Book Four: Thirty Days, Book 4

by Bibi Paterson

  Kieran gives me a startled look but quickly returns to his task in hand which I soon realise is scrolling through the man’s phone. In all this time, the man has not said a word. He hasn’t even objected Adam’s manhandling of him which I find surprising; surely if he were some innocent bystander he would be protesting his blamelessness?

  The man looks me up and down, much like a scientist would scrutinise a specimen and once again the hairs on the back of my neck tingle; this is definitely the source of my agitation.

  “Who are you?” I ask the man seriously, needing some answers.

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he mutters. “I just came in for a cup of coffee.”

  “Yeah, like three hours ago,” growls a furious Adam, who fishes around in the guy’s pockets until he comes across a wallet. Rifling through it, he pulls out the guy’s driver’s licence. “Sam Delevitt,” he says. “So which media agency do you work for, Sam?”

  “Media agency?” I squeak now feeling somewhat confused.

  Sam is refusing to speak so Adam continues, “Or are you just paparazzi scum? What kind of story do you think you are going to get here? Café sells coffee?” Adam’s voice is snide and I can tell he’s really pissed off.

  The question running through my head is why the hell would there be paparazzi here. Just then Adam pulls out a business card and waves it in front of Sam’s face. Despite Sam’s bravado there is something very wrong; I swear the man just went pale underneath his suntan.

  “Kieran, put a call into Henry and Detective Stanton, please. It looks like Sam here is a private investigator. I’m betting there is only one reason he’s here.” Adam shoves Sam against the wall with force but Sam just smiles at him with a sick little grin. Kieran quickly moves out the door to place his calls.

  My mind is whirring and I don’t like the conclusions I’m coming to. “Do you think Richard has hired him to follow me? Seriously, do you think that could be a possibility?”

  Adam sighs, “I don’t know, Abby. What I do know is that this guy has been coming in here for coffee every day for the last month, sitting around for hours nursing the same cup. Until today, he’s not done anything we could confront him on. That is until we caught him filming you on his phone.”

  I feel the blood drain out my face. “If he has been coming in here for the last month, then Richard set this all in place before he escaped custody at the funeral.” I suddenly feel like crying out of sheer frustration but then a fierce anger takes over and I want to smack the smug little man standing opposite me.

  Kieran walks back in with grim determination on his face. “Local CID is sending a squad car over to pick up this piece of work and take him up to London. They’ll be here in about ten minutes.” Turning to Sam, he looks at him levelly for a moment before saying quietly, “Our friends are very much looking forward to having a word with you. Apparently you have a number of outstanding warrants with your name on them.” Kieran gives him a smirk and finally Sam seems to be losing some of his cool as beads of sweat break out on his forehead. Yet he remains silent.

  “Adam,” I murmur. “We need to talk after they pick this guy up.”

  Adam gives me a look as if weighing up his options and then gives me a brief nod. “Go wait in the café, Abby, and I’ll come through when this piece of shit is gone.”

  “Okay,” I agree and walk back through to the café. I snag a seat on one of the sofas suddenly feeling weary as the adrenaline drains from my system. Alison gives me a curious glance and I can only imagine what everyone thought at the sight of a man being dragged out by two tall guys.

  I place my head in my hands trying to breathe as a Braxton Hicks contraction suddenly shoots across my belly. They have been coming more and more frequently these days and even though I think I should be used to them these days, they never fail to take my breath away.

  “Are you okay, Abs?” Alison asks with concern as she sets down a cup of steaming peppermint tea.

  “Argh. It’s just these damn contractions,” I say. “They always get me when I least expect them.”

  Alison lowers her voice, “What was all the commotion about, Abs?”

  “I really don’t know, Ali,” I say. “Adam thought he was paparazzi or something but I don’t know why they would be here.” I’m reluctant to say too much until I have an idea of what the hell is going on.

  At the word ‘paparazzi’, something flits across Alison’s face that piques my curiosity. “Alison?” I say questioningly.

