The Reluctant Celebrity (6 page)

Something
was definitely wrong. The thought nagged at Jules like a persistent alarm clock
determined to get her out of bed, but in her pre-waking minutes she had no
intention of moving from under the weight of the warm duvet, or lifting her
head from the squishy cloud-like pillow.

She
must be dreaming. At some point soon the alarm on her mobile would start to
beep and she would find herself back in the shivering cold of the guesthouse,
with the carpet as prickly as pine needles beneath her feet, and a shower so
hot it left her skin raw.

If
only the thought would stop poking, trying to wake her from the comfort of her
dream.

With
her eyes still shut, Jules wriggled her foot out of the bed, waiting for the
icy air to hit like a shot of caffeine. Nothing happened. Maybe Mrs Beckwith
had cranked the heat up for once, she wondered as she drifted back to sleep.
Then someone moved next to her and all notions of sleep disappeared.

 Jules’
body tensed. In an instant she realised four things: she was in someone else’s
bed; that someone lay asleep next to her; she had a throbbing headache, and a
mouth that tasted like sour feet.

The
person next to her let out a deep sigh, causing a thick stench of manure and
raw meat to fill her nose. If she ever had the misfortune to discover a
decomposing body, she had a feeling it would smell a lot like the breath of the
person next to her. 

The
person moved again, nudging something wet and warm against the back of her
neck.

She
had been kidnapped, she realised, as fear gripped her. Drugged and kidnapped.
It was the only explanation. And now the kidnapper with the dead body breath
and the lovely warm bed had decided to subject her to some kind of unspeakable
torture.

‘No,’
Jules cried out as something sloppy flapped into her ear.

Opening
her eyes, she shifted position to face her attacker, preparing to fight.

 
‘Max,’ she sighed, her body relaxing at the sight of the dog lying on top of
the duvet next to her.

Shrugging
her arms free of the cover, she spread her fingers through Max’s smooth
fur.    

‘Morning,’
a voice called from the doorway.

Jules’
eyes darted to bedroom door as horror filled her again. ‘Oh.’

She
had not been kidnapped. She had not discovered a dead body. But she had slept
in someone else’s bed, and that someone stood in the doorway with two steaming
mugs and an amused smile. Shit, Jules cursed herself.

‘Good
morning,’ Rich said as he crossed the room; stepping over what looked to be her
clothes spread across the pale laminate floor.

In a
flash, Jules moved under the covers, relieved to feel the fabric of her underwear
still intact.

‘Don’t
worry, I stopped you before you stripped totally naked,’ he said, reading her
wide-eyes and open mouth.

‘What?’
Red heat crept across her face.

Feeling
suddenly exposed, she pulled the duvet up to her chin, struggling to pull a
wining Max with her as she shuffled to a sitting position.

‘Here
you go.’ Rich handed her a hot mug.

‘Thanks.’

 ‘How
you feeling?’ Rich asked as he moved back to the door, leaning his tall body
against the frame.

Like
she’d had a fight with a very angry bear swinging a baseball bat and lost, she
thought.

‘Not
bad’ she lied, running her tongue across the ridge of her mouth. The taste had
the fur of a bear’s arse feel to it.

‘Remember
much from last night?’ He took a long sip from his mug, keeping the blue of his
eyes on her.

‘Most
of it, I think.’

Jules
willed her mind to uncover the memories of the last twenty-four hours. She
remembered finding Guy in her house. She remembered, with a wave of anger, the second
newspaper story; and she remembered sitting in Terri’s van. She had a hazy
image of entering the pub and drinking several of Rich’s cocktails, but nothing
more.         

 ‘Dancing
on the bar?’

‘WHAT?’
she cried out, the decibels of her own screech sending another wave of
throbbing pain through her head. ‘I did not do that.’

‘Okay,
okay, I was joking.’ Rich held up his mug-free hand. ‘You didn’t dance on the
bar.’

‘Good.’

‘Just
on the floor,’ he added, his face stretching into the same grin she remembered
from their first meeting. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen whenever you’re ready,
there’s no rush,’ he continued before Jules could question his comment.

‘Rich
wait,’ she called after him, trying to ignore another wave of nausea flooding
her system.

‘Yeah,’
he turned to face her.

‘Seriously,
what happened last night? Between us I mean.’ Another rush of heat crossed her
cheeks.

He
paused for a minute, a light smile touching his face. ‘Nothing Jules. You were
upset about the stories in the paper. Terri asked me to make you one of my
specials. Two shots of
Gordon’s
, ginger ale and orange juice. Well, they
are pretty lethal and-’

‘And
that’s when you thought you’d invite me back here and take advantage?’

The
second she saw Rich’s expression change she knew she’d made a mistake. The
amusement fell from his face.

‘No
actually. Funnily enough, paralytic women are not my type,’ he shot back. ‘You
had a few too many, and if you must know, I didn’t invite you anywhere, you
invited yourself. You practically begged me to sleep with you. I stayed in the
spare room, okay? Come on Max it’s time for your breakfast.’

He
strode away, followed by an obedient Max.   

Had
she really thrown herself at him? Jules wondered as vague memories of the
previous night filtered back. She remember taking off her jumper and the heat
of Rich’s body as she’d lent towards him, but what had she said? 

To
Jules’ horror, she recalled the answer to her question: ‘I really fancy you.’
The memory caused a shudder to take hold of her body. It was all her. She had
been the one to instigate whatever had led to her being half-naked in Rich’s bed.
What an idiot.

This
was all Guy’s fault, Jules fumed. If he hadn’t turned up yesterday, she
wouldn’t have felt the need to drink herself stupid, have a total personality
malfunction, and woken up in Rich’s bed. She had just managed to ruin any
chance of getting to know Rich properly, if that was something she even wanted,
she wondered.

