The Reluctant Celebrity (8 page)

SATURDAY,
JULY 02
^ND

FROST HAS MELTED

Super model
Lola Frost (20) has finally dropped her famous Frost-y glare in favour of a
super smile. Posing at the launch of
GiGi
sports new swim and
leisurewear, the pouting model couldn’t hide her more saucy side as she joked
with newcomer and the latest face of
GiGi
, Guy Rawson (22).

According
to insiders at the launch, held at the exclusive Farnsworth Hotel in Mayfair,
the change in Frost’s mood is all down to the charms of her gorgeous co-star.

Rawson and Frost are rumoured to have hit
it off instantly and are already planning a romantic get-away once the
publicity for their new campaign is over.
 

Juliet shivered as she dragged
her body out of the front door. The warmth from the late afternoon sun unable
to penetrate the layer of sadness chilling her to the bone.

Fourteen
days, she reminded herself, covering her puffy eyelids with a pair of pink sun
glasses, and forcing her feet to move forward. He had been gone for fourteen
days.

She
had survived the first week in an anesthetised blur.             

The
gown fitting; the photographer; the graduation ceremony; dinner with her
parents; it had happened. The memories were still fresh in her head, and yet it
was as if someone else had done those things. Just breathing in and out had sapped
all of her energy.

The
shock had worn off after the first week, leaving in its place the deadening
reality of her situation.

Guy
had left her.

He
was gone, she reminded herself again, welcoming the fresh wave of hurt it
caused as she dragged her body towards the local shops.  

Somewhere
along the way, between the numbing disbelief, the desperate hope, and the
crushing confusion of their break-up, she had become an emotional self-harmer.
Raking over every aspect of their relationship and the day he’d left until the
wound remained open and raw.  

The
day of their argument had been just as hot and balmy. Perfect for the picnic
she’d planned.

One
minute she’d been absorbing the last rays of afternoon sun, enjoying the taste
of ripe warm strawberries, only a week away from graduating University, and the
next stage of their lives.

They’d
planned to stay Loughborough and find a one-bedroom flat. Just the two of them
at last. She’d had an internship lined up with an interior design agency,
whilst Guy had planned to pick up a few shifts behind the bar at their local in
between his gigs. It wasn’t a long-term plan, but it was something they’d
decided together, or so she’d thought.

The
next minute Guy had obliterated their future and in its place told her his new
idea.

He
was leaving Loughborough.

He
was leaving his dreams of becoming a singer.

He
was leaving her.

Three
nuggets of information exploding like nuclear bombs in her head.

The
memory of his words felt like the twist of a knife in her chest.

The
heat of the day now pounded into her brain, but she had to get out. She had to
eat. All she had to do was pick up a carton of milk and some bread, and then
she could bury herself once more in his smell still lingering on their bed
covers.

It should
be simple. Something she had done a hundred times. Yet, in that moment, walking
the short distance to the corner shop to buy a pint of milk felt like an
insurmountable task.

Suddenly,
out of nowhere, she felt his presence.

He
had come back. 

Juliet
stopped dead, twisting her body in a full circle as her eyes sought out the
familiar frame of his body. Her heart jumped into her throat and despite the
horror of the past fortnight she felt a rush of happiness gush through her
veins.  

Then
she saw it. 

Her
eyes fixing onto the poster at the bus stop directly in front of her. Guy’s
life size body stared back.

Her
brain failed to compute the information before her. It had to be a
hallucination.

Her
hand clenched the warm metal of the nearest lamp post, forcing her body to stay
upright as she fought the urge to reach out and touch his face.

She
knew him inside out. The man in the poster was definitely him. The mop of his
messy hair had gone and so had the cheeky lopsided grin, which never failed to
turn her stomach to mush.

She
searched his face for some sign of familiarity but nothing but the stony pose
of a model stared back.

She
had to get out of the sun. Spinning around, Juliet dived into the cool interior
of the mini-mart; the cool air from an electric fan prickling against her skin
as her eyes adjusted to the change in light.

What
had just happened? Guy, the scruffy musician who wore torn up jeans and faded
t-shirts; the love of her life who never bothered to brush his hair or look in
a mirror; how could that same person be modelling sports clothes?

As
her legs regained their strength, Juliet moved back in the direction of the
doorway. She had to see it again. But before she could step back outside
something in the corner of her eye made her hesitate.

