by Paige Toon
Limousines pull up and stars begin to hit the red carpet. The screams go up a notch, but there’s no sign of Joe. And then, out of the blue, the crowd ROARS. It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard, and suddenly I see him. He’s there on the red carpet ten metres away! People are pushing me from all angles. I’m not tall enough and I’m finding it hard to breathe as the crowd swamps me. I push back as hard as I can and manage to catch another glimpse of him. He’s signing autographs.
Oh, God, the SCREAMS!
There are so many people here. So many people wanting him to notice them. All of a sudden I feel very, very silly.
‘Joseph! Joseph! Joseph!’
What am I doing here?
‘Joseph! Joseph! Joseph!’
The crowd parts again and I see him grinning at a young girl as he signs her poster. She starts to sob and he poses cheek to cheek with her while her mother takes a photo.
Oh, Joe. It’s you. It’s you.
Love rushes through me and I desperately want to hold him in my arms again, just one more time.
‘JOE!’
It takes a moment for me to realise that this scream came out of my own mouth. I watch, stunned, as Joe seems to freeze. His eyes dart in my direction and my heart stops. I’m about to scream again, but a woman appears and moves him on. He smiles and waves and then he’s gone.
No. Come back. No. ‘JOE!’
I can’t believe it’s over. Two teenage girls look at me and giggle. The crowd swamps me again, but this time I let them. Here I am, a twenty-seven-year-old in an eighteen-year-old’s clothes. I feel like a fool.
I can’t stay at the hotel. I feel too sick, too sad. So I go to stay at Lizzy’s. She can’t believe it when I confess to her where I’ve been.
‘I feel so sad for you,’ she murmurs, hugging me as I cry. ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.’
‘I should have told you I was going,’ I manage to choke out.
‘I know I laughed about it, but I didn’t really think you would.’
I cry harder.
‘Oh, Alice, what are you going to do?’
She already knows it’s not a question that I have an answer for.
The next day I go to Mum and Dad’s. They haven’t yet seen through their dream of moving to Brighton and opening up a B&B, but they still talk about it. I unlock and open the door to find my mum trying on some fluffy reindeer ears in front of the hall mirror.
‘You’re early!’ she cries. ‘We were going to come to the train station to collect you!’
‘I caught an earlier train,’ I explain, keeping the rest of the facts to myself. ‘Nice look,’ I say with a giggle.
‘I was going to surprise you.’ She puts her hand to her festive headband. A moment later the reindeer ears start playing ‘Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer’.
I snort. ‘I think I had a lucky escape.’
She steps forward and gives me a hug.
‘Where’s Dad?’ I ask.
‘He’s in the garden.’
I go outside to find him.
‘Alice!’ he shouts, hurrying down the garden path and throwing his arms around me. ‘We weren’t expecting you until later!’
‘I know. Rudolph’s already told me.’
‘Come in out of the cold!’ Mum shouts. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
I smile and follow Dad back into the house. It’s good to be home. The thought of leaving my parents to move to Germany . . . I should call Lukas to check up on him. Later.
Evening comes around and the three of us find ourselves on the sofa in front of the telly drinking sherry (them) and Baileys on ice (me). My favourite Friday-night live chat show comes on, hosted by a raucous gay comedian called Andy Carl.
‘I love this show,’ I tell my parents enthusiastically. Dad shifts on the sofa. ‘But we can watch something else, if you prefer?’ I add reluctantly.
‘You can watch it, if you like,’ Mum says. ‘Can’t she, Jim?’
‘Sure,’ he says, reaching for his Financial Times.
‘And JOSEPH STRIKE IS GOING TO BE HERE!’
I turn sharply to look at the television as Andy Carl grins goofily at the audience’s over-the-top reaction.
‘I always think that that Joseph Strike lad looks kind of familiar,’ Dad comments, glancing up at the television.
This is ridiculous. I should be able to tell my own parents about him. But Lukas made me promise that I wouldn’t.
Mind you, I’ve done quite a bit of promise-breaking lately . . .
And that’s exactly why I shouldn’t break this one, I think uncomfortably.
