You might not feel like going outside the estate walls yet, but why not try the garden? You only have to take a few steps to this new table and chairs. Get a book or magazine.
Holding the note in my hand makes me tremble, taking me back to unwanted recollections of the last one I held. I need something to take my mind away from all this. I wander around the house picking up fashion magazines and throwing them back down. I'm not interested. Then I remember I have Harry's biography. I'll read that, see if it sheds any light on why he needs to be so vacuous and fame hungry. He's texted me since the news broke about Rebecca. I've ignored them.
I sit myself on one of the chairs and start to read.
Extracts from the autobiography of Harry Taylor:
"There's nothing like the thrill of a game. You come out onto the pitch and everyone is cheering and screaming. Thousands of people cheering for you. I'd score a goal and they'd be jumping up and down and yelling my name. People would stop me in the street and shake my hand. Tell me I was a god.
Then before you know it, there's a new amazing player and you're relegated. Now they call another person’s name. You play, but no one shouts your name anymore."
"I couldn't stop shagging around. It was another way of getting attention. Only now I was being applauded for what I could do with my dick. Every time I shagged another woman I'd say this was the last time. I was getting my kicks from sex, now that football was over for me. But then I'd have a drink in a bar and I'd do it again. I couldn't stop."
"Something happened in my past, something dark. I'm telling you lots of things in this autobiography but that's something I can't deal with yet in a book, so you'll just have to take my word for it. It's for my psychiatrist's ears only. It's had an effect on me—made me who I am. Often I don't like the person I've become. But I don't know any other way. I seek love from fame. It's all I've known. It might be a fake love, but it gives me a hit, a small high. It's better than nothing."
"I've never been in love. Ever. I don't think I'm capable of it."
"I went into rehab. They said I had to tell the press that I was addicted to prescription drugs. I wasn't. I had to try and solve this addiction to sex. While I was in there I met this top bird. Typical. There I was being told how to stop this ridiculous behaviour of mine and all I wanted to do was hang out with this woman. It made me set myself a challenge. To see if I could form a friendship with this woman while I was in rehab, and not want to take her to bed. I flirted. I'm only human, but she did seem to become a friend. Then one day she wasn't there anymore. There was no explanation other than she'd left. There were rumours that she'd overdosed. I decided that the last thing she needed was someone else with difficulties in her life, so I didn't get in touch when I was discharged. I missed her though.'
Fuck. Is he talking about me? I can't stop reading. Other than breaking off for drinks of water, by the end of the day I've read every word Harry's written.
I feel confused. Conflicted. Part of me wants to ring him up and ask him a million questions. The other part remembers all the times he's used me in his quest for fame.
I guess that's why when the text comes, I make a stupid, typical, Ronnie move.
I see the Fernsby name come up on my phone.
'I need to see you.'
'Why?'
'I want to explain about my family. Why they are like they are. Why I've behaved as I have.'
'What makes you think I'm interested?'
'I don't know if you are. I'm taking a gamble here. Reaching out.'
'I'm not sure it's a good idea.'
'Meet me. In a park somewhere. Or for a coffee. Or in a bar. You name it. Ronnie. I haven't been able to stop thinking of you since the last time I saw you.'
I run my hands through my hair. I bite my lip. I know this is wrong. I should not do this. Ronnie, Resist. However while my mind debates my fingers are already typing a reply.
'Fine. I'll meet you at the bomber memorial in Green Park. Tomorrow at twelve noon. I'll be wearing a short black bobbed wig. I do not want to be spotted by the press. I'll find you.'
'I'm sorry. I just can't help it. I need to see you.'
'I need my mind taken away from current circumstances.'
'I can be the one to do that.'
I put my phone down and wonder if I've just made the biggest mistake of my life. Then I think about what's happened this past couple of weeks and think sod it. If it is, I'll just have to pick myself up and start again. I'm getting rather proficient at it.
Wednesday 23 July 2014
I'm twenty four today. Sophie and my mum bring me a huge chocolate cake. We sit outside to eat. I don't have much of an appetite and mine mostly melts. I can see glances between the two of them. They don't know I've been sneaking out. As far as they're concerned I've not set foot out of the grounds in weeks. Meeting my secret bloke is giving me a buzz, but as soon as I come home, I'm straight back to feeling low. I feel like two different people residing in one body. The part of me sneaking out is craving attention. Rather I suppose, like Harry did. But it feels separate from the real me. As if that part of me is a dreamlike trance state. I go out, have fun for an hour and then I return to normality, or what to me is normal right now.