Turning
slowly, she scanned the newspaper display by the door. Her breathing felt
hurried and erratic as if a part of her mind already knew the image about to
assault her.

Then
saw it. On the front page of one of the brightly coloured tabloids was another
photograph of Guy.

‘No,’
the cry escaped her mouth as she absorbed the picture of him staring at the
camera, his arm looped around the shoulder of a skinny brunette.

Grabbing
the paper, Juliet read the article; each line causing fresh pain to cut deeper
inside her.

Two
weeks without a single word; countless unanswered phone calls; and then this.
She could not grasp the reality laid out in print before her very eyes.

‘Miss,
are you alright?’ a voice called out to her from somewhere further into the
shop.

She
lifted her head in a slow nod as she felt something disintegrate inside her.

Now
she understood what she needed to do.

Turning
quickly around she grabbed a basket and began to fill it.

Guy
had destroyed her. She didn’t have to think anymore. 

Juliet
lifted the cheap plastic bottle to her lips, taking another much needed swig of
vodka and ignoring the carton of tropical juice unopened on the bedside table. 

The
first half of the cheap translucent liquid had burnt her throat raw, no doubt
doing the same to her insides. Not that it mattered now.

At
least the second half seemed to be slipping down a little easier, she thought
as she flopped her body onto the bed.

Pulling
the rim of the bottle from her lips, she fumbled with the volume remote,
forcing the stereo to vibrate against the shelves as their music blared out
into the messy bedroom still filled with his belongings.

The
bittersweet tunes causing a mixture of comfort and crushing sadness to wrap
itself around her.

Propping
the vodka bottle against his pillow, Juliet ripped the lid from the chunky
cardboard box, her swollen eyes gazing at the contents spilling onto the bed,
as if it had the power to save her.

She
pressed her fingers against the protective foil packets, popping the white
tablets, one by one, onto the bedcover until all the packets contents had been
emptied and a tiny mountain had formed before her.

Any
minute now, she told herself as a flood of fresh wet tears sprung from her
eyes. The salty solution burning like the vodka against the sore rims of her
eyes. How could there be more tears?

He
had gone. Leaving behind an eerie devastation that haunted her day and night. As
if he’d ripped out a part of her and taken it with him.

She
had nothing left.

She
had been living under a thick veil of grief and disbelief, but everything was
clear now, she realised, thinking back to the lightning bolt of horror that had
struck her only a few hours earlier.

Her
watery gaze fixed onto the mound of tablets; the smudged newspaper now a blur
in the corner of her eye. Their glossy faces grinning at her, mocking her
existence.  

Any
minute now, she told herself again, her thoughts almost lost behind the blaring
noise of the stereo.

She
let her head fall against the bed; its cool fabric soothing the heat from her
puffy face.

What
was she supposed to do now?  

She
forced another mouthful of vodka down her throat, wishing the drink would numb
the pain, but not even the dizzying hit of drunkenness could lessen the reality
of what she’d lost.

Juliet
reached a shaking hand towards the tablets, brushing the tips of her fingers
against the powdery shells. She felt her heart quicken with anticipation and
fear.

‘Any
second now,’ she mumbled to herself, holding a single pill in one hand and the
almost empty bottle of vodka in the other.

If
only she could undo the past. Rewind the last two weeks and return to the park.
She wouldn’t let him leave again, no matter what. But there could be no going
back. Guy had moved on, deleting her completely from his life as if their love
had never existed, as if she had never existed.

Soon
she wouldn’t, she thought, placing a single pill on her tongue and washing it
down with another swill of fiery liquid.  

Her
heart thundered in her ears, muffling the noise of the stereo. 

She
had started now. There could be no going back. She had nothing to live for.

Juliet
reached out to the mountain of tablets, grabbing a handful in her fist.  

If
only she could undo the past, she thought again. If only they had never met. If
only she’d ignored the exotic pull she’d felt from that first day. She could
have ignored her feelings; ignored the dishevelled boy offering to help her and
carried on walking. Maybe then she would have spent her time at university
studying and having fun with friends, instead of wrapped in the bittersweet
bubble they had made for themselves.

She
had allowed herself to be consumed by their love until she was nothing without
him. She was trapped.  

Hopelessly
trapped, she thought again as she threw the pills into her mouth. 