The first guest comes on and Dad turns back to his paper. I’m on the edge of my seat for the next horrendously long half an hour, until, finally, Andy Carl welcomes ‘JOSEPH STRIKE, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!’
Joe jogs down the winding staircase to rapturous applause and deafening screams. Andy engulfs him in a hug.
‘Alright, mate? You well?’ Joe asks him.
My mobile rings. I distractedly snatch it up, expecting it to be Lizzy, but it’s Lukas. I ignore the call and turn my attention back to the telly.
My phone rings again. Dammit! I switch it off. Sorry, Lukas. I feel bad, but not bad enough.
The home phone starts to ring. My dad gets up to answer it and I lean in to try to hear what Andy is asking Joe.
‘Alice!’ Dad calls. ‘It’s Lukas.’
‘Can I call him back?’ I ask anxiously. Something about his new film . . .
‘Can she call you back?’ I hear Dad ask him. ‘Oh, okay.’ Dad calls through to me: ‘He’s going to bed shortly!’
ARGH! I’m missing half the interview!
‘We can pause it,’ Mum says, reaching for the control.
‘Okay,’ I say hurriedly, jumping up from my seat. Dad hands over the phone. ‘Hi,’ I say offhandedly.
‘Hi!’ he says.
‘What’s up?’
‘Er, nothing. I haven’t spoken to you for a few days.’
‘All’s good here,’ I say, glancing at the door. Can I hear the telly?
‘I found a house today. I think you’ll like it.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘I put a deposit down in case.’
‘In case of what?’ Now I’m confused.
‘In case you like it.’
‘What sort of a deposit? This is a house to rent, isn’t it?’ I ask quickly.
‘Yes, of course, Alice.’
‘Phew. Sorry, stupid question. Right, then . . .’
‘Aren’t you going to ask me what it’s like?’
I sigh. This conversation isn’t going to end anytime soon.
Eventually we say our goodbyes and I hurry back down the hall towards the living room. The downstairs toilet flushes as I pass, and Mum comes out. To my horror, I find my dad watching a nature documentary. My stomach falls. ‘Did you change the channel?’ I demand to know.
‘Sorry,’ he says flippantly, throwing me the remote. ‘I got fed up waiting.’
‘But did you record it?’ I ask anxiously. Please say you did, please say you did . . .
‘No,’ he replies.
‘Bloody hell!’ I cry, hurrying to change the channel back.
‘It’s only a television show, Alice,’ Mum chides, settling herself back on the sofa.
I find the channel in time to see Joe laughing quietly. ‘It’s a deal,’ he says.
‘Thank you very much, Joseph Strike!’ The audience roars and Andy Carl turns to camera. ‘We’ll be back after the break . . .’
‘For fuck’s sake!’ I exclaim.
‘ALICE!’ my dad berates me.
I never say ‘fuck’ in front of them. I rarely say it at all. I storm out of the room.
‘What on earth is wrong with her?’ I hear my mum ask as I run up the stairs, close to tears.
I’ll have to look it up on the internet. I hurry into my dad’s study and shut the door, then switch on his computer. It takes forever to start up, but finally I
get going with my search. I’m not sure it’s on iPlayer yet . . . The phone rings again and I ignore it. I don’t want to speak to anyone; my parents can get it. I realise I’m acting like a sulky teenager, but too bad.
‘Alice!’ Mum calls up the stairs. ‘It’s for you!’
For pity’s sake, who is it now? If it’s Lukas again I’ll give him an earful.
I pick up the phone and snap into the receiver: ‘Hello?’
‘It’s Lizzy.’
‘Oh, hi,’ I say with zero enthusiasm.
‘Did you see it?’
‘No, I bloody well didn’t. My dad changed the channel.’
‘I recorded it,’ she says breathlessly. ‘Can you come round?’
‘Yes!’
I practically run all the way to her flat. She gleefully opens the door to me. ‘Quick. It’s ready to go.’
I hurry into the living room and sit on the sofa. She sits next to me and presses Play. We get past the introductions and the general chat about Joe’s new film and then we come to the nitty-gritty.
