Taking Hollywood

by Shari King

  She knew she was on to something and she wasn’t letting go.

  How many movies had he seen where this happened? Where the suspect was cornered, confronted with the evidence and forced to spill the details? Three choices: reveal the truth, push her overboard, plead ignorance.

  The first option was out of the question, because this wasn’t just his secret; it belonged to all of them.

  The second was tempting.

  But it would have to be the third. He’d never been much of an actor, but now he was about to have a starring role. Scene 1, Take 1, the part of ‘Innocent Man’.

  ‘Yeah, that’s Jono’s dad,’ he said. ‘And our mums.’

  ‘Our mums?’ Sarah asked, sounding puzzled.

  OK, so he’d given away some information that she didn’t have before.

  ‘Yeah, Zander’s mum, Mirren’s mum, Jono, my mum.’ He pointed as he went. Three women, a brunette, and two blondes, all in plush black coats, all looking like they’d rather be anywhere than there. The only hint of a smile was on Jono Leith, standing in a smart suit, well tailored. Davie remembered it. He’d bought it from Cecil Gee in Glasgow. Cost £500 and he never stopped telling everyone that. He’d worn it to his last court appearance and then Zander’s grand-mother’s funeral – about two weeks before . . . before . . .

  Drums of fear playing in his head blocked the thought.

  Meanwhile, Sarah was staring at the image.

  ‘I knew one of them was Maggie Leith, and I knew one was your mum, but I had the other down as a sister, and I had her and Maggie the other way round,’ she said, pointing to the two women on Jono’s left. Davie watched her brow furrow as she caught the obvious implication. Marilyn McLean was holding Jono’s hand, making it seem like they were the couple, while Zander’s mum stood slightly apart, disjointed from the group. There was something else. Something there that didn’t seem right. He just couldn’t get his mind to focus on what it was.

  Breaking off, he headed to the wheel, snapped on the engine and steered the boat round in the direction of the shore, making it clear that for him the discussion was over.

  Sarah followed him, unwilling to let it go. ‘You still haven’t told me what happened.’

  Davie shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he lied, hoping only one of them knew that. ‘Jono was always going off, getting banged up, having affairs. Last I heard, the rumour was that he met some Playboy girl in London, moved there. He’s probably in an Essex nursing home right now, telling the rest of the patients stories about his life as a big-time gangster in Glasgow.’

  She stayed silent for a few seconds, arms wrapped around herself either for protection or heat. Davie wasn’t sure he cared which.

  ‘So was that it?’ he said eventually. He had two motives. One, to get her off the subject of Jono, and two, to try to reclaim a shred of honesty from her. ‘That’s what all this was about? You wanted to know about Jono, so you pretended you wanted me?’

  Sarah’s head reeled up. ‘No! It wasn’t just . . . Look, I like you.’

  The laughter came from a dark place at the pit of his stomach. How many girls had he said that to? How many times had he palmed one-night stands off with the same line?

  Listen, I really like you, babe. I’ll call ya.

  He never did.

  ‘Stop! We have nothing else to say to each other. When we dock, get off the boat, don’t call me, don’t contact me, and if you’re going to write about me, you’d better make sure your facts are correct and you’ve got great lawyers. Understand?’

  ‘Davie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean this to turn out this way. This has never happened to me before. I . . .’

  Christ, she was priceless. She was still trying to cover herself, play the innocent. This time he wasn’t buying. Not only had he sussed her out, but he’d realized something even more significant – she knew nothing. Nothing at all. Because if she did, she’d be using it now to try to get more information out of him. All she had to go on was that Jono wasn’t around anymore. That was it. And if the police couldn’t solve that mystery all those years ago, she wasn’t going to be able to do it now.

  All he had to do was stay away from her and this would go away.

  And he could do that. Couldn’t he?

  58.

  ‘Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours)’

  – Stevie Wonder

  Sleep wasn’t an option. Neither was sitting down. Or reading a book. Or – oh dear God – calling home.

  Apparently, the only available choices were lying on the bed staring at the ceiling or . . . Actually, it was a one-choice deal.

