The Reluctant Celebrity (13 page)

‘Hey,
now you’ve nothing to say thank you for either. You wouldn’t believe the amount
of times I cried when my Kevin upped sticks with that tart from the next
village. Not so much as a note. Just this business and a mountain of debt. And
even though only a handful of people knew about it, I felt so humiliated - cried
for months.’

‘That’s
awful,’                    

Terri
nodded. ‘Yes it was. But if it had been in the papers as well then I don’t
think I’d have ever stopped crying. Well maybe just long enough to track him
down and kill him.’ Terri grinned.

Jules
couldn’t help but feel better at Terri’s humour.

‘Now
obviously I’m not suggesting you should kill this Guy fella. It seems there’s still
something between the two of you, and-’

‘No
there isn’t,’ Jules jumped in. ‘Other than last week, we hadn’t seen each other
for years.’

‘Maybe
not, but by the way you two were arguing it seems there’s still a lot of
unfinished business at least.’

‘There
really isn’t. I hate him Terri. He’s the reason the paper is doing this. It’s
all part of his publicity campaign. He’s using me to sell records.’

‘Right.’

Jules
lifted her gaze to Terri’s face, reading the quizzical look on her face.
‘What?’

‘Well
it’s just if Guy only did what he did for publicity why did he drive all the
way up here to tell you it wasn’t?

‘I...I
don’t know. He probably thought if he could get me to do an interview it would
carry more weight with the story. But whatever the reason, there is nothing
between us, okay?’  

‘If
you say so Lovey. Now look, the best thing you can do now is try and forget
about this newspaper article. I know it’s embarrassing but without a time
machine there is nothing you can do to undo what’s happened.’

‘You’re
right Terri,’ Jules agreed, wiping the remaining tears from her face. ‘Thank
you.’

‘Oh
I almost forgot,’ Terri began, digging out a dusty catalogue from the pocket of
her dungarees. ‘I found this in the back of the van. It’s a staircase
catalogue. God knows how old it is, but I thought at least it would give you a
few ideas.’             

Jules
took the catalogue, grateful for something else to focus her thoughts on. ‘Thanks
Terri. For everything I mean. Helping me with the house and being so nice to
me. I know I’m not the easiest person, I just...’ Jules stopped, unsure what
she was trying to say.

‘Oh
you daft thing, what are friends for. Now why don’t you hold the ladder, and
I’ll pop up and get your car keys. They’re in the bathroom you said?’

‘Yes,
that would be great thanks,’ she replied as they stood up and walked towards
the house.

As
Jules flicked through the catalogue, she was surprised to see that fitting a
new staircase would be simple. Rather than build the entire structure from
scratch, she could simply pick out a readymade one and it would be delivered
and fitted like any other piece of furniture.

‘I
still can’t believe how much carpet you managed to take up all by yourself,’
Terri said. ‘And such nice floors, why would anyone want to cover…’ her
sentence trailed off as Terri stepped through the doorway.

‘Sorry?
I didn’t catch that,’ Jules said, entering into the hallway behind Terri.

‘Oh
nothing Lovey.’

Jules
saw the nervous look that crossed Terri’s face and guessed the woman’s sudden
change in mood. ‘Terri, you can’t seriously believe this place is haunted?’ she
quizzed.   

‘I
don’t know,’ she answered, dropping her voice to a whisper, ‘but how else do
you explain the ceiling and stairs both falling down? It’s not right.’

‘Honestly,’
Jules said, smiling at Terri as she rolled her eyes. ‘This place is just old
that’s all.’

‘I’m
sure you’re right Lovey, but maybe just to be on the safe side you could
reconsider the other thing.’ Terri scrunched her face into what Jules could
only take as some form of wink.

‘If
you’re referring to what I think you’re referring to then absolutely not,’ she
replied, finding her own voice had dropped to a whisper as she tried to ignore
the tingle running down her spine.

Ever
since Jules had been told her house was haunted it seemed the whole of
Cottinghale had been asking about an exorcism. Although she strongly suspected
it had more to do with the idea of a party than any concern for her own safety.

‘So
these stairs,’ Jules prompted again; eager to keep her mind focused on her house.

‘Yes
right,’ Terri nodded causing a wisp of blonde-grey hair to escape from its
scrunchy. ‘Now I don’t know what you had in mind but I’ve always thought the
old staircase was too narrow for this space. And now that you have the chance
to change it, I thought something like this would work well,’ she added,
pointing to a photograph of a deep rosewood staircase, which started further
out at the bottom and swept in a small half circle towards the wall and the
second floor.

