Jess gave him a flirty smile. ‘Shame. I’d hire you.’
Simon gave me a wide-eyed stare that I couldn’t quite read. Was he embarrassed or amused? ‘So what type of lawyer are you, Nick?’ he said, wisely moving the conversation on.
This was Nick’s chance to say something bland about contracts or whatnot.
‘I specialise in defamation,’ said Nick, brightly. ‘But trying to keep Zoë on the right side of the libel laws is quite a job.’ He smiled a big fat fake smile.
‘Ooh, tell us more,’ said Jess, leaning forward.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘He’s exaggerating.’
‘Well, that review of Hands Down was a bit iffy,’ he said, smile still firmly plastered on.
‘But perfectly justified.’ I added a fake smile of my own. ‘You and your great legal brain agreed. Otherwise you wouldn’t have let us run it, would you?’
‘You reviewed Hands Down?’ said Simon. ‘That’s not the kind of stuff you usually cover, on account of they’re shit.’
I could have kissed him. ‘First and last time,’ I said.
I silently dared Nick to contradict me and glanced over at him, but I guess even he realised that a thirty-plus man defending Hands Down would raise way too many questions.
Fortunately, a waiter appeared with menus, which put an end to the discussion. He rattled off the day’s specials, but I wasn’t really listening. Nick was being an arse and it was ruining my appetite. Maybe Jess’s suggestion to crack open the tequila wasn’t such a bad one.
‘So, how do you all know each other?’ Nick asked, when the waiter had gone.
‘Oh, these two have known each other for ever,’ said Jess confidently. ‘Practically brother and sister.’
I caught Simon’s eye. Was that Jessica’s assessment, or was that how he characterised our relationship, too?
Nick looked at me for clarification. ‘We used to live next door to each other,’ I said. Then, probably just to annoy Jess: ‘We were best friends growing up.’
‘Simon and I played together at uni,’ said Jess to Nick.
‘Before the big time came calling,’ added Simon.
‘Of course,’ said Nick. ‘You toured with Marcie Tyler. How was that?’
I had to hand it to him – Nick had steered the conversation in the direction he needed pretty fast.
‘Well, just between us, it was a nightmare,’ said Jess.
‘How so?’ I asked, my curiosity genuinely piqued.
‘We’re not going to find this splashed across Re:Sound next month, are we?’ She was joking, but there was an edge to her voice, which was fair enough.
Simon sprang to my defence. ‘Of course not, Jess. You can trust Zoë.’
She flicked a glance at Nick, whose expression remained impassive. Evidently, she trusted him without anyone having to vouch for him. The perks of having a pretty face.
‘Marcie and the guy she was seeing kept having screaming matches. Honestly, it was a miracle she had a voice each night to sing with.’
‘She sounds like quite a fiery customer,’ said Simon.
‘I think the words you’re looking for are diva bitch,’ said Jess.
I bristled and I swear Nick bristled too. Was it because Jess had just insulted his girlfriend?
‘Don’t say that about Marcie,’ said Simon. ‘Zoë idolises her.’
‘Jess can say what she likes,’ I said, stiffly.
‘Was that Benedict Bailey?’ Nick asked.
Jess frowned. ‘God, how do you remember his name?’
‘He was a pretty famous guitarist in his own right,’ he said. ‘He came on stage with you one night, didn’t he?’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘How would you know that? Are you some kind of stalker-ish fan?’
‘I was at that gig.’
She looked at Nick disbelievingly. ‘It was in San Francisco.’
‘I was living in the States at the time.’
‘Whereabouts?’ asked Simon.
Was Nick telling the truth about working in the States? Was he about to get grilled on it now? ‘On the West Coast – I was doing an MBA at Berkeley.’
Was that in addition to the law degree? I wanted to ask, but it wasn’t really in my interests to question him.
‘Right,’ said Simon, who was obviously satisfied. Then he turned back to Jess. ‘Wasn’t that the tour I was supposed to come out and meet you on?’
‘Yeah, the tour got cancelled afterwards,’ said Jessica. ‘We were just starting to get airplay in the States. It was a bad time.’
