The other girls in the office relished the opportunity to moan about Genevieve’s constant blagging, but Lucy couldn’t care less. She was relieved to be able to get on with her job without an agenda. Genevieve hadn’t left anyone in charge. She’d had three deputies leave within a year and currently had no second-in-command. But Lucy found herself being asked to do most of Genevieve’s tasks by the overall boss of the mag, organizing not only her own shoots and interviews but also the main diary for the other girls, to make sure every important social and fashion event was covered. She had to admit, she enjoyed the responsibility.
Of course, the girls on the floor had been desperate to find out every snippet of information about what had happened with Kirk. Days after the newspaper story they were still grilling her at every opportunity. Lucy blushed furiously, terrified she would look boastful.
How did it happen? What’s he like? Did you sleep with him? Is he hung like a donkey? The questions were fast and furious, her colleagues intrigued at this latest turn of events. Without Genevieve, there was a feeling of fun on the floor that was normally lacking.
Lucy batted the questions off as best she could, assuring them she didn’t sleep with him. A goodnight kiss was all he got. And yes, OK, he was a great kisser.
Indeed he was, Lucy thought as she remembered how he had pulled her head to his, pressing his lips to hers. Then had come the flick of his tongue. She had felt his torso, impossibly solid beneath his top. And yet Lucy had been thinking of Hartley when she’d had Kirk bloody Kelner in her bed. She must need her head read.
She had frozen in horror when she saw the front page that day but Max had made her see the funny side.
Marj had too. She seemed somehow more relaxed than ever before when she visited for the weekend. She had always been the cool mum at school, the envy of pals, who would admire her trendy clothes compared to their head-scarved, Laura Ashley-clad mothers. Their mums visited them at weekends in their brand-new Range Rovers, dripping in diamonds. Then Marj would turn up having caught the train from Dundee, looking fresh and fun next to the Stepford Wives.
Carlos had also helped. Of course, he had demanded the unedited version of what had happened with Kirk.
He had bombarded her with texts demanding all the juicy details.
She agreed to spill the beans over dinner at Cipriani, after coordinating a shoot at Tate Modern. Carlos had choked on his Chianti when Lucy explained why she hadn’t had sex with Kirk.
‘Are you out of your friggin’ mind? Kirk Kelner wants to sleep with you and you say no? Tell me you’re shittin’ me.’
‘Carlos, I couldn’t. I kept thinking of Hartley. I was drunk…’
‘Girlfriend, I could be in a five-year coma and still muster up a twitch of consent if Kelner came knocking.’ Carlos angrily took a bite from a piece of bread. ‘Fuck, you’re driving me to carbs after six o’clock.’
‘Not carbs after six o’clock, Carlos. How will I ever forgive myself?’
‘Very funny. You didn’t ever sleep with Hartley either, did you?’
‘Well, no, but nearly – I mean, I tried.’
Carlos put his hand on top of hers. He had the air of a man who was about to impart solemn words of wisdom.
‘You are in grave danger of sealing up, Lucy. You already qualify for that American cult of reborn virgins – no sex for a year and you get membership.’
Lucy laughed.
‘It’s not funny.’
‘Come on, if I don’t laugh I’ll cry. Most girls regret sleeping with someone – not the other way round.’
Carlos seemed to mull over the thought gravely, popping an olive into his mouth.
‘There’s only one thing for it,’ Lucy told him.
‘Uh-huh?’
‘Make up for it next time I see him.’
Carlos clasped his hands together as if he’d decided on the best path to world peace. ‘Excellent, you’re talking sense at last. Bonk his brains out, girl – it’s Kirk fucking Kelner. But for God’s sake, Lucy,’ his eyes widened, his tone lowered, ‘whatever you do, use a condom. I read he slept with that kiss-and-tell freak, you know the one – all tits and tangerine skin. Who knows where else he’s been.’
Lucy laughed. ‘Good point, Dad. I promise.’
