Tom.

‘Christmas present from the Queen,’ I said. ‘It’s a rare and expensive voice elixir. Came in a bottle. Two drops a day and you talk posh.’
Shut up, shut up now, what are you saying? NOT cool, not cool
, I thought. Even Pia was looking at me as if I was mad. I glanced over at her and shrugged to let her know I had no idea what I was doing either.

‘Great idea,’ said Tom. ‘I like that. Imagine. You could have all sorts of flavours that give all sorts of accents. Yeah, Hall. Interesting concept. I like that.’

‘You d . . . do?’ I stuttered. ‘I mean, yeah. Interesting concept. I’m full of them.’

‘I like girls who think outside the box,’ said Tom.

‘What box?’ I blurted and Tom laughed. I laughed with him though I had no idea why.
Outside the box? What was he on about?

‘You do make me laugh, Hall,’ he said.

NOT my plan. I didn’t want to make him laugh. I wanted to make him slaver with desire. I wanted him to feel some of the ache I’d felt in wanting him but him not appearing to feel the same way. ‘Um. How was your Christmas?’ I asked then cursed myself for saying something so mundane.

He came and put his arm around me. ‘I was lonely without you,’ he said.

Oh, that’s good
, I thought and tried not to show that my knees had just gone weak.

Josh put two fingers in his mouth. ‘Yeugh. Slush alert,’ he said.

Tom pulled me out into the hall away from the others. ‘So how’s the survey going?’ he asked. ‘You a boy expert now?’

‘Always was,’ I said.
Liar, liar pants on fire
, I thought. ‘Ah oui. Absolutement.’
And now I’ve gone French! Pourquoi? Pourquoi? My brain must be going into meltdown.

‘OK. So what am I thinking now?’ he asked and he leant forward.

‘Um . . .’ My brain froze as he put his hand under my chin and tilted it up towards him. ‘You’re thinking about . . . OH MY GOD!’

Tom leapt back as a red-headed boy lurched forward to the left of us and threw up all over the wall. His puke stank of boiled alcohol.

‘Ewwww,’ I said as he staggered off, with Tom chasing after him, cursing at his back.
So much for our romantic moment
, I thought as I turned back to find my mates.
Snogsville just turned into Puketown.

For the rest of the party, I hardly saw Tom apart from him rushing around with a bucket and large bottle of disinfectant. I tried flirting with a few boys but my heart wasn’t really in it. I only had eyes for Tom and he only had time to clean up before his parents got back.

When the clock chimed midnight, I watched as Henry snogged Pia, Meg snogged Josh, Flo even got Charlie, although it looked as though she had him in an arm-lock. I stood alone and watched Tom, his face like thunder, as he marched the redheaded puker over to the front door and threw him out.
Plan A. Not sorted
.
Happy New Year to me
, I thought.
On my own again. Bummer.

‘Ohmigod,’ said Pia on the other end of the phone. ‘Have you seen it?’

‘How could I miss it?’ I said. ‘It’s all over the third page of the paper. Dad hit the roof. I’ve never seen him like this.’ He’d stormed in around eight that morning with a newspaper in his hand and a vein pulsing angrily on his forehead. He was ranting about a leak in the building. At first I thought he was talking about the plumbing, then he slammed the paper down in front of me and Charlie. There it was.
Exclusive by Bridget O’Reilly. Super-Rich Kids Not So Super?
was the heading.
Lonely teens at the top
was the line underneath. She’d written a piece about rich teenagers with quotes from a close anonymous source. Word for word what
I’d
said to her. I felt a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I read it.

‘“They live in an exclusive world but there’s a wall between them and the rest of the world. A gilded cage,” my source told me. “I thought they had it all but mates are what’s important and how are they supposed to meet people, especially boys? Girls like Riko Mori, daughter of entrepreneur, Yoshiki Mori, find it hard in the holidays. She gets lonely,” said my source. “She can’t wait to get back to school. She wants to explore London but can’t without a minder.”’

The words ‘my source’ seemed to scream out at me as if they were written in red capitals. As if they spelt out JESS HALL. TRAITOR. And all because I had wanted to prove to Bridget that I wasn’t like her. I wasn’t an outsider, I was in with the in-crowd.
This day can’t get any worse
, I’d thought as I’d glanced at Dad. He looked as freaked out as I was.

‘But where do you think she got details like that?’ asked Pia. ‘Sounds to me like she spoke to a member of staff or someone who really knew the families. It has to be someone who works at Porchester Park – a driver or a maid. Could be anyone.’

‘Yes but it wasn’t. It was
me
, Pia.
I
spoke to her on New Year’s Eve. She certainly didn’t waste any time – it’s only January the second now.’

‘You!’ Pia exclaimed. She was silent for a few moments while she took it in. ‘Shit.’

‘I know. Double.’

‘But you
knew
not to talk to her.’

‘Oh P, don’t have a go at me. I feel bad enough as it is. Don’t you think I’ve cursed myself and my stupidity a thousand times already this morning? I thought . . . I thought Bridget was my friend. I
thought
I could trust her.’

‘Some friend, but that’s what some journalists do. They pal up with you, get you to feel like you’re in their confidence so you spill the beans. It’s part of the job.’