I raised my eyebrows expectantly. ‘What happened?’
‘Benedict died,’ said Nick. ‘Motorbike accident.’
‘How do you know so much about it?’ said Jessica sharply.
I was pretty surprised that Nick was offering information that Jess would have provided anyway. He was sucking at all this deception stuff.
‘Benedict was a rare talent. The music he and Marcie wrote together was amazing,’ said Nick. ‘The Stars album.’
It was the first time I’d heard Nick sound like a genuine fan. It was my favourite Marcie album too.
‘It’s a great record,’ I said.
‘Zoë’s one of the few people I’ve met who loves Marcie Tyler as much as I do.’
There was something behind that statement that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It didn’t help that he made it sound like Marcie fans were rare. Like we were two trainspotters cast to the edges of society because no one understood our love for diesel engines.
‘Loads of people like Marcie Tyler,’ said Simon, with a touch of defensiveness.
‘Exactly,’ I added.
‘When you meet her, like I have,’ said Jess casually, ‘you realise she’s not that special. Even her voice was disappointing. Autotuned to the max every night.’
‘Interesting,’ said Nick. ‘They say meeting your heroes is always a bad idea.’ He sounded amused. How was he not pissed off to hear Marcie slagged off like this?
It was taking every ounce of my willpower not to— oh, fuck it. ‘Have you not got anything positive to say about her?’ I said to Jess.
Her eyes were still struggling to focus, but when she looked at me, I swear it was with pity. She smiled. ‘Let me think . . . She had good taste in men. For an older man, Benedict was sexy as hell.’
‘You guys had great chemistry on stage,’ said Nick.
‘Are you implying I shagged him, Nick?’ She giggled. ‘I’ll never tell,’ she whispered, then winked, which contradicted her vow of silence as loudly as if she’d given us a run down of times, places and preferred positions.
Nick had told me that Marcie had wronged Jess, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that Jess had not been an angel either.
Nick leant forward conspiratorially. ‘How was Benedict those last few nights of the tour? Were the arguments with Marcie as bad as ever?’
‘Are you from a tabloid, or something?’ Simon hadn’t said much so far, but it was like he’d finally smelt a rat. He looked at me, waiting for an answer.
Nick held his hands up in the air. ‘Sorry, I was just curious.’
He’d pushed too hard and antagonised Jess. Could he not turn on a bit of charm? She’d flirted with him – all he had to do was flirt back. Was he really such a stiff?
Giggling from the next table distracted us. A couple of girls, or rather, grown women, were attempting to photograph Jess on their phones without her noticing, but they were doing a piss-poor job of it. When Jess clocked it she grinned broadly – being the centre of attention seemed to make her glow.
‘It’s so nice when actual fans want a picture. I can’t abide it when the scumbag paparazzi do it. They’re only interested in humiliating photos. I had one chasing me up Bond Street the other day,’ she said crossly. ‘I thought social media would put an end to the paparazzi.’
Nick gave me a knowing look which said, I told you.
Jess didn’t notice, though; she was t
oo busy interacting with her fans. She waved them over. ‘Come and get a proper pic, ladies!’
A proper pic was a selfie, naturally. Each of them took about five turns to get a picture they were happy with and it all took twice as long as it should have because they were telling Jess how great she looked: her lipstick, her hair, that darling little seahorse necklace that glistened under the lights.
Could she not see how self-centred and rude she was being? Simon raised his eyebrows when one of the women jostled him. I smiled in solidarity and he grinned back. For a moment, we were the only two people in the room.
I wasn’t overly concerned with what Nick was doing while this was going on, but it dawned on me that he had turned to face in the opposite direction like he was embarrassed to be seen with us.
Jesus.
Yes, he was hiding his identity from Jess, but it wasn’t as if the pics would go viral and expose him. And if he thought so, he was even more deluded about Jess’s popularity than she was.
Jess noticed his reluctance to be photographed, too. When her gushing fans were gone, she said to him: ‘Got a wife at home, Nick? Is that why you’re avoiding the cameras?’