‘None of your relationships have lasted more than a few weeks,’ Andy Carl says. ‘What’s with that? Don’t you like women?’
The audience gasps with shock and delight at Andy’s forthright interviewing style. Joe laughs.
‘Because I might be able to help you out, if you don’t,’ Andy adds with a flirtatiously raised eyebrow.
Cue more outraged laughter.
‘Thank you,’ Joe says, joke-sincerely. ‘But I do like women. I just haven’t found the right one yet.’
‘Aaaaahhhh.’ The audience joins in, but quick as a flash Andy moves on. ‘You’re clearly far too picky.’
Joe laughs.
Andy leans forward with over-exaggerated interest. ‘Or maybe you’re scarred . . .’
Joe shrugs and Andy’s eyes widen. I’m sitting on the edge of my seat.
‘You are! Who was she?’
Joe looks awkward.
‘Tell me! Was she the one that got away?’
‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘What was it like, then? First love?’
‘Well . . .’
Andy’s eyes widen even further. They look like they could pop out of his head. ‘You never got over your first love?’
‘Does anyone?’ Joe replies, trying to sound casual. My heart is in my throat.
‘Well, yeah, if they’re an utter shit like mine was,’ Andy says. ‘But we won’t go into that. Tell me about you! Who was she? What was her name?’
‘Aah . . .’ He shifts in his seat.
‘Julie?’ Pause. ‘Katherine?’
‘No.’
‘Sarah?’
‘No.’
‘Jennifer? I could go on . . .’
‘I bet you could.’ Joe raises one eyebrow. God, he’s sexy.
‘Kim? Gertrude? Annabel?’ Pause. ‘Just tell us!’
‘Her name was Alice, if you must know.’
Oh, my God! I fall off the sofa and scramble over to sit right in front of the television.
‘Alice! You never forgot about Alice. Aww! Where is she?’
‘I don’t know. We lost touch a long, long time ago.’
‘But you still love her?’
‘I’ve never stopped loving her.’
I nearly die, then and there.
The audience ‘aah’, and Andy clutches his hand to his chest and wipes away an imaginary tear. ‘Maybe we can find her for you.’ He turns to the audience before Joe can react. ‘Does anyone know an Alice?’
A couple of people whoop. ‘You do? Perhaps we need a little more to go on.’ He turns back to Joe. ‘Alice Who? What’s her last name?’
Joe shifts uncomfortably and looks down. ‘Oh . . . I don’t think I should say. Maybe she doesn’t want to know me now.’
‘Of course she does! Look at you!’ Straight to camera: ‘Alright, then, Alice Whateveryournameis, you know who you are, you know where to find him. If you want to get in touch with this Love God all you have to do is call the studio.’ He turns back to Joe. ‘But you have to invite me to your wedding . . .’
Joe laughs softly. ‘It’s a deal.’
‘Thank you very much, Joseph Strike!’ The audience roars. ‘We’ll be back after the break with—’
Lizzy presses Pause and looks straight at me. My mouth is wide open. I shut it abruptly.
‘Holy shit,’ I whisper.
She looks like she’s about to burst. ‘Don’t kill me,’ she says.
‘What?’
‘I called the studio and gave them your mobile number.’
‘You didn’t!’
‘I did.’
‘Holy FUCK!’ I dig my mobile out of my pocket and turn it back on. ‘Holy fuck,’ I say again.
‘ARGHHH!’ she screams with excitement.
‘What if he doesn’t call?’ The thought is too horrendous to contemplate. Then again, what if he does call? My whole body shivers with nervous excitement. This could be the longest wait for a phone call that I’ve ever experienced in my life.
‘I think we need a drink!’ Lizzy exclaims.
‘Yes!’
She rushes out of the room and I look at my mobile. My thoughts flit to Lukas and I instantly feel guilty. I relocate back to the sofa and put the phone down beside me.
Suddenly it starts to vibrate. I snatch it up and look at the screen: caller ID withheld. I can practically hear my heart thumping inside my chest as I press Answer and put it to my ear.
