The Reluctant Celebrity

by Ellingham, Laurie

  Shaking her head at her own pathetic reflection, Jules forced thoughts of the tall blond stranger from her mind. The only thing she wanted to concentrate on was a hot shower and a hole in her ceiling, she reminded herself.

  Four

  THE DAILY

  MONDAY, FEBRUARY 17TH

  WHEREFORE ART THOU JULIET?

  We at The Daily are not ones to stand in the way of star-crossed lovers and judging by the overwhelming response from our readers after model turned singer Guy Rawson exclusively revealed that he was still deeply “in love” with his ex, Juliet Stewart, neither is Britain.

  So with the UK still firmly in the grip of winter blues, we hope to bring some early sunshine and help true love along the way with our brand spanking new campaign, Wherefore art thou Juliet?

  Come on folks we need your help to reunite Britain’s hunkiest man and his beautiful muse, Juliet, the girl responsible for his chart topping single ‘Regret’, which hit number one in Sunday’s chart show.

  If you have a story to share about our love struck pair then contact Sara-Marie Francis on 0800 559 119, sara-marie@thedaily.co.uk NOW!

  And just in case you need another reason to get involved, here’s what Paul Atkins, a close friend of the pair during their days at Loughborough University, said: “Guy and Juliet were so much fun. The three of us were always out on the town having a laugh. They really were the perfect couple, always together and the happiest people I knew…it’s tragic, we all thought they’d be together forever.’

  Left: The couple in happier times just months before they split.

  Guy threw his body onto the giant leather sofa, feeling at ease among the mess of brightly coloured toys littering his sister’s North London terrace house.

  ‘Nuncle Gy,’ a tiny voice shrieked from the doorway.

  The sight of his nephew sent a wave of love spiralling though him for the tiny blonde bundle tottering towards him. ‘Sam the man. Come give me a hug.’

  ‘Gy, nucle Gay.’

  Sam stretched his stubby arms above his head as he reached the sofa, letting out a squeal of delight as Guy lifted him high in the air before resting him with care on the edge of his knees.

  ‘Un-cle G-u-y,’ he prompted, sounding out the letters of his name.

  ‘Nuncle Gay,’ Sam yelled, ignoring his uncle’s pronunciation lesson as Debbie shuffled her round pregnant belly into the room, balancing two steaming mugs, a bottle of Sam’s milk and a plate of chocolate Hobnobs in her hands.

  ‘Sammy,’ Debbie laughed, side stepping a yellow duck waddling its way musically across the living room.

  ‘I bet you taught him to say that,’ Guy accused his older sister with a grin as he set Sam’s wriggling body to the floor.

  ‘Guy, he’s 18-months old, he is getting everyone’s names wrong, yours just happens to be funny,’ Debbie teased, ignoring Guy’s frown.

  ‘Yeah right.’ Guy took the hot coffee cup from his sister. ‘Ever heard of this great new invention called a tray?’ he joked.

  ‘Ever heard of washing? You smell as bad as Sam’s nappies,’ she retorted with a grin.

  Guy looked down at yesterday’s Levi’s and dirty black t-shirt. Debbie was right, he did smell. Why hadn’t he stopped to grab a shower and some fresh clothes after the early call from his publicist?

  His local Primrose Hill newsagent had hardly been in danger of selling out of the damn thing. His ‘daddy’s trust fund’ neighbours as likely to leave the house before 8am, as they were to shop anywhere off Knightsbridge.

  ‘Sorry Sis,’ he replied with a shrug.

  ‘Oh Guy I have to tell you something,’ Debbie began, waving the plastic milk bottle towards Sam.

  ‘Ta,’ she said, as he gripped the container with both hands and plodded towards the television at the end of the room. ‘The other day it was so funny, we were watching TV with Carl’s parents and that clothes advert you’re still in came on. I didn’t realise how much Sam could pick up, but he started jumping up and down shouting “gay gay gay,” honestly I thought I was going to wet myself. Although I feel like that most days,’ she smiled resting one hand on her bump as she dropped to the other end of the sofa.

