I turned around and looked at him, and the sight of his bright eyes and almost-but-not-quite smile made me smile too.
“I’ll open it,” I said. “Do you mind if I… I need to shower quickly.”
Charlie reached out and stroked my cheek, then both his hands were in my hair and his mouth found mine. “You so don’t,” he said.
I dreamed I was watching one of Charlie’s videos, but it didn’t make sense. Every time I went back to the beginning again, he said something different. His face kept swimming in and out of focus and his voice was all weird and distorted. I tried to force myself to concentrate, to figure out what he was talking about, and gradually his words joined up into sentences.
“So guys, this is just a short video to tell you about an important thing that’s happened to me. Lots of you know that Gus and I launched our first book last week, which was absolutely awesome and probably the most challenging, exciting thing we’ve done together. The launch party was last Wednesday, in London, and so many of our friends were there to support us. It was a totally amazing night. I’ll add a link for those of you who want to buy the book.
“But anyway, what I want to do is tell you something that happened to me a few weeks ago. Or rather, someone who happened to me. Guys, I’ve met a girl. A really beautiful, amazing girl called Gemma.”
My eyes snapped open. Charlie was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to the window, filming himself on his phone. He was wearing his jeans, but no shirt, and the morning light illuminated the smooth, hard planes of his body, which I could so clearly remember touching. His hair was sticking up and he needed to shave – my own face felt raw where his stubble had scratched my skin as we kissed and kissed.
I stretched, still not properly awake. We’d slept all tangled up together and my body felt pleasantly achy.
“Gemma’s a vlogger too – you might know her channel, but in case you don’t, I’ll put a link to it too. She’s incredibly talented, and as I may have mentioned, she’s also amazing and beautiful. And I’m sure you guys will meet her later on, but for now I need to get showered and dressed and get some coffee on. Mmmm, coffee,” Charlie said. Then he put down his phone.
“Good morning,” I said.
Charlie bounced over to me and wrapped me up in a massive hug, kissing me and rubbing his sandpapery skin over my cheeks and shoulders. I reached up and hugged him back, pressing the length of his body against mine, feeling us wanting each other again.
“No time for that now, young lady,” Charlie said. “Come on, you need to get up and get dressed. Sloane’s on her way.”
“Sloane? What? Why?”
“You don’t mind me giving her your address, do you? It seemed easier than meeting her at home.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” I said, although I wasn’t sure that was actually true – thank God Richard and Hannah were away. “But what’s she coming for?”
“I’ll tell you while we shower,” Charlie said. “So long as you promise to wash my back for me.”
“I’ll wash all of you, if you like,” I said. And so we very nearly weren’t ready when we heard Sloane’s knock at the door.
“Good morning, you gorgeous pair,” she said, sweeping in and heading straight for the kitchen as if she’d been to the house a thousand times before. “I’ve got cappuccinos, muffins, croissants and fresh OJ – that’s a seriously good coffee shop at the end of your road, Gemma.”
Sloane was wearing what I presumed was her version of weekend casual – a retro halter-neck dress with tiny white hearts printed on a red background. Her lipstick was bright red too, and she was wearing red shoes with high cork platforms. I’d just dragged on a pair of jeans and a vest top with no bra, my hair was wet, I hadn’t had time to put on any make-up and I was worried I still smelled of sex.
Sloane opened the cupboard where the plates were kept, getting it right first time, arranged the pastries and dished out the coffee.
“Now,” she said. “Let’s get down to business. But first – oh my God, you two! You are just the most adorable couple I have ever seen.”
I said, “I’m sorry, Sloane, I just don’t understand. I mean, what’s happening?”
Charlie said, “I haven’t actually had time to explain to Gemma.”
