‘I’ll drink to that,’ he’d said before I could finish. He reached into my large silver fridge and pulled out a screw-top beer, flicking the lid into the bin.
‘Cheers.’ I had clinked his beer bottle with a small, crystal glass I’d filled with cucumber water and ice. ‘I’ll drink to that too.’
Shame, really. We had been destined for such good things together. The press, onto his father’s past. Someone sniffing around about his partying ways but, in truth, we had actually grown to love each other, in a weird, dysfunctional way. At least, as far as I knew what love was. We were a good match. Conor was absolutely right, as usual, and he chose well. We had really grown to rely on each other, bound together in our loneliness, I suppose. And of course, things had happened in our lives that had been more similar than I could possibly have imagined. The things we’d worked so hard at to keep secret.
And you, I could sense you were getting ever so slightly bored of me and Ava. Restless, let’s say. The comments, they’d kept coming thick and fast. But you’d needed something else to grab your attention. Not much. Just a small change. A bit of optimism. A bit of hope. A fairytale happy-ever-after ending. That everyone can find their one true love. Because despite all this female empowerment stuff these days, you all still want that, don’t you.
And now, you.
You wanted me when you thought I was good. Now, I pray, you’ll still want me when I’m bad.
You built me up, and then you broke me.
I don’t blame you. I still love you, I still need you. Even as you watch me, eyes squinting from the bright rays, my wrists bound in metal being walked away.
And as I say goodbye to you for the time being, I can tell you this. We will meet again. I can’t stay away from you either. I will see you soon. As someone new. A different Lara King. I’m good at that.
So, please, give me another chance.
I will not let you down because I am yours.
Unequivocally, shamelessly, perfectly.
I am your guilty secret.
Carys Lockwood. Interview with the LA Times
September 13th 2018
EXCLUSIVE
by MANNY BERKOWITZ
This piece was originally intended for appearance in the paper during the time of Ava’s disappearance, but due to sensitivity over the case, the LA Times postponed the article. We’ve taken the steps of publishing the transcript in full. For more of Manny Berkowitz’s commentary on the interview and details surrounding the interview, please sign up for access to our LA Times members area.
I’m sorry that you didn’t get your story before Lara King was arrested. That you worked so hard at getting me to talk and no amount of money could get me to change my mind. I’d signed an NDA too. Not that I care about that. Too long has passed. It’s good to see the back of her. But now. I’m ready. Now she’s gone. She can’t do me any harm. You see, I was scared. Shit-scared. I know Hollywood’s a powerful place. Who knows what would have happened. I mean . . . you can’t speak out, can you? Power, it goes in all the wrong hands. Look at all the Weinstein stuff. I mean, there’s one of me. I was never sure my voice would be enough, you know? That to speak out against another female, whether that would go against some sort of, well, code.
But anyway – now I can say my piece. Tell you my thoughts on Lara King. I only met her once many years ago. But it was all I needed.
She was lonely. I could see it in her eyes. The fame. It had already got to her when I met her. I couldn’t ignore her. There was something in her eyes in the club that night. Lost. Lonely. Cold? I don’t know. But she looked right past me that day. I did my best. Told her how great I thought she was.
You know she was quite new on the scene. I mean, she was no one that special in that moment. I thought she’d like hearing how great she was. And I think she did, at first. But then something flipped.
She seemed disconnected. It freaked me out. And I felt it. That she thought she was so much better than me in that moment. Projection? I don’t know. But it was like she was lost in her own glorious world and nothing else mattered.
I’m going to get you back, I thought. Perhaps it was me, you know. Perhaps it had been a long time coming. Perhaps I’d been so dejected by the way she’d dismissed me earlier. So when she came in and spoke to me like that, well, I lost it. Totally lost it. And then she was going mad too, and I had it in my head just at that moment. Like a flash of lightning. I shouldn’t have videoed her. Should I? It was bad. Then she pushed me. I only felt the pain afterwards. She hissed something to me before she did it. Something about a diamond necklace. I didn’t know what she was talking about. But I felt the words slip out, the cold air on my skin.
My body slammed down the metal steps and then I was on the stone cobbles. I watched someone get her in a taxi. A shaven-headed guy. I just about managed to lift my head up at that point. He looked like a bit of a geezer. But then he looked at the woman Lara was with and held his hand out to her. And they both got in the cab with him and zoom, they were gone.
