Cheated on her with: in Paris’s words, “a bunch of no-good tarts”.
Final result: Paris has forgiven him each time because “they bloody throw themselves at him. Besides,” she added, “I’m not leaving this relationship until I have at least an engagement ring to show for it.”
I let them know I’d finish with any boy who cheated on me, footballer or no footballer, but Anna scoffed and said she used to say the same thing.
Got to go now – Robbie’s shouting for me.
6 p.m.
Yet another Sunday afternoon spent listening to Robbie’s mum go on and on about the way he played football yesterday, last week, last month, last year and the bloody decade before that. It’s good to be proud of your child, but she really takes the biscuit – and if it annoys me, I can’t imagine how his poor sisters must feel. They never complain about it, but I suppose they have to play their cards right, seeing as Robbie has bought one of them a Volkswagen Golf and the other a Mini. And today he announced that he’s going to pay for me to take driving lessons! I have a very generous boyfriend.
8 p.m.
Mum has just sent me a text. It says: I love you and will always be here for you. And it made me break down. I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but I miss her so much. And I don’t believe that time is a healer, as people always say. The longer it’s been, the more it’s hurt.
Decided to be brave and give her a call.
8.45 p.m.
I began to cry as soon as Mum answered the phone.
“Remy,” she said, “if I could change anything, it would be not to have hurt you and Malibu. I love you both so much.”
“But you did hurt us. You did,” I replied through tears.
“I know,” she admitted. “The only thing I can say is that Alan is the love of my life, and I sacrificed that to keep the family together. I even stood by and watched him go to Australia to get away from me. I TRIED, Remy. But this time, just this once, I wanted to do something that was right for me. I hope you can forgive me.”
I cried some more and said that I’d try to. Then, for the first time in years, I told my mum that I love her.
Almost told her that Malibu was pregnant, too, but realized it would be much better coming from Malibu herself. I’m sure I can talk her into coming with me to meet Mum.
When the call ended I felt an overwhelming wave of relief pass through me.
Monday 27 October – 10 a.m.
I’m worried about Malibu. I keep replaying what Kellie said on Saturday night. I knew Malibu was breaking the Wag Charter when she first spent the night with Gary, but I never brought it up and I didn’t care – I was just glad she was trying to get over Lance Wilson. But what really scares me is that I’ve checked the dates and it’s 100% possible for Lance Wilson to be the dad!
Just hope I can keep my mouth shut when I see her today. We’re meeting Mum for lunch.
11 a.m.
Just texted Kellie to invite her to our house this Saturday for Robbie’s birthday/Halloween party. This is my way of saying let’s forget about what happened on the girls’ night out (I haven’t actually spoken to her since).
5 p.m.
A very tearful afternoon. We had lunch in an Italian restaurant called Scalini’s and Mum looked absolutely amazing. She’d lost weight, her hair was done and she was wearing make-up – but, most of all, she had a glow in her eyes that I’d never seen before. It said “I’m alive”, and I realized that no matter how much I hate what Alan’s done to Dad, I’m grateful to him for making Mum so happy. (Although I don’t feel ready to meet up with him yet.)
Then, just when it seemed we were clean out of tears, Malibu announced that Gary has asked her to MARRY HIM! And Mum started to cry again.
What?! I thought as Mum sprang from the table and threw her arms around Malibu.
I know I should have been happy for her, but all the stuff about pregnancy dates was still whirring around in my brain.
I did my best to plaster a smile on my face as Malibu went through Gary’s romantic, on-bended-knee proposal, possible wedding dates (before baby/after baby), dress designers (Vera Wang kept getting mentioned – apparently makes wedding dresses for Hollywood royalty) and possible venues (a castle versus a country estate), and before I knew it, it was time for Mum to go.
We agreed to meet up again next week.
“Look at my beautiful girls,” Mum said when she got up to leave. “I’m so happy for both of you.” She touched Malibu’s stomach, then bent her head to talk to the tiny belly bulge. “And YOU,” she whispered, “so lovely to meet you, too.”
After Mum left there was an awkward moment when I didn’t know what to say to Malibu. The obvious thing would have been “Congratulations”, but I really felt like saying, “Stop right now and take a long hard look in the mirror.” So I cracked a joke instead. “Can I have the old Mum back and return this one to Disneyland?”
Malibu giggled. Then… Another awkward moment.
So I finally said, “Congrats! Wow. That was a surprise.”
“Yep,” she replied. “Sprung that one on me, all right. But he said he’s old-fashioned and thinks we should be married if we’re having a baby.”
“Great,” I said – in a way that even I thought sounded false.
I looked at her cute little belly, then at her face, then at her belly again and finally opened my great big mouth.
“Malibu, I’ve been thinking,” I said. “About the baby.”
“What about it?” she asked.
“Well, just … the timing,” I whispered.
“The timing? What you on about?” I could tell she was about to act as though everything was all right, but I’d made up my mind. So I looked her in the eye and said, “Malibu, are you one hundred per cent sure this baby is Gary’s?”
She looked shocked for a moment, then angry. “Bloody hell, Remy, stay out of this.”
