‘Sure,’ I say, nodding and smiling.
‘Or we could get out of here?’ he grins, glancing around the club and surreptitiously pulling a face. ‘Not really my thing … ’
‘Or mine.’ I grin too. ‘But aren’t we supposed to have pictures taken with the owners and talk to the press?’ I say, remembering the enormous fee I’m being paid. I can’t really just leave.
‘Probably. But I reckon they have enough publicity shots, don’t you? That guy over there hasn’t stopped taking pictures of us.’ Dan indicates over my right shoulder. I turn around to see a man in jeans and a T-shirt with a zoom camera pointing directly at us.
‘Is he allowed to do that?’
‘The owners are most likely paying him; we’ve been directed to the perfect spot for him to capture us underneath the bar’s logo on the wall behind us,’ Dan explains. ‘Come on. Let’s go. I know the perfect place and I’ll get my manager to square it with the owners, give them a glowing review from us both. This cocktail is awesome, so we’ll make sure we mention that.’ He laughs and takes my hand, nodding at his security men as we leave.
We’re sitting on a squishy double seat in the back row of an old-fashioned cinema, sharing a box of Maltesers. Organ music is playing as we wait for the film to start. It’s a Wonderful Life. A special late-night showing and part of the cinema’s Christmas-themed programme running right up until 24 December. And we’re the only people in here, apart from Dan’s security guys down in the front row, which isn’t surprising as this cinema is tiny and old-fashioned compared to the multiscreen complex over on the industrial estate. In one corner of the stage is a glorious 1950s drinks cabinet complete with chrome cocktail shakers behind sliding glass doors; in the other corner is an old Chesterfield sofa, and the screen is swathed in shimmery gold satin curtains. There’s a lovely, halcyon atmosphere of days gone by. I can just imagine the men in Trilby hats and pinstripe suits with sweethearts in floaty tea dresses, hair set in starlet curls framing rouged cheeks and crimson rosebud lips. The nostalgic images make me feel calm and relaxed.
‘So, what do you think?’ Dan says, turning his head sideways to face me. ‘Better than a sleazy cocktail bar, isn’t it?’
‘It sure is. I love it, and I can’t believe I haven’t been here before,’ I say, taking in his physique – tall and slender. A total contrast to Tom’s muscular athletic build. Stop it! I shove the comparison out of my head. There’s no point. Tom has made his choice, and I just have to accept it. Move on. And Dan is lovely. He chatted all the way back here to Mulberry-On-Sea – about how it’s still his home; he has a beach house in the private development. And how living here keeps him sane. He’s tried the whole fame game, even moving to LA for a bit, but he said that he just felt shallow and miserable most of the time.
The lights dim and the curtains swish back to reveal the screen. I sink into the seat, grateful for the opportunity to switch off and relax for a while, and quieten the analytical voice from going over and over everything inside my head. Dan puts his arm around my shoulders and I lean into him. A feeling of bittersweet happiness trickles through me. And, for just a glimmer of a second, I can’t help wishing it was Tom sitting here beside me. I instantly feel ashamed. I force myself to get a grip. Dan’s a sweet man, and bringing me here is kind and thoughtful. Romantic.
As the credits roll, we smile at each other and stand up. The film was so uplifting. Just what I needed. And it made me think about what’s really important. I do have a wonderful life. I have Dad back and I know he loves me, he thinks the world of me. I have amazing friends. A job I love. And I’m getting to do once-in-a-lifetime things that not so long ago I could only dream of. Like going on dates with famous singers …
Stumbling and bumping into each other, we make our way down the dimly lit stairs and out into the cinema’s tiny foyer. Dan crunches up the Malteser box and drops it in a bin before pulling his hat low down on his forehead and pulling his scarf up around his chin.
‘Disguise,’ he says, smiling. ‘Means I can usually walk from here to the seafront without being recognised.’ He takes my hand.
‘What did you think of the film?’ he asks, smiling and pushing his hair out of his eyes.
‘Dan, it was perfect. Thanks for bringing me here.’
‘My pleasure. You seemed a bit down earlier on. Is everything OK?’ We leave the cinema and start walking towards the seafront. ‘Is what happened with the other guy on your mind?’ His eyes search mine and I look away.
