Kitabı oku: «A Step In Time», sayfa 2

Chapter 3

‘Was it awful?’ Phil said, giving me a sympathetic look as he adjusted the hat on a mannequin.

I flopped dramatically over the low table where he showcased his most exclusive designs to his poshest customers.

‘So awful,’ I said. ‘I can’t even tell you how bad.’

‘Don’t put fingermarks on that table,’ Phil warned.

I gave him a fierce look but sat up anyway.

Well, it’s done now,’ Phil said. ‘You’ve filmed your last scenes. Betsy is no more.’

He paused.

‘So who killed her then?

I shrugged.

‘Not a clue,’ I said. ‘It was just one of the props guys who dealt the fatal blow – they only filmed his hand. They’ll add in someone later, when they decide who the killer’s going to be.’

Phil made a face.

‘It’s not a great ending,’ he said. ‘Still, onwards and upwards.’

Phil’s relentless cheeriness was what had brought us together at school. I loved him because, like me, he was always up for a party, because he understood what made me tick, and because he adored me. And we all need a bit of adoration in our lives, right?

Our friendship had lasted through several boyfriends (his and mine), broken hearts (his and mine), career highs (his and mine) and career lows (mostly mine), and he’d obviously been the person I’d run to when the shit hit the fan with Matty. The only fly in the ointment was Phil’s boyfriend, Bertie, who thought I was a bad influence (he was probably right) and who had not been pleased to see me when Phil brought me home, hungover and tear-stained, after spending hours in a cell.

Now Phil gently lifted my arm and extracted a fabric swatch from beneath my elbow.

‘What happens now?’ he said. ‘Where does Amy Lavender go from here?’

Self-pity overwhelmed me again and my throat began to ache with the promise of more tears.

‘Oh, Phil,’ I said. ‘I don’t know. What am I going to do?’

He put his arm round me.

‘You’ll bounce back, sweetie,’ he said. ‘You always do.’

But that made me feel even worse.

‘Everyone dumps me,’ I said quietly. ‘‘Eventually, everyone gets fed up with me and they dump me.’

‘That’s not true,’ Phil said.

‘It is true.’ I sniffed and Phil thrust a tissue box in my direction.

‘Matty dumped me,’ I said. Phil opened his mouth, probably to tell me I was well shot of Matty – he’d never been a fan – but I gave him a look and he closed it again.

‘Tim dumped me from Turpin Road,’ I went on. A tear ran down my cheek. ‘Even my own mum, Phil. She dumped me.’

‘She didn’t dump you,’ Phil said, wiping my tear away with a folded tissue. ‘She just took a chance to make a better life for herself.’

‘In Spain,’ I pointed out. ‘Hundreds of miles away from me.’

‘You could have gone with her,’ Phil said. ‘She asked you to go.’

‘Only because she knew I wouldn’t,’ I said.

‘Have you spoken to her, since all this happened?’

‘God no,’ I said. ‘She’s only interested in me when things are going well. I bet she’s taken that photo of me down from the wall in her bar already. “My daughter the screw-up” isn’t half as impressive as “my daughter the soap star”.’

Phil chuckled, ruefully.

‘You’ve still got me, honey,’ he said. ‘You’ll always have me.’

I forced myself to smile at him.

‘I know,’ I said. ‘PhAmy for ever, right?’

‘Right,’ he said, kissing my nose.

But I wasn’t convinced. Phil had been my rock for years. My best friend, my support network, everything. But since he’d met Bertie I felt like I had to fight for his attention and I wasn’t sure I liked sharing him.’

‘So what are you going to do?’ Phil asked again. ‘Can I help?’

‘Would you?’ I asked, flashing him my best, most beseeching smile.

‘What do you need?’

‘Well, first I need to go and get all my stuff from Matty’s. The only clothes I’ve got are what I had at work – and I’m running out of knickers. But I can’t face him on my own, so will you come with me? Please?’

Phil put his arm round my shoulders again.

‘Of course,’ he said, kissing the top of my head. ‘I’ve got a few things I’d like to say to Mr Matthew actually.’

I grinned. Phil was always fighting my corner.

‘And then, I need you to help with one more thing,’ I said. ‘I need to choose a reality TV show. Babs reckons that’s the best way to get the public back on my side.’

Phil, who, if he ever went on Mastermind, would choose the specialist subject Reality TV 2000–2015, gave a deep, satisfied sigh.

‘She’s right,’ he said. ‘She’s completely spot-on. Ooh, she’s clever.’