“Because if it isn’t…” I continued, determined. “If it isn’t and it’s Lance’s … you’re going to be found out as soon as the baby doesn’t come out mixed-race.”
“Yeah? Well, it might do.”
“Might? MIGHT?” It was like she was living in cloud cuckoo land. “What are the odds?” I asked.
“The odds?” she repeated, still sounding defiant. “The odds are…” Then finally her wall came down and she looked like a helpless little girl. “Fify–fifty,” she mumbled, with tears in her eyes.
“Malibu.” I sighed, putting my hands to my head. “How can you take that chance?”
“Because I have no choice!” she hissed back at me. “Don’t you get it, Remy? I’m not like you.” She took a deep breath. “Why d’you think Mum always used to say I should marry a footballer and not you?”
“Because you’re prettier than me,” I answered straight away.
“Of course that wasn’t why,” Malibu replied. “It was because she knew you could go out and make something of yourself, but I can’t.”
That had never crossed my mind, but Malibu didn’t look like she was trying to make me feel better about myself.
“Gary is my one and only chance of living like THIS,” she said, holding up her finger with the huge diamond engagement ring on it. “And I’m not going to give it up.”
6 p.m.
A bunch of Robbie’s friends have come over – Will, Terry, Andy and Darren. They’re having an Xbox tournament and then they’re going to order a takeaway and watch some UFC DVDs. Robbie reluctantly told me I could watch them too if I liked, but I’d rather walk barefoot on glass.
Even though I’ve decided to stay in, I’ve put myself in the spare room that’s furthest away from the living room, so I won’t get distracted by their whoops or cheers – and I have my laptop with me. If Malibu, Mum, Kellie and Dad are all so sure I can make something of myself, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life regretting that I didn’t try. So I’m going to work on my old salon business plan.
Look out, Deborah Gordon – there’s a
new entrepreneur in town!
Saturday 1 November – 8 a.m.
Aa–aaargh! I’ve barely slept. So bloody tired. And pissed off. Three text messages beep-beeped for Robbie during the night – at eleven-thirty, one and then three. Each time I poked him and asked who it was and he mumbled, “I dunno. Probably Will.” But there was another beep about fifteen minutes ago, so I decided I wasn’t going to listen to his crap any more. I wanted to see for myself that he wasn’t doing the dirty on me.
But now, of course, he’s not so willing to have me check his phone. As soon as I ordered him to hand it over, he stormed out of the bedroom, saying that he wasn’t going to be dictated to in his own house.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I screeched as he yanked open the front door, having thrown on some jogging bottoms and a T-shirt.
“Off to clear my head!” he screamed back.
Or (in my opinion) to delete the incriminating text messages.
10 a.m.
Robbie still isn’t home. It’s been two hours and his phone is switched off!
10.30 a.m.
Started to feel paranoid – it’s Robbie’s birthday party today and we’ve got loads of people coming. We need to do stuff to get ready for it, so I phoned Will to see if Robbie was with him. No luck there, so I tried Terry. Paris answered and told me that Robbie wasn’t with them, either, so I explained what had happened.
“Do you think he’s cheating on you?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, honestly.
“Well, then leave him a message to say you’re sorry and tell him to come home. It’s his party today, why spoil things?”
“Hmm…” I could see her logic but didn’t like hearing it. I suppose I wanted her to respond like they do on Jerry Springer – you know, “Kick him to the kerb, girlfriend! You got it goin’ on all by yourself!”
But she didn’t even come close. “Besides, he’s treating you well, isn’t he?” she said.
“Well-ish.” I remembered (resentfully) how he’d had a go at me the other night for not using a coaster. My cup of tea left a round mark on the surface of his wooden coffee table and he acted like it was the end of the friggin’ world.
Never did I imagine living with someone who’s more of a cleaning freak than Mum, but he is. He straightens pictures, absolutely hates it if I drop a microscopic piece of chocolate in his car and even arranges our toothbrushes so that a perfect horizontal line can be drawn from mine, on the right of the sink, to his, on the left. He’s nuts. (And I wish I could say, “He’s nuts but he’s the love of my life”, but I’m starting to think that maybe he isn’t.)
Obviously I couldn’t say that to Paris, but I still tried to get the “You go, girl!” back-up I’d been looking for by telling her I plan to start earning my own money by opening a beauty salon. Unfortunately, Paris was on a totally different planet. She couldn’t understand why I’d want to work and said that wanting my own salon was even more reason to play my cards right with Robbie – he could easily pay for one. She sounded shocked when she realized I hadn’t even considered that.
“I want this to be MY thing. Something that’s totally separate from him,” I tried to explain. “My independence, I suppose.”
“Forget that,” she said. “What’s the point of independence without a pot to piss in?”
OMG. Just heard Robbie come back in! Not sure whether to ignore him, still demand to see his phone or play my cards right like Paris suggested and apologize. Hmm.
11 a.m.
I didn’t need to apologize because Robbie came upstairs to find me and say sorry!
“I shouldn’t have walked out like that,” he said. “I just can’t stand being accused of something I haven’t done.”
