by Paige Toon
‘I’ll ask Wendel to speak to her on Monday.’
‘Okay.’ I think for a moment. ‘I presume he got her to sign a confidentiality clause?’
‘He asked her to keep quiet about it.’
‘Johnny!’ I exclaim. ‘She’s a teenage girl! How is she going to keep quiet about the fact that her dad is a famous rock star?’
‘I don’t know, Meg,’ he replies with frustration. ‘But I don’t feel we can throw legal shit at her when she’s only just found out about me! She is my daughter. It’s not fair.’
My mouth abruptly closes. Johnny has a teenage daughter. The reality of our situation has belatedly sunk in, and its impact feels like a slap across the face.
The next day is Phoenix’s first birthday and I’ve never felt less like celebrating. I’ve gone from feeling angry and tearful to just tearful. I feel like there’s a perpetual lump in my throat that won’t go away. I would give anything to be back in Henley, living in our own little world in our beautiful old house surrounded by my friends and their children. I returned to LA knowing that I would miss my mummy pals and our playdates, but I told myself that I’d make new friends, go to new playgroups. So far I’ve been too busy settling back into the house and researching schools and nurseries for Barney. Johnny is out all day, and right now I need him more than ever, yet when we’re together, despite the front I’m putting on of being strong, all I feel is distance.
And so we have a little birthday celebration, just the four of us, and I’ve never felt so lonely. I’m fighting back tears when we sing ‘Happy Birthday’, overcome with emotion about this big milestone in my baby boy’s life. I would give anything to be celebrating back home, surrounded by children and babies and our extended family, and be blissfully ignorant of a onetime groupie called Candy.
Two days later, Jessica’s flight is booked. She’s coming to LA on Sunday.
I nod when Johnny tells me that night. I’ve now moved on to feeling strangely detached about the whole thing.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks warily. His fingers are fidgeting and I know he wants to smoke, but he’s trying not to start up again.
‘Did you ever manage to get hold of Santiago?’ He was Johnny’s pool boy and sometime gardener, and Johnny once went mental when I nicked a cigarette from him.
Johnny frowns. ‘Why are you asking about Santiago now?’
‘We’ve managed to bring back Samuel and Lewis, but what about him? I want him back. I liked him. He was a friend and I don’t have many in this fucking country!’
My fury hits me like a wall. I’m up and down like a rollercoaster at the moment.
Johnny’s jaw twitches. ‘I managed to get hold of his mum. He’s taken a year out to go travelling.’
I go back to feeling surreally detached again. ‘Maybe we’ll be able to re-hire him when he gets back,’ I say in a monotone voice.
‘Maybe.’ He looks away from me, down at the city lights twinkling in the distance. We’re sitting at the bench table, side by side, with our backs resting against the hard concrete. The baby monitors are glowing green on the table behind us, our sons fast asleep inside the house. The sun is just setting and the sky is orange, but there are no stars, yet. I can hear a far-off police car whizzing through the hills with its siren blazing.
We stay silent for a long time, then I feel his eyes on me once more. ‘Are we going to be alright?’
I feel the tension radiating from him as I stare down at the view and ponder this question for a little too long.
I turn to look at him and feel physical pain at the sight of the apprehension in his eyes. I brush my thumb across his warm face. His stubble is prickly under my touch. He hasn’t shaved for days.
‘We’ve been through much worse than this,’ I say, smiling through the sudden onslaught of tears. He exhales in a rush and I realise he was holding his breath, and then he’s crushing my breath out of me as he holds me tightly.
‘I love you,’ I say into his shoulder.
‘I love you, too.’ His deep voice is thick with emotion.
‘We’re going to be okay. Of course we’re going to be okay. I’ll always love you, Johnny. I always have and I always will.’
He hugs me even tighter, and then he’s kissing me as though his life depended on it. I passionately return his kiss and he pulls me to my feet, carrying me a few steps to the lawn sloping away from the house. He lays me down and covers my body with his, trapping me and keeping me exactly where he wants me.
