‘It’s no problem, honestly,’ Emma replied, holding the pen ready to write.
The biro was about half its normal size; the plastic at the end was cracked and splintered. He hoped that she wouldn’t mind the sticky tape that was wrapped around the top – he had a habit of biting pens, especially the plastic ones. Sometimes they would crack, leaving him to fish the plastic splinters out of his mouth. The teachers at school used to chastise him for it, but he didn’t see the harm. It helped him when he felt upset; like when he had been bullied by his classmates.
‘I’m your number one fan,’ he said. ‘I didn’t watch the programme that much, but since you’ve been in it, I haven’t missed an episode. If I’m out when it’s on I record it. Sometimes I record it anyway, so I can watch it back as much as I want.’ He watched her, waiting for Emma to write a message.
‘What would you like me to—?’
‘I think you’re a fantastic actress.’
‘Thanks.’
She was looking at the pad, so he ducked down to see her face. Maybe she was shy, like him. He loved shy girls the best. He hated those girls who knew how beautiful and talented they were, and expected everyone to love them. There were plenty of girls like that – girls at his school, and girls on the TV show – but Emma was different. ‘I’m your number one fan,’ he said again. He wanted her to understand that these weren’t empty words. He meant them more than anything. He moved forward slightly, unable to resist getting just that bit closer to her. ‘I know everything about you.’
‘I hope not.’ Did she sound a bit strange when she said that?
‘Your favourite meal is lasagne, your favourite film of all time is Dirty Dancing. You’re a black belt in karate. You started training at your school when you were eleven, because a girl started bullying you in your art class. It only took you five years for you to get your black belt. This year you’re fighting in the British Championships in Birmingham, but you’re finding it difficult to fit in the training now you’re working on the show. You’ve always wanted to be an actress, and you’d love to work on a film, but you don’t think you’re ready yet.’
He could see that Emma was impressed. ‘How do you know all this?’
‘I read it,’ he said. ‘I always look for articles about you in the magazines. I never buy the magazines though – I read them in the newsagents. They let you go there and read magazines for as long as you like – you can stand there all day and it’s all free. I like going there, especially when there are articles about you.’
‘Oh, the magazine article. You read the interview in Celebrity Goss.’
He nodded and smiled. ‘I like reading articles about you.’ He visited the shop regularly, to scour all the magazines for articles about his favourite celebrities. He knew the days that each new edition came in stock – he had all the dates written in his notebook. He catalogued all the articles he found, listing them by magazine, date of publication, page number, and date he read them. He was already on his third notebook in just a year or so.
‘What would you like me to write?’ Emma said.
‘Whatever you like. My name’s Stephen.’
‘Okay, Stephen.’
He watched intently as she wrote down a short note on the blank page in his autograph book. He was so excited that she was holding his book, using his pen. She handed the book back to him, and he studied the message. ‘“To my number one fan, love from Emma.”’ He looked at her and smiled. It was such an amazing message. ‘Thank you. You’re not just beautiful – you’re really kind. I think we’re going to be really good friends. I knew we would, from the first moment I saw you.’
She seemed to like that. ‘Thanks. Look, I’d better get going now. Nice to meet you.’
‘Just a second,’ he said, nearly forgetting in his excitement to take the photograph.
Emma put up a hand to block the shot. He’d read that she was camera shy, but she shouldn’t be. There could never be enough photographs of Emma Holden.
‘No, Stephen, please don’t.’
He would prove to her how beautiful she was. ‘It’s okay, it’s done now.’
‘I have to go,’ Emma said.
He watched her as she walked away, into the studios, longing to stay close to her. He waved, but she wasn’t looking. She had a lot to concentrate on, he knew that. ‘See you again soon!’