‘Err, yes, a bit, I guess so. Sorry,’ I say, wondering how much he knows.
‘Ahh, don’t be. When KCTV got in touch about me making an appearance on the show, they said you had just split up with your boyfriend.
‘Oh, I see … ’ I start.
‘No need to explain. It’s none of my business, unless you want to talk about it.’ He glances sideways at me and I shake my head. ‘It’s really hard when something you thought you had turns out to be nothing very much at all.’
‘Sounds as if you’ve had a hard time too,’ I say, as we cross the road and walk along the promenade.
‘Yes. I split up with my ex in the summer.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ There’s a short silence.
‘So, how do you feel about being on a reality show?’ Dan says, pulling my hand inside his coat pocket to keep warm. I snuggle into his arm, drawing in his citrusy scent, and make a conscious effort to focus on enjoying the moment, instead of worrying about what might have been with Tom.
‘Well, it was a shock at first, seeing myself on TV without warning,’ I say, looking at the pavement. ‘And then I felt let down by … ’ My voice trails off.
‘But you’re having fun now? It’s changed your life,’ he says.
‘Yes. It has.’
‘Will you pursue a career in the spotlight, once the reality show is over?’
‘I’m not sure. I like some things about it, others not so—’
‘Ah, let me guess … YouTube. I was shown a clip of you.’
‘Oh no.’ I cringe.
‘You made me laugh, which is why I agreed to be your surprise date, and I’m glad that I did. We’re having a good time, aren’t we?’
‘Yes. But it is a bit surreal, though, if I’m honest.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘Well, you know … you’re famous.’
‘So are you.’ He nudges me and I smile.
‘So why did you agree to be on the show?’ I ask.
‘Guess I just wanted to reach a wider audience.’ He shrugs his shoulders and laughs at his own joke. ‘Besides, it’s fun, especially if I get to hang out with you. You’re normal. It’s refreshing, and makes a change from the people I usually meet.’ He swings my arm playfully and it makes me laugh.
‘Ahh, thank you.’
‘My pleasure. Seems to me we’re in similar places right now, relationship-wise, so we might as well keep each other company.’ Dan stops walking and we turn to face each other. He takes my other hand in his. ‘If that’s OK with you?’ He grins, and I grin back. I’m having a really nice time with him, and it sure beats sitting at home alone on a Saturday evening with my phone at the bottom of the laundry basket, just so I’m not tempted to send Tom another trivial text message to like ‘congratulate him on his engagement’, or ask if I can have my Adele CD back – that was a particularly low moment when I just wanted a response from him. A reaction, anything, even a short, sharp ‘NO’ in reply would have been a comfort. It’s so rubbish that I haven’t even had a chance to ask him why we ended up the way we did. But it’s done with; I’m drawing a line under it. I take a deep breath and puff a big cloud out into the frosty night air, as if to mark my decision.
‘I’d like that, Dan.’
‘Good. Me too,’ he says, and we carry on walking.
We reach the bandstand on the promenade, which is illuminated by a trillion tiny golden lights set in snowflake shapes against the inky night sky. The rhythmic swirl of the sea laps the
shore. The icy air makes my cheeks numb. I press my free hand up to my face in an attempt to keep warm, when Dan swings me around to look me straight in the eye.
‘Georgie, can I kiss you?’ He pulls me in close.
‘Um, yes. OK,’ I say, instantly wishing I’d thought of something slightly more inviting to say, but before I can utter another word, his lips are on mine. Soft and warm. It feels nice. Not electric. Just nice and comfortable. Instinctively, I close my eyes and melt into the moment. My pulse quickens. We finish kissing and pull apart. A spark of light catches my eye. Dan sees it too and, as we turn together, there’s another spark. A camera. He grins at me. I grin back.
‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ he says, raising an eyebrow and lifting a lock of hair away from my face. I nod. ‘After three,’ Dan whispers in my ear, and a few seconds later he moves one hand up between my shoulder blades and circles my waist with the other. ‘Let’s give them something to talk about.’
And in one swift movement, he leans forward, dips me back, and plants a massive kiss on my lips, holding it for several seconds in true, sweepingly romantic Hollywood movie-style, almost taking my breath away. As my hair swings back in the breeze, my right leg pops up against the side of his thigh, and I cherish the feeling. It’s exhilarating. Glamorous. Fun. A wonderful life … or so it seems.