Which is exactly where I want to be.
We make love there, on the grass, and it’s like it’s our very first time, raw and passionate and full of need and longing. Afterwards, he stays on top of me, both of us breathing heavily, as I stare past him to the newly shining stars in the sky beyond. I know without a shadow of a doubt that, despite his flaws, despite his past, Johnny is worth fighting for. And I swear to myself that I’ll never let anyone come between us, whoever they may be.
I spend the next couple of days getting everything ready for Jessica’s imminent arrival. We’re putting her in the White Room, which was my room once.
I remember the second time I came here with Barney; Johnny’s PA at the time had filled the bathroom cabinets with all sorts of cosmetic goodies. I want to do the same for Jessica to make her feel welcome, so I go shopping to stock up, taking a strange amount of pleasure at the thought of seeing her excitement. I hope she is excited.
Johnny told me that she grew up in a small townhouse with no luxuries to speak of. He also told me how her mother died on Jessica’s fifteenth birthday; struck by glass falling from a loose window on her way to pick up Jessica’s birthday cake. We both get a little emotional when we think about that.
I hope I can be a friend to this girl. I hope my jealousy and insecurity don’t get in the way. I want to be strong for her, to help her through this incredibly tumultuous time in her life. I hope she lets me.
After lunch on Sunday, Johnny tells me that he wants to go for a bike ride.
‘But she’s going to be here in a couple of hours,’ I reply with a frown.
‘I need to get out,’ he says. ‘Just for a bit.’
I can tell from his expression that he needs his freedom to compose himself. I know how he feels.
I wish I could go with him, but it’s Sunday and we have no help with childcare today. I’m relieved it will just be the four of us when Jessica arrives. I still haven’t got used to having staff, and however much some of them feel like friends, I’m glad no one else is here to witness such a private event.
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Make sure you’re back by three thirty, though. Just to be on the safe side in case she comes through immigration early.’
Davey is going to collect her from the airport. He didn’t say anything, but I could tell from his eyes how shocked he was when I showed him the picture of Jessica. He probably would have recognised her without it.
Phoenix is asleep and Barney is watching TV in the living room, so I leave him to it and walk out to the garage to see Johnny off. I’ve always thought he looks hot in his biker jacket. He climbs onto the big, black Ducati and pushes his dirty-blond hair off his face before pulling the helmet over his head. My heart unexpectedly flips.
‘What are you smiling at?’ he asks me, and I wish I’d kissed him before he’d covered his face. I shake my head and shrug, but he must be a mind-reader because he takes his helmet off again.
‘Come here,’ he mutters with a grin. He kisses me gently on my lips, but I want more.
‘Jeez,’ he murmurs under his breath. ‘You’re making me want to take you on the grass again.’
We kiss each other, long and languidly, before I finally pull away. ‘I’d better get back inside to Barney,’ I say with regret.
‘Just wait until I get you on that island,’ he says in a low voice, still staring at my lips.
‘Can’t wait,’ I say. We’ve just got to get through this week.
He pulls on his helmet again, flippin
g up his visor. His eyes look even greener when they’re all I can see of his face.
‘Don’t be late,’ I warn.
‘I won’t.’
I take a step backwards and he fires up the ignition. He flips down his visor and I watch with a heart full of love as he roars out of the garage and down the driveway, leaving a dust cloud in his wake.
Two hours later, my earlier warm and fuzzy feeling has been replaced with nervous anxiety. Davey has called me to say he’s en route from the airport and Johnny is still not back. Where the bloody hell is he?
Phoenix is awake and the three of us are in the living room, playing with Barney’s collection of cars. I’m so distracted, so on edge. I just want Johnny here. I try calling his mobile, but he doesn’t answer.
And then he rings me back. ‘Is she there yet?’
‘Almost! Get your arse back here right now!’
‘I’m on my way,’ he promises, ending the call.