He wants me to come out without the wig. Show people we are together. But I'm not sure we are. The person he's meeting doesn't exist.
'Right, that's enough,' shouts my mother, making me jump. 'One more week, young lady. I know you've been through hell but this cannot continue.'
Sophie puts her hand up. 'Steady Penny.'
'I know.' She grabs my hand. 'Ronnie, I love you. Seeing you like this is torture. One more week and then we're doing something to get you out of this state. Otherwise I think you are going to need some help.'
I shrink back, 'I can't see a counsellor.'
'I know. But something has got to change. You've got to be able to leave the house.'
Sophie looks at me, and she tells me everything in that glance. She knows. Shit.
'Okay. I'll try. Give me a week.'
My mother hugs me. 'Thank you.' I feel wetness on my cheek. My own eyes are dry. I made my own mother cry. Yet I can do nothing else other than go back inside my house, where I lie on the sofa and wait for a text. Then I once again sneak out of my house to meet Mr Fernsby, and we go for a meal in an out of the way restaurant.
It seems I have an appetite for destruction.
CHAPTER 9
August 2014
Charity
Friday 1 August 2014
Despite the threat of an intervention, the next week or so passes quietly. Last night I'd watched trance-like as the Location programme aired. I saw the utter joy in my face when they found me my dream house, and spent the rest of the evening crying and drinking a bottle of wine.
So it's with a sore head and sore, puffy eyes that I wake to find I'm being shaken by my mother and Sophie.
'Eurgh. What's happening?'
'Time's up. You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself and get out of here.'
'But I'm comfy.'
'Shower. Now.'
'Mummy, you've never been so bossy.'
'Yes, well maybe that's been a problem all along.'
'I'll make us all some coffee,' adds Sophie.
My mother throws my duvet off me. She really does mean business.
'Okay. Okay. I'll get up. Can I have the coffee first though, then the shower?'
My mother acquiesces, remembering what I'm like first thing in a morning.
I walk out of the shower in a sulk and throw my dressing gown on the floor.
'Bet you thought you'd gotten away with it. Not a chance, darling. We just knew the programme was scheduled to air last night and decided to wait until that debacle was over.'
'I'd forgotten all about it.'
My mother gives me the same look she used to give me when I came home drunk, trying to pretend I was sober. She didn't buy it then, and she certainly isn't now.
I'm advised to
dress warm. I scrape my hair back into a bun and open a drawer to select another wig, this one is a long dark one from an Abba night. My mother drags it out of my hands and I follow her through to the kitchen where she throws it in the dustbin. The lid clangs shut, while a very odorous smell comes wafting from the bin's direction.
'When did you last empty that thing?'
I shrug. I know one thing, that wig isn't coming out again.
'Head held high, Veronica. You've done nothing wrong.'
I shrug again and follow her out of the door where Howard waits for us in the car.
One lone pap is stationed outside Sophie's as we drive past. He snaps a picture.
'I knew I should have made you put some make-up on,' whispers my mother.
We drive for about fifteen minutes and then my mother gestures to a sign for Rosebush Dog Rescue. Howard turns the car into their driveway and the tyres crunch across gravel as he drives through the yard and into a designated car park. We are the only limo in the car park and the few people milling around start to hover close by, obviously they’re expecting someone like Jennifer Aniston to emerge, to film a new Marley and Me.
I slide further down my seat. 'Am I here to look at the dogs or have you finally given up on me and got me a kennel booked?'
My mother and Sophie exchange a look. Sophie nods. 'Let's have a look around, shall we?'
I drag myself out of the car with a huge huff. The car park is full of gravel. By the time I've walked to the end of it, I've several stones in my pumps. Then I see a sign asking me to dip the soles of my shoes into some disinfectant to protect the animals.
'I am not dipping my Oscar pumps in there.'
My mother opens her bag and takes out a pair of Crocs. She waves them at me.
I gasp and hurriedly wet my shoes.
She laughs and puts the Crocs away. Traitorous conniving cow.
My mother says hello to a couple of people in the Reception area and announces she's taking me around the kennels. I look at my watch and wonder how much longer I'm going to have to stay here before I'm allowed back to the bungalow.