“You haven’t?” Sloane arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow and I saw her take in my dishevelled appearance. I realised she knew exactly why Charlie and I hadn’t had time for explaining or being explained to. “Well, it has all happened rather suddenly. The pics were only posted on Twitter last night – I have no idea why they waited, but they did. There were two: one of you two together at the launch, and one of Gemma leaving The Factory the next morning. You really do need to be more careful, you know. But anyway, there’s no harm done, we just need to manage it all quite carefully.”
“Manage what?” I said.
“This situation.” Sloane sipped her coffee and broke off a minuscule corner of blueberry muffin. “Help yourselves. These are low fat, allegedly, not that either of you need to worry about that.”
“Thanks,” I said. A few minutes ago, I’d been starving, and planning on seeing if there were any sausages left for us to have for breakfast. But now I didn’t feel a bit hungry. “Anyway – manage what?”
“It’s the fans, you see,” Charlie said. “I mean, they’re great and everything, but they’re all, like, really young.”
“Charlie and Gus have an obligation to be positive role models,” Sloane said. “Not only from a moral point of view, but contractually, too, as we discussed when we signed the deal with Pepsi. And that means being responsible and sensible in the way they conduct themselves publicly.”
“No falling out of nightclubs,” Charlie said.
“As I keep having to remind your brother,” Sloane said.
“No smoking,” Charlie said.
“And, of course, no Coca-Cola,” said Sloane. “And no…” She paused and looked at me again, and again, I knew exactly what she meant. I felt a horrible little twist of shame inside me that hadn’t been there before. What Charlie and I had done had been fun, joyous, beautiful even. It had never crossed my mind that anyone would think there was anything wrong with it. That twelve-year-old girls needed to be shielded from it in case they picked up something dirty.
Charlie said, “Basically Sloane thinks we should live like Trappist fucking monks.”
Sloane laughed. “Oh come on! You know I don’t! But you’ve got your careers to think of, and if you stop thinking about them occasionally – understandably, because you want to go out and have fun – I don’t. It’s part of my job to make sure that your reputation isn’t blemished, and that your fans and your sponsors aren’t let down.”
Charlie said sulkily, “I haven’t let anyone down.”
“Of course you haven’t!” Sloane said. “I think it’s absolutely wonderful that you and Gemma are an item. You’re so cute together, this will be a real boost to your career – and yours too, Gemma, we can discuss that in more detail later on. But for now, we just need to make sure we play this correctly. Am I right?”
I sipped my coffee. I could feel a bubble of resentment rising up inside me. This was the first morning I’d spent with Charlie. We ought to be in bed together still, listening to music, having sex again, maybe watching something on Netflix and ordering a takeaway, and then having sex again. Not sitting in a meeting about how our relationship needed to be managed. Not when I hadn’t even known we had a relationship until now.
“Is all this actually necessary?” I said. “I mean, can’t we just, like, go out? If we want to? Like normal people?”
“You can!” Sloane said. “That’s exactly what I’m so excited you’re doing! But it’s so important to avoid damaging your image, your reputation – and this means you as well, Gemma, because you also have a career to think about. Which is why I suggested to Charlie earlier that he… er… backdate the beginning of this.”
“Basically, Sloane thinks we should
say we’ve been going out for a few weeks,” Charlie said. “And now we’re ready to go public about it.”
“But isn’t that…” I began.
“Slightly disingenuous?” Sloane said. “Maybe. But come on – anyone can see you two were made for each other. It’s like you’ve been together for months, even if you haven’t. Just look at you.” And she put her head on one side and beamed at us as if she was Mary Berry and we were a cake that had just won the Showstopper Challenge.
“I’m not announcing anything unless Gemma’s cool with it,” Charlie said. “If she’s not, we can leave it out there and I’ll take whatever hit I have to take.”
I thought, I’m really not cool with it. I liked Charlie – I liked him a lot – but I hadn’t expected us to be catapulted into relationship territory so soon. I was over Jack – I was pretty sure I was, anyway – but that didn’t mean I was ready to start seeing someone else just yet. It had all happened so quickly that I hadn’t had time to think it through properly. Just the day before, I’d thought I would never see Charlie again. And then he’d turned up at my door and… well, thinking things through hadn’t exactly been my top priority.