  ‘Now,’ she began, between mouthfuls of Hobnob, ‘What brings you here so early? Sam’s not even had his nap yet?’

  ‘Nap? It’s barely nine.’

  ‘You try getting up at five every morning and see how you feel by this time. Now don’t avoid my questions, I’m your big sister and I can tell when something’s wrong.’

  Guy sighed and unravelled the newspaper from its previously twisted position in his fist.

  ‘It’s this.’

  Despite the creases, Guy watched his sister’s eyes fall straight to the double E cups of the red head sprawled across the page.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said after swallowing the remainder of the Hobnob.

  ‘Bloody hell! Not that, this, this is what I’m talking about.’ Guy jabbed his finger at the story on the opposite page to the half-naked girl, causing a dark splash of coffee to burn through his jeans.

  ‘Guy,’ Debbie hissed nodding her head in the direction of Sam, his gaze unfaltering from the television screen and the episode of Peppa Pig he was watching with trance like interest.

  ‘Shhi…Sorry, I always forget,’ he whispered, rubbing his hand across the scolding damp patch on his thigh.

  Guy watched his sister scan the article between loud slurps of a red coloured tea. She had the same high cheekbones and dark eyes, but the features which had earned him a small fortune in modelling contracts were drawn and weary on his older sister. Until the same crooked smile lit up her face that was.

  ‘Why are you smiling?’ Guy asked, failing to see even the slightest amount of humour in the story which had jolted him from his sleep like a cattle prod to the head.

  ‘Because this is typical you, totally overreacting. You are such a drama queen.’

  ‘How,’ he cried out. ‘How am I overreacting?’ Guy took a breath. Ever since he could talk Debbie had been able to make his voice rise to the pitch of a 12-year old choirboy. ‘I don’t even know anyone called Paul, or where the hell they got this photo from,’ Guy added, staring at the picture of him and Juliet lounging in the sun during their final summer together. It seemed a million years ago now.

  Guy tried unsuccessfully to push away the memories poking at the edge of his mind.

  ‘What’s the big deal, it says here you got to number one, and congratulations by the way,’ Debbie touched his arm, ‘but other than that, it’s not even about you.’

  ‘That’s the point, Debs. It’s about Juliet.’

  ‘Well have you phoned her to see if she’s okay?’

  ‘Come off it. We haven’t spoken in five years and I’m just supposed to pick up the phone and dial a random number on the off chance it’s hers? I have no idea how to contact her. I wouldn’t know where to begin anyway. I still can’t believe what an idiot I was for telling that journalist about her in the first place. Does off the record not count for anything?’

  ‘Exactly my point.’

  Guy let his head fall against the soft cushioning of the headrest and closed his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, what is your point?’ he mumbled, not liking the direction the conversation seemed to be taking.

  ‘For goodness sake, there have been hundreds of stories printed about you, most of which have been total rubbish and you’ve always shrugged them off or had a good laugh about it. Why are you letting this one get to you? Surely the extra publicity is helping to sell your music?’

  ‘You sound like Sonja. She acted like it was a lottery win when the first story came out, “you can’t buy publicity like this”’ he added, replacing his faded South Yorkshire tones with the mimicked squeak of his high-strung publicist.

  ‘So you expect me to believe that you just happen to reveal some juicy details about a relationship which you never talk about to anyone let alone to a complete stranger just as your new career is taking off? A bit of a
coincidence don’t you think?’

  ‘What? How can you even suggest…’ Guy let out a deep sigh, rubbing his hand against the sandpaper of his day old dark stumble. It tickled against the coarse edges of his fingertips, dry and rough from so many hours spent plucking the strings of his guitar.

  He tried again to explain, ‘Look it was an accident okay? We were in my flat, just me and the journalist. The interview was over. We were sifting through photos of my old playing days and one of Juliet cropped up. I should have just said she was an old friend, but something about seeing her face again, it sparked something in my stupid head and I just started blabbing. She stole the picture too. I mean how rude is that?’

  Debbie paused for a moment, sniffing the air. ‘If you’ll excuse me, there is now a worse smell in the air than you.’ She pushed herself to her feet, resting a hand against the small of her back and letting out an exhausted sigh.