  What the hell had she done? And even worse, what had she almost done?

  Never in her life had she even considered being unfaithful. She wasn’t that person. She was the one who made informed decisions, reported on the chaos in other people’s lives, and yet if that one blast of panic hadn’t overtaken her, she’d have had sex with Davie Johnston.

  And even now, hours later, she still wasn’t sure that she didn’t regret stopping.

  She was done here. It was over. Enough of the stalking. Time to face the reality of the situation. She wasn’t going to get anything from these people. Even if she met Zander Leith and Mirren McLean over pancakes at IHOP, they weren’t going to tell her anything. And she couldn’t go near Davie again. Her face burned at the thought of him. He must think she was a major bitch, and she didn’t blame him. Nor did she understand why the thought of him hating her made her stomach flip. Time to go home, before she lost more than just her integrity and her savings.

  Her ticket was booked for the day after tomorrow, but she would bring it forward a day. Time to get home.

  Standing up, she scanned the room for the oversized rugby shirt she wore in bed. Not that she’d sleep, but she wanted out of these clothes. He’d touched them. And she’d let him.

  Spotting the shirt hanging on the back of the door, she crossed the room, reached up to get it and then jumped back with a yelp as there was a knock on the door.

  Sarah froze.

  Unless Simon had crossed the Atlantic and made his way here, there was no one who should be knocking on her door at 3 a.m.

  The temptation to ignore it was excruciating. That’s what she should do. Creep back to the bed, go under the duvet, go to sleep.

  So why was she leaning over, looking through the spyhole and then opening the door?

  Davie didn’t move, just stared at her, both of them frozen, until, ‘I need you.’

  His words, his voice so low it was difficult to hear it over the thudding in her chest.

  One step back and the decision was made.

  His hands went to the side of her face, cupping it as they moved towards the bed, a well-aimed back-kick closing the door.

  Her groan was involuntary and came from somewhere deep inside as his hand gently pushed up her T-shirt and unzipped the front fastening of her sports bra. And then he was down there, a line of kisses taking his mouth to her breast and he was circling her nipple with his tongue, then sucking, slowly, tenderly, pulling a line of intoxicating desire up from deep inside her.

  Then he drew back. ‘Are you OK? Are you sure?’

  Sarah answered by pulling him back down to her, kissing him, her tongue locking with his, dancing, inviting him to go further.

  Their clothes seemed to melt away, unsure as to who was removing them, discarding them, revealing another part of each other. Allowing the other to see, touch, feel. He caressed her like she was made of glass. Sarah knew she should be self-conscious, torn, conflicted, but all she felt was a need to have him and the pure, unadulterated bliss of his touch.

  Sex with Simon was energetic and satisfying, but this was a different level. How could that be? Making love with her long-term partner seemed impersonal, almost perfunctory, yet being with this man she’d only known for a few days was giving her a rush she’d never known.

  He waited for her, came when she did, watching her face as she called out his name. />
  Afterwards, they lay silent, his head on her belly. Sarah stroked his hair, unsure what to say, all the doubts returning. She now knew what incredible sex felt like. Mind-blowing sex. Sex that you never wanted to end.

  But this was wrong. And stupid.

  What the hell was she playing at? He was the source of a story. The biggest story of her career, the one that could be a game-changer, and she’d just had sex with him. It went against every principle she’d ever had. And yet it had been inevitable. From the moment he stood at the door she’d never wanted anything more. Not even the scoop of a lifetime.

  But now, hormones out of the equation, the doubts took over. He was so used to women throwing themselves at him. And hadn’t she made it so easy? He hadn’t even had to ask twice before her clothes were off and she was letting him in. What a pushover. What the hell had happened to her since she came here? One-night stands weren’t her thing, and neither was cheating on her boyfriend. Another wave of guilt came crashing down. Simon. He was a good guy. Decent. And now she’d betrayed him.

  ‘I think you’re amazing,’ Davie whispered, raising his head off her stomach and kissing a line down to her pubic hair. Then his tongue went searching, probing . . .