‘I
know the last few steps would come out further into the hallway, but you’ve got
a lot of space here and…’              

‘It’s
perfect,’ Jules interrupted. ‘Really perfect.’

‘Great.
Well I’ll have a word with the company and see if they still make it, and we
can get someone in to give you an estimate. But first I think it’s time me and
the boys started clearing this mess.’

‘Yes,’
Jules replied, turning her head to look at the space where her stairs used to
be.  

Somehow,
the destruction of the entire staircase had left little more than a few jagged
gaps in the plaster of the wall. A flap of carpet hung from the empty space on
the second floor.

She
took a step forward, her gaze falling to the flattened area where her body had
fallen. Just to the left, three rows of long rusted nails jutted out from a piece
of wood. If she’d fallen even a few centimetres in a different direction then
she would have suffered a lot more than just bruising.

Something
Steven Alton had once said sprung to the forefront of her mind: “You can’t do
everything alone Jules. If you don’t let people in one of these days you are
going to land yourself in a mess and nobody will be there to help you out of
it.”

As
The
Daily
’s story flashed before her, Jules wondered for the first time if he
might have had a point.

 ‘Are
you okay Lovey?’ The soft tone of Terri’s voice interrupted her disjointed
thoughts.

Jules
shook her mind clear, turning away from the mess. ‘Yes I’m fine, just lost in
thought there for a minute.’

‘Are
you sure, you look terribly pale?’

‘Just
a bit shocked by it all still, I’m fine though really,’ she reassured Terri and
herself. ‘Now shall we get to work?’

‘Well
me and the boy’s can tackle this by ourselves. You’ve had quite an upset this
morning. Why don’t you do something else today, take a drive somewhere maybe?’
Terri promoted gently. ‘It would be good to get some paint on the walls before
the new staircase arrives. You could go to Cheltenham and look at some
colours?’

Jules
lifted a hand to the bump she’d received the last time she’d thrown herself
into work following one of
The Daily’s
stories. ‘I think you might be
right.’

‘Good
then. Well grab the other end of that ladder for me Lovey and I’ll get your
things down in no time.’        

As Jules
climbed into her car she had every intention of heading to Cheltenham, but as
she pulled out of the driveway a feeling of dread began to creep through her.

How
many of the millions of readers of
The Daily
would she have to meet if
she left the hamlet? She wondered.

The
irony of the situation did nothing to improve her mood. Just a few days ago she
had found the tiny community suffocating, but now the small row of houses
tucked between two valleys felt like her only haven.

Until
she came to terms with the paper’s horrifying attack she needed to stay put.

Applying
gentle pressure to the accelerator, Jules eased her car back in the direction
of the guesthouse.

Maybe
she would visit Rich, she pondered thinking back to Terri’s misinterpretation
about Guy and her previous resolve to take things a step further with Rich.
That is, if
The Daily’s
destructive reach hadn’t stretched to the
delicate relationship she seemed to be forming with him.

Then
another thought struck her. No matter how fictional the tabloids accounts of
her previous relationships, they had been right about one thing: in every place
she’d moved to, she’d had one short relationship. She had never been the one to
suggest taking things further and the relationship had always died when she’d
moved away. Or did she move away to end it?

She
thought she liked Rich. He made her laugh and he didn’t take life too seriously,
but maybe he was just another stop gap she would end up moving away from the
moment the house was finished.        

All
of a sudden, she had no idea how she really felt or what she should do. She
needed to think.

What the fuck was he doing?
Guy asked himself as the dry edge of his index finger pressed against the
doorbell.

Guy
listened to the slow movement of footsteps from inside the house, suddenly
aware that the plan he had spent hours formulating in the early hours of the
morning did not just hinge upon getting Juliet to listen to him, it was the
plan. Hardly worthy of an
Ocean’s Eleven
plot line.

‘Jules,
Jules, Jules,’ he repeated the name under his breath, recalling the look of
venom that had crossed her face on his last visit to Cottinghale.

An
elderly woman with a tight grey perm and a floral housecoat opened the front
door. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello,
Mrs Beckwith?’

‘Yes
dear.’

‘I’m
Guy Rawson, we spoke on the phone.’

