The case became leaden in my hands.
‘You’ve thought of something, haven’t you? Look, I’m getting up there and do my thing in a minute – got to go and get my nose powdered backstage if you get my drift – but hold that thought ‘til I get back.’ Gabriel got to his feet and bent down to whisper in my ear. ‘Do I get a clue?’
‘Do you think everyone has a price?’ I asked quietly.
‘Wow. Cryptic.’ He shrugged. ‘Prob’ly. Just some are higher than others. Don’t move from that seat, will you? I reckon you’re gonna love what I’m about to do.’ He paused. ‘Well, I
hope
you like it. I know I’m comin’ off as a bit of a dick right now, but I kind of feel I need to impress you.’ Then he threw his shoulders back, flicked his head of Byronic curls and straightened a pair of black leather jeans that looked as though they had been sprayed on. I watched him make his way through the crowd, grasping outstretched hands and blowing kisses as if he were a separate species, evolved to exist in the public eye.
Across my knees, the briefcase lay squat as a toad as I considered Gabriel’s answer.
‘Oh yeah, that’s good, God, you’re a dirty, dirty bastard, just hold it there...’
I didn’t have a lot of choice about holding anything anywhere, but at least getting fucked against the dining table meant there was less chance of my leg giving way under me, and what Gary lacked in technique he certa
inly made up for in enthusiasm.
His fingers dug hard into my hips as he hammered his well-lubed cock into me, bringing himself off with a series of child-like squeaks. I concentrated on relaxing my abdomen, granting him easier passage and –hopefully – making it feel a little less like I’d been attacked with a pile-driver the next morning. After what seemed like aeons I felt him shove his way even further in than I would have thought possible, so that his balls slammed against me, and he shot his load into me with a loud cry. Sweat from his forehead spattered onto my bare back, where he had shoved my shirt up for easier access. As he pulled out I winced as my stomach gave its customary involuntary spasm.
I silently pulled my jeans back up from around my ankles and clenched my arse to stop the grubby little fucker’s cum from leaking out before I could rip my clothes off and fling them into a boil wash, and preferably before I had the added humiliation of Henry collecting my dirty laundry. I hated bareback fucking, even though
Blaine
demanded proof from each of her clients that they were negative before they set foot on the island – I already knew I’d be spending the best part of an hour scouring away at my skin to rid myself of every trace of this bastard’s assorted bodily fluids.
‘Er...’
Gary
mumbled.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said as I fastened my fly. ‘This didn’t happen.’
‘Good. Thanks. This isn’t something people know about. I mean, it’s not like I’m not into birds, but every now and again, it’s good to have a bit of a change. It’s not like I’m permanently transferring to the other team.’ He chuckled at his own wit and I pictured the fire-poker embedded in his left temple. ‘It’s cool to come somewhere I can be myself, to be honest. Cost a bloody fortune, but worth every penny.’
I lit up a cigarette and
Gary
shook his head. ‘Those things’ll kill you.’
‘Not fucking quickly enough,’
Gary
looked confused. ‘Right, better get back to Kayleigh. You know what birds are like if you leave ‘em too long. Well, maybe you don’t... Anyway...’
‘Right.’
Gary
reached into his pocket, pulled out a twenty-pound note and folded it into my palm.
I waited until I could no longer hear his footsteps then threw my performance-related bonus onto the fire. It flared bright blue, the colour of Lilith’s eyes, before vanishing in the flames.
Gabriel stood in the centre of the stage, swathed in dry-ice and adoration. He raised a hand to the crowds and appealed for silence. ‘For those of you who’ve been wonderin’,’ he announced in an accent that now made him sound like the Artful Dodger, ‘I reckon it’s time I put you out of your misery, yeah?’ He laughed in delight as the audience roared its approval. ‘So yeah, this
is
about a friend of mine, and yeah, she’s here tonight.’
Three thousand pairs of eyes turned to stare at me. ‘Oh, for fuck’s
sake
,’ I groaned, as I slid down my seat and tried to disguise myself against the tablecloth.
