Confessions

by Amber Stephens

  And she’d learned all this not from Verity or Galloway, but from the others on the course.

  ‘Welcome back,’ Verity said as Shelley walked into the room. ‘We were just asking Cian how he goes about filling the holes in his life. I’m afraid his answers weren’t entirely helpful at first. But we’ve worked it through.’

  ‘Sorry about all that,’ Shelley said. ‘I had some personal business that I couldn’t ignore.’

  ‘We thought we’d lost you,’ Rose said, beaming at her. In fact, they were all smiling at her as she came and took her place in the circle.

  ‘No chance,’ Shelley said. ‘I’m here till the bitter end.’

  * * *

  ‘Shelley!’ Briony cried and rushed across the office to give her a hug, crushing her cardboard coffee cup and spilling latte over the only pair of black trousers Shelley owned that didn’t have a shiny bum. ‘You didn’t tell me you were coming in today; I expected to see you at home tonight.’

  ‘I wanted to surprise you,’ Shelley said, struggling to breathe against the bear hug. Over Briony’s shoulder, she could see Freya, shooting daggers. Evidently the news that Shelley had stolen the cover story had somehow got back to the office.

  ‘Ooh look, everyone,’ Freya said. ‘Jackie Collins is back.’

  ‘How’s your column, Brie? Sorry I didn’t ask before, I’ve been so caught up.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Plus ça change with me. I’m loving my life, but I’ve missed you. Banging a bloke against a wall isn’t nearly so much fun if you’re not on the other side yelling at me to shut up.’

  ‘How about you, Freya?’ Shelley asked. ‘How’s …’ but she stopped. Something was wrong with Freya’s desk. Then it dawned. ‘Where are all your pictures of Harry?’

  Freya pursed her lips, trying to keep her cool. ‘Let’s just say, Shelley, that Harry may have seemed perfect to you …’

  ‘Um …’

  ‘… but there were certain … problems, which made themselves apparent recently.’

  ‘Say no more,’ Shelley said. ‘I suppose this means you’re single again, like me?’

  But Freya shook her head, the default smug look back on her face.

  ‘Oh no, I was rather looking forward to playing the field a little, but fate had other ideas. I met a wonderful man just a few days ago. He was here looking for you actually, can’t think why. But we just hit it off immediately.’

  Shelley raised her eyebrows. ‘What’s this chap’s name?’

  ‘Gavin,’ Freya said levelly.

  ‘Gavin the Manga fan?’ Shelley asked.

  ‘Yes, I never realised just how literary comics could be. Most intriguing.’

  Shelley fought the twitching in the corner of her mouth.

  ‘He did say he knew you,’ Freya continued. ‘Oh my goodness, I’ve just thought, I hope I’m not treading on your toes, Shelley? Were you interested in Gavin?’

  Briony was having a coughing fit.

  ‘No, that’s fine,’ Shelley said in her best mock-serious tone. ‘I’ll get over it.’ And she turned and marched past Briony, who was bent over with her hand on the water cooler.

  Shelley sat at her desk and admired the new laptop someone had put there. Briony, having recovered, came over to join her.

  ‘Things are going so well here, Shell,’ Briony said eventually. ‘And it’s all thanks to you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Aidan put out a teaser mag, 100,000 circulation prior to next week’s launch. He included one of your racy stories and advertising was swamped with calls. Half the media hacks in the country are attending the launch party on Friday; Vixen is going to be huge. They’re all talking about your story.’

  Shelley didn’t have time to respond before she heard a voice calling her name.

  ‘Shelley, in here, please!’

  She turned to see Aidan was standing at the door to his office, looking serious. Had Fresh Paths’ lawyers been on the phone?

  She went into Aidan’s office. ‘Close the door,’ he said. She was surprised to find he hadn’t had any decoration done. The office was in exactly the same cluttered state as the day Kate had been fired. Even the mouse droppings were still there. Aidan noticed her looking.

  ‘I didn’t see any point in changing anything before the new editor starts. She can deal with it.’

