The Reluctant Celebrity

by Ellingham, Laurie

  ‘The Daily.’

  Becky giggled. ‘Wow. I can’t say I’ve ever read it but still, it’s pretty massive. Why are they interested in you?’

  ‘I used to date Guy Rawson,’ Jules mumbled.

  ‘No way, that is so cool. Here let me get you another drink and you HAVE to tell me everything. I can’t believe I’ve been wittering on about myself all this time.’

  It took Jules thirty minutes and another glass of wine before she finished explaining the events of the past few weeks to Becky.

  She would not have thought it possible, but confiding in a complete stranger felt surprisingly good.

  ‘Wow,’ Becky said again when she’d finished. ‘That’s pretty hardcore.’

  Jules nodded.

  ‘So you must really hate Guy for the way he’s treated you? I’d want to kill him if it was me.’

  ‘Yesh. He is a pathetic manipulative worm. I could strangle him,’ she cried out as the effect of the alcohol hit her. ‘Ist not just him’ she continued with a slight slur, ‘I hate them all. All men are bastards put on this earth to destroy us.’

  ‘Too right,’ Becky laughed. ‘To the bastards.’ She raised her almost empty glass to Jules.

  ‘Bastards.’ Jules repeated, dropping her head to her hands as she realised how drunk she was. She’d had way too much wine. What was she thinking? ‘I’d better get back. I’ve got loads of work to do tomorrow,’

  ‘Good idea, let’s go,’ Becky replied, grabbing her bag.

  The cold night air had a sobering effect as they stumbled their way back up the lane. To Jules’ surprise and relief, Becky’s earlier nattering had been replaced with silence.

  By the time they made it to the guesthouse an inebriating exhaustion had wrapped itself around her. With a short wave goodbye and a promise to meet for breakfast, Jules stepped into her room, shrugged off her clothes and climbed into bed.

  She could still smell Guy’s body on the sheets.

  Only then did Jules allow the silent tears to fall as the memories of the previous night circled around her drunken thoughts.

  Thirty-two

  Guy’s bleary eyes stared at the loud ticking clock willing it to shut up. From outside the room he could hear the constant activity of the midwives station and the bewildered screeches of newborn babies crying in the next ward.

  He stared at the washed out face of his sister lying asleep next to him. He had never felt so helpless.

  He should have been a better brother, Guy thought as he dropped his face into his hands. Debbie had always been there for him. Any time, day or night, he knew if he called her she would answer. The same could not be said about him.

  He’d spent years jetting all over the world, attending fashion shoots, premiers, and anything else he’d desired. Months would go by before he’d remember to return her calls or drop by.

  It was only recently, when he’d chosen to pack up modelling and pursue his music that he’d spent more time with Debbie, Carl and Sam. Only when the invites had stopped flowing in, and he’d found himself in London with no social life to speak of did he take up residency on Debbie and Carl’s sofa. A roast dinner on a Sunday and a mid-week take-away; it did not seem nearly enough now.

  He should not have taken no for an answer when he’d offered to look after Sam last week. Debbie had looked so grey and exhausted, but he’d been too wrapped up in his own life to pay attention.

  She’d even told him she was ill and all he’d done was type a hasty text and forget all about it.

  His own pregnant sister and he hadn’t bothered to stick around long enough to help her. She was the only family he had. Fuck he hated himself.

  Without warning, Guy suddenly thought of Jules. Ever since he’d sat down in the hard plastic visitors chair by Debbie’s bedside, his emotions had rocketed from one extreme to the other – the guilt and fear for Debbie and the baby felt like a fist squeezing his heart, followed by a panicked desperation for his relationship with Jules. If he even had a relationship.

  Twenty past five. Ten hours since he’d left her. Why hadn’t she called?

  Every few hours, he would slip out of his sister’s room and turn on his phone. As the display fired up, a dozen missed calls and messages appeared. Only a week ago they would all have seemed urgent. But none of them mattered now.

  He missed her so much it weighed down on him like a concrete slab.

  Why had he not woken her? He should never have left her sleeping, but she’d looked so beautiful by his side that it seemed wrong somehow to disturb her.