‘She should be,’ I grumbled. ‘I pay her enough.’

‘So which show?’ Phil said.

‘I convinced her to let me choose,’ I told him. ‘Babs reckons she can get me on anything. You know what she’s like – she knows all the right people. I’m just not sure it’s the right thing to do.’

Phil looked at me appraisingly, his head tilted to one side. Then he nodded.

‘Of course,’ he said in delight. ‘It’s perfect.’

‘What?’ I said, suspicious of his gleeful expression. ‘What are you thinking? Not Drag Race?’

Phil gave a chuckle.

‘No,’ he said. He pushed his thick-rimmed glasses (just for show – they had clear lenses but he thought they gave him a geekish charm, and he was right) up his nose and pulled me to my feet.

‘I’m thinking you in a tiny bikini, tanned, skinny, bravely carrying on without Matty, perhaps flirting a little with another similarly tanned young, male TV star, and showing the legions of Amy fans – and those who dared to be Amy doubters – what a game old bird you are.’

‘Ohhhh,’ I breathed. ‘You mean the jungle?’

‘The jungle,’ Phil said. ‘It’s perfect.’

I thought about it.

‘I’d be away for weeks – so no paps chasing me the whole time,’ I said. ‘Lots of time to think, to work out what I want to do next …’

‘And you look smoking hot in a bikini,’ Phil said.

I made a modest face. I knew he was right.

‘You’re strong because you work out, like, all the time, you’re sporty and adventurous, you’re funny, you’re kind … you’re bound to win.’

‘What about my hair extensions?’ I said, holding up a strand of the brunette locks that were my pride and joy.

‘They’ll have to come out,’ Phil said, grim-faced. ‘Better to do it now, so people get used to seeing you without them.’

I nodded.

‘I can do that,’ I said. ‘New hair, new start.’

‘So ring Babs and tell her,’ Phil said. ‘Do it, do it now.’

‘Okay, okay,’ I giggled, pulling my phone out. ‘I’m doing it.’

I found Babs in my contacts, and waited for her to answer.

‘Voicemail,’ I said. ‘She must be on the tube … Babs, it’s Amy. The jungle. I want to go to the jungle. Call me back.’

As I ended the call, there was a ring on the doorbell of the shop.

‘I thought you were closed,’ I said to Phil.

He frowned.

‘I am,’ he said. ‘Oh, balls. I’d forgotten about her.’

‘Who?’ I said. ‘What?’

‘Natasha Lucas,’ he said. ‘She’s a fashion editor.’

‘A journalist,’ I shrieked, diving off the chair and under the table so she wouldn’t spot me through the glass door.

‘Relax Princess Di,’ Phil said with a smile, waving at the woman and going to open the door. ‘She works for Society magazine. She only cares about toffs. She won’t have a clue who you are.’

‘She might,’ I said frostily, crawling out from under the table. ‘You’d be amazed how many people watch Turpin Road.’

‘Darling Natasha,’ Phil said, throwing open the door. ‘Come in!’

In came a tall, willowy blonde woman in her early forties. She had her hair in a neat twist, and she was wearing a classic tan mac, cropped white trousers, nude sandals and a striped blue-and-white scarf. I instantly felt cheap and scruffy in my baggy jeans and hoodie.

‘God, Phil,’ Natasha said, throwing her oversized bag onto the chair next to me. ‘I am having such a day. Sorry to be so late – and looking such a mess.’

I raised an eyebrow and Natasha noticed me for the first time.

‘Hi,’ she said, sticking out a hand for me to shake. ‘I’m Natasha.’

‘Amy,’ I said, hoping my hands were clean. ‘I’m Phil’s best friend.’

‘Lovely,’ said Natasha, sounding like she didn’t really care. ‘Anyway, can I have a root around, darling? We’ve got this blasted photo shoot first thing and I need at least three, probably four, hats and the stylist’s pulled out so I’m organizing the whole thing on my own. Plus my nanny’s gone AWOL, my buggering husband’s sodded off to Hong bloody Kong, the baby’s got chicken pox, my grandmother isn’t well, and basically everything’s gone to shit.’

I grinned at her. It was nice to meet someone who was having almost as rotten a time as I was.

‘Cup of tea?’ I said.

Chapter 4

When I came back into the shop from the tiny kitchen out the back, Natasha was wearing one hat, holding another, and had her phone balanced between her shoulder and her ear.