‘Oh
yes of course, do come in.’ Mrs Beckwith shuffled her blue skippered feet back,
allowing Guy into the guesthouse. 

‘Now
remind me Mr Rawson, you’ve booked for a week is that right?’ the landlady
asked as she pushed the door carefully shut.

‘Yes
please Mrs Beckwith. Although I may extend it, if that’s not a problem?’

‘Oh
not at all dear. There’s not much call for my rooms until hiking season, and
even then I’m empty more often than not. Not that I mind these days though,’
she sighed. ‘Now, let me give you a quick tour and then I’ll leave you to
settle in. This is the key for the front door, and one for the room,’ she said
as her cool wrinkled hand pressed two keys, into Guy’s palm.

‘To
your right is the dining room where I serve breakfast, and beyond that is the
living room with a television and a few books, that kind of thing.’

Guy
followed Mrs Beckwith’s short shuffles as she led him through the various rooms;
each one appearing more cluttered than the last as his eyes fell upon the
dozens of strange brass animals and lace cloths.

‘I’ve
got another guest staying at the moment too – Miss Stewart. Although I doubt
you’ll have a chance to get under each other’s feet much as she’s out most of
the day. I’ve been making toast and coffee for her around eight each morning,
but I can do two servings if you’d prefer a different time?’

Suddenly,
Guy felt his mouth dry up. He tried to swallow but couldn’t. He hadn’t thought
about where Jules had been staying until that very moment. He’d seen the derelict
house; it was unliveable. And yet it had never crossed his mind that she would
be staying in the guesthouse too.

It
could be perfect, he reasoned as he processed the information Mrs Beckwith had
shared with him. He’d planned to go up to the house the minute he’d dropped off
his bag, but this way he could simply wait for her to return. She would be on
her own then at least.

But
would she listen?

‘Mr
Rawson?’

‘Eight
is perfect Mrs Beckwith, thank you,’ he responded with a smile as he followed
Mrs Beckwith up the stairs.

‘There
aren’t a lot of places to eat around here, but I fix an evening meal most
nights. It’s nothing exciting mind you, just casseroles and such. I pop it in
the oven in the kitchen to stay warm and that way you can help yourself
whenever it suits you. Just leave the dishes in the sink when you’re done.’

She
stopped on the landing, her hand gripping the top of the banister as she took
two long intakes of breath.

‘Well
here we are.’ Mrs Beckwith opened one of the three doors on the landing in
front of him to reveal a small bare room in complete contrast to the clutter
covering the rest of the house.

‘Err,
lovely thanks,’ Guy said as he entered the room. He couldn’t remember the last
time he’d slept in a single bed, he thought, dropping his holdall to the
floor.   

‘Good
good. Now, the bathroom is to your right and if there’s anything you need I’ll
be in my little annex at the back.’

‘So,’
he began before Mrs Beckwith could leave. ‘The other guest, is she is a hiker
or something?’ he asked, trying to hide the curiosity from his voice.

‘Oh
no. Miss Stewart is one of us really. She’s bought the old house at the top of
the lane. You probably passed it on your way in.  It’s been empty for months.
Nobody seemed to want it until it caught Miss Stewart’s eye. She’s just staying
here until it’s in a fit state to be lived in again.’

Without
needing to be prompted further, Mrs Beckwith continued: ‘It’s so nice to have a
fresh face around here, and such a beauty too. Already snapped up by the
landlord. They make a lovely couple,’ Mrs Beckwith sighed. ‘She’s had a
terrible time of it though,’ her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I’m not one to
gossip you know, but she’s been in the newspapers this week. Some nonsense
caused by a nasty ex-boyfriend as far as I can figure. The poor thing has been
in angst about it all.’

‘Oh.’

He
turned to the thin framed window, hiding his expression from the elderly
landlady as he looked out to the tree lined slope that dwarfed the village,
separated from the house by a small garden turned parking space, currently
taken by his Jaguar. He was suddenly glad he had tucked it out of sight. If
Jules knew he was here, she could just as easily turn around and leave again
and he’d be none the wiser.

Although
maybe he was too late anyway, he wondered, fighting back a wave of nauseating
fear at the thought of Juliet in love with another man. 

He’d
wasted five pointless years without her. All that time they could have been
together if he hadn’t fucked it all up.

He
had to believe it wasn’t too late. She had loved him once with all of her
heart. It had taken him until just recently to realise he’d never stopped
loving her. Maybe the same could be true for Jules. If only he could make her
see it.    