18
Three shopping weeks until Christmas
It’s Monday, my day off, so I’ve decided to surprise Dad with an impromptu visit, I’ve brought banana sandwiches and ginger beer just in case he’s free and we can take a trip to Mum’s grave, followed by a stroll along the promenade. Just the two of us. It will give us a chance to talk, for me to let him know I’m pleased he’s met Nancy, and see if he wants to invite her to Sam’s house for Christmas lunch.
I press the intercom and wait for him to answer. There’s no reply. I press again; perhaps he’s in the bathroom. But still no answer. I rummage in my bag to find my mobile. His number rings before going straight to the answer service. My heart drops with disappointment. I’m just about to leave when an old woman wearing a festive red Santa hat decorated with tinsel, and dragging a tartan wheelie shopper, comes to the door. She presses the security pad.
‘Ooh duck, you’d better come on in – can’t have you standing out in the cold. Not when you’re, well, you know … ’ she says, standing aside as the automatic door buzzes open.
‘Thank you. Err,’ I mutter, wondering what she’s going on about, but before I have a chance to ask, she’s off up the path, bellowing out to the minibus driver to make sure he waits for her. I’m hovering in the hallway when my mobile rings. It’s Dad.
‘Georgie, I’m so sorry, I missed your calls. Are you OK?’ he says, sounding different – panicky, edgy perhaps.
‘Yes, I’m fine thanks, are you?’ I brace myself, desperately hoping he hasn’t slipped back into his old ways and got in trouble again – gambling is an addiction, after all. And I know he’s never missed a meeting since he left prison all those years ago, but it’s still there, secreted in the back of my head as a possibility, I don’t think that will ever go away. And I couldn’t bear it, for his sake too, if he succumbed again. I know he’d be devastated. And what would Nancy think? Dad could lose everything he’s worked so hard to rebuild.
‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ he quickly replies.
‘Dad, I’m actually outside your flat, but you’re obviously not here. I’ll come back another time.’
‘No no, don’t be silly darling, knock on Nancy’s door, I’m in with her.’ I press to end the call, and for some ridiculous reason, tears sting and a lump forms in my throat. There’s no way I can go to Mum’s grave and talk to Dad on my own now. The disappointment is crushing. I quickly find a squashed tissue in my bag and dab at my eyes; it’ll have to do. I don’t want Dad seeing me upset. He’ll only worry and, besides, I’m a grown, confident woman, I need to get a grip. I’m not normally this emotional. It must be everything that’s happened recently. I’m exhausted by it all. And with the filming, and being in the public eye – well, it makes me feel exposed. Vulnerable.
‘There you are.’ Dad is coming along the hallway, with Dusty right behind him. ‘Come in. Nancy would love to see you. What a nice surprise.’ Shoving the tissue inside my pocket, I put a smile on my smile and follow him back to Nancy’s cosy flat. She’s waiting by the front door and Frank Sinatra is singing ‘Strangers in the Night’ from the bedroom. After giving me a kiss on the cheek and taking my coat, Nancy dashes in and turns the music off. Dusty nuzzles my hand to greet me, and I give her silky ears a stroke.
‘We were just, um … dancing,’ Nancy puffs, patting her hair nervously when she reappears. There’s an awkward silence.
‘Oh, don’t turn it off on my account. I love the old songs. Dad used to play them all the time before … ’ My voice trails off as I wonder if she knows. He may not have told her about his time in prison for fraud. Yes, it was a long time ago now, but still, it’s his personal business, not mine to tell. It makes me feel strange – I’m worried she’ll judge him. I don’t want him getting hurt, rejected, like I have been. For all his faults in the past, he’s my dad and I love him.
‘Come and sit down, dear. Put your feet up,’ Nancy says, giving me an odd look. I do as I’m told and follow her into the sitting room. Dad follows behind and sits in the armchair opposite. ‘I’ll give you two some privacy.’ Nancy disappears and I crease my forehead, wondering why she’s acting so strangely. First the old woman at the door. Now Nancy. And Dad too, if the look on his face is anything to go by.
‘Dad, is everything all right?’ I ask, rattled.
