I’d never fully believed Nick’s story about Marcie seeking redemption with Jess, but now it felt terrifyingly real. Nick may have burned his bridges with Jess, but I could still reach out to her. And for once, rather than going through Simon, I texted her directly to ask if we could meet at some point. She replied almost immediately, inviting me to her flat on Sunday for an early supper. Her keenness made me feel a bit guilty; she probably assumed I wanted to interview her for the magazine, not bring up painful memories.
By five o’clock, Ayisha had subbed the remaining proofs and Rob had finalised the first batch of files to send to the printers. Still, for a press-week Tuesday, the office was abnormally subdued. Lucy and Gav had been quiet all day and I’d only just noticed. The two of them usually provided a commentary on what they were doing in spectacularly vulgar language. When Lucy left early, without wishing her twat-faced colleagues goodbye, I knew something was off.
Gavin watched her leave, a mournful look on his face.
‘Everything okay, Gav?’
A red flush had crept up his neck, clashing with his orange T-shirt.
‘I got a call from a mate who works at the picture desk of a national,’ he said. ‘She told me she’d come across some photos of Jonny Delaney that I’d want to know about.’
The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention. ‘Why’s that?’
‘He’s with a girl who’s got pink hair.’
‘Is that so bad?’
He shifted in his seat. ‘This pink-haired girl and Delaney are kissing.’
I frowned. ‘Lucy and Delaney kissed?’
Surely that was ridiculous.
He shrugged. ‘Bit of a coincidence, don’t you think? She interviewed him last week.’
‘Yes, but she was at Pinnacle’s offices. There’s no way she’d have gone off somewhere with Jonny, snogged him and been snapped in the process.’ Would she?
‘Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think you do, Zoë.’
He sounded really glum. ‘Have you tried asking her?’
Gav picked up the jacket on the back of his chair. ‘No, because it’s none of my business, is it? But what I am going to do is get very, very drunk tonight. If you need me, I’ll be in the Coach.’
Things were bad if Gav had chosen that particular pub to drown his sorrows in. It was depressing as hell and only ever frequented by old guys with suspicious stains on their trousers.
Adrenaline buzzed in my veins. The Lucy pictures were potentially a big problem. We’d been trolled on Twitter just for writing a couple of uncomplimentary things about Jonny’s music. How would his sizable fan base react to any woman who dared to kiss him? His fans were split into two groups: those that wanted him single so they would stand a chance with him, and those who shipped his relationship with actress Jeanette Jerome and made creepy digital pictures of what their babies would look like. Both gangs were equally rabid. Lucy would have petrol bombs through her letterbox. And then things would really escalate.
I thought about ringing her myself, but what exactly would I say? Better to get the facts straight first.
If these pics existed, Nick would know.
I dialled and he picked up just before it went into voicemail. ‘Zoë?’ He sounded out of breath. ‘If you’re calling with good news, I’m very impressed.’
‘I’m afraid not, Nick. This is about an altogether different matter.’
‘Go on.’
‘I’ve had reports of some rather alarming photos.’
‘Photos?’
With any luck he would laugh me off the phone, but that didn’t stop a knot forming in my stomach. I ambled to the kitchen. ‘Photos featuring a couple of people you and I know quite well – and they’re kissing.’
Three tea bags were piled on top of a spoon in the sink ringed by a stain of brown water. Nick was taking a long time to react and my unease grew as the silence stretched.
‘Shit,’ he said, eventually. ‘How did you find out?’
I slumped against the counter. ‘So it’s true?’
‘I’m sorry, Zoë. Who told you?’
I scooped up the tea bags and flicked them into the bin. ‘What does it matter who told me? If you knew about these pictures, why didn’t you tell me?’
‘That would have been cruel, don’t you think?’
‘Cruel? Giving me advance warning wouldn’t be cruel. It’s the least you could have done. The tabloid press will make mincemeat of her, and God knows what Jonny’s army of rabid fans will do. Lucy’s not as tough as she seems.’