  Alison takes a deep breath, pausing a moment before speaking, “I just thought you would know, Abs.”

  “Know what?” I respond feeling more confused than ever.

  “Here, it’s probably easier if I show you,” Alison says digging her phone out of her pocket. She taps on it, waits for something to load and then passes it over to me with a guilty look on her face.

  I take the phone and, even though I should know better, I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing. It is a photograph of me looking like I’m about to stuff an enormous cupcake into my mouth. The headline above it reads ‘Cupcake Queen Binges! Is she putting her baby at risk?’ As I read the article, my stomach drops and heart begins to pound. Everything in it is speculation yet the way the article is written implies that I’m stuffing myself full of cake every day and my child is at risk of diabetes. What. The. Fuck?

  I scroll back up to the top and notice that the site is a well-known gossip site, one that also gleefully reported on my attempted suicide all those months ago by posting the pictures Hannah and Richard had released in all their gory glory. “Is there more?” I ask Alison quietly.

  “Yeah,” Alison responds. “I’m so sorry, Abs. I thought you knew about this stuff.”

  “It’s okay, Ali. I didn’t know. Mainly because I make sure I don’t look at these stupid sites. Unless it comes up on BBC news, then I don’t pay attention.” I let out a sigh of frustration wishing I could un-see the picture that makes me look so horrendous.

  Alison gives me a brief hug before commenting that it’s all a pack of lies and anyone with half a brain knows that. I know she is trying to reassure me and I’m grateful but at the same time it’s a stark reminder that I don’t live in my own little bubble; that I am apparently newsworthy as Taylor’s wife.

  Adam walks back through the door and walks across to me so Alison excuses herself after asking Adam if he would like anything.

  “Sure, I’ll have a coffee,” he responds. “Thanks, Ali!”

  “The usual?” she asks and Adam responds with a thumbs up. Their interaction is another reminder of the fragility of my bubble; clearly these two know each other well enough that Alison knows his coffee order.

  One look at my face lets Adam know that I’m not happy. “Paparazzi?” I bark at him.

  “For the most part, Abby, we manage to spot them long before they can get near enough to take any decent pictures of you. We usually send them packing with a fierce warning not to come back but some are way more persistent than others. And when you are in public places it’s much harder to manage.”

  “But why didn’t you tell me this was going on?” I ask in frustration.

  “Because Taylor didn’t want you to know,” Adam replies firmly. I understand that he was just following orders, but still it galls me to be in the dark like this.

  “I don’t get it,” I respond. “Surely if I knew what was happening then at least I could have made your lives a bit easier.”

  “That was the point, Abby. Taylor knows how much you hate having us trailing you around and so our instructions were always to be as unobtrusive as possible. So that you could be as normal as possible. Taylor has always been really insistent that you feel as free as possible to live your life like we weren’t there watching over you.”

  Adam looks at me like he’s in pain and I get it. He’s been trying to protect me, him and Taylor and everyone else on Henry’s team. But what no one seems to get, is that to protect myself I need to know these t
hings. Going through life in my little bubble is not getting me very far.

  “So all this stuff on the internet?” I prompt needing to understand it all. Every last detail.

  “We monitor it daily and Taylor’s press guys refute anything that isn’t true and get them to issue an apology and a retraction. The rest, we just have to leave and the attention eventually peters out.”

  “Wow,” I say. “I never knew…” I trail off wondering about this large machine that seems to be dedicated to making my life seem as peachy as possible. But it’s all been an illusion and now that the truth is out, it’s hard not to let my imagination run wild. But I remember the dangers from the last time I searched myself out on the world wide web; the images still haunt my nightmares.

  There is something about that picture that nags at me for the rest of the afternoon, long after Adam has gone off for a debriefing with Henry leaving me with his replacement, Kev. It’s only when I start chatting with my mother about the pictures, moaning about the fact that I look like such a slob in them–it really does seem like they have published the worst shots possible–when she asks to see the one that’s bothering me.