‘No, no, no,’ she was saying. ‘There’s simply no point in sending another inexperienced nanny. I’ve got four horrible children and they will break her. I need someone tough …’

‘She’s hilarious,’ I said, putting down the tea tray.

Phil nodded.

‘She juggles about a million things, but she’s always in control,’ he said. ‘Her fashion spreads are gorgeous and believe me it’s worth my while to be a bit flexible for her.’

He sat down on the sofa and patted the cushion next to him.

‘Listen, Amy,’ he said, his voice serious. ‘I need to tell you something.’

‘About Natasha?’ I said, in a whisper. ‘What?’

Phil gave a faint smile.

‘No, not about Natasha,’ he said. ‘About Bertie.’

I tried to look sympathetic.

‘Not going well?’ I said. ‘I’m not surprised. You’re very different people, you and boring Bertie.’

Phil laughed.

‘Nice try, Miss Lavender, but yes, it’s going very well, thank you. In fact, Bertie’s parents are coming over from France next weekend and I’m keen to make a good impression on them.’

‘Ohmygod you are adorable,’ I said, taking his face in my hands. ‘Of course you’ll make a good impression.’

Phil took my hands from his cheeks and held them tightly.

‘Amy,’ he said. ‘Please try and understand what I’m telling you.’

Realization dawned.

‘You’re kicking me out?’ I said. ‘You don’t want me in your flat when Bertie’s parents are there?’

Phil screwed up his nose.

‘Sorry, darling,’ he said. ‘You know I wouldn’t see you on the streets, but this is really important to me.’

I took a deep breath.

‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘Honestly. I can easily find somewhere to live. No problem. I’ll go and stay with Mum perhaps.’

‘Really?’ said Phil. ‘I’m not sure that’s a very good idea.’

Slumping against the sofa cushions, I bit my lip.

‘Nah, probably not,’ I admitted. ‘There are more paps in Marbella than there are here nowadays. It’d be a nightmare. Don’t worry, I’ll find somewhere.’

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ said Natasha, who’d come to stand in front of me. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing.’

I narrowed my eyes.

‘It was actually a private conversation,’ I said.

Natasha waved her hand as if there was no such thing, her huge blinging engagement ring catching the light.

‘You’re Amy Lavender, right?’ she said.

I threw Phil a triumphant look. See! She did know who I was.

‘Yes,’ I said cautiously. ‘That’s me.’

‘So I’m guessing you need somewhere to live that’s cheap and quiet and available right now?’

‘Yes,’ I said again, sitting up a bit straighter. ‘Do you know somewhere?’

‘I certainly do,’ said Natasha. She sat down in between me and Phil.

‘My mother has just had something of a mid-life crisis – for the fourth, or perhaps the fifth time. This time, she’s in the throes of a passionate affair with a yoga instructor and she’s headed off on a sort of old lady gap year,’ she began.

I blinked at her, impressed at the idea of her mum and the yoga teacher, but not knowing how this had anything to do with me.

‘Okaaaaay,’ I said

‘So, she convinced me to keep an eye on my grandmother,’ Natasha carried on. ‘Which is no hardship because I adore her, but I’ve got such a lot on, and it’s proving hard to get round to hers every day.’

She chewed her lip.

‘She’s quite sprightly, really, considering she’s almost ninety. She doesn’t need much looking after. Just someone who’s there, you know, if she needs something?’

‘Okaaaaay,’ I said again, still not understanding. ‘Oh, god. Do you mean me? I can’t look after an old lady.’

Natasha gripped my hand.

‘You can,’ she said. ‘She’s fine. She can look after herself, honestly. It’s not like you need to cook for her, or bathe her, or anything like that. Her house has a flat, in the basement. It’s really nice – I lived there myself when I was younger. One bedroom, lounge, blah, blah. So you wouldn’t even be living with her, not really. She just needs someone who’s there in case she has a fall.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not the right person. I’m too selfish to be an old woman’s companion.’

Natasha gripped my hand tighter.

‘Ow,’ I said. ‘Where is it?’

‘Clapham.’

I screwed my nose up.

‘I don’t like South London,’ I said.

‘It’s perfect,’ Phil commented. ‘There won’t be any paps down there. You’ll be left alone.’

He had a point, but that wasn’t enough to change my mind.

‘The rent’s cheap.’

‘How cheap?’

Natasha named a tiny figure that I could easily afford even if I didn’t work for the next six months, and Phil widened his eyes.

‘So I won’t need to bathe her?’ I said.