‘Lucy? What are you talking about?’
‘Pictures of Jonny and some pink-haired girl snogging. You mean it’s not Lucy?’
‘I don’t know anything about that.’
‘Then what pictures are you talking about, Nick?’
He groaned – he’d revealed something he didn’t want me to know and my first instinct was to shout ‘hah!’ in triumph. Except, I didn’t feel too triumphant.
‘Nick?’
Silence.
‘What pictures, Nick?’
More silence.
‘For fuck’s sake, Nick.’
‘Pictures of Jess and Simon.’
I swallowed. ‘I see.’
‘I’m sorry.’
I grabbed the scourer and started rubbing at the brown ring mark in the sink. ‘When were they taken?’
‘I don’t know.’
I stopped scrubbing. ‘Was it that night we were all together at London Bridge? They were standing very close, I remember, but they definitely didn’t kiss.’
He didn’t immediately respond.
‘Nick?’
‘They’re more recent than that.’
‘How recent?’
‘Does it really matter when they were taken?’
‘I was just curious, that’s all.’
‘I can find out, if you want.’
‘No. No, it’s okay.’ I ran the tap to rinse off my hands. I really wanted out of this conversation.
‘I’ll see what I can dig up about those other pics. But I have a hunch about what they might be and if I’m right, it’s not Lucy in those photos, it’s Jeanette Jerome in a wig from a party a couple of weeks ago. I’ll check and get back to you, if it will put your mind at rest.’
The other photos felt like a lifetime ago. ‘Yes, thanks, Nick. I’d appreciate that.’
I lumbered back to my desk and collapsed into my chair.
Simon and Jess kissing.
Fuck.
With clammy fingers, I opened Twitter, and did a search for Jess.
Nothing.
Then I navigated to her Instagram, but all I found were her usual images of outfits she’d just bought or gourmet food in hipster pubs. I was about to close her page, when one of the locations made me pause.
When had Jess been in Stockholm? Wasn’t that one of the stops on Simon’s trip?
The knot in my stomach tightened. The evidence was piling up.
Part of me had always suspected there might be something more between the two of them; the savvy part of me. The stupid part of me had been in control, however, and she had set sail for Denial Central.
On a whim, I texted Simon to see if he fancied catching some late sun after work on Golden Square. If he said yes, then I would ask him point-blank. If not, it was a sign I should just let things play out naturally. I mean, one kiss didn’t mean anything, did it? We’d shared one kiss, too, and he’d downplayed it immediately. The thought was supposed to comfort me, but thinking about the night in Georgia’s garden only made me feel worse.
My phone pinged back almost straight away:
Great! See you there at 6.
Shit. Now I had to actually talk to him.
Movement to my left stirred me. Ayisha and Rob were packing up for the day too. I caught up with them and asked if they could check on Gav in his misery pub. I didn’t like the idea of Gav drowning his sorrows by himself.
*
I ended up
getting to Golden Square late because I’d stupidly picked up the office phone at ten to six, only for the caller to launch into a long-winded query asking how he could get hold of a high-resolution life-size cardboard cut-out of Lady Gaga. Go away, I’d wanted to scream, the path of my true love needs some serious smoothing over here. All you need is a photocopier.
When I got to the square, Simon was lounging on the dry grass, hemmed between a gaggle of sweaty bikers who were sweltering in their leathers and a trio of girls in breezy summer dresses paying more attention to their phones than to each other.
‘Hey, Frixie.’ He got up and kissed me on both cheeks.
He smelt divine, even in the hot weather. One of the girls looked up from her phone and gave Simon a quick once-over. I didn’t blame her; he looked gorgeous in a dark blue shirt and chinos. His hair was standing up at odd angles, in an adorable way rather than a speccy kid way, and a sprinkling of stubble completed the look.
I sat down and tried to eke out a little more space so we could talk with a bit of privacy, but even the millennials stuck on social media were throwing admiring glances Simon’s way.
