I have been friends with TFTR for so long, and I’ve seen exactly how hard they have worked for their success, and yet it still seems weird to see them so famous so quickly. I find it hard to see them as celebrities, although they undoubtedly are now.
‘Wow!’ I blurt out as Luke opens the door to his apartment.
‘You like?’ he asks. ‘I tidied up a little because I knew you were coming.’
He kicks the few remaining pieces of junk out of sight.
‘This place is beautiful, Luke.’
‘Thanks. Listen, make yourself at home, I’m going to jump in the shower.’
He disappears into another room and once the door is closed behind him, I twirl around, taking in my surroundings. This place is like a dream, it makes my shitty little flat look so...shitty. As you walk through the door you are greeted first by the huge kitchen, it looks untouched and I can’t imagine he uses it very much. I’m currently standing in the middle of the living room. It’s a typical lad pad, leather recliners, huge TV, games consoles, pool table. It must be so much fun living here, it must kill him having to leave this place to live on the tour bus for weeks at a time.
There are hundreds of framed photos on the walls, all of which are of the band, photos from tour and stuff. As I make my way across the room looking at them, I am taken aback by my own face on so many, and there’s one photo in particular that catches my eye. It’s the picture of me and Luke that Carla took, the one that caused all the trouble with Charles. It’s actually a really beautiful photo and it captures the two of us perfectly. I wish I could go back in time to that night. It’s not that long ago, and it’s before everything went wrong. I’d go back and stop myself getting so drunk, I’d stop Carla taking photos of me – or at the very least I’d ask her not to upload them, and then I’d be able to stop myself getting papped with Dylan. Things would be fine with Charles, and Dylan would go back to playing happy families with Crystal. It’s funny how things work out sometimes, it only takes a handful of events to reshape lives so drastically.
The door to the balcony is unlocked so I step outside and take in the scenery. He has a perfect view of the O2 Arena just across the river.
‘Looks even better from up here, doesn’t it,’ I hear Luke say behind me. He steps out onto the balcony with me. Despite it being a cold November day, he’s out here in nothing but a pair of jeans, with his hair still wet. My eyes instantly look towards his body and although I quickly force myself to hold eye contact, I can feel them trying to glance down, like they have a mind of their own. The eyes want what the eyes want.
‘It really is beautiful,’ I say, glancing out over the river, anything to stop me perving.
‘So do I look much better now?’ he asks.
‘Much,’ I assure him. He doesn’t though, he looks terrible, but I can’t say that to him again. I cast my mind back to tour and the drugs – I really hope that isn’t the reason he looks so rough.
‘You look worried.’ He leans on the railing next to me. ‘Then again, I’d be worried if the country thought I was a marriage-wrecker.’
‘Well hopefully I’m going to get that sorted.’
‘Hopefully. In the meantime, feel free to stay with me for as long as you like, I’ve got some time off, I can show you the sights.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll show me the sights.’ I give him a cheeky smile.
‘It just so happens I’m one of London’s biggest attractions, haven’t you heard?’
‘Hey, mister, step out onto the street with me, we’ll see who gets the paparazzi all up in their face first.’
‘You not enjoying your fifteen minutes, then?’ he asks me as we head back inside.
‘It’s a roller coaster, that’s for sure. I’ve always wanted to be famous you know,’ I tell him.
‘I think most people do these days.’
‘Yeah, but not famous for anything in particular.’ I laugh at how ridiculous this must sound. ‘I don’t want to be famous for my writing or anything like that, I just want the lifestyle. I’ve always looked at people like Paris Hilton and I wanted to be like that – not really famous for anything in particular.’
‘I don’t know, she’s pretty famous for her sex tape.’ He flashes me a grin.
‘Don’t you be getting any ideas. I mean it though, I wanted it all, right down to the tiny little doggy.’
‘You wanted a tiny little doggy?’ he laughs.
‘I still do, I want a tiny little doggy. A Chihuahua – preferably one that will fit inside a handbag.’
‘Oh, that would be awesome.’ He laughs and takes hold of my hand. ‘You know what though, it would suit you.’
