by Paige Toon
‘Screw them,’ Em snaps good-naturedly. ‘They can wait.’
‘I’ll text them,’ Natalie says moodily.
‘Oh my God!’ Em screeches suddenly. It’s not an uncommon phrase for her, but it still takes me by surprise. ‘When you say “ours”, do you mean Johnny Jefferson’s mansion?’
‘Um, yeah,’ I reply awkwardly.
She screams. Literally.
‘Bloody hell, Em!’ Natalie erupts and Sam’s brown eyes look amused in the rear-view mirror.
Em is one of Johnny Jefferson’s biggest fans, and when we arrive at the house she gleefully asks for a tour. I comply, and Natalie berates her for being nosy while we’re walking around.
‘We don’t have a lot of time,’ Nat points out grumpily. ‘Will your, you know, bodyguard give us a lift to the pub? Otherwise we’re going to be really late.’
‘I’m sure he will,’ I reply, disappointed at how unpleasant she’s being. We’ve barely said more than two words to each other. Em, on the other hand, has talked non-stop with excitement.
I realise that Natalie doesn’t appear at all fazed that this is Johnny’s house. Libby would love to be here, I muse with affection. Maybe I’ll invite her over this weekend. And Tom, Lou and Chris. We could watch a movie in the private cinema… Maybe To m could drive everyone! If he passes – he’s got his test tomorrow…
The smile drops from my face seconds later when it occurs to me that perhaps Natalie is trying to act like she doesn’t care about my famous dad so I don’t suspect her of ratting me out.
I once read in Heat magazine about a celebrity who planted certain inaccurate stories about themselves with friends that they weren’t sure they could trust. When one of the stories showed up in the papers, the celebrity knew exactly who it was who’d been blabbing. I narrow my eyes as I look at Natalie now. Even if I ask her outright, I’m sure she’ll lie and say she didn’t tell anyone, but I have to find out who’s been stabbing me in the back.
I rack my brain for a story to tell her, but, coming up with nothing, I decide to let it lie for now.
The next day, to my delight, Tom passes his driving test, and on Saturday he drives Lou, Chris and Libby over. We have the best day, hanging out and watching movies in the private cinema, but they have to leave all too early because Libby has family plans.
Later, I try calling Tom and discover that, on the way home, he, Chris and Lou dropped in to someone called Will’s place for a game of pool. From the level of the background noise, it sounds like there’s a house party going on. I begrudgingly tell him to have fun, but, when I hang up, I’m overcome with irritation at being stuck in Henley on my own.
I know that I could wake up Sam and demand that he take me to Will’s house, too, but the thought of him hanging around outside or, God forbid, inside fills me with mortification. And anyway Stu wouldn’t want me to go out this late at night.
My phone buzzes to let me know a message has come in and I snatch it up, hoping it’s Tom, but it’s from Lou. My heart stops.
Urgh, Isla is here. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.
Great. Now I can add paranoia to my unpleasant mix of emotions.
Despite my better judgement, I call Tom again. When he doesn’t answer, I ring Lou’s number instead.
‘I tried to call Tom,’ I say, then have to repeat myself twice because she can’t hear a word over the loud music playing.
‘I think he’s outside!’ she shouts back.
‘Can you go and find him for me?’
‘Sure!’ she replies.
In a muffled voice, I hear her tell someone that she’s going to find Tom, and Chris responds with what definitely sounds like, ‘He’s outside with Isla.’
The most sickening, uneasy feeling instantly overcomes me.
It feels like the longest twenty seconds of my life and, when Lou comes back on the line, I can barely speak for the debilitating fear of what she’ll say next.
‘I can’t see him outside. Maybe he’s inside somewhere,’ she says.
‘Did I just hear Chris tell you he’s outside with Isla?’ I ask her straight.
‘Yeah, but he’s not. Anyway, I’m sure they’re only talking,’ she adds quickly.
‘Can you see her?’
‘Er, no, she’s not out here, either.’