Argh! Still living in his own little world…
I’m pacing the living room when the buzzer goes to let me know that the gates have opened. Is it Davey or Johnny? Please, please, please let it be Johnny.
I hurry to the front door and open it in time to see Davey’s limo pull up in front of the house.
Oh God, she’s here. I try to compose myself.
What will she be like?
Please let her be a nice, friendly, easy-going teenager.
No, those words surely don’t belong in the same sentence.
Oh, just please don’t let her give us too much grief.
Davey gets out of the car and cocks his chauffer’s hat at me, but I can barely smile back at him, because then he’s opening the car door and one chunky, black boot is stepping out, followed by a slim, tanned leg, and a short silver swing dress which would be more at home in a nightclub. I stare with shock at the stunning girl with surfer-style, platinum blonde hair and eyes hidden by dark sunglasses.
She looks like a wannabe rock star.
She looks like trouble.
She’s Johnny’s daughter and she’s here to stay.
Holy shit, what the hell have we let ourselves in for?
Johnny’s Girl
Extra scene
Over the years, lots of you have asked me to re-write my stories from the point of view of my male characters. The only time I’ve written from the perspective of any of my guys was when I wrote Leo’s chapter in The Longest Holiday. But after writing Johnny’s Girl, I was intrigued to know more about what was going on inside Johnny’s mind, so I wrote this bonus scene for The Hidden Paige. Here he’s about to break the news about Jessie to Meg…
‘I’ll call you as soon as I know more,’ Wendel says.
‘Fine,’ I reply, terminating our conversation and dropping the phone onto my desk with a clatter. I rest my elbows on the polished surface and stare in a daze at the dark computer screen in front of me.
My solicitor has just told me that I have a teenage daughter. Allegedly.
Fuck! How am I going to break this to Meg?
I rake my hands halfway through my hair and apply pressure to my skull with my fingertips. She’s going to go absolutely mental.
‘Johnny?’ I jolt at the sound of Annie’s voice and turn to see my PA standing in the office doorway. She looks worried. ‘Is everything okay? Davey’s on the drive if you want him to take you to the party? Or will you go by bike?’
‘What’s the time?’ I ask dully.
‘Ten thirty.’
Christ, I’m late. ‘Better take the Merc,’ I reply with a heavy sigh as I get to my feet.
My Ducati would be quicker, but I’ll be bringing Meg home with me and the bike can stress her out. I’m going to be doing enough of that as it is.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ Annie asks with concern, taking a step backwards to let me pass.
‘Ring Wendel. He’ll fill you in. And let Davey know I’ll be outside in ten,’ I say over my shoulder.
‘You got it,’ she calls after me.
Annie doesn’t normally work this late, but she’s babysitting the boys tonight. Kitty persuaded Meg to go to a film premiere and I’ve been in the studio all day with Mikky, my producer. I only got home a few minutes before Wendel called.
I go upstairs to our bedroom and turn on the shower in the en suite before emptying the contents of my pockets onto the bed. I notice that a text message from Meg has come in, asking me what time I’ll be there. I don’t reply because she’ll see me soon enough. And then she’ll wish I’d stayed away.
Davey has worked for me for years, so he knows when I’m not in the mood to talk. He leaves the screen up and the intercom set to private once I’m inside the car.
It’s not far to Chateau Marmont where the premiere after party is taking place. I know it well – it used to be one of my regular hangouts – but I’m in no rush to face my wife.
My head is all over the place as I sit at the back of the limo and stare out of the darkened windows at the lights of LA, lit up like a Christmas tree in the valley far below. I feel like there’s a tiny person inside my stomach, tying my intestines into a giant ball of knots.
When we’re nearing West Hollywood, my phone vibrates against my thigh. I dig it out of my pocket and tense at the sight of Nutmeg’s name on the Caller ID.