‘I know, right?’ I joke.
‘Well you could always marry Dylan now his current marriage has gone tits up. He’s got more than enough money to give you a Paris Hilton lifestyle.’
‘Don’t even joke about it, I am sorting that out as soon as possible. Now that I’m living the lifestyle, I’m not so sure I want it after all. Actually, I’d better start making calls.’ I pull my hand from his and it feels really sudden and forceful, I hadn’t meant it that way.
‘I’ll give you a bit of privacy, can I get you a drink?’ he asks.
‘Sure, surprise me!’
He laughs and heads for the kitchen, and I begin the impossible task of trying to get hold of Dylan King.
Chapter Fifty-One
The Sleeping Arrangements
For as long as I have known Mikey King, he has always been exceptionally nice to me. When I first started hanging around with Dylan, I felt a little intimidated by it all. We’d be at parties and Dylan would wander off and leave me on my own, and back then I didn’t really know anyone or how to behave in those kind of situations, but Mikey would always look out for me. If he saw me standing on my own, he’d be over in a flash. I’ve always felt that he gets overshadowed by his big brother. Dylan is the front-man with the just-above-average voice, but all the charm and sex appeal to get away with anything, whereas Mikey is the genuinely talented guitarist who, despite being good-looking, doesn’t have quite as much confidence as his brother. He definitely makes the most of his rock and roll lifestyle though, just like his brother – sorry, just like his brother used to. His brother who currently has his phone turned on, but seems to be ignoring my calls. I tried him a few times and he didn’t pick up, then I tried him again and he rejected my call. That’s when I called Mikey. He was so sweet to me, there were no questions about what went on, he didn’t even need to ask, he knows us both well enough to know that nothing would ever happen and I think he must have felt a bit sorry for me because he agreed to help me – behind his brother’s back.
Dylan is hiding from the press in his massive house, and Mikey is staying with him, being Dylan’s Jake I guess. In the morning I am going to Dylan’s house and meeting Mikey at the back entrance. He’s going to smuggle me inside so that I can talk to Dill. He’s making his statement in the afternoon, maybe I can be there with him, help back up his story. I think he’s avoiding me because he’s worried about being in contact with me, but we can put that right.
‘So you’re doorstopping him?’ Luke asks.
‘You mean doorstepping,’ I laugh. ‘And no, I’m not. I’m invited, well, technically invited.’
‘You journalists love to twist shit, don’t you?’ Luke teases, melting my heart with his cheeky smile.
‘Hey, I am a victim of shit-twisting.’
‘I know, I know. Shall I get us some dinner?’ he asks, changing the subject.
‘Sure. Do you need a hand?’ I ask, knowing full well that I can’t cook. To be honest, I just want to play in his kitchen, it looks fun. He has gadgets that I didn’t even know existed.
‘I’m sure I can handle it, dinner is just one quick phone call away.’
Running my hand across the worktop, I examine the kitchen. It looks like it’s been used even less than mine.
‘Don’t you cook?’ I ask, surprised. He’s a few years
older than I am, I assumed he was a proper adult.
‘No,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Why, do you?’
I shake my head. It’s amazing I manage to survive on my own.
Luke drops a pile of takeaway menus in front of me.
‘I’ll let the lady choose.’
I am stuffed full of pizza and more than a little bit drunk. Luke has enough alcohol in his apartment to seriously consider supplying one or two of the fancy bars that are in the area and we’re currently working our way through some of it. However much I’ve had to drink, though, Luke has easily had double that.
‘Would your Chihuahua wear clothes, then?’ Luke asks me.
‘Of course! Dogs deserve clothes too. You can even buy shoes for them.’
‘What? Shoes for dogs?’ He laughs manically. ‘Lies.’
‘I’m not lying. One day I will have my tiny dog, and he’ll be wearing tiny shoes, and you’ll owe me an apology.’
‘We’ll see, Wilde.’
I let out a huge sigh and rest my head on Luke’s shoulder. ‘Have I made a mess of my life, Luke?’
‘Most girls would kill for your life.’ He strokes my cheek.