  ‘New editor?’ Shelley asked in surprise. ‘Are you leaving?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Aidan said. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying on as publisher. I’m no fool, this magazine’s going places and I want to stay associated with it. I’m just not cut out to be an editor. Plus I’m a man.’

  ‘I did notice,’ Shelley said, twisting a strand of hair around a finger. Aidan moved around to rest against the front of the desk.

  ‘Look Shelley, what I’m getting at is that I want you to be the new Chief Editor of Vixen.’

  The words took several seconds to register.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Aidan asked. ‘Your lips are moving but no words are coming out and you’ve gone pale.’

  ‘W-why me?’ she asked. ‘Freya’s more senior, or Briony. I …’

  ‘You’re the one, Shelley,’ he said. ‘I knew that from the moment you interrupted my welcome speech to correct my grammar. Those balls and your attention to detail are just what I need. And what you accomplished at Fresh Paths was nothing short of miraculous. So, will you do it?’

  Shelley paused for a moment before replying. The old Shelley would have said no, and thought of a hundred reasons why it was a bad idea.

  But she’d left that person behind.

  ‘I’ll take the job on one condition,’ she said.

  ‘Great,’ he said, smiling. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘That you take me to dinner tonight.’

  Shelley had never seen Aidan Carter gobsmacked before, and he looked even cuter than normal. ‘I’ll book a table.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ‘Shelley!’

  She spun in the crowded tent and immediately picked Rose out amongst the heaving crowd of festival-goers. They bustled their respective ways through the throng and embraced.

  ‘It’s so good to see you,’ Rose said. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d come.’

  ‘What, and turn down a VIP ticket for Glastonbury?’

  ‘Have you seen any of the others?’ Rose asked.

  ‘Will’s at the bar and I think saw Cheryl on someone’s shoulders in the crowd in front of Stage Two. I presume the shoulders belonged to Cliff, but who knows? Anyway Cian said if we can’t find each other, we should all just meet him at his trailer; we can have a bite to eat and a proper catch up before his set …’

  Shelley was interrupted as an arm snaked around her waist and she was lifted off the ground.

  ‘Larry!’ Rose exclaimed. Shelley found herself dropped unceremoniously and Larry turned his attentions to Rose. The two hugged each other tightly, then broke apart and stood awkwardly, grinning at each other.

  Will wriggled between a group of writhing bodies, carrying a tray of beers expertly above his head.

  ‘Sorry, they’d run out of Pimms,’ he said. ‘Got a few in when I saw the others had arrived.’

  Just as they’d finished sorting out the drinks, and everyone had said their greetings, Abigail arrived and they had to start all over again. Then Cliff and Cheryl turned up.

  ‘All here!’ said Shelley.

  ‘Except Verity, of course,’ Abigail said.

  They lifted their plastic cups sloshing beer everywhere as they were jostled. ‘To Verity!’ Will cried and they chorused in response.

  ‘We’d better go,’ Shelley said, checking her watch. ‘Cian said to meet him at seven.’

  They gradually made their way through the crowd towards the backstage area.

  A group of bouncers blocked their way until Shelley showed them the special pass Cian had sent her, and they ran laughing towards the trailer with The Cossacks’ insignia across the side.

 
; A young man opened the door to them. ‘Yes?’ he said, looking harried.

  ‘We’re here to see Cian, he told us to meet him here,’ Shelley said.

  The young man looked sceptical. ‘He’s just about to go on; who the hell are you guys?’

  ‘We’re his support group,’ Larry called from the back.

  The man looked at his clipboard. ‘Support group? There’s no support group, this is Glastonbury.’

  But then Cian appeared. He was wearing trousers so tight they looked like they’d been first spray-painted on then shrunk in the bath.

  ‘Wotcher!’ he cried. ‘Come in!’

  They filed into the trailer. The air-con was blissful after the sweaty tent.

  Inside was tastefully furnished with leather sofas and a double-sized fridge. A couple of guitars rested against a wall.

  ‘Have a look around,’ Cian said grinning broadly. ‘Help yourself to booze or food.’

  ‘This is bigger than my bloody flat,’ Shelley said.