  ‘Come on Sammy, let’s get that nappy changed and have a little nap, and then mummy will take you to see the ducks.’

  ‘Duck,’ Sam repeated allowing Debbie to guide his tired legs towards the door.

  ‘Oh right, so he can say duck perfectly but he can’t say Guy,’ he mumbled, unable to conceal a smile at Sam’s quacking noises.

  At the door, Debbie turned back to the sofa, ‘Just one other thing - if this wasn’t just a stunt then did you mean what you said?’

  ‘I…err…’ Guy spluttered, their eyes locking as Debbie’s eyebrows shot to the middle of her forehead.

  ‘I’ll let you think about that one shall I?’ she cut in, leaving Guy alone with her question still ringing in his ears.

  Did he mean it?

  The emotions had felt real enough when he’d spoken about them to that bloody journalist. But every time he tried to conjure the same feelings it left his stomach in knots; hardly the most concrete declaration of love, he conceded running his hand over the short spikes of his dark brown hair.

  Whatever his feelings, he knew they had started long before the interview. Ever since the modelling contracts had began to leave him feeling hollow and pathetic. Ever since he’d dusted off his old guitar and started strumming his fingers against the strings for the first time in years.

  Something in him had changed. The same something that had finally driven him to walk away from modelling and start singing again. It had unlocked him. As if he had been in a long coma; only to wake up and find the world had turned upside down. He hadn’t recognised the pampered reflection staring back at him from the mirror.

  But even after the unexpected success of his first single and the feeling that he had finally began living his dream, a part of him still felt missing.

  A number one single – he should be jumping from the walls, but instead he felt unfazed, numb even.

  Whatever Juliet had to do with his feelings, he didn’t know, but day after day he couldn’t stop the memories and the feelings from creeping back.

  Guy swallowed hard. Unleashing his emotions into the lyrics of his songs detached them somehow. Admitting them in the bright morning light left nothing to hide behind.

  ‘Right,’ Debbie said, dragging Guy’s thoughts back into the room. ‘‘I have exactly sixty minutes before Sam’s batteries recharge to max. Have you got an answer?’ Her movements were similar to the waddling yellow duck as she dropped back to the sofa, lifting her feet onto the glass coffee table.

  Guy turned his head towards her, noticing again the dark circles under her eyes and the grey sheen covering her usually rosy cheeks. ‘Hey.’ He reached out for her hand feeling suddenly protective. ‘Are you okay Sis?’

  She met his gaze with a weak smile. ‘You’re avoiding my question.’

  ‘No, I’m serious, are you okay? Do you want me to take Sam out today, give you a chance to have a break?’

  ‘Thanks but I’m fine, honestly. It’s just the usual pregnancy tiredness and chasing after a toddler all day and most of the night. But Carl has been running around after me like a guide dog for the blind so I can’t complain. Ask me again next week and I’ll take you up on your offer.’

  ‘Any time. I mean it.’

  Guy continued to stare with a growing concern at his sister. At four years older, she had always looked out for him. Guy had been too young to remember when their parents had died in a car accident, but Debbie hadn’t. Putting her grief aside she had looked after him. Reading to him late at night when he couldn’t sleep and staying with him whenever he had nightmares.

  They’d been lucky. Their aunt and uncle had given them a happy childhood in Doncaster, but Debbie had never stopped mothering him. Now the years of worry were written across her face.

  When she’d met Carl three years earlier at a conference, Guy had been a little sceptical about their relationship. Carl was a nice guy; the reliable type, but hardly the most exciting man in the world. It had taken Guy a while to understand that Debbie liked that about Carl: the stability and the unquestionable love that they had for each other.

  ‘Earth to Guy?’ Debbie grinned, waving a hand in front of Guy’s eyes.

  ‘Sorry Debs, I was miles away.’

  ‘You don’t exactly look like the picture of health either you know.’

  Guy looked down at his creased t-shirt again. ‘I know. Last night was my first gig since my single came out. I never realised how tiring it would be.’