He talked about work and his recent trip and I tried to nod at the right places like I was paying attention. But a neon sign flashing ‘Jess’ was lodged in my brain, blinding me to everything else.
He asked me about my day and I bought myself some time by telling him about the Lady Gaga phone call. He smiled politely, even though it made a piss-poor anecdote. The fake smile had barely died on his lips when I launched into my interrogation.
‘Simon, I know this is going to sound out of the blue, but what’s the deal between you and Jess?’
His smile faltered. ‘What do you mean?’
‘She was away for some of the time you were – did you see each other?’
He shifted his gaze to a daisy sprouting out of the yellow grass. ‘Funnily enough, she was in Sweden when I stopped over during my trip. She did a couple of gigs. The Scandis were crazy about Rydell.’
I swallowed. ‘Did you guys . . .’ God, why hadn’t I rehearsed this? ‘Was it a case of what happens in Scandinavia stays in Scandinavia?’
‘Frixie, you’re not making any sense.’
He looked so stumped that for a second, my hopes revived. Maybe Nick had been wrong about the photos.
‘This is going to sound crazy, but there are paparazzi shots of the two of you kissing.’
It definitely sounded crazy. This was all going to turn out to be a big misunderstanding.
‘I’m sorry, I should have told you.’
What did he just say? Why wasn’t he laughing at my ridiculous rambling? And why was he looking at me so seriously?
A hysterical giggle escaped me.
I never giggled – and not hysterically, for fuck’s sake.
‘It was one kiss, you don’t have to tell me everything,’ my voice continued; my brain was still two steps behind: Can I interest you in a Lady Gaga anecdote?
‘It wasn’t one kiss, Frixie.’
Everything went still. My brain had finally caught up.
‘Oh.’
‘We had a fling at university and it always felt like unfinished business. I guess we’re just exploring if it’s got legs.’
But what about me? I wanted to shout. Don’t you need to check my legs, too?
‘I thought you were all about taking things slowly?’ I tried not to sound bitter, but failed miserably.
‘This thing with Jess has taken me by surprise.’
Really? I wanted to scream. Everyone else could see it coming for miles.
I swallowed, not trusting myself to speak. But the words bubbled out of me against my will. ‘But what about us, Si?’
He looked surprised. ‘You and I are best friends, Zoë. That will never change. I value you too much. I mean, I know there was that night at the fancy-dress party, but we decided not to take it further.’
My heart sank with the weight of a hundred tiny daggers.
We decided to take things slowly, I wanted to tell him. When had he decided we weren’t going to take it further? I couldn’t say any of it out loud, though. I’d sound churlish, and the look of shock on his face if I told him I wanted more would be too humiliating to bear.
I nodded and tipped the corners of my mouth into a smile. If he saw how much this was hurting me, I don’t think I’d ever be able to face him again.
I was pathetic.
And suddenly, crushingly alone.
*
I got out of there as quickly as I could, citing a forgotten meeting. I hated myself for running away, but if I’d stayed a moment longer, watching Simon’s face as he reminisced about his history with Jess, I would have died.
My urgent meeting was with a bottle of wine in the same miserable pub as Gavin. Rob and Ayisha were there, keeping Gav company, and for a while their conversation distracted me. Ayisha, who happily drank non-alcoholic drinks whenever we went to the pub, was explaining that Ramadan was about to start, so this would be her last trip to the pub for a month.
By 9.30 it was just me and Gavin, brooding on a ripped leather bench and trying to avoid the gaze of a cross-eyed man playing snooker with an imaginary cue.
The good thing about Gavin was that he didn’t always feel the need to fill silences with conversation. So we sat and drank, and gave Snooker Man a thumbs-up every time he told us he’d just sunk the black.
If I hadn’t asked Simon, when would he have told me about Jess?