Then I thought, But what will happen if I say no? What if I really had caused damage to Charlie’s image, to the Berry Boys brand, to Gus, who hadn’t even done anything wrong? What if not wanting to be his public, back-dated girlfriend meant I couldn’t see him again? I looked over at him and saw his still blue gaze on me, his face concerned and serious, and I realised I did want to see him again, see all of him again, lots of times.
“I’m cool with it,” I said.
Sloane stood up, brushing crumbs off the front of her dress. “Amazing! Totally awesome! Right, then. Gemma, why don’t you go and get yourself ready, and Charlie, you and I can have a look at the footage you recorded earlier and give it a quick edit, and get something out on Snapchat. Then we can film the two of you out and about today – nothing formal, just having fun together. I thought the zoo, a picnic in Regent’s Park – I’ll pick up some food at Selfridges while you’re looking at the polar bears or whatever. And then you could go for a wander round Camden Market. Just a lovely day out, all very natural and unstaged. You’ll need your camera too, Gemma – people who see Charlie’s post will go straight on to your vlog so you’ll need to get a video up too.”
“Okay,” I said. There didn’t seem to be anything else I could say. I went upstairs and put on some make-up, half-listening to Charlie and Sloane’s conversation as I swooshed bronzer on my cheeks and curled my eyelashes. Then I put on a maxi dress – my collection was seeing more action in this weekend than it had for months – packed my camera and reported back to the kitchen.
CHAPTER TWELVE
When I pushed open the door of Daily Grind two days later, it took me a few seconds to realise that something was different. My brain was so full of everything that had happened, everything that had changed, and was still changing, that I’d barely noticed the walk from the station. Having only had four hours’ sleep the previous night hadn’t helped – my eyes were scratchy and sore from staring at my computer screen all day, and now I was going to have to do a bit more staring, because I had thousands of new tweets and comments to respond to.
But the scene inside the coffee shop brought me up short. The tables had all been pushed to the sides of the room and chairs arranged in rows. All the chairs were full, and people were standing two-deep against the walls. In front of the bar, there were four more chairs, with people sitting on them who I didn’t recognise. A woman was standing at a microphone, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying because her words were drowned in a storm of clapping. There was a man with a camera – a proper camera, not like the small hand-held one I used for my vlogs – filming the scene.
I paused, bewildered, then noticed the posters that had been stuck up on the walls and a massive banner on the bar: Save the Garforth Estate! it said, in massive orange letters on a green background – the same colours and font that had been used on the piles of leaflets I’d seen before. I realised I’d inadvertently gatecrashed a meeting, and shot into reverse – I’d have to go home, and do the stuff I needed to do there instead.
Then I saw Luke and Raffy standing by a table of leaflets in the corner. Raffy raised a hand in a half-wave to me, mouthed, “Stay,” and gestured to a free spot next to him. Sure that everyone must be watching me, wondering who the hell I was and why I’d barged in late, I made my way over as quickly and quietly as I could, leaned against the wall and listened.
“They want to take our community from us,” the woman at the microphone was saying. “They want to knock down the homes where we’ve lived – some of us all our lives – and replace them with luxury flats. They want to sell them for three-quarters of a million pounds to investors who won’t even live in them, who know nothing about our lives and our area.
“I’ve lived in Hackney for forty years,” she went on. “When I moved here with my mum and dad, this area was poor. And if I’m being honest, it was dead rough. You couldn’t walk the streets at night. But we were just glad to have a roof over our heads, a home we could afford. And gradually, together, the local people worked to make this a safe, happy place to live. We have jobs locally, our children go to school here. The people living on the estate keep the local library going, the local children’s centre going – if we go, all those things will go too. It’s not just bricks and mortar, it’s the heart of our community they’re trying to destroy.”