  I quickly bring up the web page on my phone, its web address imprinted on my brain, scrolling through the links until I find the article that offends me most. Passing it across to my mum, I wait as she scrutinises the picture. A moment later she snaps her fingers. “Abs, the picture was taken when we were in Harvey Nichols and we went up to the terrace for afternoon tea. You were messing around, saying you were so hungry you could eat the cake whole, and held it up to your mouth like you were going to devour it. The shot must have been taken just at that moment. You will probably find that there was a whole load taken that day, but that particular one was the one that sold for the highest price.”

  “Bloody hell, Mum!” I exclaim feeling violated at the thought of someone tracking my every move and taking pictures.

  “Unfortunately, the shots that sell these days tend to be the ones that generally show a person in the worst light. People don’t want to read about how you are blooming in pregnancy; they just want to make themselves feel better by reading drivel like this.” Mum lets out a sigh and gives me a sympathetic glance.

  “Jeez, Mum, reading these makes me feel terrible,” I say, my tone as grim as my face.

  “Then don’t,” she advises. “Don’t give them that kind of power over you. Just accept that they will write what they want but at the end of the day no one who knows you will believe a word of it.”

  I let out a sigh knowing that my mother is probably right. I have to let this roll over me because if I start obsessing about it like I did last time, then I’m going to drive myself nuts.

  “Besides,” she continues, “At the moment you are probably newsworthy because of all this stuff going on with Richard, but once that dies down and other celebrities start getting up to all sorts, you’ll see, the attention will die down.”

  “You’re probably right,” I respond. “I just feel a bit stupid, being kept in the dark like this and not realising that all this stuff was being written about me. It makes me wonder what people think when they read this crap. Because someone out there must believe this stuff.”

  “Oh, honey. Believe me, when you live in the public eye like this, you have to develop thick skin. There have been times when I have been on shoots in the last few years when there have been pictures of me released without makeup and people going on about how I’ve aged disgracefully, blah, blah, blah. And yes, at first they upset me because inside I still feel like I’m twenty-one and I know I certainly don’t look it anymore. But at the end of the day I accepted that I’m not twenty-one, I’m actually fifty-four and I am still in demand and every wrinkle and scar I now have, they are all proof that I have lived my life. A full and amazing one at that.” I look at my mother in amazement and can’t help but hope that by the time I’m her age I have even a quarter of her wisdom.

  “Thanks, Mum,” I say reaching over and squeezing her hand. “You always make me feel so much better. Right, Taylor’s party…” I say ready to put all this nonsense behind me and get down to business.

  The Fifteenth

  “Taylor?” I whisper. “Are you awake?” It’s four a.m. and I can’t sleep. Despite doing my best to banish the thoughts over the pictures, I wasn’t able to talk it through with Taylor before heading to bed. A last minute meeting with a new client had kept him in London until seven and when the client had suggested drinks and dinner, Taylor hadn’t wanted to refuse. I had been vaguely aware of Taylor slipping in beside me at around midnight but, as usual, sleep had overtaken me the moment he’d whispered goodnight in my ear and kissed me gently on my nose.

  Taylor mumbles something unintelligible and rolls over so I take that as his answer. I doze fitfully for the next few hours, nightmares that I thought I’d long since banished resurfacing to torment my sleep. I don’t even realise that I’m screaming until Taylor is shaking me awake.

  “It’s okay, Abs. I’m here. I’ve got you,” he repeats over and over until I’m finally able to open my eyes and vanquish the demons. Panting, I struggle to get my breath back as the terror recedes.

  “Shit, Abs. You haven’t had one of those for a while,” Taylor murmurs as he looks down at me, his face filled with concern.

  I shake my head feeling a couple of tears leak from beneath my lids, the ghosts not quite banished yet.

  “It’s going to be okay, Abs,” Taylor repeats as he spoons his body around mine, his hands brushing circles over my skin as he tries to physically soothe my fears.