A memory hits me of Tom and Isla sitting at the bottom of the stairs at another party before the summer holidays. They were talking intimately, their heads pressed together. I didn’t like the sight then, and I damn well hate the thought of it now.
‘Will you tell him to call me back as soon as you see him?’ I ask her, hating how needy my voice sounds.
‘Of course I will,’ she replies, and the sympathy in her voice makes me feel even worse.
I end the call and throw my phone down, covering my face with my hands. Tom has never done anything to make me doubt him, but it’s hard to compete with his first love. And my life is so insane at the moment. Perhaps it’s too much drama for him.
My phone buzzes again and I snatch it up, but this time when my heart stops it’s for an entirely different reason. Because the text is from Jack:
J! Hear you’ve been making waves in the press again. Thought of you recently at Wombats gig. When you back in LA? Jack x
Despite how much I care for Tom, a jittery feeling that is strictly Jack-induced starts up in my stomach.
Jack has been thinking about me.
In a split second, my mind is full of him: his grey-blue eyes and tousled black hair. The memory cuts to him kissing me, hot and passionately. I involuntarily shiver and try to push the image away. I shouldn’t be thinking about him like that.
But I’m confused. Why is he texting me now? Why didn’t he reply to my email? Should I ignore him?
Like me, Jack’s life isn’t normal, either. His dad was a rock star, too. Still is. It’s not something you just grow out of, apparently, even if you’re not making music any more.
On impulse, I text him back:
So jealous re Wombats. Back around xmas. Things a bit crazy here. Missing LA…
Not ‘missing you’ exactly. I don’t sign off with a kiss. To my surprise, he replies immediately:
Man, that’s ages away. Call me sometime? Lottie still trying to get us on show but Eve threatening to quit.
I experience a little rush of adrenalin. He wants me to call him? I scan the rest of his message. Lottie is trying to get All Hype a slot on her TV show, but the band’s lead singer – the beautiful, stunning girl who made it very clear to me that Jack was hers – is talking about quitting. I wonder what that means. Are she and Jack done for good?
Whoa, keep me posted.
I don’t answer his question about calling him, and I’m annoyed at how disheartened I feel when he doesn’t reply. I turn off my phone and try to stop thinking about him.
Chapter 16
I switch my phone back on late the next morning and it soon starts to buzz with two text messages and two voicemails. They’re all from Lou asking me to call her urgently.
With my heart in my throat, I ring her number, squeezing my eyes shut for whatever awful news she’s about to disclose. Please don’t let it be about Tom and Isla… Please, please, please…
‘I tried calling you last night!’ she exclaims.
‘What is it?’ I prompt.
‘I think I know who told the press about you,’ she says.
Not Tom, please not Tom. I squeeze my eyes shut.
‘It was Amanda,’ she says.
My eyes fly open. ‘Amanda?’
‘Her ex-boyfriend was there last night and he got really drunk and started spouting off to one of his friends. I was standing right behind him – he didn’t know I was eavesdropping. He was boasting about it! Chris managed to find out who he was. He goes to sixth-form college, apparently.’
My head is spinning. ‘Amanda? But how did she… Libby,’ I say, as my heart contracts.
‘It must’ve been,’ Lou confirms flatly.
‘That’s why they’ve fallen out.’ But wait… ‘That means Libby has known all along that it was Amanda!’
‘That’s what I’ve been thinking,’ Lou says sympathetically.
‘But I thought it was Natalie!’ I exclaim.
‘No. It was definitely Amanda who went to the local press. Apparently they paid her quite a bit of money for her story.’
I feel sick. ‘I’ve got to call Libby.’
‘Are you alright?’ she asks worriedly.
‘Not really,’ I reply, trying to be strong. ‘But it is what it is.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Libby whispers when I come right out and ask her. She doesn’t deny it.
‘When did you tell her?’ I demand to know.
‘A few weeks ago. Oh, Jessie, I’m so sorry.’ She sounds close to tears. ‘I swore her to secrecy. I really thought I could trust her.’
‘And I really thought I could trust you,’ I say, anger rushing through me.