‘I know. I
knew
that. Dad’s hammered it home enough times. I can’t believe I fell for it. I could kick myself.’

‘You haven’t told him it was you, have you?’

‘No way. He’d kill me. But . . . what do I do?’

‘Oh God, I don’t know. Leave home. Get a throat infection and lose your voice. Hide under the bed for a day or two. Keep out of your dad’s way, that’s for certain, as knowing you, you’ll blurt something out and give the game away.’

‘I know. He’d be so mad if he found out it was me, plus how would it reflect on
him
? I mean, after all the times he’s warned me – not just about not talking to them but also about how my behaviour reflects back on him as general manager.’

‘Does he suspect you?’

‘Don’t think so. He thinks it was one of the staff.’

‘So keep it zipped, that’s what I’d do.’

‘And you, Pia. Please don’t tell Henry or he might tell his dad and he’ll tell mine.’

‘We’re mates,’ said Pia. ‘I won’t say a word.’

‘Nor to Meg or Flo either, or Charlie.’

‘Hey, chill. Listen, Jess, it’ll blow over. It will. When there’s a story like this in the paper, my mum always says, today’s news, tomorrow’s fish-and-chip paper. Lie low and wait until the storm is over.’

‘Good plan,’ I said but after I’d put down the phone, I still felt mortified. What would Riko think when she saw it? And Alisha? Both were mentioned by name. Someone was bound to blab about it to Alisha. Would she know it was me? Of course she would. She was a smart cookie and was bound to work it out and that would be the end of our friendship, not to mention what JJ would think of me.

For the next half hour, I tried telling myself that it would all blow over. Pia’s mum was right, the story would soon be yesterday’s news. I tried to busy myself with facebook but even the last messages posted weren’t enough to make me forget what I’d done.

A girl called Lisbeth had written that her top tip was to manufacture times to spend with boys when they didn’t feel threatened – like a group outing or a mutual project which gave time to hang out and get to know someone without them feeling that they were on a date. ‘Boys are more relaxed at times like this,’ she said.

Who cares about pulling boys when friendships with girls are at stake?
I thought.
I am doooooooomed. If only I could turn the clock back a week. If only I hadn’t trusted that rat Bridget. If only I’d been smarter. If only, if only, if only . . .

‘Jess. Get down here
right
now,’ called Dad from downstairs.

I dashed down, my heart thumping in my chest. He’d found out it was me. I knew it.
How should I be? Apologetic? Crying? Begging forgiveness? Oh God, I hate this. I hate myself.

I decided that I’d let him come out with it first. ‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘Riko Mori. She’s disappeared.’

‘Riko!
Disappeared
? No! When?’ My heart began to beat even faster as a panic hit me.

‘This morning.’

‘Where to?’

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ said Dad. ‘You’ve spent a little time with her lately. Have you any idea where she might have gone? Any clue? Now
think
, Jess, think. This is really important.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ve no idea where she might go. I don’t know.’
This is my fault
, I thought.
She’s seen the article and done a runner
. ‘I . . . she was always talking about not liking being out with a minder.’

‘So where do you think she might have gone?’

‘Er . . . shopping? Maybe she just wanted some time on her own.’

‘Maybe,’ said Dad. ‘But
where
, Jess? If anything comes to mind let me know immediately, won’t you? In the meantime, we just have to pray that she shows up. Especially after that article. Mr Mori is livid, and now this.’ I felt doubly bad because he looked so worried and that was my fault too. My stomach felt as if I’d swallowed a ton of bricks and I thought I was going to be sick. At that moment, Dad’s phone rang. The vein on his forehead began pulsing again as he took the call – that always signalled bad news.

‘What is it?’ I said.

Dad sighed heavily. ‘Riko’s passport is missing. That means she could have gone anywhere.’ He sat down on the sofa and held his head in his hands.

I’d thought today couldn’t get any worse. I was wrong. It just had and it wasn’t even midday yet.

Another hour went by and still no news of Riko. By early afternoon, I was in a terrible state. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink, couldn’t think straight. I could hardly breathe. Dad had gone to meet the police to fill them in on what he knew. Pia had gone out shopping in the sales with her mum but she kept sending me texts saying:
‘It’ll be OK.’ ‘Call if you need to.’ ‘Everything passes.’

I knew she meant well but her messages weren’t helping. I desperately needed someone to talk to. I glanced over at the photo of my mum.
I wish you were here
, I thought.
You’d know what to do. What to say.
I turned to Dave, who was sitting on the end of my bed. ‘I need help big time,’ I told him. Fear that something awful might have happened to Riko had taken over my brain.
I hate you, Bridget O’Reilly
, I thought.
This is all your fault
. But a nagging doubt at the back of my mind, told me that
she
wasn’t to blame.
I
was.

‘Jess, whatever’s the matter?’ asked a familiar voice.

I sat up, surprised to see that Aunt Maddie had just arrived. ‘How did you get in?’

‘I just bumped into your father. He let me through. But what’s the matter, Jess? You look terrible.’

‘Nothing’s the matter.’

‘Nothing? It doesn’t look like nothing. Boy trouble?’

‘No.
Pff.
Nothing like that.’