  She reached down and brought his head up, bringing his lips to hers, kissing him softly, then letting him go.

  Wordlessly, she slipped out of bed, suddenly conscious of her nudity.

  She gathered her clothes, covering her body, all the inhibitions that had been missing in action earlier now firmly in control. She hastily pulled on her jeans and T-shirt, not even bothering with her bra while he watched her, wordlessly, her blanket pulled across his pelvic area, but his carved torso and gorgeous face still on display.

  How had this happened? She had a boyfriend. She was a professional. She was here for a story. She was not here to have the best sex of her life with a guy she barely knew. She’d lost herself there for a moment. Blame the heat or the moonlight or whatever. But she didn’t do drama and treachery. She was a good person. Time to rewind the clock, reclaim her dignity.

  The whole time she was running this internal dialogue, he was watching her, studying her.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

  She shook her head, fully dressed now, but still flustered.

  ‘I shouldn’t have done that. I’m on a story. I have a boyfriend.’

  Somehow repeating the argument that had been in her head only moments before reinforced her resolve.

  Time to move on. A blip. It was a blip.

  ‘OK,’ he said softly. ‘But I don’t feel the same.’

  Oh damn, he looked hurt. Not the vulnerable face again. It crashed through her defences and she felt a desperate longing to hold him. She had to get him out of here before she capitulated again.

  ‘I don’t believe I’m saying this, but . . .’ Mr Confident, Mr All-Singing Showbiz was struggling to find the words. ‘I thought – man, I’ve never said this before and meant it – but I thought there was something there.’

  No, don’t do this. Don’t make it worse.

  She was desperate to agree with him. Yes, there was. There is. But how could she?

  Pull it back, Sarah, she told herself. Get it together. Be realistic. Was she going to stay here and what? Be Davie Johnston’s girlfriend? Of course not. This wasn’t real. It was a fantasy, a crazy moment of lost inhibitions. If Davie was a normal guy, then maybe there could be something. But he wasn’t. This guy was a self-confessed shagger, in a hopelessly confused situation, and the only outcome for her if she carried on down this road was pain.

  ‘I’m going to go for a shower,’ she told him gently. ‘I’m sorry. I think you should leave.’

  59.

  ‘Pray’ – Take That

  Case closed. Court adjourned. As Davie sat in the back of the cab on the way home, he realized that nothing that had happened to him in the last few weeks even came close to how this felt.

  And considering he’d pretty much lost his entire life, that was saying something.

  There was just something about her. Something that . . . grabbed him.

  She obviously didn’t feel the same.

  The sun was rising over his estate as he reached the gates, and a couple of paparazzi sleeping on the sidewalk sprang into action. These guys really needed to get a life.

  May as well make it worth their while. He flipped them the V-sign and their flashbulbs popped like strobes.

  That would be on every online celebrity site by lunchtime, all of them with a sensationalist headline and a team of experts quoting information from ‘inside sources’ to have an informed debate as to whether or not he’d lost the plot. They would conclude that he had. He wasn’t sure he disagreed.

  Back in the house, he headed for the shower, dropping his clothes across the room on the way there.

  No sign of Jenny – obviously staying with Darcy. And if she was there, the kids were probably there too.

  So yet again he was here. Alone. Karma was a bitch and she was dishing it out to him.

  Had it all been just one big set-up? Was this another Lana Delasso? A game that ended with ‘Loser’ at the end of his name?

  Going there had felt like a risk, and had taken more bottle than standing in front of the press hounds begging for forgiveness. Making love to her had been amazing, but she couldn’t wait to get rid of him afterwards.

  He wasn’t going to hang around for that kind of rejection twice.

  Done. Gone. Lesson learned.

  Out of the shower, he headed for bed, naked, and crashed down on the duvet. Fuck it, he was staying here all day tomorrow. Maybe all week.

  The clock beside his bed said six thirty when he drifted off to sleep. It said eleven thirty when he woke up, and eleven thirty-five when the thoughts that were floating around in his head settled into some kind of understandable form.