Then she stopped, and said, “Thank you,” and a fresh roar of approval came from the crowd as she sat down, and a man in a grey suit stood up.
“Who are they?” I whispered to Raffy.
“That’s Alethea Ayoola,” Raffy said. “She’s chair of the residents’ association. And this is Gordon Lavery, the local councillor, who didn’t expect to have such a fight on his hands.”
The cheers turned to boos, which were frequently renewed as Gordon Lavery muttered about bringing investment to the area, the priority being to rehouse residents as close by as possible (“Like where? Stevenage?” shouted a heckler in the back row) and the percentage of affordable homes and key worker housing that would be incorporated in the new development (“Yeah, with a poor door,” said the heckler, to whoops and applause).
I listened with increasing fascination. I heard people saying that if they had to move, they wouldn’t be able to afford the cost of commuting to their jobs, and didn’t know if there’d be work where they were moved to. I heard a woman say that if she kept her son, who had autism, in the school where he was thriving, she’d have to spend two hours every day ferrying him there and back across London, and that would mean giving up her job. I heard a man say how he’d scrimped and saved to buy his council flat fifteen years ago, and the price the developer was offering him for it wouldn’t buy a rabbit hutch nowadays.
I listened, and I remembered seeing the billboards when I’d first gone to see Hannah and Richard’s house, how impressed I’d been by the vision of glass towers and manicured gardens that would replace the scruffy estate. I remembered Richard describing it as a dump, and how, privately, I’d agreed with him. Now, hearing a woman almost break down in tears as she described moving into her flat as a young bride, and raising her three children there, and how moving would feel like a desecration of the memory of her husband who’d died last year, I found myself not agreeing any more.
At last, Alethea Ayoola stood up to speak again.
“I want to thank everyone who’s come here tonight,” she said. “Even those who we disagree with – those who are wrong, and prepared to let grasping developers have it all their way, and do a land grab of our homes. I want to thank Luke McInnes for the use of the venue.” (There were rousing cheers at this, and Luke went a bit pink and nodded modestly.) “And most of all, I want you, Mr Lavery, to know that we’re not going to take this lying down.”
With much scraping of chairs, the meeting broke up. Luke shot behind the bar and sta
rted making coffees. I could hear people talking about decamping to the local pub to plan their next move over a pint. Soon, Raffy and I were alone in our corner.
“I have to…” He gestured at the disarray of the room.
“I’ll give you a hand,” I said.
Together, we carried tables and chairs back to their normal positions. It was surprisingly difficult, because everything had to be moved away from where it was in order to get it back to where it needed to be, but of course there was nowhere to move it to because something else was in the way.
While we figured out the puzzle, Raffy told me how Luke had got involved with the campaigners and offered to host the meeting.
“He’s always been a bit like that,” Raffy said. “When we were at uni, he was always involved in some big issue or other. I think he feels guilty, because his family are loaded and everything’s always been easy for him. So he loves a good cause. But he doesn’t just dip into things, he really gets stuck in.”
“He’s certainly stuck into this,” I said.
“That’s for sure,” Raffy said. “I guess maybe he feels guilty – he saw the opportunity to start a business here, and it’s doing really well, but he knows that this place is part of what’s changing the area, and not necessarily for the better. He reckons if you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem.”
“And what about you?” I said. “Are you part of the solution, too?”
“I’m just doing the heavy lifting,” Raffy grinned. “And I guess I like seeing how things work, how stuff happening makes other stuff happen.”
I couldn’t help it, but when he said “heavy lifting”, my eyes were drawn to his arms, brown and muscular in his stripy shirt. His chest looked like it was muscly too, like he spent some serious time in the gym. So different from Charlie, who was lean and slim, almost gangly. I remembered waking up with him, reaching out for his body, and the memory made me shiver and smile.
“So how are things with you, anyway, Gemma?” Raffy said. “How’s the vlog going? Still baring your soul?”
The Truth About Gemma Grey: A feel-good, romantic comedy you won't be able to put down Page 15