The device carries on buzzing in the palm of my hand, but I can’t bring myself to answer. I feel paralysed. Paralysed with fear. What can I say to her? I hope I can figure it out when I see her because I haven’t got a freaking clue at the moment.
Her call goes through to voicemail, and at that moment, I totally despise myself. I’m such a coward. I suddenly have an overwhelming urge to drown my sorrows in a bottle of whiskey.
No.
I’ve been clean for almost two and a half years and I’m not going to screw it up now. A fag wouldn’t go amiss, but I’ve quit smoking, too, goddammit. When Meg was pregnant with Phoenix she refused to kiss me because my breath made her queasy. That was incentive enough. It killed me not to kiss her. She’s the love of my life.
I wonder if she drank the champagne I arranged for her. She avoids alcohol when she’s around me, but I really wanted her to treat herself tonight. She’s barely gone out since she had our little boys.
Curious more than anything, I lean forward to open the mini-fridge, and sure enough, there’s a half-empty bottle of Perrier-Jouët Rosé inside. I’m happy for her, but then my demons are back and I’m fighting a fresh urge to take a swig.
Steeling myself, I swing the fridge door shut and slump into my seat.
What is my brown-eyed girl going to think of me? I feel downright nauseous. I love her so much. The thought of hurting her hurts me. She’s got to forgive me for this. But I know it’s one of her worst nightmares come true. She’s always been worried that, one day, one of my groupies will come forward and say I’m the father of their child. I’ve been careful over the years, but clearly not careful enough. Nowhere near fucking careful enough.
For a moment, my mind is filled with memories of Candy, the girl in question. She was only seventeen when we hooked up – and that was nearly seventeen years ago. I can picture her laughing, her long, dark hair damp with sweat as she’s bandied about in the mosh pit. I remember her being at the front when we did our slow number, and I can see her looking up at me with those big, caramel-coloured eyes of hers.
I saw her at the next concert, and the next, and the next… I wanted her, but she didn’t give herself to me easily, which surprised me. She certainly got my attention.
I’ve thought about her a little over the years. She wasn’t like so many of the others. I wouldn’t recognise most of them if I saw them on the street, but Candice, I remember. I liked her. I liked her a lot. So I did what I always did and dicked her around when she tried to get closer to me.
I can’t believe she’s dead. Out of the blue, grief hits me like a wall. She was killed a few months ago when a loose window fell down on her from a four-storey he
ight. She was just casually walking along the pavement…
What a terrible way to go. And she left behind an only child, a girl called Jessica, or Jessie, as she apparently likes to be known. Candy died on the exact day of Jessie’s fifteenth birthday.
My chest feels constricted. I have a daughter! And she was completely clueless about me until a few days ago.
Her stepdad thought it was time she knew the truth. He was the one who contacted Wendel.
How could Candy have kept this to herself all these years? She had a baby girl – my baby girl – and she didn’t see fit to tell me?
So many emotions are swirling around inside me. I don’t know what to think.
My phone buzzes again – once – snapping me out of my thoughts. I have a voicemail – from Meg, at a guess. I put my phone up to my ear and listen.
‘Where the hell are you?’
Uh-oh, she’s angry with me.
‘Dana is here and I could really do with your support.’
Damn, my ex-girlfriend is there? She’d better not be harassing my Nutmeg…
‘I’m about to go and say hi to Joseph Strike…’
WHAT?
‘… so get your arse here ASAP.’
She ends the call.
What the fuck? Jealousy swiftly snakes its way into the emotions already wreaking havoc on my gut. Joseph fucking Strike? Really, Nutmeg? If I get there and see her cosying up to that actor bastard, I’ll go mad.
And then I remember what I have to tell her, and my boiling blood cools to Arctic temperatures.
She might have had a fling with him once, but she’s not interested in him anymore, I tell myself as the rational part of my brain kicks in. She’s just upset about Dana. I put Meg through enough shit over my drug addict ex-girlfriend to last a lifetime. It’s no wonder she’s freaking out.