Never saw them again. I lay there on the concrete. My body screaming in pain. I was black and blue. Never showed my boyfriend when I got home. He would have downright killed her, and by that point, I’d started to think about who I was going to contact with the video of her screaming at me. But then I grew angrier and angrier. I thought about the headlines. Who I was going to call. And I did. The next day. I still don’t regret it to this very day.
I remember seeing her in America after that. Her and Ava. The perfect mother and daughter relationship. And now look. Poor, poor little girl. Dead.
The police asked me if it was true. Whether I had baited her into saying and doing those things. They came to see me the day after. But like I told you. It would have been me against the world. This rich, powerful woman. And who was I? A nobody. I was a student at the time. I didn’t have money for legal fees and the rest. I could have made a mint from selling that video but I didn’t.
Maybe I did push her into it. The things I said to her before I started recording.
You see, if I did bait her, well, it was because I was in a bad place. I was in a really, really bad place.
I didn’t know what I was doing.
You see, and now this is the truth. It’s been needling me all this time. Years I’ve been thinking about what it would be like coming clean. Getting all this off my chest. My baby. I’d started to bleed. Heavily. That night. In the club. Just before Lara came into the bathroom.
The pains had started early that morning. I knew. It had happened one too many times before. I was familiar with the form. Wear a sanitary pad. Take some strong painkillers. And I was in so much pain. Mental pain. Emotional pain. So I decided to blot it all out. I took drugs to forget. Snorted a few lines. Sniff, wipe nose. Forget.
But this time, the timing. After she pushed me, it was too good. I went to the hospital the next day. Told them and the police everything. ‘She pushed me,’ I told them. ‘I landed right here.’ I pointed to the small protrusion by my waistband. I had been sobbing. Hysterical. ‘And right after she pushed me,’ I told them, ‘I got these pains and I started to bleed.’
And then I had shown them my body. I remember the gasps at the hospital when I told the nurse who it had been.
‘You never,’ she had said, inspecting my legs and then the doctor, parting my thighs, the cold speculum inside me.
But really, it wasn’t her. All that time I wanted to tell someone. I just wanted to get her back for the things she said. I guess I wanted someone to blame. We’d been trying. Me and my boyfriend. We’d been trying for a while. It was easier to blame Lara King than to accept that, well . . . I’ve always thought that perhaps she had Ava to relieve her guilt at what she’d done to me. You know. Perfect mother. Wipe away the shitty stuff you’ve done in your past. Or to build up her reputation. Distract people from looking at her past. Ooh isn’t she wonderful, with her beautiful kid. So maternal. She would never have put a foot wrong. But you
know. She was a person before she was a mum. Having a child didn’t make her who she was. No. That happened long before.
Anyway, whatever it was, look what’s happened now. And I never got to be a mother.
It wasn’t enough. Was it? It wasn’t enough for her that she hurt me the way she did. She had to carry on.
It never is.
It’s never enough.
NICKNACKSAYS.COM
18th September 2018
0800hrs
I know I’ve been a bit silent of late. It’s been so freaking sad, reading Manny Berkowitz’s profile on Lara King. They were right, the LA Times, to postpone the piece. Especially after that massive exposé with Carys Lockwood. (Chapeau, Manny. You will always reign supreme.) Before I go on, I just wanted to say one thing. Ava – you told Manny on the day of the announcement that you didn’t think your mom loved you.
I wanted to let you know that wherever you are, we loved you. You were loved. You were. And I’m glad Manny told her – Lara – I mean, how special she was. That she was to be cherished. I’m glad she knew, even if she didn’t act on it. She needed to know how lucky she was.
But with all of that, after watching Lara King go down . . .
SOME GOOD NEWS, PEEPS!
After my big stage debut (for those of you who went to high school with me and accused me of always hiding behind my computer, who would have thought?) my phone was literally going off the freaking hook!
Mad! Non-stop. My granma, she couldn’t believe it.
‘Finally.’ She pulled my ears and kissed my cheek. ‘Finally you’ve been recognised, I’m so proud of you.’ And it felt good, y’know? It felt good that I’d believed in what I’d done. That I’d followed through on my instinct. Failed actor one day, successful superstar blogger the next.
Boom!