Lucy hadn’t forgotten Kirk’s reputation but, as long as she was careful, what was the harm? And where had being sensible got her so far? If she couldn’t have fun now, she might end up regretting it. And Kirk Kelner was hot. He had a history, that was for sure, but anyone could change and he was always so respectful and gentlemanly towards her.
The friends fell silent as the waiter poured more wine, Carlos catching a pained look in Lucy’s eyes.
‘You really liked him, huh?’ Carlos looked serious, searching Lucy’s face.
‘Hartley? Yes. I do. I mean, I did.’ She felt a lump in her throat. How ridiculous. While Hartley was swanning around with Bridget, not giving Lucy a second thought, she was hankering after him.
Kirk was the fairy tale – impossibly handsome, with a jet-set life of glamour and glitz. Hartley was handsome in his own way but probably a bit like Eddie Izzard in comparison to the Hollywood star. It didn’t matter. Lucy smiled as she thought of the way he always appeared slightly unkempt, with an untucked shirt and those rosy cheeks. She missed the way he sucked in his tummy in front of the mirror when he thought she wasn’t watching. Sometimes she’d wake and he was the first thing she thought of, making her wonder if she’d been dreaming about him. Lucy couldn’t shake the dull ache of longing for him and wondered how the hell something so good could have ended so unexpectedly.
Carlos squeezed her hand.
‘He doesn’t know what he’s missing.’
Lucy smiled. ‘It’s OK, really. Anyway, Kirk texted this morning.’
‘He did?’
‘He’s invited me to a party next week. You want to come?’
The debonair, calm and collected Carlos Santiago was suddenly twelve years old, brimming with excitement.
‘Do I? Hell, yeah. But be warned. If I so much as sniff a gay gene, he’s all mine. Raymondo will understand.’
Lucy laughed. She was feeling much better already.
She was looking forward to seeing Kirk again. How could she fail to be flattered?
SHERI TOASTS NEW START
This bird had looked posh with her glossy bob and pearls but she was alright, Sheri thought as she clinked glasses with Amy. She was really pretty, with skin the colour of creamy caramel and big brown eyes. She was a right laugh too, with her Manc accent. Sheri would rather speak like that than the way she did, like the stereotypical Essex good-time girl.
‘Cheers, here’s to you.’
‘To us,’ Sheri said and took a sip of champagne. It was delicious, cold and fizzy. What a few weeks it had been. Since she’d met Amy at the Met, things had moved quickly. They’d gone off to talk about this STD campaign Amy was in charge of. All Sheri had really wanted that night was to pull someone with a wad of coke – preferably a star so she could make a packet from the story.
She’d been irritated by Amy at first. She was in the way of her eye contact with the DJ. But then she had listened to what Amy was saying.
It was the first time anyone had talked to her like that, like she mattered.
Amy was right; the public did want someone to tell it like it was. And when it came to sex, Sheri knew a thing or two. She had left the club with Amy and had a drink at a quieter bar.
‘So you really think I could be your poster girl?’
‘I really do, Sheri.’
‘But I’m not doing anyfing that’ll make me look like a slut.’
‘Far from it. You’ll have to be honest and admit you’ve been careless, picked up an STD or two, but now you’ve learned your lesson.’
‘Gotcha. Well, that seems fair. Young girls ain’t easily fooled – they’ll only listen to someone who is real.’
‘Exactly.’
Sheri’s hands were
shaking slightly. She wanted a line really badly. Coke or, even better, MDMA, which she’d tried last week. It was true what they said, it gave you far less of a comedown than charlie. But she wanted to be here with Amy too. She seemed nice. And she was offering her a chance to do something other than make cash through sex.
‘Listen, Amy, I appreciate the offer and all, I really do. But I’ve got to pay the rent. Do I get paid for this?’
‘Of course. You’d be working for us and it’s only right you’d be paid. I’ll check with my boss to make sure you get a decent rate. It won’t make you rich but it will be a regular income. I have to warn you, it will be tough. There will be photo shoots, interviews, visits to schools, talking to experts – all in a day’s work.’
‘I ain’t afraid of grafting.’