  ‘It’s got three bedrooms,’ Abigail said, emerging from a corridor.

  ‘Two of them are en-suite,’ Cian confirmed.

  ‘There’s a telly in the loo!’ Cheryl called.

  ‘In case I need a crap during CSI,’ Cian explained.

  Shelley plumped herself down on a plush sofa and raised an eyebrow at Cian. ‘Well?’ she said.

  ‘Well, what?’ he replied, affecting innocence.

  ‘Well, have you gone back to your bad old ways?’

  ‘Have you?’ he countered.

  ‘I asked first.’

  The others came in to hear the exchange, Will carrying a bottle of Moët and some glasses.

  ‘Do me last,’ Cian said. ‘You got to go last at the centre, now it’s my turn.’

  Shelley shrugged. ‘Okay, what about you, Rose?’

  Rose glanced quickly at Larry.

  ‘Well, I haven’t slept with anyone since the course ended, but there might be someone on the horizon. I don’t want to jinx it by talking about it. Other than that everything’s going well, I’m working part-time in an office, and I’ve just started a book-keeping course. Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll start up another business, and spend more time looking at the books and less time fucking about.’

  Will handed her a glass of bubbly and sat down between her and Shelley.

  ‘That’s wonderful, Rose,’ Abigail said. ‘I’m afraid things have been a little less demure for me. I’ve managed to stay away from the dungeons, but I met this guy in my building, and, well, we went for a drink and one thing led to another and I ended up having to take him to A&E at four in the morning to have a boot heel removed from his backside. Damn thing snapped off. I knew I shouldn’t have bought those cheap Chinese knock-offs.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Cliff said. ‘Was the guy okay?’

  ‘I think so, he’s coming around again next Friday anyway, so he can’t be too shaken up.’

  After the laughter died down, Cliff spoke up.

  ‘Cheryl and I have been busy exploring each other again,’ he said, gazing at his wife.

  ‘We realised there are plenty of things we haven’t tried yet,’ Cheryl said, then sipped her champagne. ‘We were always looking for more, and never realised that we didn’t need to find other people to provide it, we just needed to look deeper into each other, and ourselves.’

  ‘Oh shut up before I vomit on you,’ Cian said. ‘Larry, what about you? Still looking for porn stars?’

  ‘Not any more,’ Larry grinned, then went silent.

  ‘Will?’ said Abigail. ‘How’s Amanda?’

  ‘She’s brilliant,’ Will said, smiling. ‘Just brilliant. So is Jamie. We’re doing just fine, thanks.’

  ‘And no more lap-dances?’

  ‘No, but Mand’s bought herself a pole, says she wants to keep in shape. And that she wants to learn a new trade in case she ever decides to leave me again.’

  ‘And you, Shelley?’ Cliff asked, ‘how are things with you?’ They all stared at her intently. Too intently, Shelley thought. Suddenly she felt worried. A heavy bass line could be heard from a far-off stage; just outside a roadie shouted something incomprehensible.

  ‘Cian first,’ she said. ‘My confession’s a little different.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I can’t pretend I’ve been celibate, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  Shelley was surprised to find she felt a little pang of jealousy. Cian must have seen her look, but misinterpreted it as concern about him falling off the wagon.

  ‘No, it’s not like that,’ he said. ‘I’ve met someone. Just one someone.’

  ‘That’s brilliant,’ she said. ‘What’s her name, what’s she like, when can we meet her?’

  ‘Her name’s Gloria,’ Cian said. ‘And in a way you’ve already met her. You wrote a very imaginative story about her which I read on the internet.’

  Shelley sat, stunned. Everyone’s gaze was on her.

  They all know.

  ‘I’m rumbled then,’ she said, feeling a little sick. Had they planned this confrontation?

  ‘Yes, you could say that,’ Rose said, with perhaps a trace of sadness in her voice.

  ‘Let me explain …’ Shelley began, then, realising that sounded like the worst cliché, started again. ‘Look, I was going to tell you all, that’s what I meant when I said my confession was unusual.’

  Someone banged on the door and shouted ‘Ten minutes, Mr O’Connor!’