Juliet
tipped the vodka bottle almost vertical, causing the liquid to stream down her
chin as it filled her mouth.

Just
as the pills began to slip down her throat an image of a morgue flashed in
front of her face; her naked body lying on a cold metal slab; her parents
standing over her.    

Suddenly
she couldn’t swallow. The tablets felt like acorns at the back of her mouth.

Panic
hit like a hard blow to the head.

She bent
forward, opening her mouth and letting the remaining liquid drip over her. But
the tablets refused to budge as they clawed their way into her body.

In a
flash she felt an overwhelming will to live. The sense so strong it cut through
the alcohol running through her veins and drowned out the pain Guy had caused.

 Without
another thought to her despair, Juliet threw her body off from the bed, crashing
hard against onto the floor.

The
pills grated against the inside of her neck causing a gag reflex to push up
from her stomach.

Seconds
passed and nothing happened.

Then
the retching began. Long heaving wretches as her stomach pumped the vodka and
the pills out of her body.

For
what felt like hours, she knelt on her hands and knees next to the bed she had
shared with Guy, crying and vomiting until nothing remained inside her. 

She lent
exhausted against the bed. The tears and the music had stopped, causing a silent
calm to consume her.

With
slow deliberate movements she pushed her body from the floor and began to clear
up the mess of her life, starting with the sick and finishing with five bin
bags full of clothes and make-up she would never wear again.

Only
the cheap white shirt and black skirt she’d worn to graduation hung in the
wardrobe. It was all she needed. Tomorrow she would buy new things and move
away. Start over and forget Guy had ever existed, just as he had done to her.

SATURDAY,
FEBRUARY, 22
^ND

GUY’S GAL “DESTROYED ME”

In
an exclusive Valentine’s interview, Gorgeous Guy Rawson revealed his love for
ex Juliet Stewart (right). Now we can also reveal that the famous singer is not
the only person to be heart-broken by his sexy ex.

Phillip
Williams (32), a property manager from Nottingham, dated the star’s
ex-girlfriend four years ago when the pair met at his father’s property
business. “We hit it off straight away. We were both really ambitious. Jules
had a real spark for business and it wasn’t long before the sparks were flying
between us too.”

But
their relationship took a turn for the worse when Phillip, then 28, wanted to
get serious. “We’d invested in a property together and things were going really
well. But the minute our flat was ready for sale something changed. One day she
was warm and loving, the next she was a bitch…She just packed up and left.”

“I
can appreciate Guy’s pain. Juliet broke my heart too. I now realise she was
just using me to help her career. She destroyed my trust in woman,” claims
Williams, still single. 

Wherefore
art thou Juliet? Heart-broken Phillip has no idea where Juliet is now, but
maybe you do? Call Sara-Marie Francis on 0800 559 119 NOW!

Right:
Juicy Jules, then 23, shows off more than her property assets in a miniscule
bikini whilst holidaying in Spain with “Heart-broken” ex-boyfriend Phillip
Williams, above.

‘Good
morning dear,’ a voice called from behind her as Jules stepped into the dining
room.

‘Morning
Mrs Beckwith.’   

‘Lovely
and bright out there today. Was it a bit warmer on your run dear?’ Mrs
Beckwith’s sing song voice asked as she shuffled out from the kitchen.

‘A
little,’ Jules replied taking a seat at the single place set in the middle of
the long dining room table. 

‘Lovely,’
she sighed. ‘Spring will be here in no time.’

‘Let’s
hope so.’

‘Righty
ho, shall I pop your toast on? One slice or two?’

‘Two
would be great. Thanks.’

Jules
had no idea if it was any warmer outside. The bitterly cold wind had still felt
like a brutal assault against her skin as she’d pushed her body up the valley,
but she found it much easier to agree with her landlady’s opinion on the
weather each morning than embark upon a lengthy discussion. Especially before
she’d had a chance to digest a cup of Mrs Beckwith’s treacle thick coffee.

As
her elderly landlady moved back to the kitchen, Jules shook a heap of
cornflakes into the bowl, drowning the orange flakes in a large helping of cold
milk and shoving a heaped spoonful into her mouth.

Every
day that passed in Cottinghale, Jules found herself adding a little more to her
breakfast portions. The long runs, country air, and full days working on her
house not only put her to sleep the minute her head touched the pillow each
night, but also left her stomach growling like a ferocious dog each morning.