‘Emma,’ he said, as he saw her appear at the gates to the television studio building that afternoon. He’d been waiting for just under an hour, running through in his mind how she was going to react to his surprise. He smiled as she approached, but she just walked straight past him, as if she hadn’t seen or heard him. ‘Emma!’ he shouted. ‘What’s the matter?’ He raced up behind her, his camera bouncing on his chest. It hurt. ‘I’ve got your photo.’ He struggled to keep up with her. ‘Here it is.’ She didn’t stop to look. ‘I’m going to put it up on my bedroom wall.’
‘Please, Stephen, I need to get home,’ she said.
‘Are you okay?’ He had to start jogging to keep up. But he wasn’t very fit, and he felt tired after the first few steps. ‘Has someone upset you? Did he upset you?’ She looked so worried, scared even. He felt so sad that someone was making her feel that way.
‘I’m in a hurry,’ she said.
‘Going home to your boyfriend?’
Emma stopped. ‘Look, Stephen. You seem like a nice guy, but it’s getting dark and I’ve really got to get home.’
‘To your boyfriend, to Darren.’
‘Darren?’ Emma had no idea why Stephen was referring to a character on the show.
‘Yes, Darren . . . Darren Clarke.’
He was a nasty piece of work. Stephen didn’t understand for one moment why someone as lovely as Emma would be with such a person. He was someone who couldn’t be trusted; he lied, cheated and broke the law, but still she forgave him, because that was the kind of person she was.
‘His real name is Stuart,’ Emma said, ‘and I don’t live with him.’
‘I think you can do better than him,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t be going out with a criminal – not someone like Darren. What do you see in him?’
‘Please, Stephen, I have to go now.’ She turned and began walking off.
He couldn’t hold his feelings in any longer. Now was the time to let her know how much she meant to him. ‘Emma, I love you!’ She didn’t turn around, but Stephen had no doubt that she would be thinking of those words very carefully as she made her way home. He smiled. Today had been a good day.
Stephen Myers unlocked the front door as quietly as he could and crept down the hallway. He could hear his mother cooking, could feel the heat from the steamy kitchen and smell the meal that was being prepared. It was Monday, so that meant burnt sausages and instant mashed potato. After that it would be an under-cooked sponge pudding and lumpy custard. He groaned at the thought.
‘Stephen, is that you?’
She’d heard him. And he’d tried to be so quiet. He paused at the base of the stairs, waiting for her to say more. But she didn’t. Taking his opportunity, he put his foot on the first tread, but was unable to stop the stairs from creaking.
‘Stephen, is that you?’
He ignored the second call and tiptoed up the rest of the stairs, across the landing towards his bedroom. Pushing open the door, he surveyed the wall on the left, which was covered with photographs, and beamed.
So many lovely girls that he had met and spoken to. They seemed to look back at him and smile. There were times when he spent hours just looking at their beautiful, kind faces. It made him feel so happy, so alive.
His mother didn’t like him looking at the photographs. She said it wasn’t healthy, and that he should spend less time on his own, otherwise he might go mad. She said she wanted him to meet a nice girl, a girl who was a good match – the right girl for him. But she just didn’t understand.
He pulled out his latest photograph which, in his opinion, was also the best of all. Emma was such a n
atural beauty. ‘I do love you, Emma.’ The other girls just didn’t compare to her. He cradled the photograph in one hand. It captured her beauty perfectly. Her skin, her eyes, the way her hair framed her face . . .
‘What are you doing, Stephen?’
Stephen tensed. He’s back already? Now there would be trouble. He kept his eyes down. ‘Hello, Dad.’
Peter Myers stood in the doorway. ‘Look at me when I’m speaking to you.’
Stephen pulled his eyes up from the floor. His father’s face was stern. It scared Stephen when he looked like that.
Peter Myers took a step forward. ‘I said, what are you doing?’
‘I’m . . . I’m just . . .’
‘Did you not hear your mother calling you?’
Stephen again faced the ground. ‘I did, but—’
‘But you chose to ignore her, because you wanted to come up here and be in your own little world.’ His father sighed, explosively. ‘When are you going to stop being such a loser?’