Amy had noticed Sheri becoming a little agitated and shaky. She had a good idea why.
‘Sheri, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.’ Amy inhaled. ‘We can’t afford to be associated with anyone who might bring bad press to the charity.’
‘All my press is bad.’ Sheri laughed.
‘No, that’s not what I mean. I want you to hold your hands up and admit to your mistakes – it makes you human. I want you to tell people you’ve been daft, forgotten to take precautions and had one-night stands. But there has to be a positive message – that you’ve turned your life around. If it was to get out that, say, you are taking drugs, the press would tear us to shreds. It would be “Sex Charity Pays For Shagger Sheri’s Next Fix”. They’d have a field day.’
‘Right.’ The elation Sheri had felt just moments before drained away. How could she stop? What would she do? Stay in and drink green tea at night?
She desperately wanted to make a go of it, to change her life, but all she could think about was coke. As Amy talked, she was making a mental list of all the various names she knew for it: coke, charlie, gak, chang, powder…
Amy seemed to detect her change in mood. ‘I’m not saying you have to be a nun. Hell, if you shag a footballer that’s fine – so long as you’re telling the world you used a condom. And you tell them through the charity. There can be no more kiss-and-tells if you work with us. You’d be our ambassador.’
Sheri liked this girl. She had balls, that was for sure. If someone had told Sheri an hour ago she’d be sitting next to a woman telling her how to live her life, to stop shagging stars for a living, she’d have told them to fuck right off. But that was just it. Why would she want to carry on doing that? No matter how badly she wanted a line, maybe she wanted to get back some self-respect even more.
‘I’ll help you,’ Amy had told her. ‘We work with brilliant rehab centres that take in women who come to us for help. Sometimes they’ve been living rough and sleeping with guys for money. They’ll help you and it won’t cost you a thing.’
A lone tear trickled down Sheri’s cheek, taking a line of mascara with it. She hadn’t realized how similar her job description was to a prostitute’s until she heard Amy talk about them. Fuck, what was she doing?
As Sheri brushed the tear away, she let out an embarrassed laugh. ‘Count me in. It’s time for a change anyway.’
‘Good,’ Amy said softly, taking Sheri’s hand in her own and squeezing it. ‘You won’t regret it. This is your new start.’
And here she was just a few weeks later. Amy had called her the morning after they had met and told her she could check into rehab that afternoon if she wanted. Sheri wanted it so much, though she was terrified of leaving the very life she needed to put behind her. Sometimes the thing that holds us back is fear of leaving the known, Amy had told her. What was she? Her fucking guardian angel? Whatever she was, Sheri was glad she had come along when she did.
‘To us,’ Amy agreed as she sipped her champagne at Dover Street Wine Bar. She took Sheri in. It was the first time she had been out of rehab and she’d be checking back in that afternoon. She’d be out in a few days and then become a regular out-patient. Things were going well and the therapist had said she could have a glass of bubbly to celebrate her new job. A lot of coke addicts couldn’t drink alcohol as it set them off on a drugs binge. But they reckoned Sheri was addicted to coke and was not alcohol-dependent, so one glass was OK. She looked different, with a fraction of the caked-on make-up she had worn when they first met. Her blue eyes were brighter and less bloodshot, her skin shinier. She looked like she was recovering although she was still tired, her eyes sunken. There was a way to go but Amy could see a pretty young woman trying to get out. She had already come so far from the jittery girl with dead eyes who was so on edge. Amy hoped she could watch a full transformation, that Sheri would stick with her and the campaign. Her boss had thought it was an inspired idea to sign Sheri up. She would be worth ten multimillion-pound government campaigns aimed at young people. She would talk to them, not down at them. He had been a little sceptical when Amy assured him she wouldn’t bring scandal to the charity, but she had persuaded him to give her a chance. If she messed up, Amy would shoulder the blame.
‘Next week the hard work starts. You’ll be speaking at schools, colleges and prisons and launching our new campaign aimed at teens.’