  It takes a while but eventually the horror recedes and I’m able to start breathing normally. In due course, I’m able to turn myself over and when I do Taylor staring at me with confusion in his eyes. “What set that off, Abs? You haven’t had nightmares like that in a long time.”

  I try to organise my thoughts into something coherent so that I can explain to Taylor why this has come out of the blue. But I forget that Taylor knows me so well.

  “Was it the stuff from yesterday, Abs? With that Sam guy and then the websites?” Taylor asks. “Is that what set you off?”

  I shrug my shoulders, the lump in my throat making it impossible to get the words out. Taylor runs a finger down my cheek before planting a soft kiss on my cheek. “It’s okay, you know. Adam called me last night. I’m so sorry I didn’t get home earlier. I wanted to but the clients just kept getting in the drinks.

  “It’s okay,” I murmur not wanting to make Taylor feel guilty.

  “No, I should’ve been here, Abs,” Taylor says full of unnecessary remorse. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Taylor, it’s okay,” I say finally finding my voice. “Really. I didn’t know yesterday would affect me like it did. I guess going online and getting sucked into the stories just brought back a lot of the memories of when I saw those pictures after my… you know. And then knowing that you guys had all been trying to protect me from it, well, it just made me feel like a complete fool. Like, how could I’ve not realised all this was going on? There I was just getting on with things in my little bubble not realising that there was so much more to worry about than your bloody brother.”

  “But that was the whole point, Abs,” Taylor retorts softly. “You have had to deal with so much shit already, I just wanted to protect you from the stuff you had no control over.”

  Running my hand over Taylor’s cheek I revel in the softness of his skin, the prickle of his five o’clock shadow and the taut plane of his jaw. “I think it was just the shock of finding out that all this time I was being followed, it wasn’t just to protect me from Richard, but from pretty much the rest of the world as well.”

  “Abs, I wish I could protect you from every awful thing in this world.” I know Taylor is serious but I just want him to understand that keeping things from me makes it ten times worse when I find out. More so than if I had actually known what was going on from the beginning.

  “Tay, we’ve been over t
his so many times before. I’m not breakable. Keeping me in the dark about stuff means that it’s so much worse when I find out. If I knew that this stuff was being written about me, then I could have been prepared.” I take a deep breath.

  “And what would you have done, Abs?” Taylor responds with curiosity, genuinely interested in what I might say.

  “Well, I might have gone out with makeup on for a start if I knew those bloodsuckers would be out tracking my every move. I wouldn’t have joked about shovelling a whole cake in my mouth. I would’ve made damn sure that I was putting my best foot forward as it were so that those scumbags wouldn’t have anything shitty to write about me.”

  “But what kind of life would that be, Abs? Always feeling like you are being watched, having to think about everything you say and do when you step out the house. I don’t want you to have to live like that,” Taylor says earnestly.

  “Celebrities do it all the time,” I retort.

  “But at what price?” Taylor contests. “Abs, I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing. If it makes you feel any better, they rarely got pictures of you.”

  “I know, Tay. I’ve seen the pictures. But that’s thing, it’s not just the pictures, it’s the crap that they wrote to go with the photos. I guess when you’re feeling dreadful about yourself, this kind of poison can get in and mess with your head.” I squeeze my hands into fists. “I thought I’d dealt with the memories from the last time I went through this, but last night they came flooding back, along with the fear and the hopelessness. I don’t want to go back to that, Taylor. I can’t!”

  “Abs, you are one of the strongest people I know. If you want me to make an appointment with David, I’ll get you one straight away. But please don’t let this stuff get to you. Why did you say you are feeling shit about yourself anyway?” Taylor asks me.

  “I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been feeling like a great big, fat heffalump and then when I saw that picture with the story about how I’m endangering my child’s health, well it made me think. Have I been eating right? Have I been taking the best care of her? I drink coffee, I eat all sorts, maybe I am being reckless with Bean’s life. All this stress can’t be good for Bean either…” I trail off.