A
few minutes later, moving very slowly, Jules rescued her jeans and jumper from
the bedroom floor. Her jacket, shoes and socks appeared to have been flung off
at a different point during her mortifying drunkenness, along with her hair
band. The waves of her long hair fell over her shoulders, messy and out of
control, just like her life, she thought.  

Jules
closed her eyes as she padded bare feet into a bright yellow hallway, each step
sending another throb of pain into her brain.

Suddenly
the bold colours she’d chosen for her new house seemed like a bad idea.

Rich’s
flat above the pub had the same stripped beams and high ceilings as the pub
below. He had kept the old features, but clashed them with modern touches. She
had a feeling the bright colours would have made her head pound even without
the hangover.

Another
agonising rush of nausea hit her as she entered the green and chrome kitchen.

‘Hi,’
she said in a low voice.

Rich
kept his back to her, making no sign that he’d heard her meek greeting.

Jules
took a breath. ‘Rich I’m sorry. I know you were just looking out for me…’ she
trailed off, waiting for him to respond in some way.

‘It’s
fine.’ He turned towards her. ‘Grab a stool; I’ll put some toast on. Orange
juice?’

Jules’
stomach gave an agonising churn. How many cocktails had she drunk last night?

‘Err
no thanks, but I’d murder for some pain killers if you’ve got any please?’

A
smile touched his lips. ‘Last cupboard by the sink, help yourself.’

‘Thanks,
and I am sorry about what I said. I’m seriously embarrassed, it’s not like me
to be so…’ Jules searched for the correct word – drunk, pathetic, needy – ‘Forward.’

‘That’s
not what you said last night.’

‘What?’
Jules exclaimed before she saw the creases of Rich’s smiling eyes. ‘Oh ha ha,
very funny.’

Rich’s
light teasing continued as they shared toast and coffee. In that moment, and
even through the haze of her hangover, Jules felt something pass between them. She
just had no idea what it was, and more importantly, what she wanted to do about
it.

‘Right.
Well I’d better take Max out in a minute. Do you want to come? The fresh air
might do you good.’

‘Thanks,
but I’d better get up to the house and see what’s going on with the ceiling and
getting some new glass for the window in the kitchen.’

‘So
last night didn’t put you off then?’

‘What
about last night?’

‘What
they said about your house?’ he prompted.

Jules
pushed her mind back through the bottomless pit of broken memories last night
had created. It was blank, totally blank.

‘Oh
yes that,’ Jules chose her words carefully, she couldn’t let Rich see she’d
forgotten everything. ‘No not at all.’ 

Rich
raised his eyebrows.

‘I’d
better head off now too. I guess I should check the papers on my way,’ she
added, the thought of another story filling her with dread. Surely no one would
bother telling the paper about her, it’s not like she had any enemies. 

‘Yeah
of course.’ Rich opened his mouth to say more, but closed it again.

‘Does
everyone know?’ she asked.

‘About
you staying here?’

‘About
the stories in the paper, why did I throw myself at you downstairs too?’ She
didn’t think last night could have been any worse, but she had been wrong.

‘Well
they definitely know about the newspaper. You had a pretty good rant about it.
A violation of human rights, I think you said.’

Jules
slumped her head into her hands, for once grateful for the loose waves of her
hair covering her flaming cheeks. Of all the places to share something so
personal about her life, why did she have to choose a tiny community she had to
live in for the next few months? Please let that be the last of the stories, Jules
begged to no one in particular.    

 ‘And
as for us, well it’s a small place. It only takes one person to see you leaving
here for people to start talking. If they haven’t already. But don’t worry it
really is harmless. Everyone is really nice; they take an interest in each
other that’s all.

It
takes a while to settle into a small community,’ Rich continued, ‘as I’m sure
you’ll find out for yourself in a few years.’ He paused for a moment as he took
a gulp of orange juice. Perhaps waiting for her to correct him.

She knew
now was the time to tell him that she had no plans to be in Cottinghale for more
than a few months let alone years, but for some reason she couldn’t bring
herself to do it. The house was her dream, but she knew she wouldn’t stay. She liked
to keep moving.

 ‘You
make it sound like you’re not a local. How long have you lived here?’ she
asked, dragging her sore head back from the table.

‘I moved
out from London about five years ago now, I wanted a change of scenery.’

‘A
change of scenery? This is more like changing planets. Did you have a bar in
London too?’

‘I
was a chef actually. Had a crazy notion that this place would make a great
country gastro pub.’

‘Wouldn’t
it?’

‘I’m
sure it would if there were enough people interested. But not many people pass
through here. After a while you kind of like it that way.’ Rich ran his hand
through the tassels of his hair. Despite being indoors, it still had the same
windswept look from the first time they’d met. ‘I do a Sunday lunch once a month
and specials on bonfire night, that kind of thing.’

Suddenly,
a loud bark pierced the air, sending a new wave of pain ricocheting around
Jules’ head.  

‘Okay
mate we haven’t forgotten about you.’ Rich stood. ‘You good to go?’ he asked.

‘Yeah
sure, but I can’t find my jacket or shoes,’ she answered with a shake of her
head. Deciding not to add the missing socks into the conversation.

‘Try
the stairs,’ he laughed.

‘Really?’

‘Hey,
it was your seduction routine not mine.’

‘Oh
no. I am so sorry.’

‘Don’t
worry about it,’ he said, collecting a blue lead from the back of the kitchen
door, which caused a fit of excitement to attack Max as he danced around them.

‘I’m
always looking for someone to try new recipes out on if you…’ The rest of his
words disappeared behind Max’s excited barking as Rich led him down the stairs.