I had expected Gabriel to simply stand at a microphone, but to my surprise he walked over to a specially placed grand piano and pulled up the stool. ‘Lilith Bresson, this one’s for you.’ He effortlessly played a breathtaking, almost classical, sequence of chords. I honestly hadn’t expected him to be this good.
‘Almost an angel,
You took me to heaven on a scheduled flight.
Almost an angel,
Then you broke my heart in two like a creature of the night...’
It was a clever, funny, song that revealed the talent behind the manufactured glamour. Jay and Al sat rapt, proud aunts at a junior piano recital, and I saw the love they had for their charge. I envied him.
‘...Warm, sweet lips and ice-cold kisses
Sucked out my soul and left me wanting more.
Pick up your mail, answer your phone,
Answer my texts, I’m so sick of being alone.
Spread your wings and fly my way,
Be the devil I know for a heavenly day.’
A final skilled flourish on the piano, and the song was finished. Applause thundered around the room, and mine joined it. Gabriel took his bow, and I could see him scouring the audience for my face, looking for my reaction like a tournament knight appealing to his lady. When he caught sight of me standing and clapping, his grin widened and he blew handfuls of kisses in my direction. He leapt from the stage and landed on the first table, to cheers of encouragement from the crowd.
The tables that separated Gabriel from me became stepping stones and he jumped from one to the other, lithe and agile and high on life itself, until he was back at his own seat. He lifted me off my feet, swung me around and kissed me full on the lips and still the applause didn’t stop. Every red-top in the country had its cover story for the next day.
‘So, what we doin’ to celebrate then, sexy?’ Gabriel asked, between mouthfuls from his champagne bottle. He offered me a drink, but I shook my head.
‘Driving, later,’ I explained.
Gabriel’s whole face crumpled. ‘You’re kidding me!’
‘I’ve got somewhere I have to be.’
‘A somewhere, or a someone?’ he asked, with a real edge of hurt to his voice.
I said nothing, and Gabriel put the bottle down. ‘This is something to do with you havin’ a face like fuck earlier, isn’t it?’
‘Kind of.’
‘Anything I can do?’
It was a genuine offer, and for an intensely pleasurable second I envisaged Jay and Al dismembering Coyle in a lively game of tug o’ war, then I looked at Gabriel’s eager, pretty face and suddenly realised exactly what he could do for me, and felt the adrenaline charge around my system and chase away the impotence that had smothered me in these recent weeks. I had to act now, before any thought of repercussion or consequence bit at my heels. I linked my fingers behind Gabriel’s neck, and he gave the smile of a man who knew his luck was in.
‘I take it that’s a ‘yes’?’ h
e asked.
I gave him a secretive smile in return and kissed his nose. ‘Not here. Five minutes. Meet me in the ladies’, third cubicle down. I’ll tell you more then.’
As soon as
Blaine
left for the airport in the early hours of the morning, Coyle installed himself as Lord Albermarle. He came back on the launch with Henry, bringing with him three bottles of Irish whiskey, five hardcore jazz mags, a gram of coke and a smug bastard grin that heralded trouble.
I had spent two long hours unsuccessfully chasing sleep, and was skilfully combining lethal doses of caffeine and nicotine in the kitchen when the smirking bastard imposed his company on me.
‘Now then, fag – good night, was it? Gobble enough cock to keep you smiling?’ As Henry washed up and did his best to become invisible Coyle pulled up a chair, spinning it so that the back faced me and he could straddle the seat in a perfect display of macho posturing. He took a cigarette from my open packet before asking, ‘She back?’
I took the packet back and lit my twelfth smoke of that shiny new morning. ‘Not yet.’
‘
’Yet’
?’ Coyle snorted with amusement. ‘Fuck me, you’re sittin’ here waiting for that prick-teasing bitch to come running back to your side like your ugly mutt there?’ He nodded at Bran before leaning back and blowing a smoke ring into the air. ‘Anyway, enough of the small talk. Got a wee present for you - hot off the press,’ he smirked. ‘Called into the newsagent’s to pick up my fags, and look who I found starin’ up at me from the front page?’ He threw that day’s copy of
The Herald
across the table. ‘Take a look at that, faggot. Then tell me she’s comin’ back to you.’