‘Hello?’ I ask tentatively.
‘Alice?’
‘Joe.’
‘Alice?’ he asks again.
‘Yes. It’s me.’
‘Is it really you? Alice Simmons?’ He sounds so heart-rendingly hopeful.
‘Yes, Joe Strickwold, it’s me.’ I feel like every part of my body is smiling.
‘I can’t believe I’ve found you,’ he says in a small voice.
Lizzy rushes back into the room with two glasses of wine. ‘Right!’ she says, then freezes on the spot when she sees me on the phone. ‘Is it him?’ she mouths, her eyes wider than a goldfish’s.
‘Hang on a minute, Joe.’ I get up and go into the kitchen, closing the door behind me. Much as I know this will kill her, I need to have this conversation without feeling self-conscious about someone listening in. I pull up a chair and sit down.
‘Are you there?’ I ask.
‘I’m here,’ he replies quietly.
After all this time I don’t know what to say.
‘Can I see you?’ He sounds choked up.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘When?’
‘When is good for you?’ That was a bit formal.
‘Um, well, I . . . Where do you live?’
‘I’m in north London at the moment with my parents. But usually Cambridge.’
‘You still live in Cambridge?’ he asks with a little surprise.
‘I do.’
‘Can you . . .’ He hesitates. ‘Can you meet me tomorrow morning?’ He seems unsure of himself.
‘Where?’
‘You can? Good.’ I hear the relief in his voice. ‘Can you come to my hotel?’
‘Yes, where are you staying?’
He gives me his address and room number. ‘There will be . . . security outside the room.’ He seems embarrassed. ‘But I’ll tell them you’re coming.’
‘Okay.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow?’
‘Oh, what time?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ He laughs nervously. ‘How early can you come?’
‘As early as you’d like.’ I’d go there now if he asked me.
‘Is . . .’ Again, hesitant. ‘Is eight o’clock too early? Or nine?’
‘Eight o’clock is fine.’
‘Great. Okay.’ More relief. ‘We can call room service. Breakfast,’ he adds.
‘Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’ I don’t want to hang up, but this exchange hasn’t exactly been lacking in awkwardness. I hope face to
face will be better.
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘See you tomorrow.’
‘Bye.’
‘Wait!’ he shouts.
‘Yes?’
‘Alice?’
‘Yes?’
‘Let me give you my mobile number.’
‘Oh, okay.’
‘I don’t want to lose touch again.’
I smile to myself as I jot it down.
‘See you tomorrow,’ I say.
‘Bye.’
He hangs up.
How the hell am I going to get any sleep tonight?
I set my alarm for six so I have plenty of time to disguise the bags under my eyes with make-up, although of course I don’t need it. The alarm, I mean. The make-up I most certainly do.
I wear jeans with high-heeled boots and an emerald-green jumper, and I keep my hair down. I set off at seven a.m. so I have plenty of time, even though it should take only half an hour or so on the underground. He’s staying at the W Hotel in Leicester Square – the penthouse suite, no less. I leave a note for my parents to say that I’ve gone over to Lizzy’s for breakfast. They’ll think it’s strange, but she’ll cover for me if they ever ask. Again, I feel as though I’m acting like a teenager.
I arrive ten minutes early, but I can’t bear to wait any longer. The huge W outside the hotel glows in the early morning light and I walk straight into the dark lobby and go to the lift, hoping the doormen will think I look like I know what I’m doing. Inside the lift I press the button Joe told me to press for the penthouse, but nothing happens. Shit. I bet I need a key card to make it move. I press the button for reception instead and the lift takes me up one floor into a sumptuous area sparkling with mirror balls. I daren’t ask anyone to call Joe for me, so I get out my mobile and call him myself.
‘Hello?’ He sounds out of breath.
‘It’s Alice. I’m in reception. I can’t get up to your room.’
‘I’ll send someone down for you,’ he promises.
He’ll send someone down for me? Now I feel like a right tit. I hate the idea of anyone knowing about us. It cheapens it, somehow. But then, I don’t suppose he could come himself. His is one of the most recognisable faces in the world today.