‘You probably won’t even see her,’ Natasha said. ‘She’s got loads of friends. I just need to know you’re going to be there overnight and that she can call on you if she needs to.’

‘I can only stay for a few weeks,’ I said, checking my phone to see if Babs had called back. ‘I’m going into the jungle, and who knows what could happen after that.’

‘My mother should be back by the New Year,’ Natasha said. ‘The timing is perfect.’

I knew when I was beaten.

‘Fine,’ I said, throwing my head back against the sofa. ‘Fine. Yes, I’ll move in.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Natasha said hopefully. Phil clapped his hands and I glared at him.

‘Tomorrow,’ I agreed wearily.

My phone rang and I snatched it up, hoping it was Babs with good news about the jungle. But it was Josie, a TV presenter who lived in the flat below Matty’s. She was probably calling for the gossip, I thought, cancelling the call. Immediately she rang again. I rejected the call once more. There was a pause, and Josie started calling again. I sighed.

‘I should take this,’ I said to Natasha and Phil. ‘Hi Josie.’

‘Amy, you need to get here,’ Josie said. ‘Matty’s putting all your stuff outside in the street. There are loads of tramps wearing your dresses and the paps are going crazy.’

‘WHAT?’ I shrieked. ‘Which dresses?’

‘I don’t know,’ Josie said. ‘Does it matter?’

‘I suppose not,’ I admitted. ‘I’m on my way.’

I ended the call and stood up, tossing my hair over my shoulders.

‘I have to go,’ I said, trying hard not to cry. ‘It seems that, not content with breaking my heart, Matty’s determined to make a fool of me in the papers too.’

Natasha delved into her huge tote bag and pulled out a piece of paper. She scribbled something on it, then delved again and found a set of keys.

‘Here,’ she said, shoving them at me. ‘This is the address and these are the keys. You can move in tonight if you like?’

Relief flooded me. And Phil, by the look on his face. Clearly he didn’t want to think about taking me – and all my belongings – back to his pristine flat for another night.

‘Thank you,’ I said, meaning it.

‘Will you be okay on your own?’ Phil said.

‘Oh, I’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘How much worse can things get?’

Ready to face the world – and the paparazzi – I twisted my hair into a ponytail, pulled on my baseball cap and picked up my sunglasses. Then I grabbed my bag and gave Phil a kiss.

‘Thanks for everything, buddy,’ I said. ‘I’ll give you a call later.’

Chapter 5

I found a cab without any trouble and soon I was on my way to my old flat in Camden, feeling sick with nerves about what I’d find when I got there.

What I found was worse than I could have imagined. Matty had stuffed all my clothes into bin bags and then, by the look of it, chucked them all off the balcony of our – sorry, his – first-floor flat. Some of the bags had burst and so clothes were scattered across the drive. Pyjamas, underwear, jeans, dresses – they were all strewn on the paving stones and on the neighbours’ cars. One of my bras swung jauntily from the handlebars of Matty’s motorbike.

It was raining so everything was slightly soggy and, like Josie had said, word had obviously spread around Camden. Some giggling schoolgirls were rooting through the bin bag squealing in delight as they pulled out all my gorgeous clothes and shoved them into their backpacks. And the old bearded man who hung out at the tube station dancing to the music from the buskers was wearing one of my favourite dresses.

Aghast, I pushed my face up against the window of the cab.

‘That’s my soap awards dress,’ I wailed.

I opened the window a fraction and was wondering if I should shout something at someone when I heard a yell.

Matty was hanging out of the bedroom window. I gasped when I saw him. He was so handsome. I’d spent the last two days thinking of him as some kind of monster so it was strange to see him now looking so good. Seriously, seriously good. I almost wanted to rush over to him, kiss his beautiful face, tell him how sorry I was and beg him to take me back …

‘Take everything you want,’ he was yelling. ‘Help yourselves.’

Oh.

Of course there were three photographers busy capturing everything, plus a camera crew, obviously filming for Matty’s fly-on-the-wall show.

‘Keep driving,’ I shrieked. ‘Keep driving!’

The cab driver met my eyes in the mirror and nodded briskly. Next to me, on the pavement, the teenage girls dug into another bag, pulling out what seemed to be my favourite jeans and trainers.

I made a split-second decision.

‘Stop!’ I shouted. The cabbie jammed on the brakes and I was out onto the pavement in a flash, leaving the taxi door open. As skilfully as any rugby player I swerved round the group of girls. Then, catching them unawares, I yanked the bin liner from one of the girl’s hands, pulled my prized Marc Jacobs clutch from an outstretched arm, and scooped up a pair of battered Converse. Then, before the photographers even had a chance to notice I was there, I dived back into the cab and slammed the door.