‘I’m sorry, Dad.’
‘You think any of the girls on that wall like you?’
‘I . . . maybe. I don’t know.’
His father laughed. ‘What have you got there?’ He snatched the photograph out of his son’s hand with sudden force.
‘Please, Dad, be careful with it!’
‘Get downstairs, now,’ he ordered. ‘Before I do something I might regret.’
‘But, Dad, please don’t dama—’
Peter Myers swiped his son hard across the side of the head.
Stephen cowered. The side of his face was stinging. But it could have been much worse. It had sometimes been much, much worse.
‘Now look what you made me do,’ Peter Myers said. ‘Get downstairs, now.’
‘Yes, Dad, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I made you do that.’
‘If you tell your mother about this, I won’t be responsible for my actions,’ his father warned. ‘I’ll be down in a few minutes.’
Peter Myers waited for his son to start descending the stairs before he looked again at the photograph. He nodded to himself. ‘Well, Stephen, you’ve excelled yourself this time,’ he said softly to himself. ‘You’ve really excelled yourself with this little one.’ He picked up the notebook – Stephen always put it in the top dressing-table drawer – and flicked to the most recent page, reading the message intently.
By the time he came downstairs, the dinner was cooling, but he didn’t mind that at all. In fact, he didn’t really notice.
His head was full of fantasies of the beautiful girl with the chocolate-brown hair.
Chapter 13
Present day
‘Hi,’ Will said, greeting Sally with a slightly awkward smile as she approached him in the middle of the bustling concourse at Waterloo Station. At six o’clock on a Tuesday evening, it was filled with commuters.
He hugged her, but pulled back, suddenly feeling as though the embrace may not have been welcome. ‘It’s great you could come at such short notice.’
Sally smiled, her shoulder bag tucked down by her side, and brushed back a strand of hair. ‘I came straight from work. So, what’s this about, Will?’
‘You’ll find out in a few minutes.’ He smiled, hiding the nerves that had kicked in as he’d waited for Sally to arrive. Part of him had wondered whether she would turn up. After all, he had only called her a few hours before, during what he knew would be her lunch hour, requesting that she meet him later, at Waterloo. He knew it was on her normal route home, and had hoped it might sway her decision to take him up on the offer. To his surprise, she’d accepted, without many questions.
‘This is all very mysterious,’ she said, searching Will’s face for clues.
‘Come on,’ Will said, in reply. ‘Follow me.’
They walked side by side out of the station, crossing the road and heading up towards the river. Night was drawing in, and the lights from the London Eye shone brightly as they turned towards the big wheel.
Will paused as they neared the structure, and Sally waited for an explanation. ‘I loved that surprise trip you booked on this for me,’ he said, peering up at the pods. ‘So this evening, I’m repaying the gesture.’
‘But why?’ Sally asked, surprised.
It wasn’t quite the reaction Will had been hoping for, but it could have been worse. And, to be honest, it was to be expected.
‘Because I want to show you what you did for me, and I wanted to say thank you.’
She appeared confused. ‘Okay.’
‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘I’ll explain more in a few minutes.’
‘You’re joking,’ Sally said, looking first at the waiter in the open pod with the bottle of chilled champagne, and then at Will.
‘I wanted to make it special,’ he explained.
Sally hesitated. ‘This is too much, Will. Remember what I said?’
Will held up his hands. ‘I know it looks like a romantic set-up, but, honestly, that’s not my intention. I just wanted to do something different, that’s all. And I remembered what you said last time we went on it.’
She smiled. ‘That I’ve always wanted to sip champagne at the top.’
‘Exactly,’ Will said. ‘So, please, just accept it as a present from a friend.’
Quite uncharacteristically for Will, or least the old Will, he’d arranged the trip after a spur of the moment decision that afternoon. And it was looking as though it had been a good plan.
Sally looked back at the pod. ‘I don’t deserve this.’
‘Rubbish,’ he said. ‘And we’d better get on board, before we miss out!’