And so, kids, my message today – always believe in yourself. Always trust in yourself. Cos we ain’t got much else in this life.
And right now, I’m delighted to say that I’ve signed with none other than the famous PR guy himself, da, da da . . .
Conor O’Sullivan! He said he’s going to make me ***big***. Says he can see ‘something’ in me. Whatever that is. First things first, work on my image. That kind of thing. He’s even arranged for me to get my teeth done. First session tomorrow. Watch this space.
Nicholas! Over here! Smile!
Zing!
What goes around, comes around, Lara King.
I love you all. Thank you, for championing me, for reading me, for giving me this chance, because really it’s all down to you. All of this. My amazing fans.
My support network who’ve followed me all this time, through thick and thin.
You made me into who I am today.
The readers of my posts that kept me going and built me up and up, and up. Right to the top.
Right to the stars.
I love you.
No, really. I do.
I love you all.
So take a bow.
This one’s for YOU.
Thank you, goodnight and God bless.
X
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank Nelle Andrew for absolutely everything. Your unfailing support means the world to me.
Laura Williams, Sophie Orme, Jennie Rothwell (alongside the editorial notes, thank you so so much for taking my panicked phone calls and emails towards the end, and for being so calm and reassuring), Margaret Stead, Jon Appleton and Alex Allden. And Jett Purdie, for my last front cover. Thank you so much for all the collective work you have put into the book.
The Redfern Gallery: Richard Gault, Richard Selby, Paul, Michael and Maya. And also to my friend Paul Gould from the Faber Academy Write A Novel course.
To my friends who have had to put up with my second-novel struggle both in terms of friendship and generosity and also answering endless inane, brainstorming questions. My heartfelt thanks go to, Nick Matthew, Chloe Sarfaty, Alison Hitchock, Clarissa Ward, Alanna Clear, Edwina Gieve, Anna Van Praagh, Daniel Cavanagh, Mahim Qureshi, Lynn and Josh West, Zoe and Rick Harris, Kathryn Usher, Elly Walsh, Nerissa and Sammi Martin, Emilie Bennetts, Henrietta Wheal, Maria Riachy Guven, Caroline Hall, Cara Randell, Sarah Wheeler, Vikki and Olly Sloboda.
Thank you to Chris Missen and to Rick Harris for the introduction.
The Bonnier crew, with special thanks to Ayisha Malik (I’m sorry, Mallers. One day I’ll stop . . .), David Young, Graham Minett and Chris Whitaker.
Izzy Benson, Elizabeth Day, Caroline Jones, Liz Thornton, Lynn West and Charlotte Wilkins – thank you for being there for me, unfailingly – at any time of day and night. I really couldn’t do any of this without you. You inspire me and make me laugh so much and have given me so many happy memories to cherish. Thank you.
Huge thanks go to my fantastic in-laws, Karen and Ellis – I am incredibly grateful for everything you do for us, and to Nick and Zoe, and my very cool and amazing nephew and niece, Jamie and Carly Spero.
And, of course to my husband Olly, my parents, Emily and Matt, Chester, Jasper and Alia. And to Cyrus, who is much missed. You are all brilliant people (and dogs). Mum and Dad for being the best parents ever, Emily and Jasper for imparting your supersonic wisdom, thoughts and humour to me on a regular basis. I feel very lucky indeed.
My lifelong best-friend Asia Mackay – this one is for you. I really cannot thank you enough for everything. For your never-ending support in both writing and everything else.
Olly, Walter and Dominic – my favourites. For putting up with my writing! And the rest.
About the Author
Rebecca Thornton is a journalist and runs an online advertising business. Her work has been published in Prospect Magazine, Daily Mail, The Jewish News and The Sunday People. She was Acting Editor of an arts and culture magazine based in Jordan, and she’s reported from Kosovo, London, and the Middle East. Rebecca is an alumna of the Faber Academy writing-a-novel course, where she was tutored by Esther Freud and Tim Lott. You can follow her on Twitter @rebs_web
Also by Rebecca Thornton
The Exclusives
This ebook edition published in 2018 by
ZAFFRE PUBLISHING
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Copyright © Rebecca Thornton, 2018
Cover design by Alexandra Allden
The moral right of Rebecca Thornton to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978–1–78576–074–7
Paperback ISBN: 978–1–78576–075–4
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