  ‘Um,’ Debbie murmured next to him, pulling his thoughts back to grey walls of the hospital room.

  ‘Hey Sis,’ he whispered, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

  ‘Guy?’ she mumbled just before her eyes shot open. ‘Is the baby okay?’

  He felt a bolt of pain as Debbie’s nails dug into the palm of his hand.

  ‘Everything is fine, just relax, okay?’

  ‘Thank God.’ She released his hand as fat tears fell down her cheeks. ‘Where’s Carl?’

  ‘He’s gone to check on Sam, but he’ll be back soon. Sam’s going to stay with Carl’s mum and dad for a few days and I’ll be dropping by in the morning to say hello and take him to the park for a while.’

  Guy squeezed her hand again. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Tired and thirsty.’

  ‘Here, drink this.’ Guy poured some water into the plastic beaker by the bed and held it to her lips.

  ‘Do you remember what happened?’ he asked after she’d laid her head back on the pillow.

  ‘I fell down the stairs.’ She sobbed.

  Guy nodded. ‘The doctor should be back in a minute, he’ll be able to explain what happened better than I can. Just rest now.’

  ‘No, tell me now,’ she pleaded.

  ‘You fainted as you were coming down the stairs. It was only a few steps, but they think the impact caused you to go into early labour. Carl called an ambulance and they were able to stop it,’ Guy explained, his voice cracking with emotion.

  ‘My blood pressure was high. The midwife told me to stay in bed and I didn’t listen,’ Debbie croaked. ‘If anything happens...I’ll never forgive myself.’

  ‘The doctors’ think you’ll both be okay, you just need to stay off your feet. And you may be stuck with hospital food for a while I’m afraid,’ he tried to joke.

  ‘Oh Guy, what have I done? If the baby is born this early...I...I don’t think...’ her voice trailed off as fresh tears flooded her eyes.

  ‘Don’t think like that Debs. You’ve got to stay positive. Me and Carl will be your servants. Anything you need, just ask. Even a few days could make all the difference. The doctor even said there’s a good chance you could continue to full term.’

  ‘Since when did you become an expert?’ A thin smile touched her pale face.

  ‘When I realised what a terrible brother I am. I’m so sorry Debbie. I should have been around to help you out more.’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot Guy. You’re the best brother ever.’

  Before Guy could respond, the door opened a fraction revealing a fluffy blue rabbit followed by Carl and a giant bouquet of pink roses.

  ‘Carl,’ she croaked as the tears fell again. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Hey hey hey,’ he soothed, striding to the bed and wrapping his arms around Debbie. ‘What have you got to be sorry for? I’m the one who needs to say sorry to you, I should have helped out with Sam more.’

  ‘Not you too,’ Debbie sighed, her face already brightening by the presence of her husband.

  ‘Sam wanted you to look after Floppy.’ Carl bounced the bunny gently on the bed towards her.

  ‘But he never sleeps without Floppy,’ she exclaimed with a sad smile.

  ‘He’s a very brave boy,’ Carl replied.

  Without saying a word, Guy slipped from the room. It felt more like five in the morning not the afternoon, he thought wandering along the shiny grey corridor of the p
re-labour ward.

  ‘Oh my God, Guy,’ he heard Sonja’s shriek before he saw her. ‘I came as soon as I heard.’

  ‘Why?’ Guy asked, his energy levels to low to appease her.

  ‘To make sure you’re alright, silly,’ she replied, her heels clattering towards him.

  ‘I’m fine; it’s my sister who’s in hospital not me.’

  ‘Yes yes I know, but look there are a few photographers out front. I said you might step out for some fresh air.’

  ‘What? I’m not going anywhere. How did they even know I was here?’ Guy asked, his eyes narrowing on Sonja’s face, glowing orange under the fluorescent lights of the hospital waiting area.

  The idea that the paparazzi had a million contacts across the world and could track down a celebrity any time they wanted was a myth. In reality, publicists, agents and sometimes the celebrities themselves told the photographers where and when to expect a sighting; something both Sonja and Guy knew well.

