‘I know!’ I yelp with delight. ‘Plastic Rap! I think Sam took a bit of a liking to me, he gave me his mobile number.’
‘It’s worth a shot,’ Jake replies with a shrug of his shoulders.
I grab my mobile – not the one I dunked in the bath, that one is finally toast. Instead I have one of Jake’s old ones, but it’s not as easy to use as my previous phone. Eventually I work out how to call Sam.
‘Yo!’ he answers cheerfully.
‘Hello, Sam? It’s Nicole Wilde from Starstruck.’
‘Wow!’ he says, sounding totally surprised. ‘Didn’t think we’d hear from you again.’
‘I was just wondering if you fancied another interview,’ I ask, straight to the point.
‘Do we want another interview with you? Hmm, let me think about that one. Fuck off!’
‘Look, I know you’re probably a bit put off by what you’ve read in the papers—’
‘What we’ve read in the papers?’ he interrupts me. ‘What we’ve seen in the papers is your little story about us shagging underage fans. We know it was you, Nicole. You were the only other person there.’
‘Sam, listen to me. That wasn’t me, I promise you.’
‘Save it, Nicole.’
I don’t get chance to explain myself, Sam has hung up.
‘Didn’t go that well?’ Jake asks, although he already knows the answer.
‘Bloody Vicky! She has well and truly fucked me.’
I feel tears run down my cheeks and, before I know it, I am sobbing again. There’s that look on Jake’s face, one that I’ve come to know these past few days. I cry and he looks like he has no idea what to do with me.
‘Come on, Nic.’ He takes the phone out of my hand to save it getting soggy like its predecessor. ‘How long have you been wearing that thing now?’ he asks, nodding at my adult babygro as he sits down next to me. I wonder if it’s/I’m starting to smell.
‘I don’t know.’ I hold my sleeve up to my nose, smells OK to me.
‘This isn’t the Nicole I know, the Nicole I know has rules about these things. Never wear the same outfit twice in the same week, right? You need to get changed, it’ll make you feel better.’
‘I doubt it will. Who’s going to see me?’ I ask. ‘Just you. I’m stuck in here. Can we listen ‘Somebody That I Use To Know’ again, please?’
Jake laughs at me. ‘No, and I’m a little worried about your obsession with that song. Gotye should be paying you royalties.’
I laugh half-heartedly, safe in the knowledge I can sing it until I pass out as soon as he leaves me unattended. I’m not on suicide watch, I’m on a break-up ballad ban.
‘Go and have a bath,’ Jake suggests with a little too much enthusiasm. ‘Do that thing with your hair that always makes you late for work, get some nice clothes on and I’ll go pick us up a pizza or something – did you know that all you have left in your fridge is moisturiser and a cucumber?’
‘That’s not for eating,’ I tell him.
‘Oh, you dirty bitch,’ he laughs and I give him a playful punch.
‘It’s for my eyes, pervert,’ I tell him, not that he didn’t know that.
‘Well you could do with using it on those puffy eyes right about now. Forget work.’ Jake grabs yet another tissue and dabs my eyes dry.
‘OK,’ I say rather pathetically.
Despite everything that is going on, I do appreciate all Jake is doing for me and I can’t help but feel amused by how much Nicole-like behaviour he has absorbed over the years.
‘I need to go to work,’ he says. ‘Will you be OK for a bit?’
I nod. Jake kisses me on the forehead, grabs his coat and leaves.
I touch my head where he kissed me, pleasantly surprised by his tenderness. Then I run my hands through my greasy hair – I’d be mortified if anyone else saw me like this.
After having a bath and washing my hair, I dry it half-heartedly. I can’t be bothered to put any clothes on, so I lazily pull on my dressing gown and flop back down on the sofa, clicking on the TV with the remote. I don’t pay too much attention to what’s on – I just want to hear noise other than the usual ringing sound that is the theme to my life – but a familiar-sounding song catches my attention. It’s Two For The Road, they’re on some chat show. I well up with pride, it’s nice to see them getting the recognition they deserve. I don’t suppose they’ll want to be associated with the likes of me any more, bad for their reputation I’d imagine.