As
she stuffed another crunchy mouthful into her mouth, it took Jules a moment to
register the kitchen door as it swung open and the man carrying the tray of
coffee and toast towards her.

‘Hi
Rich,’ Jules said, swallowing her mouthful so fast the cornflakes scratched her
throat. ‘And Max,’ she added, bending down to fuss over the young Springer and allowing
her a moment to hide the flush she felt spreading across her cheeks.

‘Morning
Jules. Sorry for barging in on your breakfast.’

‘Oh it’s
no problem. It’s great to see you. Nice weather today. Mrs Beckwith thinks
spring might be on the way.’

‘It
could be.’

‘Are
you on your way out for a walk? I’d love to join you but I’ve got to get up to
the house this morning. I’ve forced Terri and the boys to take a day off so I
need to crack on.’ Jules clamped her mouth shut. She was babbling like an
idiot.

‘Well
we are, but that’s not why I’m here,’ he replied, sliding the tray of coffee
onto the table and pouring two cups from a steaming cafetiere.

The
memories from the last time she’d seen him had yet to fade.  Her drunken
behaviour, her pathetic attempts to seduce him, and waking up in his bed. The
embarrassment never failed to unleash a red heat into her body whenever she
thought about it.

She
had managed to avoid him in the four days since that horrifying episode. Refusing
Terri’s offers of a drink after work, and going out for a run at the crack of
dawn. In a small place like Cottinghale, she’d known they would bump into each
other eventually, she just hadn’t thought it would be over breakfast in Mrs
Beckwith’s dining room on the day she’d agreed to have dinner with him; a tiny
fact she’d hidden in the back of her mind until that moment.            

Only
as he sat down in the chair across from her did she see the all too familiar
blue logo of the newspaper sticking out from under Rich’s arm.

‘Is
that what I think it is?’ she asked. The embarrassment she’d felt moments
earlier now insignificant as her mood plummeted into the pit of her stomach.

‘Err
yes. It’s why I’m here,’ he nodded, passing the newspaper to her. ‘Stan grabbed
me as we were heading out. I thought you’d prefer to see it sooner rather than
later.’

‘Thanks,’
she replied. How could this be happening again?

‘Page
seventeen.’

It
took a few seconds for Jules’ shaking hands to find the right page, and several
more seconds to believe what she was reading.

    ‘I...I can’t believe
this,’ she cried out, slumping her body back into the nearest chair. ‘This is
total bollocks. How can they print this stuff about me? It’s all lies.’  

‘So
you don’t know this guy?’ Rich asked in reply, taking a seat opposite Jules.

‘Not
exactly. His dad gave me my first job out of Uni.’ 

‘But
you didn’t actually date him then?’

‘We
never invested in a property together. It was his dad’s company who fronted me.
And we definitely never went on holiday together. This photo,’ Jules stabbed at
the page, ‘was taken on Brighton Beach.’

‘Right.’
Rich nodded taking a long sip from his cup.

She
lifted her gaze towards him, battling the conflicting urges to explain
everything and run away.      

She
remembered Phillip. How could she forget? She had forced herself to accept his
offers of a drink after work; then dinner, and everything else that followed.
But it had nothing to do with her career or with him for that matter. She’d done
it to prove she was normal, and being in a relationship with someone, anyone,
proved she had moved on from Guy.

Phillip
had been right about one thing. Their relationship had ended rather abruptly
when she’d found a new job away from Nottingham, but there was no way he’d been
heartbroken.

 ‘I
just can’t believe this,’ she said again, her mind unable to comprehend the
millions of people that would be reading about her, let alone ogling at the
picture. ‘Why would he do this? They make it sound like I’m an evil slapper.’

 ‘Juicy
Jules,’ she read aloud, shaking her head as the words sunk in.

She
pulled the newspaper up to her face for closer inspection. She was sure she’d
destroyed that photo. Phillip had taken the shot before she’d been able to
protest. Her body looked scrawny, almost malnourished. Her hands were up in
protest, her unsmiling face turned away from the camera.

‘You
know I meant what I said the other day,’ Rich began. ‘You should seek legal advice
on this. I’m sure you could get an injunction to stop them printing any more
stories. There are laws to protect people from this kind of invasion of
privacy.’

‘What
about freedom of speech? If I tried to stop them it would only make things
worse.’