Sheri was excited and scared. She desperately wanted a new start. She needed it. What was the alternative? Selling kiss-and-tells in her fifties, having lost half her nose to coke? Did she really want to live to regret every day that passed since Amy had offered her a way out? Amy had taken a chance on her when no one else would and that had touched Sheri to her core. She wouldn’t let her down.
‘I can’t wait,’ Sheri said quietly. She meant it.
THE EARL’S EYES ARE OPENED
Hartley had sat in his office for a long time after Marj left all those weeks ago.
‘Don’t worry,’ she had told him. ‘I’m only here for a little chat, to clear up a few things.’
She looked too young to be Lucy’s mum, and so different from his own mother, who seemed to have had grey hair for as long as Hartley could remember.
His mother was a statuesque woman and attractive in her own way – slim, tall and always perfectly turned out. But Marj seemed from a different generation. Her skin looked so soft. She had the traces of laughter lines round her eyes and mouth, which hinted at her age, but still, she looked great. Hartley remembered the newspaper article he’d read just a few days ago – the one Bridget had shown him – about Lucy’s background. It painted her family as some kind of Jerry Springer Show fodder and Lucy as a manipulative fantasist who lied about her past. It was clearly nonsense. The woman in front of him was poised, articulate and full of grace.
She had Lucy’s colouring, with bright blue eyes and thick blonde hair, but was smaller, petite like Max.
‘I see.’ Hartley didn’t quite understand but the woman sitting opposite didn’t seem angry. On the contrary. She was smiling, trying to put him at his ease.
‘As I said, I’ve just come for a chat.’
‘A blether, as they say in Scotland?’ Hartley couldn’t believe he’d made a joke. It certainly betrayed how nervous he felt. Damn, he should have dressed more smartly. She must think him terribly casual in his chinos and checked shirt.
‘Exactly, a blether,’ Marj replied, repositioning herself on the leather chair and leaning forward slightly. ‘Hartley, Lucy has no idea I am here. It’s not like me to do anything like this. I don’t interfere.’
She paused, as if to make sure Hartley understood. He nodded, willing her to continue.
‘I’ve noticed that Lucy is very unhappy. I understand this has something to do with your split and something that happened in Scotland.’
Hartley shifted in his seat.
‘Of course, as Lucy’s mother, you would expect me to take her side in the matter.’ Again, Marj was smiling kindly and Hartley found himself reciprocating. ‘But the truth is that Lucy is the most loyal daughter a mother could hope to have. What you think she did, well, it’s beyond her.’
Hartley looked at the floor then back at
Marj. He sensed he would add nothing by talking.
‘Now, I am not here to paint my daughter in a wonderful light so that you two get back together. I’m afraid that ship has sailed, my dear. Take away the cruel newspaper stories and the tag she seems now to have as some kind of predator, what really hurt is that you didn’t believe she was innocent. You didn’t trust her.’
Hartley felt his chest tighten.
‘As I say, I’m not here to suggest a reconciliation. I just want to clear my daughter’s name. She can cope with people turning against her because of something they read – it’s not pleasant but these people were never true friends. But not you. She expected more from you.’
Hartley looked out of the window. Hearing it put as simply as this was painful. He wasn’t hearing anything new. He’d thought the same things over and over in his head. And yet he hadn’t called Lucy. He should have spoken to her; it shouldn’t have come to this.
‘Thank you,’ Hartley said, speaking over the lump in his throat. He felt ashamed that this woman had had to come to him. She had no sinister agenda; she simply wanted to make him know how badly he had hurt her daughter.
Hartley stood up and took a deep breath. He walked around his chair and leaned on it.
‘I never fully believed she was behind it,’ he told Marj, a hopeful tone in his voice.
‘No, but you never fully believed she wasn’t.’
Hartley looked deflated. She was right. He came back to the chair and sat in it heavily.
‘Far be it from me to tell you what happened that night. But there’s something you should know.’
‘Yes?’
‘Max, my other daughter, saw how low Lucy was when she came back from Scotland. She put on her journalist hat – a cunning little thing, she can be – and found something out, about what really happened, involving a certain Lady friend, I believe.’
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