As I watch them perform their new single, my phone starts to ring again. It’s barely stopped ringing for days; Jake has made me promise to ignore it. We have a special code, so if Jake or my mum wants to call me they ring three times, hang up and then call again. It’s ringing more than three times, but I grab it anyway. It’s Luke, and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve answered.
‘Hello, you’re on TV!’ I answer cheerfully.
‘Hello, you’re on the front of my newspaper!’ he replies in a similar tone, reminding me of my current situation.
‘Oh yeah? What have I not done now?’
‘A lovely photo of you and Dylan King at his wedding, and yet another revelation about your affair – apparently you crazy kids are into some strange role-play.’
‘Who isn’t?’ I joke. We laugh together, but only briefly. ‘It’s not true,’ I tell him.
‘If you tell me that it’s not true, then I know it’s not true. So that’s cleared that up.’
‘Well I’m glad someone believes me. That makes you, Jake and my parents.’
‘Who else matters?’ he laughs. ‘Boyfriend doesn’t believe you, then?’
‘Boyfriend thinks I’m a dirty whore.’
‘Boyfriend knows you quite well then.’ He laughs again and it makes me laugh. It feels good to laugh properly after days of being a miserable cow.
‘He didn’t deserve you, Nic.’
‘Nah, I guess not. So how come you’re live on TV and on the phone to me at the same time?’
‘It’s not live, they’re lying.’
‘Bloody media, it’s all a lie, isn’t it?’
‘I just called to see how you were – I’ve got a pretty good idea now.’
‘It’s horrible, Luke,’ I confess. ‘I’m stuck in my flat, Jake from work is looking after me but I don’t see a soul otherwise. I’m too scared to go outside. I want to clear my name, but I don’t know how to go about it.’
‘What has Dylan said?’
‘Four-fifths of fuck all. I can’t get in touch with him, his phone is always off.’
‘Do you know where he lives?’
‘Yeah.’ Not that I’ve ever been to his house – I’m not even sure he goes there all that often.
‘Well come to London. You can stay with me, clear your name and then we can hang out for a bit. Like a bit of a holiday,’ he suggests with a laugh, but I think he’s being serious.
That might be a good idea. Well, what else am I going to do? Slip my tea-stained onesie back on and sit here calling people who are only going to tell me to fuck off? I need to go down there and see Dylan, perhaps together we can set the record straight.
‘Luke, that’s actually a pretty good idea. You’re sure you want me staying with you, though? I mean, I could damage your reputation by association.’ I say this in a jokey voice, but it’s actually true. No one else wants anything to do with me – with good reason – maybe Luke should stay away.
‘I don’t think there is anything you could do that would damage my reputation further,’ he assures me with a laugh. ‘And anyway, you’re my friend so that always comes first.’
My heart does a little dance inside my chest and I know that my crush on him is still tucked away in the back of my mind somewhere.
‘You’re too good to me, Luke. Thank you.’ A slightly awkward silence follows.
‘Well I’m not that good to you, I’m afraid, I’ll have you cooking and cleaning and washing my clothes for me.’
‘Honey, I don’t cook or clea
n for myself and I certainly don’t wash my own clothes – I don’t know how!’
‘Aww, you’ll make someone a crap little wife one day.’
We both laugh and, for the first time in days, things don’t seem quite as hopeless as they did. I finish up on the phone and begin to pack my suitcase. I’ve always been pretty fashion-conscious, but now that I have photographers on my case I shall have to up my game. I’ve published enough photographs of stars with their fashion faux pas and wardrobe malfunctions pointed out to know that I need to put extra thought into what I pack, and what I wear on my journey down there. The next photograph they take of me will be the first since that morning, so I don’t suppose I’ll have to try very hard to look better than I did with my foam-irritated skin, messy hair and night-before outfit. Just listen to me, I think I’m a celebrity when really I’m no better than a kiss-and-tell girl in the eyes of the press – even though I didn’t do any kissing or telling.
Jake arrives later, pizza in hand.