‘Please forgive me,’ she begs. ‘Amanda really let me down—’
‘Amanda let you down?’ I interrupt bitterly. ‘Libby, I begged you not to tell anyone. You promised! I can’t believe you’ve done this!’
‘I’m so sorry.’ She starts to cry, but I don’t have the strength, or the will, to comfort her.
‘I’ve gotta go,’ I say, ending the call.
My whole life – this cage that I’m now living in – is all because my oldest friend couldn’t keep her mouth shut. And there I was blaming Natalie, my new friend, the one Stu doesn’t like or trust because she’s a bad influence. Maybe she is a bad influence, but she’s never let me down like Libby just has.
Poor Natalie. There I was, planning on planting a story to catch her out. She didn’t even do anything wrong. I don’t know what’s been up with her lately, but I owe it to her to find out. I text her to ask if she’s at home before calling Tom to fill him in. He offers to cancel football and drive me over to her house, but Sam puts a stop to that.
‘For God’s sake!’ I explode when he tells me that he doesn’t want Tom driving me. ‘This is ridiculous! The press have stopped hounding me, there’s no one outside the gates—’
‘Not true,’ he interrupts. ‘There was a pap sneaking around out there this morning.’
I sigh heavily. ‘Aren’t you bored, Sam?’ I ask with exasperation. ‘I mean, don’t you have better things to do than babysit me?’
‘It’s my job, miss.’
‘Jessie! My name is Jessie, and I’m a person, not a job!’
His brown eyes regard me steadily. I storm off in a huff and call Tom again. It’s only after we hang up that I realise I didn’t even ask him about his conversation with Isla last night.
‘Jeez, what’s up with you?’ Natalie asks when she opens the door to my scowling face.
‘It was Libby. Libby told Amanda and she was the one who blabbed to the press.’
‘Shit!’ she gasps, leading me into the TV room.
‘I thought it was you,’ I admit.
‘What?’ She looks horrified.
‘I’m so sorry. It’s just that you’ve been acting so distant lately.’
‘I’ve been acting distant?’ She sounds irate. ‘You’re the one who’s got a new boyfriend!’
‘Tom hasn’t stopped me from seeing you,’ I say hastily. ‘We came to your party, didn’t we?’
‘Whoopie doo,’ she says sarcastically.
‘Wait, you’re not annoyed about the extra time I’ve been spending with him, are you?’
‘I just want the old Jessie back, alright? I miss you!’ she erupts.
My mouth gapes open like a goldfish before snapping shut again.
‘But I’m right here. I’ve been here all along,’ I say hopelessly.
‘You’re not Jessie Pickerill. Not any more. You’re Jessie Jefferson.’
‘Don’t say that.’ I shake my head. ‘I haven’t changed. I’m still the same person.’
‘That’s not true, Jessie. You’ve been Jessie Jefferson for a while, ever since you came back from LA. Even before the truth came out about you.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘That night at Liam’s house…’
‘Oh, no, not this again. I didn’t fancy Liam!’ I erupt. ‘I didn’t lead him on!’
‘I’m not saying that you were,’ she tries to explain. ‘But it was the way he was looking at you—’
‘That’s not my fault!’ I chip in defensively.
‘The way everyone was looking at you! The way you were behind the decks. You seemed so confident… So cool. You looked like Johnny Jefferson’s daughter. Suddenly you just seemed way out of my league.’
‘What—? Way out of your league?’ I’m stunned that she would think that. She’s always been the confident, cool one.
‘You haven’t really needed me since you came back,’ she adds.
‘Of course I still need you!’ I reply, feeling a little emotional.
She leans in and gives me a hug. ‘Good. Because I’ll always be here for you, you know.’
‘Me too,’ I murmur.
We sit and chat and catch up on everything we’ve been missing out on and it’s so refreshing to be sitting in her TV room and not in the vast mansion that’s felt more like a jail than a home in the last couple of weeks.