Against every instinct, I looked. ‘NICE PUPPIES, LILITH!!!’ the headline screamed, and there she was on the front page, wearing the sweater she’d managed to pick up from the hospital and nothing much else, glued to the side of some infant Adonis and caught in the glare of a hundred camera flashes as they made a dash from the doorway of a nightclub.
He was holding Lilith like a man would, if she were his. One tanned, flawless arm was curled around her shoulder, protecting her from the hordes but also undoubtedly claiming her as his own.
For all her arguments, this was where she belonged. She fitted into that world like a jigsaw piece and in that boy, with his perfect white teeth and stylist-tousled hair, she had her perfect man.
‘Finn, don’t look at that rubbish.’ Henry tried to take the paper from my hands.
‘Fuck off,’ I snapped, and snatched it back from him. I began to read.
‘Wild child of the British art world Lilith Bresson was up to her usual antics at last night’s upmarket Helicon Awards Ceremony, held at Neon, the celeb world’s fave Mayfair club.
Lilith, 28, enjoyed a passionate reunion with her toyboy lover and singer of the moment 21-year-old Gabriel James after he confirmed rumours that his smash hit ‘Almost an Angel’ was written for the controversial winner of ‘European Artist of the Year’. The two have already shared a First Class romp back in June on a flight from
Alicante
to Heathrow.
Back then The Herald reported how passengers were left shocked as Lilith and Gabriel had a drunken intimate adventure under a skimpy airline blanket, oblivious to the families – many with toddlers – sitting just feet away.
Stunned observers at last night’s ceremony witnessed Gabriel and a bizarrely dressed Lilith:
embrace
for the first time since their raunchy flight;
share
an X-rated kiss after the hunky singer finished the performance of Almost an Angel that he dedicated to his lover;
dive
into a single cubicle in the ladies’ toilets, only to reappear twenty minutes later, looking flushed and breathless.
A fellow guest said, ‘They couldn’t keep their hands off each other – Lilith didn’t even wait to say thanks for her prize before she was back in Gabriel’s arms.’
The loved-up pair left the club arm-in-arm and unwilling to talk to our reporter, and sped to Gabriel’s luxury
Chelsea
pad where Lilith spent the night.
This was the shocking artist’s first public appearance since her live-on-air brawl with Herald columnist and people’s favourite, Johnny Buckle. Neither Lilith nor her agent has ever denied that she checked herself into rehab just weeks after her unprovoked attack.
Tim
e will tell if Gabriel becomes a full-time squeeze for the exhibitionist painter, or just another notch on an impressive bedpost that includes A.C Torino’s star striker Alessandro Bertolli, actor Ben Bateman, and the bi-curious chick-lit writer Carina McGuire.’
‘Tell you what, Finn-boy – you look like you’ve been smacked right in the face!’ Coyle leered. ‘You reckon she’s really goin’ to haul her skinny arse all the way back here for some sorry little spunk-collector when she’s got
that
to give her a good pokin’?’
‘Finn, don’t let him...’ Henry began, but before Coyle could even start on his next taunt I threw the paper across the kitchen and staggered from the room.
*****
I sat on the floor of the greenhouse with my knees pulled close to my chest. I dragged hard on my thirteenth cigarette of the day, listening to the faint crackle of tobacco and paper as it burned down. I knew exactly when I needed to stop.
Bran, dozing in a pool of glass-filtered sunlight, lazily opened one eye as I pulled up the left sleeve of my hoodie, then settled back to sleep as I turned my arm to inspect the expanse of pale skin between my wrist and the crook of my elbow. There was a time when I would have struggled to find a clean site, but now there was only this sorry scattering of tiny white dents. You could feel the slight raise of scar tissue if you ran a light finger down my arm, but it was one of the places on my body where clients didn’t linger. Anyhow, I healed well.