‘What
about speaking to them directly then? If you gave your side of the story then
they’d probably-’

‘No,’
she cut him off. ‘I can’t...I won’t. It’s what he wants. I won’t give him the
satisfaction.’ Jules grabbed her coffee, taking two quick gulps. The buzz of
caffeine felt instant as it mixed with the anger pulsing through her.

‘So
what are you going to do?’

‘Nothing,’
she replied, lifting her eyes to meet his.

He
looked different. His hair, still damp and smelling of limes, had yet to be
battered by the wind. And his blonde stubble had been replaced with smooth
skin, still shiny with moisturiser.

 ‘This
will all go away,’ she added.

Rich
said nothing as the silence grew between them.

Jules
could stand it no longer; she had to say something, ‘Look, about tonight. Would
you mind if we postponed it? What with the long days at the house and now this,
I just don’t think I’d be very good company.’

‘I
figured as much,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘When I didn’t see you this week, I
thought you might be avoiding me?’

‘What?
No of course not,’ she lied, feeling the guilt glow on her cheeks. ‘I’ve just
been busy.’

‘No
problem.’

‘Thanks.
Another time definitely.’

‘Okay,’
he nodded. ‘But can I ask you something then?’

‘Sure.’

‘Isn’t
it letting them win? I mean, I understand if you want to hide from all this,’
he began, nodding his head towards the newspaper. ‘But you’ve been in
Cottinghale how long? A week? And you go from here to your house and back
again. It’s not much of a new start is it?’

Jules
felt the breath leave her lungs as a fiery rage engulfed her. ‘And what would
you know about it? Has anything like this ever happened to you?’ she snapped.

‘No,
but-’

‘Well
then, stay out of it, okay? You’re right, I’ve been here a week, so don’t
pretend you know me.’

She
pushed the chair back and sprang to her feet, almost dragging the lace table
cloth and the bowl of soggy cornflakes with her.

‘Jules
wait; I was only trying to help,’ he explained, his tone remaining even.

She
stared down at him fighting the anger throbbing in her head. ‘I know,’ she
sighed. ‘I’m sorry for having a go at you. I guess that’s why they say that you
shouldn’t shoot the messenger. Thanks for bringing this over.’

‘Don’t
mention it.’

She
could tell by his tone that Rich was still annoyed about her outburst, or about
cancelling dinner, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

‘I’d
better go,’ she said, grabbing the paper and striding from the room without
waiting for a response.

As
soon as she unlocked her car and slipped behind the steering wheel she felt
better. Her house sat less that a ten minute walk further up the road, but something
about driving soothed her.

What
had just happened? She knew Rich was the last person she should be angry at,
but for some reason the more he tried to help her, the harder she pushed him
away.

The
vibration of her mobile saved Jules from thinking any deeper about the reasons
for her strange behaviour towards Rich. She dug her fingers into her pocket and
snapped her phone open.

 ‘Hello,’
she said.

‘Hello
Juliet this it’s your mum here, just calling to see how your new property is
coming along, give us a call-’

‘Mum,
I’m here,’ Jules interrupted, balancing the phone in the crook of her right
shoulder, freeing her hands to start the car. She couldn’t bear the thought of
seeing Rich again now.

‘Oh
hi darling, I thought it had gone straight to voicemail.’

Even
with her mind clouded in anger, Jules felt the familiar churn of guilt. She
hadn’t spoken to her parents in months; preferring instead to exchange
voicemails every couple of weeks when she knew they would be out at their book
club. Their cheerful answer phone message never asked awkward questions she
didn’t have the answers too.

‘How
are you? Did Guy manage to find you? It was only after he left that I realised
our road map might be a little out of date.’

Jules
slipped the gear stick into reverse and guided the car out of Mrs Beckwith’s
driveway. It took her a moment to register her mother’s comment.

‘Mum,
why did you tell him where I was?’ 

‘Why?
Shouldn’t we have done? He told us all about the newspaper story and sounded so
apologetic, not that your father and I could figure what exactly was going on,
but it was lovely to see him again. I don’t know why it never worked out
between the two of you.’

Jules
heard the deep sound of her father’s voice bellow in the background as she
moved the gear stick into drive and sped up the road.

‘Oh,
yes yes that’s right, you were too young.’

Another
thrust of frustration reared inside her.  Her mother’s ability to make
everything seem so simple never failed to drive her crazy.