‘Drive!’ I yelled, feeling like Thelma. Or was it Louise? ‘Driiiiive!’

‘Where to, miss?’ the cabbie said politely, flooring the accelerator and speeding away from the flat.

I took a breath.

‘Clapham,’ I said. ‘Take me to Clapham.’

I looked down at the Converse I had clasped in my trembling hands.

‘I don’t think these are mine,’ I said in surprise.

The cabbie let out a snort of laughter.

‘I reckon you deserve them,’ he said

‘I reckon I do.’ I looked out of the back window of the cab at the window where Matty still stood. We were going pretty fast so it was hard to see but I liked to think he looked a bit forlorn and I felt glad. After all, he had smashed my heart into tiny pieces.

‘You that Amy Lavender?’ the cabbie asked as we hurtled south. I thought about denying it but there wasn’t much point given what he’d just witnessed. Instead I nodded.

‘That’s me,’ I said.

‘He’s an idiot that fella,’ he said, winking at me in the mirror. ‘You’re well shot of him.’

I smiled. That was nice to hear.

‘I messed up,’ I said.

‘Had a drink, had you?’ the cabbie asked.

‘More than one.’

‘Well, we’ve all been there,’ he said. ‘Things get a bit tasty when you’ve all had a few. But the way I see it, you had good reason.’

He grinned.

‘Mind you, probably should have belted him – not her.’

I laughed for what seemed like the first time in days.

‘Want him back?’ he asked.

‘Nope.’

‘Nice one,’ he said, indicating and pulling into the kerb. ‘Find someone who’s worthy of you, that’s my advice. Here we are then.’

He had stopped outside a beautiful house facing a huge expanse of grass – Clapham Common, I guessed.

I widened my eyes in surprise.

‘Is this it?’

It was. It was a stunning house. One of the Victorian double-fronted villas that lined the edges of the common like sentries. It had wrought-iron railings, flowers in pots either side of the enormous front door, and a black-and-white tiled path. And to the left some stone steps led down to a second front door, this one painted a smart grey, at basement level. My new home. For now.

I handed over a bundle of notes and scrambled out of the car, clutching my handbag, bin liner and the stolen Converse. The cabbie waved cheerily at me as he drove off and I blew him a kiss – he’d been a real tonic – and gazed up at the house. I saw a movement at the window on the ground floor and wondered if the old woman was watching me. Maybe she was planning to phone the papers and tell them where I was, I thought, slightly hysterically. Or perhaps she was going to be a nosey old trout who made my life a misery. I squinted at the window again but I couldn’t see anyone, so I made my way carefully down the steep stairs.

The flat was actually really nice and surprisingly light for a basement. It had one bedroom with a double bed and fitted wardrobes – not that I had much to put in them – and when I lay on the bed to test it I could see people’s feet and ankles as they walked along the road.

There was a basic bathroom and a large sitting room, with an open-plan kitchen area at one end. It was a lovely room with wooden floors, an original tiled fireplace and French windows that opened onto a tiny paved backyard. There was a sofa and a squishy armchair, a small TV and DVD player, and empty bookshelves. It was all a bit unloved but it was okay. For now, I thought again.

My phone rang and I dived for it. Babs.

‘Hit me with it,’ I said. ‘When do I fly out to Oz?’

There was a pause.

‘Ah,’ said Babs.

‘What do you mean, “ah”?’ I said, hysteria mounting. ‘What does “ah” mean?’

‘Jungle’s not a goer, I’m afraid,’ Babs said. ‘But don’t be downhearted. I’ve come up with something really special.’

‘Really?’ I said, curiosity overtaking my disappointment. ‘What is it?’

‘I’ve called in just about every favour I’ve ever been owed, and pulled a lot of strings,’ Babs said.

‘Yes,’ I said.

Babs made a noise that I thought was supposed to be a drum roll.

‘Babs,’ I said. ‘What is it?’

‘Strictly. Stars. Dancing,’ she said triumphantly.

I sat down heavily on the sofa.

‘What?’ I said.

‘Strictly Stars Dancing,’ Babs said again. ‘It’s glittery, it’s fabulous and it’s going to make you the nation’s darling once more.’

I felt sick.

‘Babs,’ I whispered. ‘I can’t dance.’