  ‘So that’s why you smell like a brewery rat is it? How did it go? Oh and we heard your interview on the radio, very cool. And don’t let me forget to get a few autographs from you; they are like currency at playgroups. I’ve had more offers of play dates than I know what to do with.’

  ‘Yeah sure. It went pretty well. A great crowd for a Sunday night in Angel and they seemed to like me.’

  ‘Great, now back to Juliet,’ Debbie began with a wicked smile. ‘You can’t tell me you don’t know how you feel?’

  ‘Err…I…look that’s not the point.’ Guy shifted position, unable to get comfortable under Debbie’s stare. ‘The point is that Juliet, wherever she is, is probably scared out of her wits right now. Wouldn’t you be if some tabloid had started a campaign about you?’

  ‘Rubbish.’ Debbie said with a light laugh.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I may not have known Juliet as well as you did, but on the times we met, I don’t remember her being the weakling you seem to think she is. Her only problem back then was the way she let you walk all over her, but you sorted that one out didn’t you?’

  ‘That’s not true.’ Guy stood up, moving across to the large bay window at the end of the room.

  ‘Right’

  ‘It’s not.’ He turned towards his sister, surprised at the anger in her voice.

  ‘I spoke to her you know, after you broke up,’ she said before he could carry on.

  Something in Guy’s stomach lurched. ‘Really? Why?’

  ‘Because I wanted to tell her I was sorry that it hadn’t worked out.’ Debbie rested her hands across her bump. ‘She told me what happened.’

  ‘You never said.’

  ‘Nor did you.’

  Guy turned back to the window and took a long breath, the silence hanging between them. Why did he suddenly feel more tired than he could ever remember feeling?

  ‘Look Guy, my hormones are everywhere at the moment, I’m seven months pregnant for goodness sake,’ Debbie paused, her voice softening, ‘I’ve never commented on how you live your life and we are all so proud of your success.’

  ‘But,’ Guy added, his voice barely audible as he stared out onto the empty street.

  ‘But when are you going to grow up? You’re my little brother and I love you, but ever since we were kids you’ve always thought normal life didn’t apply to you. And in some ways you were right, you are an amazingly talented singer.’

  ‘Debbie,’ he cut in, ‘just say what you want to say.’

  ‘Fine. You’re selfish.’

  Guy felt the slap of her words. He had heard the same from a few wome
n over the years, but he’d always thought they hadn’t understood him. Hearing it from his sister cut deep.

  ‘Sorry Guy that came out wrong. What I mean, is that you are an amazing brother and a great uncle to Sam, but with everything else you seem to have this one-track mind. I never asked you what happened between you and Juliet when you turned up on my doorstep and slept on the sofa-bed for months. I knew you’d tell me if you wanted too.

  ‘But whatever happened, it changed you. You threw yourself into becoming a success, even though it was obvious you hated modelling, and you didn’t stop for breath until a few months ago. And now you’re doing the same thing all over again with your music. Except this time it’s something you love. So why are you trying to drag Juliet back into it?’

  ‘I’m not, like I told you it was an accident, I had no intention of getting her involved in my life like this,’ he said again, suddenly wishing he hadn’t left the comfort of his huge studio flat at all that morning.

  Having a sister that lived only ten minutes down the road in Finchley had its good points, but none of them sprung to mind at that moment.

  ‘But you have, so what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘I’m not sure there’s much I can do, I have no control over what the papers print,’ Guy sighed. He knew he sounded lame.

  ‘There you go again, turning your back on anything that doesn’t fall into your lap. You’ve been so lucky with the modelling and now you are finally doing what you love, and you’re great at it, how many people can say that?’ she paused for a moment. ‘If I thought you were happy I wouldn’t be saying this, but I don’t think you are.’ Debbie stopped, her words hanging in the air between them.

  ‘Right,’ he nodded, negotiating his way back over the toys back to the sofa.

  Kneeling beside his sister, he pecked her on the cheek. ‘I’m off then.’

  ‘Wait. I’ve said too much haven’t I? Don’t go, come and feed the ducks with me and Sam, I promise not to say anymore.’