  Cian sat down and popped a crisp into his mouth, never taking his eyes off her. ‘Go on,’ he said.

  Shelley laid her hands on her knees.

  ‘I am a journalist, you all must have realised that if you’ve seen the articles on the Vixen website. I went into the centre a cynical, bitter hack. I had no respect for the course and every intention of exploiting your stories for my own career. I admit that.’

  Cheryl glanced at Cliff who raised his eyebrows. Abigail stared back at Shelley like she was ready to pounce. Shelley swallowed.

  ‘But as the course went on, I got to know you all better and I realised what wonderful, warm people you all are. I felt terribly guilty at the thought of lying to you and betraying your trust.’

  ‘But you still wrote the stories!’ Larry exclaimed.

  ‘I did, I’m not trying to get out of that,’ Shelley said. ‘Things have changed.’ She told them all about the success of the column, her promotion to Chief Editor, and working up the courage to ask Aidan out.

  ‘That’s great for you,’ said Cian, when she’d finished. ‘But what are we? Just rungs on your career ladder?’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ said Shelley. ‘Look, let me tell you what happened when Aidan and I were having dinner.’

  * * *

  ‘You want to do what?’ Aidan sputtered, looking up from his steak.

  He looked good enough to eat in his charcoal Bond Street suit. This was the second time she’d seen him lose his cool that day, and she was beginning to enjoy surprising him.

  ‘You sure are purty when you’re angry,’ she said.

  ‘For God’s sake, Shelley, you can’t pull the cover story. Your own bloody story. The story that the advertisers are creaming themselves over.’

  The diners at the nearby tables had gone quiet. This was the sort of restaurant where everyone knew everyone and where everyone was desperate to find out what everyone else was up to.

  Shelley ran her finger around the lip of her wine glass.

  ‘Aidan, I know exactly what I’m doing.’

  ‘It’s all too racy for you?’ he asked. ‘You’re uncomfortable with the explicit sex?’

  ‘That’s not it,’ she said.

  Realisation dawned over Aidan’s face. ‘You’ve gone native! You don’t want to betray your friends.’

  ‘That’s part of it,’ said Shelley. ‘But there’s a bigger story here.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘The course itself,’ Shelley explained. ‘I want to do a series of features on each
of the people on the course. Each of them has a fascinating story which deserves its own article. I want to do a follow-up as well. I intend to wait a few weeks, contact each of them again and find out what’s become of them, whether they’ve managed to beat their addiction. I want an objective picture of how well the course works, is it just some high-profile celebrity milking operation? Or a genuine programme helping the desperate and vulnerable?’ She took a sip of wine. ‘I’m not shelving the story, Aidan. I’m developing it. Nor am I going to reduce the sex content, I’m going to put it in context, that’s all. Nothing wrong with a bit of smut, as long as it’s part of a broader search for understanding. The advertisers will understand, and they’ll end up benefiting too.’

  Aidan stared back at her for a while, thinking this over.

  ‘And what would you put on the front cover next week?’ he asked.

  ‘Freya’s story,’ Shelley replied.

  ‘I thought you didn’t like Freya,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t, but it’s a good story. Besides, I want her on my team, not fighting me.’

  Finally he smiled. ‘You are an editor.’

  ‘I know,’ Shelley said, watching him pour her another glass.

  Two hours later, Aiden paid the bill, and watched the waiter leave the table.

  ‘Any other plans?’ he asked eventually.

  ‘For the magazine?’ she replied. ‘Or for tonight?’

  Aidan smiled and looked into her eyes.

  ‘Either,’ he said.

  ‘I do have some other plans for the magazine,’ Shelley told him. ‘Perhaps you’d like to discuss them over coffee?’

  ‘But we’ve just paid.’

  ‘There are other places you can get coffee.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, looking a little overawed. ‘I have one of those stupid coffee machines that never work properly.’

  ‘Sounds perfect.’

  Aidan helped her into her coat and gently slipped her hair out down the back.

  He lived close and fifteen minutes later they were on his sofa. Aidan’s machine had worked tolerably well but Shelley wasn’t interested in the espresso.