‘I thought I saw someone I knew,’ he said.
‘Oh?’ said Jess.
‘My wife,’ he deadpanned.
‘Did you know he was married, Zoë?’
She thought she was such a comedian. ‘He was joking,’ I said.
‘So, how long have you been going out?’
I blinked. Did she mean me and Nick? Her watery eyes were wandering from him to me, so I guess she was addressing us.
‘Jess—’ said Simon, but she didn’t let him finish.
‘They’re so cute together, don’t you think?’ She was in a world of her own. ‘They both have that dark, Mediterranean look.’
I was about to put the record straight, but then our starters arrived and the moment passed.
‘This looks amazing,’ said Simon, eyeing his scallops. My salad seemed to feature eight different types of tomato.
‘Bon appetit,’ said Nick, before picking up his knife and fork.
Only Jess didn’t react; she hadn’t seemed to notice her food. She’d gone pale and was staring straight ahead, like she’d seen the ghost of dead guitarists past.
‘Are you all right?’ I said, but I didn’t get to finish the sentence. Jess clamped one hand on her mouth, pushed Simon to one side, and threw up into the ice bucket.
I froze, transfixed, as much by the sounds she was making as the sight of her. She sounded like a weightlifter hefting a barbell that weighed a tonne.
A hush descended, which only made Jess’s moans echo louder. Simon, bless him, was the first to react. He put his hand on Jessica’s back and asked if she was okay.
It was a bit of a moot question, and one she was too busy to answer, as a second wave of her stomach contents splattered into the ice bucket. With a bottle of wine and all the ice cubes, I was impressed nothing had spilled out. If you’re going to hurl in a Michelin-starred restaurant, that was the way to do it. It was pretty rock and roll.
People at other tables had swivelled round to get a better look at the entertainment offered at ours.
I felt bad for Jess. I mean, it was self-inflicted – she’d clearly drunk way too much – but whenever anyone threw up in public I always had a ‘there-but-for-the-grace-of-God’ moment.
‘Maybe we should get Jess out of here,’ I said.
Simon gave me a grateful glance, and helped her to her feet.
‘I’ll get her home,’ he said.
It was the right instinct and incredibly noble, but I was still a bit crestfallen. We hadn’t talked properly; I’d hoped we could ditch Jess and Nick after dinner and the two of us could go somewhere quieter afterwards, but that obviously wasn’t going to happen.
A couple of waiters appeared, and once they’d ascertained that Jess wasn’t in immediate need of the ice bucket, they magicked it away. We’d have to tip them extra for that.
‘I’ll settle the bill,’ said Nick.
‘Tell us how much we owe you,’ said Simon, who was now standing and supporting Jess with both arms.
Nick nodded, and Simon and Jess hobbled out. I thought it only fair to wait with Nick.
‘Well, that was . . . a surprising turn of events,’ I said. ‘And a little bit funny.’
‘Alcoholism is a disease.’
He’d said it with a straight face. Was he serious? ‘The girl had a couple of drinks too many,’ I replied. ‘That doesn’t make her an alcoholic . . . And don’t tell me you’ve never overdone it,’ I added. ‘The holier-than-thou act doesn’t suit you.’
‘Of course I’ve overdone it before. But I choose my time and place.’
He was starting to wind me up now. ‘Look, as far as Jessica knew, she was having dinner and drinks with friends, so stop being a Judgey McJudgey Pants. It’s not like she threw up at a palace garden party.’
I reached for my drink, then stopped myself. Nick’s mineral water seemed to mock my half-empty glass of wine.
‘Do I have to remind you that right now, she was supposed to be on stage in Camden?’ he said. ‘Granted, it’s not Wembley Stadium, but if she wants to build a following, she can’t treat her fans like that. This business is not forgiving.’
He had a point, which I charitably conceded by ignoring it.
Luckily, a waiter arrived with the bill to distract us. Nick whipped out his credit card before I’d unbuckled my bag.
‘Let’s at least split it,’ I said, not wanting to add to his God complex.