‘Maybe I should have got a proper job, a proper boyfriend – do you know how many of my school friends are married or have kids?’
‘Married or have kids?’ he asks, confused.
‘Yeah, one or the other, never both.’
We both laugh.
‘Don’t say things like that,’ he demands. ‘I don’t have a proper job, or a proper girlfriend. My life is as bullshit as yours.’
‘We live bullshit lives, Luke.’ I pour the remainder of my drink down my throat, and the questionable cranberry:vodka ratio catches my throat. ‘That’s what I need, another drink. I’m going to numb the pain, sort the Dylan crap tomorrow, and worry about the rest after.’
‘You know, if you want to forget your troubles, I have something a bit better for us to take,’ Luke tells me.
‘Oh aye?’ I ask, no idea what he’s on about.
‘Aye, farm girl,’ he teases. ‘You up for it?’
‘Up for what?’ I smile.
‘A bit of coke.’
‘Coke? Oh.’ I suddenly realise he doesn’t mean the kind you drink.
‘It helps, Nic.’
‘You shouldn’t take drugs, they’re bad for you.’
‘Ha!’ he laughs. ‘Says the girl with the triple vodka. Everything is bad for you these days.’
Does he really think that taking drugs will solve all my problems? Is that what he does? I knew he’d done a bit on tour, but I thought that was just a tour thing.
‘How often do you do this?’
‘Now and then. It’s all right, Nic.’ He drags himself to his feet and offers me his hand. I let him pull me up and he leads me into his bedroom.
‘Sit there,’ he instructs me, nudging me towards his bed. ‘Just watch me do it first, it’s fine, honestly.’
‘What? No! Please don’t do this shit in front of me,’ I protest.
‘Nic, it’s fine.’
‘It’s not fine,’ I insist, panic in my voice. Luke sits down next to me and I look into his eyes. I’d always thought his eyes were so beautiful, before they started looking all sore and puffy. I place my hand on his face and despite his tired eyes and bad skin, I can still see his kind face and his lovely smile.
‘Luke,’ I sob.
‘Shit. Don’t cry, Nic.’ He holds my face gently in his hands.
‘Promise me you won’t take anything,’ I whisper.
‘I want to,’ he says as he runs his hands through his hair. ‘My God, I really want to. But I won’t, OK?’
I nod and, before I realise what I’m doing, I lean forwards and kiss him softly. Tears still streaming down my face, I stop kissing him and wipe my eyes.
‘I wasn’t expecting that to happen,’ he tells me with a confused smile.
‘I think I just wanted to shut you up,’ I laugh. I know we were trying to be friends but, from the moment I laid eyes on him earlier today, all the old feelings came flooding back, no matter what state he’s in.
‘I think we should go to bed.’ Luke stands up.
‘Oh. OK. Where am I sleeping?’ I feel so awkward – why did I kiss him?
‘There’s a bed in the spare room, but I think you should come in with me tonight, keep an eye on me, you know?’ he pulls off his T-shirt and unbuttons his jeans.
‘OK.’ I stand up, not entirely sure if I’m reading the signals right. No one has ever tried to sleep with me when I’ve been a crying, snotty mess before.
Luke places a hand on the back of my neck and feels for the zip of my dress before pulling it down and letting my dress fall to the floor. He’s so close I can smell the beer on his breath, but I really don’t care.
‘Bedtime I think, Wilde.’
Chapter Fifty-Two
The Cold Light of Day
‘I’m sorry about last night.’
Waking up in Luke’s bed with him, that is the last thing I expected him to say.
‘Don’t apologise, you weren’t that bad,’ I tease, snuggling closer and resting my head on his chest.
‘You know what I mean, and I’m sorry. I never should have tried to pressure you into doing...that. I won’t ever suggest it again, and you won’t ever see me do it again.’
I don’t know whether that means he’s going to stop doing it, or he’s just not going to do it in front of me, but it’s progress for now.
‘I know, babe,’ I say, sitting up to check the time on my phone. ‘I’d better go, I’ll be late to meet Mikey.’
‘You’ve got ages,’ Luke says after checking his watch and realising that I’m not meeting him for a few hours.