She nodded, and they entered the pod to be greeted by the waiter, who handed them a glass of champagne each. He then exited, leaving the rest of the bottle in a chiller bucket on top of the table in the centre of the pod.
The doors closed and the pod began its ascent.
As they climbed higher, Sally and Will watched the illuminated city of London in silence from their private pod. Last time, on the trip booked by Sally to challenge Will’s fear of heights, they had shared the space with a dozen or so tourists, young and old. Will had welcomed their presence, as it had calmed his nerves that there were others, including small children, wandering up and down the pod, unconcerned by the experience. But this time he was relishing the opportunity to be alone with Sally – and he no longer needed the support.
‘I’ll never get tired of looking at that view,’ Sally said, peering off into the distance. ‘Especially at night, with all the lights. It just seems so alive, so vibrant.’
‘I love London too,’ Will said, cradling his champagne glass. ‘Especially from this height. And, because of you, I can do this. I can be this high up, without panicking. I can book a trip on the London Eye without worry. Without your encouragement, I wouldn’t have been able to do this. I might never have done this, and experienced this feeling.’
Sally looked away. ‘You’re underestimating yourself, Will. You would have done this eventually, without my help.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Will said, taking a sip from his glass. The champagne was cool and refreshing. ‘You see, I’d always been the same. I’d always set these boundaries, and barriers – things that I either thought I didn’t want to do, or wasn’t capable of doing. Even when I was really young, I used to be the same. I was always the one at school staying in the background, sticking to my comfort zone. But then you came along, and you changed everything.’
Sally put her head on one side. ‘I think you’re seeing me through rose-tinted spectacles.’
‘Not at all. You’ve transformed the way I think about things, what I want to do, what I think I can achieve.’
‘What, even now that you know the truth? I’m not the person you thought I was, Will. I’m Sally, not Amy.’
‘Amy is Sally. Sally is Amy. It’s just a name. The person is the same.’
She looked away again. ‘Maybe.’
‘I must admit, when I first found out the truth, I w
as devastated. I felt so hurt, and I was also grieving, in a way, for the person I thought I was in love with. She’d just gone. It was as if the whole thing had been a dream. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and what you’d gone through. And I thought, well, maybe things weren’t as bad as they looked. I decided that I had to see you, to speak to you, and let you know how I felt.’
Sally blushed. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Just say that you’ll give us a chance. And I don’t mean a relationship; I mean as friends.’
‘But you said you love me.’
‘I know, I know. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.’ Will sighed. ‘I didn’t really intend to say it.’
‘Friendship in those circumstances isn’t easy.’
‘Yes, I understand that. But it happens all the time, it must do. There must be thousands of people around the world in the same position.’
‘Unrequited love?’
He seemed unhurt by that phrase. ‘Yes, I guess. Where a man and a woman are good friends, but one loves the other, and would ideally want to take things further.’
Sally exhaled, thinking this through. ‘I’m not ready for another relationship yet, even if I wanted to.’ She sensed Will’s disappointment. ‘I’m not saying that I would never want to, but not yet, and maybe not for a long time. Are you sure you’d be able to handle that?’
‘Yes,’ Will replied. In truth, he desperately wanted to continue with the relationship that, even though it had been false, had made him so happy. ‘I want to try and be friends.’
Sally thought about that briefly. ‘There’s still the issue of trust. Do you really trust me, Will?’
‘Yes.’
‘On what evidence? Why would you trust me, after what happened?’
‘Because I just have a feeling.’
‘And that’s good enough?’
‘It is for now, yes.’
Sally smiled, suddenly relieved. ‘You don’t know how much that means to me, Will. You might think that I’ve given you all these things but, believe me, I’ve gained so much from you, too. And to hear that you’ll put your trust in me, well, it means the world. It’s been so hard, since Stuart . . .’ She stopped.
The One You Trust: Emma Holden Trilogy: Book Three Page 7