‘You
look very familiar Mr Rawson,’ Mrs Beckwith’s voice cut into his thoughts.

‘Call
me Guy.’ He spun back towards her.

‘Have
you stayed here before? The grey of her eyes, magnified by the thick lenses of
her glasses, burnt into his face. 

‘No
I haven’t Mrs Beckwith, just one of those faces I guess,’ he responded lifting
his shoulders into a shrug.

‘Or
my eyesight more likely. It’s not what it used to be I’m afraid.’ She sighed
again. ‘Well I’ll leave you to it Mr Rawson.’

‘Thank
you.’

‘You’re
welcome dear, and remember I’m just downstairs if you need anything.’

Guy
stepped back towards the door, closing it behind the guesthouse owner as she
left.    

Unlike
so many of the vain and egocentric models he’d worked with in the past, it had
never bothered Guy when people failed to recognise him. In fact, he preferred
it that way. He had never once tried to jog someone’s memory or list the
campaigns he’d worked on. And the last thing he needed right now was a reporter
snooping around, dragging Jules further into the mess he’d created and further
away from him.  

Once
he’d heard the slow steps of Mrs Beckwith move below him, Guy crossed back to
the window. The crisp February air crept through the single pane of glass, reaching
out to him like a cold breath on his skin.

Cottinghale
seemed like the perfect place for the old Juliet. A small community with people
who cared about each other and always had a friendly word to say to anyone
passing by. The old Juliet with her big smile and open nature would have
slotted in perfectly. But the new one? He wasn’t so sure.          

Although
maybe this was just another stop on the road, Guy wondered, thinking of
The
Daily
’s story. It wasn’t the old boyfriends that bothered him, well not
much anyway, but the thought of the laughing happy girl he’d once known moving
from place to place in a solitary existence that filled him with an unsettling
sadness.

At
least with the bitter taste
The Daily
’s story had left in the back of
this throat, he knew with total clarity that his feelings for Jules were more
than just a passing whim.

It
had become more than a search for whatever was missing in his life. He had made
a terrible mistake a long time ago and now he had to fix it. No matter how long
it took or however many rejections she threw at him. No amount of torment could
come close to the thought of his future without her.

Nervousness
hit like an explosion of sherbet dip fizzing inside him. The thought of what he
had to do caused his heart to throb against his rib cage as it doubled in
speed. But the thought of what he risked losing again dropped it to his stomach
in a sickening flood of fear.  

Guy
brought back the memory of her face in those first few seconds and clung to the
belief that somewhere inside a part of her still felt the same as she had done
years ago.   

Unzipping
his holdall, he rummaged through the clean clothes he’d packed first thing that
morning until his hands touched upon his small black wash-kit. He had no idea
how much time he had to kill but he might as well unpack and have a shave, he
decided, opening the door to his room and crossing the hallway.

His
hand tightened around the cool brass doorknob, twisting it in his hand. Just as
he heard the click of the spring he recalled Mrs Beckwith’s directions. He had
gone straight-ahead instead of right, but it was too late to correct his
mistake. The door released under the pressure from his hand and swung open to
reveal a room identical to his own, but Guy’s gaze could focus on just one
thing – Juliet.

She
stood in the middle of the room, wearing nothing but a black underwear set. The
sight of her body pushed his head into a turbulent spin; the speech he’d
practised late into the night disappeared as if someone had pressed the delete
button.

Guy
watched her, open-mouthed, his eyes unable to move from the large blue bruise
that travelled in misshapen blotches out from her underwear and down the curve
of her bottom.

‘Ahh,’
she cried out, her eyes widened at the sight of him as she grappled to cover
herself with a flimsy jumper.

‘Sorry.’
Guy blurted out as he fought to gain control, forcing his gaze away from her
legs and up to her face; the green wells of her eyes as distracting as her
half-naked body. ‘I thought this was the bathroom,’ he continued holding up his
wash-kit as if it could vouch for his error.

Without
waiting for a response, Guy reached his hand back to the door handle, pulling it
towards him before she could hear the noise of his heartbeat, amplified to the
same volume as the stage speakers he used.

Shit.
What had he just done? Walking in on Jules in her underwear was not part of the
plan.  

He
stepped quickly away from the door, relieved to find the bathroom exactly where
it should have been at the end of the small landing.