  Sarah. Last night. Rejected him. But rewind. Before that.

  On the boat. He wanted her. And then . . .

  The picture. There was something wrong with the picture. He studied a snapshot of the image in his mind.

  Maggie Leith. Marilyn McLean, holding hands with Jono. Ena Johnston, his mum, on the other side. The other side. The hand. There was a hand curling round the back of her neck, so that only the fingertips were visible in the photograph.

  In his whole life, he’d never once seen any man touch his mother.

  So why was she allowing Jono Leith to hold her like she belonged to him?

  60.

  ‘Hymn to Her’ – Pretenders

  Zander stood in the doorway for a moment, his legs locked, unable to move, to do anything but just look at her, head bowed, her hand still clasping Chloe’s.

  From here it looked like they were both sleeping. Chloe, so peaceful, with no sign of the sullen frown or the angry glare that he’d become so familiar with.

  She’d been such a sweet kid. Angry. Wild. But under all that, he could relate to the troubled soul that lay beneath. There didn’t even have to be a reason for it. Sure, his early life hadn’t been great, but that didn’t mean he had any more right to be a fuck-up than anyone else. Chloe’s idyllic childhood didn’t mean she had any less.

  Eventually, he found the strength in his legs to move forward, to touch Mirren’s shoulder. As her face turned up to his, he flinched at the utter agony that seeped from every pore.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered. Kneeling down, he silently wrapped his arms around her and let her fall into him. Still her right hand didn’t leave her girl.

  Zander felt the vibrations of her shaking body and knew that no matter how tightly he held her, they would never stop.

  He knew because they’d been here before. Mirren. In unbearable pain. Zander. Feeling partly responsible.

  If only he’d taken Chloe under his wing more. If only he’d got her more help. If only he’d understood how badly this would end.

  If only they’d never met and Mirren McLean hadn’t been raped by his father, hadn�
�t written the script, they hadn’t made it a movie that changed their lives.

  If only. If only they hadn’t disappeared from each other’s lives for twenty years. But it had been too much for him. He couldn’t handle the fact that their new lives had been built on evil. His father’s evil.

  ‘I tried, Zander, but I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t make her stop.’

  ‘Shhhhh.’ He stroked her hair, listened to her sobs, acknowledging the pain he was feeling and understanding that hers was a million times worse. In his peripheral vision, he saw a nurse hover at the door and then leave.

  Her face against his shoulder, tears soaking his T-shirt, Mirren’s voice was a choked whimper. ‘I don’t know what to do now. Don’t know how to breathe without her here.’

  Still stroking her hair, Zander murmured soothing words for a long, long time. Until the light outside was no longer, until the tears were dry and they sat there in silence, clinging to each other, saying nothing at all.

  ‘I’ll stay here with you for as long as you need, but we have to let the nurses work now, Mir. Let me take you home. I’ll stay with you there too. I won’t leave you, I promise.’

  Eventually, she nodded, and supporting her like a child, he helped her to her feet. Zander reached out and gently traced his finger across Chloe’s cheek.

  ‘Goodnight, beautiful girl,’ he murmured softly.

  Beside him, Mirren leaned over and kissed her girl again. More tears now, the silence of her pain making his head roar.

  ‘I love you, Chloe. I’m so, so sorry I didn’t save you.’

  Mirren leaned down, until her cheek touched her daughter’s and stayed there, until he gently lifted her away.

  They’d only gone two steps when her legs buckled. With the reactions of a sober man, he caught her, swept her up and carried her to his car. There, he took a blanket from the trunk, wrapped her in it and placed her in the passenger seat, holding her hand until they reached the gates of the Colony. The security guard waved them through. At the house, he lifted her again, carried her into the empty building, the hall littered with the debris of the earlier emergency call-out. A mask. Gloves. A discarded blanket. Mirren just stared straight ahead, as if in a trance, swollen eyes wide open. To his right, he spotted a lounge area with a sofa, took her through there and laid her down, kneeling on the floor beside her. This is what he should have done years ago. Taken care of her. Cosseted her. Stayed with her until the pain healed.