He made those puppy-dog eyes again, big and blue, and it’s so hard to have the hump with him when he does that. Then he cupped my face in his hands and said, “Now, if it means that much to you, princess, you can see the phone – but there’s nothing to worry about. You’re one hundred per cent the girl for me.”
And I thought, You’ve deleted the evidence, haven’t you, you little shit!
But I decided that maybe Paris was right – maybe I could get a salon out of this. So I closed my eyes and let him kiss me.
7 p.m.
Yay! It’s ended up being a great day. Robbie scored again, this time against Manchester City (final score: 1–1) and now we’ve got his birthday/Halloween party to look forward to.
We’ve hired a marquee that can hold a hundred people, and it even has a parquet dance floor (v. expensive). The party planners have sprayed the ceilings and corners of the marquee with fake cobwebs. They’ve also dotted pumpkin lanterns around the garden, and with a full moon and a sky clear enough to see a few stars, it looks absolutely magical.
I’m about to get into my witch’s outfit with the specially raised hem that makes it sexy.
Robbie is going to wear a Dracula costume (if he ever gets out of the shower) and … OMG, just realized he’s left his mobile phone on the bed! OK, I know I shouldn’t look…
But I don’t bloody care!
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Tuesday 4 November – 9 a.m.
Message one on Robbie’s mobile read: Hey sexy boy when are we meeting up again?
I scrolled down for his reply and found: Im working on getting a pass princess. I cant wait to hook up with you again. xx
PRINCESS?!
Message two said: I love you so much xxx
His reply said: Luv U 2 xx
WTF?!
The third message said: When are you going to tell her?
Then Robbie walked in from the shower.
I could have dropped the phone and pretended I hadn’t seen a thing. Been like Paris, thought about getting that salon and turned a blind eye. And for a split second I truly thought about it. But I couldn’t do it. Because what really got to me wasn’t that he was seeing someone else (even though that was gut-wrenching) or that he was calling her princess (even though that made it worse). What really took the piss was that he’d been so sure his puppy-dog eyes and gift of the gab would work on me that he hadn’t even bothered to delete the bloody text messages. Robbie Wilkins thought I was a FOOL! And I saw red. My fists made a blur as they pounded into his chest.
I never want to see Robbie Wilkins again.
9.30 a.m.
Kellie’s gone to school but her mum has just been in and brought me a nice cup of tea. Now she’s given me some space and left me to chill out in Kellie’s bedroom. Kellie has been brilliant. So much of what she’d said was right. I had changed – got completely caught up in WAG life. A lot of people would have loved the fact that I’d ended up with egg on my face, but Kellie didn’t think twice about inviting me to come and stay at hers until I sorted myself out. She’s a proper friend. The best in the world. But I know I can’t stay here for ever.
I suppose I’ll have to go back to Mum’s and face up to her new life with Alan.
11 a.m.
That bloody Nicole Walker just phoned. “Is it true you’ve split with your footballer?” she said. “I can’t believe it. What you gonna do now? I knew he’d be a—”
Didn’t hear any more because I ended the call.
Thursday 6 November – 10 a.m.
Been going over what happened with Robbie. He told me that he’s known Chloe (the girl who was texting him) since he was eleven. She was his childhood sweetheart, who – and he kept repeating this – loved him when he was nothing, a no-mark with as much chance of becoming a footballer as anyone else. Which was why he couldn’t just finish his little fling with her, even though I demanded it.
“How do I know you’re with me for the right reasons?” he had the cheek to snipe, as if I was the one cheating. That’s when my fists started to fly and I told him to stuff his party and walked.
I’ve been completely numb for four whole days now. When Robbie’s birthday came on Monday, I thought the pain would be unbearable, but
apart from checking my phone a few times to see if he’d sent me a message (no way was I going to send HIM one), I basically did and felt nothing.
Everyone’s telling me it’s because I’m in shock. Who knows? Whatever the reason, I haven’t even managed to cry yet. All I do when I think about Robbie is feel burning anger inside. And it’s not even him I’m most angry with – it’s myself for being such a fool. Foolish enough to quit my job, foolish enough to almost, ALMOST, give up my dream to open a salon, and foolish enough to lose Spencer. And I know things weren’t perfect with Spencer, but Malibu was right, I should have kept him as a fail-safe.
That’s why I’ve decided to give him a call.
11 a.m.
In the past hour, I have finally dropped enough tears to flood London.
They started to flow as soon as I ended the call to Spencer, which gave me so much hope in the beginning when he answered my “I have something to tell you” with “I have something to tell you, too”, but ended with heartbreak when I told him to go first and he admitted that he’d finally met someone who made him understand that I’d been right and we were better off as friends. Her name is Joanne and she goes to Loughborough University with him.
“She’s amazing, Rem, you’d really like her,” he told me.
“Oh, great,” I replied, forcing myself to sound happy. (I’m not sure I did a good job.)
Anyway, my eyes filled up when he said he’d arrange for me to meet her when he came down at Christmas. Then we said goodbye and I threw myself onto the bed and cried and cried and cried.
Pride and Premiership Page 13