‘You’re not doing a bunk, are you?’ he asks, gesturing towards my case and the huge pile of clothes and shoes that are taking over my living room.
‘Nope, I am off to London. I’m going to stay with Luke—’
‘Oooh!’ he interrupts, giving me a wink.
‘Not like that. I’m going to see Dylan, and we’re going to set the record straight and then maybe we can get back to normal,’ I announce excitedly.
‘And you’re sure this is the right thing to do?’
I pause for a few seconds. Of course it is, and why wait? I’ll go first thing tomorrow.
Chapter Forty-Nine
The Great Escape
I feel ashamed to admit it, but for a few moments this morning I actually enjoyed my current situation a little too much. Yes, the same horrible situation I have spent days crying over. I’ll tell you what happened and then you’ll understand why I felt such a rush. Jake spent the night on my sofa so that he could help me sneak past the few remaining paps. They must be working in shifts because there are always a couple of them waiting for me – and all I did was allegedly sleep with one of the most famous people in the country.
After spending a couple of hours getting ready, I put on my over-sized sunglasses, grabbed my case and got ready to make my escape. I know I’m only going for a few days, but I had a rather emotional goodbye with Jake. He is the only person who has been there for me through this, and I really do appreciate all that he has done for me. He truly went above and beyond the call of duty today, by putting on my bright-pink dressing gown and creating a diversion on my balcony while I made my escape. It must have worked because I made it to the train station and here I am, sitting on the train, completely unnoticed. See, this is what I’m talking about, I feel almost disappointed that no one is recognising me.
The train is surprisingly quiet, there are only four other people who can see me from where they are sitting. There’s a rather intimidating-looking goth couple – the boy goth keeps looking at me and smiling and I am smiling back because it’s not that long since my questionable teenage get-up bagged me a few funny looks from the general public. People assumed I was a sixteen-year-old serial killer rather than a teenage girl with a penchant for studded apparel. There’s a little old woman blatantly staring at them over her battered Mills and Boon book – she looks terrified. The person closest to me is a middle-aged man in a suit and he’s fast asleep with his mouth wide open. I guess I’ve been lucky. Dylan might be a mega-star, but I’m fairly sure I am sitting in a carriage with the four people who are least likely to give a shit about pop music and celebrity culture.
I am bored out of my mind. It’s not that I’m not used to the journey, it’s just normally I wouldn’t dream of tackling it without a Starbucks and huge pile of magazines next to me. I couldn’t even look at WH Smith in the station, let alone pop in and face my own face.
Taking my fancy phone out of my handbag, I make the brave decision to check the social networks. So far I have avoided them, but now curiosity is getting the better of me. I log into Facebook. Clicking my messages, I notice quite a few of them are from people I don’t know, so I check my wall posts instead. Most are nice, from friends asking how I am and so on. As I open Twitter, I can’t believe my eyes – in the space of a few days my number of followers has gone from a three-digit number to a five-digit number. I feel that rush again, that pang of excitement. I resist the urge to tweet because these people could just be waiting for me to say something so they can send me abuse. I’m sure Dylan’s young, female following will have a few choice words for me. Not long before the original Crystal scandal broke, some model Dylan had slept with sold her story to a tabloid, saying he was a drunk and crap in bed. Her name was DeeDee, and so Dill’s fans took to Twitter to try and get the hashtag #DieDieDeeDee in the trending topics and they succeeded, it was there for a couple of days. I feel sick at the thought of them saying things like that about me, especially when I don’t deserve it. That’s what this trip is for though, I’m going to go see Dylan and we’re going to tell everyone that it isn’t true. I look up from my phone to see goth boy smiling at me – again. I smile back. What a freak.
Chapter Fifty
The Cab
Hello, London, I have arrived. There’s a real spring in my step as I hop off the train, I’ve just got a really good feeling about today. I’m going to clear my name, I’m going to spend time with Luke and it’s going to be fun.
Luke is meeting me here because I am notoriously bad at getting from A to B, and with London being quite big I will almost certainly get lost.