  ‘Well I called them. But Guy something like this is great for your image.’

  ‘Oh right, well I’ll tell Debbie that shall I? I’m sure she’ll be pleased to know that whilst she’s lying there praying for the life of her baby my career is thriving.’

  ‘Guy, it’s not like-’

  ‘No Sonja, I thought we agreed you would check with me first?’ he demanded, the emotion from the day building into anger.

  ‘I know but I had to Guy – it’s damage control.’

  ‘Damage control for what?’ Guy slouched against the wall.

  Suddenly he didn’t care. He wanted to be back with Debbie. As long as she and the baby were okay, and Jules still decided to give him another chance, nothing else mattered.

  ‘Well if you’d have answered my calls yesterday you’d know,’ she responded, throwing her nose into the air.

  ‘Sonja,’ he warned.

  ‘Okay okay, this was in this morning’s paper.’ She pushed a hand into the depths of her giant black bag and pulled out a crumpled newspaper.

  He stared at the photograph, realising instantly why Jules had not called.

  ‘Guy.’ She touched his arm

  ‘But this is from the video I did last month,’ he exclaimed, shrugging her hand away. ‘How did they get hold of it?’ His gaze shot back to his publicist. He had a feeling he knew the answer already.

  ‘I gave it to them, but-’

  ‘For fuck's sake you are supposed to talk to me about these things,’ Guy began, his voice rising as he towered over her. ‘First all the coverage with Jules, which I know you pushed even when I asked you not too, then this and now the photographers outside.

  ‘It’s got to stop. Do you know how this makes me look?’ Guy stared at the plastic smiles of the models in the hot tub; his heart lurching at the pain it must have caused Jules.

  ‘I know, but Guy I gave it to one of my most trusted sources. They were supposed to make it clear it was from one of your music videos. I wanted to make sure you were still seen as sexy now that all your modelling campaigns have finished.

  ‘But hey,’ she continued, her tone lighter. ‘They’ll put an apology in tomorrow’s edition and say some nice things about you, and with a few photos of you looking sad coming out of here, it will all be forgotten.’

  ‘No Sonja. It won’t be.’ He rubbed his palm against his two-day old stubble. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t want it to be like this. I gave up modelling because I don’t like all this shit. All I want to do is write some decent songs and do a few performances. I thought I made that clear-’

  ‘But this is how we get you to the top. Honestly Guy, you’ve got to trust me.’ Sonja smiled at him, her teeth a beaming white against the grey walls.

  He could tell from her reaction that she’d had similar conversations with other clients in the past. He paused for a moment, before he said, ‘Well if this is really what it means to sell records then I don’t want it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s over Sonja. Thank you for all of your hard work, but I will no longer be requiring your services. I don’t want to play games anymore. If I can’t sell my music on my ability as a singer, then I don’t want to sell it at all.’

  ‘Guy, do you have any idea how much time I’ve spent on you?’

  ‘And I’m grateful, but we’re finished.’

  ‘You’ll regret this,’ she hissed, pointing a manicured red nail at him. ‘You will fuck this up without me. I guarantee it. And then you’ll come crawling back like they all do.’

  ‘Goodbye Sonja.’ Guy turned away from her, moving back towards the ward.

  He would check on Debbie and then he would call Mrs Beckwith. He had no idea what kind of message he would- Guy’s thoughts broke off as he turned the corner, a crippling fear taking hold of his body as his eyes registered the midwives rushing into his sister’s room.

  Thirty-three

  Jules’ fingers rubbed the small folded note in front of her. One side had the jagged edge of once belonging to a notebook. Her name had been scratched in pencil across the front.

  Her gaze moved to the glassy grey eyes of Mrs Beckwith as Jules absorbed the last part of her words.

  ‘…the vacuum almost had it but I managed to rescue it. Didn’t want to throw it away just in case. Oh that’s the toaster, hang on dear I’ll have your breakfast in a jiffy.’

  If only the note had been lost forever, Jules wished as her hands tightened around the smooth paper. It must have fallen down the back of the bedside table the morning he’d left.

  Don’t read it, she willed herself.