‘You arranged this evening for me, I’m more than happy to pay.’
Part of me knew it was a nice gesture, but most of me felt he was rubbing it in. First the taxi, and now this.
I peeked a glance at the total. Wow. Three figures, and they’d only charged for starters. I should probably be a bit more grateful that Nick’s expense account was soaking it up.
He put his card back in his wallet. ‘So, when are we going to do this again?’
‘You want to do this again?’
‘It’s part of our deal, don’t forget.’
I hadn’t forgotten, but maybe it was time to remind him of what he owed me. ‘I want Marcie for the September issue. And that means I need to sit down with her in the next fortnight.’
Nick paused. ‘You need to interview Jonny first. You, not one of your underlings.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Seriously?’
He shrugged.
Depressed, I drained my glass. Nick’s judgey eyes following my every move. He could sod off.
‘Thanks for paying,’ I told him, getting up. ‘I’ll talk to Simon and try to arrange something soon.’
14
Heart of Glass
The next morning, I messaged Simon to ask about Jess. He texted back saying she’d been okay apart from getting into a shouting match with a photographer who’d been waiting outside the restaurant and had snapped her unawares. But he’d found a taxi and had got her home safe and sound. My fingers itched to text again and ask what time he’d got home, but I stopped myself; he would have surely seen it for the pretext it was – to double-check he hadn’t stayed the night at her flat. Not that he’d given me any reason to suspect anything, but my antennae when it came to Simon had a habit of tuning into phantom signals.
With heroic self-restraint I instead texted him to ask if he fancied coming to a fancy-dress party. His enthusiastic reply carried me smiling all the way to my tube stop at Bond Street:
YESSSS!!
I wasn’t going straight to the office today, I was meeting Alice at her dress fitting to choose a dress of my own for the wedding. She’d chosen turquoise for the bridal party, but each of us was free to pick our own style to match our taste and body shape. She was democratic like that.
I found the right shop in a warren of streets north of Bond Street and pushed open the door. But before I could charge through to where Alice was waiting, a surprisi
ngly strong female arm stopped me in my tracks.
‘Shoes off!’ came the accompanying voice.
Had I somehow walked through a magic portal that had transported me back to morning assemblies at Hazelwood Primary?
‘Excuse me?’
‘We have a shoes-off policy,’ came the curt reply. The sales assistant slash Head of Shoe Policy added a smile, but it did little to mask the irritation in her voice.
I toed off my Converse and padded over to Alice in my blue-and-white-striped socks. She kissed me hello and told me to take my time choosing a style.
‘I want you to feel like a princess,’ she said, before floating into a changing room where an alarming amount of white fabric was waiting for her.
I’d never been a princess-y kind of girl. Unless you counted Princess Leia, who could kick arse with a blaster and ended up a general.
I listlessly ran my hand along the rail where a rainbow of shiny bridesmaids’ dresses hung. Several pairs of eyes were following me nervously, although I’m not sure what the sales assistants feared I would do – zip out a can of spray paint and graffiti the damn things? I wasn’t in the mood for this, so I picked a blue dress at random and trooped into an adjacent changing room. I shed my clothes and put on the dress, then turned to assess myself in the mirror.
It looked bloody awful – it flattened my chest and the skirt was far too poufy – but I felt a duty to show Alice in case she loved it.
I stepped out, trying not to grimace, but when I saw Alice I stopped dead in my tracks.
Her gown was something else. Ivory satin sheathed in a layer of fine lace from head to toe. Tiny crystals and pearls sparkled on the bodice and matching full-length gloves completed the ensemble.
‘Pete’s going to burst into tears when he sees you,’ I said.
‘Is it that bad?’
‘I mean in a good way.’
Alice smiled. ‘I know, I was joking.’ She checked her reflection from the side. ‘It’s not too revealing, is it? The back’s lower than I imagined.’
‘It’s the most elegant dress I’ve ever seen.’ I suddenly had a lump in my throat. ‘You look beautiful.’
She smiled, and came to stand by me. ‘You look beautiful too.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘Maybe with the right shoes?’
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