As soon as I have my caramel macchiato (aren’t my priorities fantastic?), I make my way to our arranged meeting point and wait. The station is so busy but no one gives anyone a second look. Thinking about it, this would make a fantastic hiding place.
My phone rings – it’s Luke. He’s slept in and won’t be able to come and meet me. Apparently he needs a shower and to wash his hair, otherwise he might be photographed looking dirty. I guess now he’s famous even he is worried about what people think.
‘If you wanna get the Tube...’
‘I don’t want to get the Tube, no Tube,’ I insist.
‘It’s the quickest and the cheapest way,’ he laughs at me, silly northerner that I most likely am.
‘I don’t care, what if it gets stuck?’
‘It won’t get stuck!’
‘It might! I watch the news, young man.’
‘Oh, Nicole,’ he laughs and then sighs, he’s defeated and he knows it. ‘You do make me laugh. Right, go outside and get a taxi.’
‘OK, stay on the line though,’ I make my way outside, somehow managing to hold my case, phone and coffee.
‘Right, I have a taxi.’
‘OK, you want to come to-’ he starts telling me the address.
‘Whoa, whoa, whoa, stop right there,’ I tell him. I tap the driver on the shoulder. ‘Excuse me, could you speak to my dad and he’ll tell you where to take me.’
I hear Luke laugh as I hand the phone over. The driver dutifully takes my phone and talks to my ‘dad’.
‘Hello?... Oh yes...right...of course.... Oh, thank you.’ He laughs and I imagine what Luke is saying to make him laugh.
The driver gets out and hands me my phone.
‘Come on,’ he says grabbing my case and putting it in the back of the car. ‘Let’s get you where you need to go.’
I shuffle awkwardly into the car and when the driver gets back in, I see him look at my in his rear-view mirror.
‘First time in London, is it?’ he asks.
‘No, I come here a lot actually,’ I admit.
‘Bloke said you were from Yorkshire.’
‘I thought he might have.’
‘How do you get around in Yorkshire then?’ he asks.
‘On horseback usually,’ I say, deadpan.
He looks at me in the mirror again and then laughs, hopefully realising that I was joking.
The car come
s to a standstill at the traffic lights.
‘This would have been a lot quicker by Tube, you know.’
‘So people tell me,’ I reply, mildly annoyed at Londoners and their bloody Tube agenda. ‘But if I got the Tube, then you wouldn’t get my money, would you?’
‘Under strict instruction not to take money off you, your bloke will be waiting.’
‘Oh.’ Well that’s nice of him.
Eventually the car comes to a standstill.
‘Here we are, darlin’. Bet that was faster than horseback, eh?’
I jump out the car, dragging my own case out behind me.
‘Hello,’ I hear Luke’s voice behind me.
‘Daddy!’ I call out, throwing my arms around him, fully aware the jig is up because he is clearly way too young to have fathered me.
‘Cheers, mate,’ he says to the taxi driver who thanks him very enthusiastically – that must have been one hell of a tip.
‘Your bird is funny,’ he tells Luke with a chuckle before driving off.
Still messing with my suitcase (trying to get the handle thingy to go up so I can drag it along properly), I feel Luke’s hands on my hips.
‘Allo, my bird,’ he says in a put-on cockney accent.
I turn around. ‘Hello, my—’ I am stopped in my tracks, words escape me.
He laughs and flashes me that cute smile that makes me go weak at the knees, but there’s something different about him.
‘Luke, you look terrible,’ I eventually blurt out, without a hint of tact.
‘Ha! Well I told you I needed a shower. If you think I look bad, you should smell me,’ he jokes, grabbing his sunglasses from the top of his head and putting them on to cover his dark and bloodshot eyes. He looks tired, messy and like he hasn’t had a decent meal in months, and yet it’s only been a few weeks since I saw him last. I’ve never seen him look so pale and ill.
He grabs my case in one hand and my hand in the other.
‘This way,’ he says as he leads me towards a huge apartment building.
‘Wow! You live here? Who knew you guys were doing so well?’ I tease.
How Not to Be Starstruck Page 22