Suddenly I’m desperate to be in my own house, surrounded by its familiar smell. I say goodbye to Natalie and go outside to ask Sam to take me home. He complies without a fuss, but I still feel pissed off that I have to ask permission. I look out of the window moodily, watching houses and streets flash past. Soon we’re pulling into my close and I’m tugging at the car door, crying out in exasperation because I can’t even let myself out.
Hot tears sting my eyes as I wait for Sam to come and release me. I try to shove past him, but he’s a brick wall and I end up stumbling. His big hands steady me, but I shrug him off and go to unlock the door.
‘Jessie,’ he says.
I ignore him. Why isn’t the door opening?
‘Jessie,’ he says again, more firmly.
Finally I look at him to see that he’s holding a set of keys.
‘We had to change the locks.’
Of course they bloody did. Mum gave out spare keys to friends and neighbours. Johnny wouldn’t have trusted anyone with them.
Sam opens the door and then moves aside to let me pass. I shut the door in his face, not caring that I’m acting like a petulant child.
The familiar smell engulfs me, filling me up from the inside out. I walk slowly down the corridor to the kitchen and look around, picturing my mum standing at the toaster, buttering my toast. My eyes prick with tears and I back out of the room and head up the stairs, my body feeling heavier with every step. In my bedroom, my little bed looks so inviting, so comforting. I know that I’m tired, I know that a decent sleep would probably do me the world of good, but I can’t leave Sam on the bloody doorstep.
I wish Tom were here.
I glance at the window as a thought occurs to me. A thought that is distinctly Jessie Pickerill.
Sturdy new locks have been fixed to the window from the inside, but, as I’d hoped, I can open them. I lift up the window and breathe in the autumn air. Then, without so much as a second thought, I climb out.
Chapter 17
‘Stop looking so worried.’
‘It’s just… I don’t know, Jessie, you’ve got a bodyguard for a reason.’
I scowl out of the window at the scenery flashing past. ‘Yeah, and it’s ridiculous,’ I mutter under my breath.
I had to persuade Tom even to drive me home. He was in the middle of a football game at the park just down the road and his face lit up when he saw me, abandoning his teammates to run over and sweep me up in his arms. He was all hot and sweaty, but I couldn’t get enough of him. It was a few minutes before I remembered to ask him about his conversation with Isla last night and, when I did, I couldn’t help but sound accusatory.
> ‘I only talked to her for a bit,’ he replied defensively.
‘Was she calling me a slag again?’ I demanded to know.
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘In fact, she apologised for that.’
‘Did she?’ I was astounded. ‘How did that come about?’
‘She asked after you. Obviously she’s heard about your dad.’ ‘Obviously,’ I chipped in sarcastically.
‘She was being nice, Jessie. She seemed genuinely happy that things were going well for us.’
I didn’t believe a word of it, but I let it lie.
Tom doesn’t reply to my ‘It’s ridiculous!’ comment and, when I look back at him, his jaw is rigid with tension. My eyes travel along the length of his long, lean arms until they rest on his tanned hands gripping the steering wheel. He looks so sexy behind the wheel. It’s the first time he’s driven me anywhere without his mum in the passenger seat.
I’m suddenly tempted to unclick my seatbelt and climb closer so I can press my lips to his warm neck, but I know that would be pushing my luck. And anyway I’d better not distract him. He glances in the rear-view mirror and his frown deepens.
‘What is it?’ I ask, my thoughts still on kissing him.
‘I don’t know,’ he murmurs. ‘That white van has been behind us for a while.’
I swivel in my seat and look through the back window, but I can’t make out anyone in the driver’s seat. ‘You’re being paranoid,’ I say, brushing him off, and then he’s swerving off the main road into a smaller one.
‘Whoa!’ I gasp, trying to stay upright. The van flies straight past us on the main road. ‘See?’ I exclaim. ‘Nothing to worry about. Jeez! Pull over.’
He doesn’t bother indicating as he crunches to a stop at the entrance to a private driveway. I flash him a dark look and wrench open the door, hopping out onto the gravel.
‘Oi,’ he calls. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘I need some air,’ I state, slamming the door shut.
A moment later he joins me. I glare up at him.