‘Err, yes, yes of course. Why wouldn’t it be, sweetheart?’ he says, and I know I’m not mistaken, there’s definitely something weird going on, and it’s more than him having been in Nancy’s bedroom and feeling a bit embarrassed about it. I’m not stupid, they could only have been cuddling, or dancing, as Nancy said, but there’s no way they were naked – unless they hold the world record for getting dressed in record time. Dad is wearing a shirt, tie, V-neck jumper, trousers and lace-up shoes – he’d have to be a contortionist ninja to have got dressed that quickly. Not that it really bothers me if they were naked – good for them; it’s more action than I’m currently getting in the bedroom department. No, there’s definitely something strange going on. Oh God, I hope Dad’s OK. I decide to probe him.
‘I’m not sure Dad – maybe it’s my imagination, but you all seem to be acting really uncomfortably around me. If it’s because you’re worried about how I feel about you and Nancy, then I want you to be happy, Dad. I know Nancy won’t ever replace Mum, you said so and that’s good enough for me. I like Nancy and I understand that you can’t be expected to be on your own for ever more and, well, if we can still go to Mum’s grave sometimes, and the pier, like we said we would, just us and well—’
‘Georgie. Stop talking,’ Dad interjects, and I close my mouth before opening it again and sucking in a massive gulp of air. I hadn’t realised I was babbling without drawing breath. I actually feel dizzy. Silence follows.
‘I’m sorry. It’s probably not my business,’ I mutter, to break the awkward atmosphere.
‘Of course it is. And we do need to talk about my relationship with Nancy,’ Dad starts. ‘But there’s something else first. Something far more important.’ He cups his chin with his thumb and forefinger, and I know it must be serious; he used to do this when I was a child and had done something I shouldn’t have, like the time I poured a tester pot of apple blossom paint into Mum’s handbag. But I’m not a child any more, and I haven’t done anything wrong, as far as I know.
‘Oh, Dad, what is it? Are you OK? You’re not ill are you? Oh my God, why didn’t you say?’ I leap up and dart across the room to crouch down in front of him. I put my hand on his knee. ‘Dad, please tell me … ’ A lump forms in my throat. I’ve just got him back in my life. Tears sting. I couldn’t bear it if—
‘No, n
o, it’s not me Georgie. I’m fine. Honestly sweetheart, no need to put two and two together … ’ He smiles kindly and shakes his head. ‘I remember you doing exactly the same as a little girl, but please don’t worry, I’m as strong as an ox, me.’ Dad pats my hand reassuringly and relief rushes through me.
‘Georgie, you know I love you very much and I’ll never judge you – not that it’s a big deal these days anyway, but just so you know, I’m always here for you, I’ll support you every step of the way.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Darling, you don’t have to hide it. Dad looks away. I’ll support you no matter what.’
‘Dad, what are you talking about?’
‘Oh sweetheart, shall I make it easy?’ Dad says softly. He stands up and walks out of the room.
I’m still trying to work out what’s going on when Dad returns with a glossy magazine in his hand. He passes it to me. I glance at the page. And freeze. I can hear my own blood pumping in my ears.
Is new reality star, Georgie Girl, of Kelly Cooper Come Instore going to be a yummy mummy soon? Here she is outside Bumpalicious laden down with baby goodies!’
There’s a picture of me below the headline. Alone. They must have cropped Sam out. And I’ve got all the maternity shopping bags in my hands and I’m standing right next to the Bumpalicious shop sign. And then, if that wasn’t bad enough, a reader has posted a comment underneath.
I bet she’s holding that oversized tote in front of her belly to hide the bump, oldest trick in the book, all the slebs do it. PS – I love her coat; does anyone know where it’s from?
‘Dad! You think I’m pregnant. Oh my God!’ I don’t believe it. Talk about surreal. No wonder he’s being weird. I bet he thinks it’s a secret love child or whatever, especially with me not being married. In his day, this would have been a total scandal, and he can be a bit old-fashioned when it comes to stuff like this. Only a few months ago he was telling me how shocking it was that a woman in the post office he goes to is rumoured to be pregnant after a one-night stand – Dad was outraged that ‘the scoundrel responsible’ hadn’t offered to marry her.
Christmas at Carrington’s Page 18