‘Yes, but I have to get ready and I have to get there.’
‘How are you getting there?’ he asks.
‘Taxi,’ I tell him, knowing exactly what his reply will be.
‘A taxi? In London? That will be expensive, you know.’
‘Why do people who live in London always say that? Do you think they’re free up north or something?’
‘Something like that,’ he laughs. ‘It’s your money, darling. If it were me I’d—’
‘...get the Tube,’ I say in unison with him, mocking his accent slightly.
‘OK, fine. Do you want me to come with you?’ he asks.
‘No, stay in bed. You look tired. I’ll come back straight afterwards and we’ll go out to celebrate, yeah?’
He nods and flashes me that smile. God, I love it when he smiles. I grab my toilet bag and walk towards the bathroom, pausing in the doorway.
‘You won’t do anything silly while I’m out, will you?’ I ask.
He laughs. ‘You worry too much, Nic. Go get ready.’
Chapter Fifty-Three
The Lie
Currently hiding in the bushes at the bottom of Dylan’s massive back garden, I feel like a secret agent or something. Hidden in the eight-foot tall fence that surrounds his house is a secret gate that only opens from the inside. I know that Dylan uses it to sneak in and out of his house sometimes, but this is the first time I’ve seen it. So here I am, standing in the mud, waiting for Mikey to come and let me in.
‘Everything is going to be OK,’ I reassure myself out loud. Well, it has to be. Nothing happened with Dylan and that’s the truth. If something had happened then we’d have something to hide and people would find out that we were lying, but if we’re telling the truth then who can catch us out?
‘Good morning,’ I smile as Mikey opens the gate, but then I catch the worried look on his face.
‘What’s happened?’ I ask instantly.
‘Quick, come in. I told Dylan you were coming about five minutes ago. He’s worried about you being seen here, but there’s only one pap out front. Podgy git, you could have come in the front door, he wouldn’t take much out-running.’
His joke calms me down a little, but the idea of Dylan not wanting to see me, no ma
tter what the circumstances are, makes me feel physically sick.
Once inside the house, we make our way to the living room where Dylan is sitting in his boxer shorts. I didn’t even realise Dill was in the room until Mikey flicked the lights on.
‘Mate, leave the lights on or I’m opening the curtains,’ Mikey insists.
Dylan ignores him and cranks up his music. He’s listening to ‘She Hates Me’ by Puddle of Mudd – on repeat, I’d imagine.
‘Hello,’ I say, approaching him with caution, like he’s a bomb that could go off at any moment. ‘Great song choice. I have Eric Carmen’s “All By Myself” if you’d prefer it.’
I gesture at Mikey to turn the music down, and sit on the sofa next to Dylan. For the first time since the day we met, he doesn’t give me a kiss on the cheek.
‘All right,’ he says unenthusiastically. I don’t think it’s a question, but I answer anyway.
‘Yeah. How are you?’
‘Oh yeah, I’m great,’ he mutters sarcastically. ‘Where are you staying?’
‘With Luke. From Two For The Road.’ I name-drop the band because he doesn’t react to the name Luke.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asks, cutting to the chase. ‘You could get me in even more trouble, Nicole.’
‘Dylan, you wouldn’t answer my calls, what was I supposed to do? We have to sort this out.’
‘I’m sorting it out today. I’m going to make a statement to the press this afternoon.’ He chuckles to himself. ‘Charles will be over soon to help me write it, so you might want to get out of here before then.’
‘Dylan, Charles thinks we’re lying!’ I squeal. ‘How can he help you write this if he doesn’t even believe you?’
‘Nicole, I just want to see my kids – and get my wife back.’
I notice he adds the wife part as an afterthought, but I don’t mention that.
‘I know it must be hard for you, I’m sure you’re desperate to see what they look like—’
‘I’ve got a picture,’ he interrupts, rummaging around on the table next to him.
‘Dill, they’re gorgeous,’ I say when he shows me the photo of two tiny baby girls. Well, I assume they are girls because they are dressed head to toe in hot-pink.
How Not to Be Starstruck Page 23