It’s not like he’d promised me anything, but there had been unspoken assurances – hadn’t there? I hated that I was so thrown by this. I wasn’t an insecure teenager. I was a confident, insouciant woman who only occasionally tried to win arguments by flicking her hair. Okay, that one was a bit childish, but still. Confident. Insouciant. Mature. Attractive (ish). Right?
I needed to snap out of it or I was going to end up mired in self-pity. I was already in it up to my knees.
Gavin looked even more depressed, and after I’d got our fifth round I found out why.
‘I love her,’ he announced as he slammed his glass on the table. ‘But she’s not interested.’
Poor Gav, I’d suspected as much. ‘Lucy?’
He nodded glumly. ‘I’ve loved her since she first strolled in with that ridiculous coat of hers. Do you remember it?’
I could see why Gav had fallen for her. On her first day she’d worn a floor-length sheepskin coat that reeked. I remember thinking how could sheep smell that bad? Gav had greeted her with a bleat and I’d waited for her response, convinced she would either start crying or thump him. She did neither. Instead, she’d thrown her head back and laughed. I think we all fell in love with her a bit that day.
I rubbed his shoulder. ‘Have you talked to her?’
‘I don’t need to. She’d never go for me. And besides, she’s interested in someone else.’
I sat straighter – this I could help with. ‘It’s not Lucy in those pics with Jonny, Gav, I should have told you sooner.’ It would have saved his liver. ‘I checked with his publicist.’
‘Maybe not, but she’s definitely got the hots for him.’
‘No way. I’ve got good intuition about this stuff.’ Not when it came to my own love life, evidently, but we weren’t discussing that.
‘Well, why did she leave early today?’
I laughed. ‘That’s your proof? She could be anywhere. It doesn’t mean she’s out with Jonny Delaney.’
‘You wait – he’ll put something up on social media tonight.’
‘You’re being daft. He’s very publicly dating that superhero actress.’
‘Jeanette Jerome? That’s a smokescreen to cover up certain same-sex proclivities.’
‘If he’s gay he can’t be interested in Lucy.’
‘Jonny’s a beard for Jeanette – she’s gay.’
He’d stumped me there.
‘She wouldn’t stop talking about him after the interview. He played her some new tracks and she t
hought they were brilliant. This is Lucy we’re talking about. Then they went for dinner together.’
This was news to me, but for Gav’s sake, I tried not look surprised. ‘I doubt it would have been just the two of them. She probably tagged along to something he was going to with his entourage.’
Gavin didn’t look convinced. ‘Her write-up was full of sexual chemistry.’
‘You’re imagining things.’
‘She banged on about the turquoise orbs of his eyes and the way the light played over the freckles on his arm.’
‘She most definitely did not.’
‘She did in the first draft she showed me. And it’s all implied in her finished copy.’
‘She was having you on, Gav. There were no smouldering yearnings in her piece, trust me.’
Snooker Man sank another black and gave us a toothless grin. We both held up our drinks to salute him.
For a couple of minutes, neither of us spoke. Then Gav shook his head. ‘I should just give up. She only thinks of me as a laugh.’
He really liked Lucy. And I’d been too wrapped up in my own stuff to notice. ‘You should talk to her.’
He shook his head. ‘How do you think that would go?’
‘You don’t know till you’ve tried.’ I was being a hypocrite – I’d never managed to tell Simon.
‘She probably thinks I’m too fat or bald or short.’
Gav was really wallowing now.
‘You’re none of those things.’ I turned to face him. ‘But if it helps, I’m sort of smitten with someone who only thinks of me as a friend.’
His eyes widened. ‘Really? Is it that Nick bloke?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Who then?’
‘No one you know.’
‘What a couple of saddos we are.’
Jesus, you try to help someone . . .
‘Anyway, it will all be forgotten in a couple of days.’
He looked at me skew-whiff. ‘If you like this guy, it will take time to get over him. There’s no short cut. You have to feel your feelings.’
Love Songs for Sceptics Page 23