  Nothing in the note would be able to explain why he’d left or justify the photograph, she told herself. Still her fingers kept turning it over and over.

  She took a sip of bitter black coffee, the harsh tang removing the dry mouth of her hangover.

  How much had she drunk? Three or four glasses?

  It felt more like ten based on the queasiness bubbling in her stomach.

  ‘Here you go,’ Mrs Beckwith said as she placed a plate with two slices of thick brown toast in front of her.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Grateful to have something else to focus her attention on, Jules slipped the unread note into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled the plate towards her.

  ‘You’re most welcome. Well I’d best get on. It’s been so busy here the past few days I’ve been rushed off my feet. Oh, that reminds me - I do hope my other guest didn’t disturb you this morning?’

  ‘Disturb me. No why?’ Jules quizzed as she smothered the butter across her toast causing her mouth to water as it melted into yellowy pools on the crunchy warm bread.

  ‘She must have left at the crack of dawn. I know it can’t have been later than five because the heating hadn’t even clicked on. It was no bother to me as she’d paid in full yesterday, but I was worried she might have been clattering about a bit.

  ‘Now what was her name? Gosh my memory is really failing me if I can’t even remember the girl’s name,’ Mrs Beckwith continued as she packed away the unused place setting on the opposite side of the table.

  ‘I didn’t hear anything,’ Jules mumbled between crunches. ‘Her name’s Becky,’ she added after swallowing. ‘We went for a drink in The Nag together last night.’

  ‘That’s nice dear.’

  ‘How did she get her car back so early?’ Jules wondered aloud.

  ‘Back from where?’

  ‘The mechanic,’ Jules answered. ‘I thought she was having her radiator fixed?’

  ‘Radiator? I don’t know anything about that I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh. I thought you found the tow service for her’ Jules replied, taking another bite of toast. Had she made a mistake? She was certain Becky had said her car had broken down. Why else would she have been in Cottinghale?

  ‘Oh dear, now I’m getting in an awful muddle. I’m sure I did nothing of the sort, but if she said I did, then maybe I did. My memory is not what it used to be.’

  ‘Don’t worry
Mrs Beckwith; I’m sure I just misheard her.’

  ‘I guess we’ll never know now anyway. Can I make you dinner again tonight dear? I don’t want you wasting away whilst you’re staying under my roof. Spaghetti Bolognese?

  ‘Yes please. Last night’s hotpot was amazing.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  Jules drained the last dregs of coffee from her cup. ‘I’d better get going. I’m hoping to move up to the house this week, if I can make it liveable that is.’

  ‘Good for you dear. Although I’ll miss having you here of course.’

  ‘See you tonight then,’ Jules said, heading for the door. ‘Bye,’ she called out as she stepped outside, pulling the collar of her jacket up against the bitter wind.

  Jules heaved a sigh of relief as she turned the corner to her driveway a little before eight-thirty that morning. Everything was exactly where she’d left it the previous night – her car, full of the purchases from her spending spree, sat unlocked with the passenger door still wide open, and the two pots of white paint she’d left on the driveway had not moved.

  She could unpack and Terri would be none the wiser to her foolish behaviour the previous night. The last thing she wanted to do was fuel her builder’s imagination about ghosts in her house.

  Picking up the paint, Jules lugged the heavy tins towards the front door, noticing for the first time the difference to the outside of her house. In the grey overcast daylight, she could see the progress Jason had made in the front garden.

  The thick green brambles which had acted like barbed wire, stopping anyone from entering the garden, had disappeared. Only their roots remained, poking out from the black earth like giant green worms.

  She hadn’t realised how much land there was. She could plant rows of beautiful roses bordering her drive, or even build an extension, she suddenly thought. A whole new wing to the house in the same stonework would look stunning. A bigger kitchen, another bathroom, maybe even a study.

  Jules stopped herself, cutting the idea dead before it could form any further in her mind. An extension might make it her perfect home, but she would not be the one living in it, Jules reminded herself again.

  She would finish the basics on the house over the next few months, maybe less if she worked hard, and then she would sell and move on. Just like she always did.