I follow my mother around the corner to a series of cages. It reeks. One of the dogs has obviously just decided to toilet.
I place my hand over my nose and look into the first cage. The kennel is a narrow rectangular space with toys and a bed in the front half. There's a small door open at the moment, and you can just see the back part has another bed, but is in shadow and leads through to the staff part of the kennels. I guess the dogs stay in the back part when they are sick of being gawped at. There’s no dog in the first kennel.
'Oh, Jasper must be out for a walk.'
'How do you know what they're called?' I say through my fingers, sounding like I have a cold.
My mother points to a card on the front of the kennel which states the dog's name, approximate age and what sort of owner they are looking for. Jasper was rescued from Death Row. Oh, poor Jasper.
I move along to the next cage and read the sign. Two year old Sonny is a lurcher cross who was found abandoned. He walks well on the lead. I look in the kennel and I can see through the doorway in the middle that he's at the other side.
'Sonny,' I say softly.
He comes trotting in. His sad eyes look up at me. It's like looking in a fucking mirror.
'Oh I know mate. I know. You been abandoned? Treated like rubbish?'
He makes a little whelping sound.
'Oh, Sonny. What are we going to do?'
'Come on,' says my mother. 'There are more.'
I'm glad I have no make-up on as after I've looked at the sad faces of approximately three more dogs I'm crying again.
'Oh my. None of them have a home? Mummy, this one was beaten. Look how scared she is. She's shaking.'
I walk the whole way around the site, reading all the cards on the front of the kennels. Then my mother takes me to meet Scott, The Manager of the sanctuary. He explains how they depend on volunteers and donations.
'So how can I help?' I ask, 'and don't think I haven't just seen your triumphant little smirk,' I tell my mother.
Scott suggests I start by doing some dog walking and gives me a little Jack Russell called Max to walk. He comes out dressed in a little harness that says adopt me on it. They pass me his lead and I suddenly feel very responsible. I look at my mum horrified.
'I can't do it. What if he bites me?'
'I'm coming with you, Ronnie. But you are holding the lead. Start walking.'
Max starts trotting, pulling slightly on the lead to show me the route that he's no doubt walked plenty of times. My mum explains he's been resident for six months now.
'Oh, you poor little man.'
He sniffs the grass, pees and then lowers himself down.
My mum laughs and hands me a small plastic bag. 'Time to be a responsible dog owner,' she says.
I'm used to having my hands in garden borders and having to be alert for cat faeces, so I'm not fazed by picking up dog poo. Something that appears to amaze my mother.
'I thought you'd heave,' she tells me.
'Sorry to spoil your enjoyment.'
When we get back from the walk I wait on a bench while my mother finds a member of staff to return Max to his kennel. He jumps up next to me and licks my face, then curls up and sits on my knee. I tickle his chin.
'Leave him for a bit,' I tell my mother. 'He needs a cuddle.'
I walk another three dogs. Every one of them is excited to be out of their kennel. I get a bit overenthusiastic and insist on taking the lurcher for a walk. In fact Sonny walks me, so I decide to stick to the smaller dogs in future.
I go to Reception to thank the staff before I leave. 'I've loved it and I'll definitely be back.'
'Oh that's good to hear,' says Kat, one of the staff. No lie. She looks after a dog sanctuary and her name is Kat. 'We're always in need of dog walkers.'
'Oh, I just had an idea. Scott?'
'Yes?'
'Why don't I feature a dog a week on my YouTube channel? It might get you some more visitors and adopters. I could put the address of where to donate on there as well. It'd mean me coming at least once a week, possibly twice.'
Sophie smiles to herself, and then at Scott.
'What a great idea,' says my Mother. 'I can't think of anything better.'
Then I realise that my mother and Sophie have stitched me up, and they were aiming for this. My mother turns to Sophie.
'I think that's one puppy out of her kennel now.'
'Woof,' I mock growl at them both.
Then I smile.
Thursday 21 August 2014
The initial dog feature on my channel is a huge success and helps me get my confidence back. At first that's all I do, a weekly dog post. After a couple of weeks I start speaking to the camera myself, putting my make-up on and doing my hair. Ronnie starts to re-emerge, though there's a cloud in my chest. A darkness I can't fully shake off. I guess I'm just waiting for the next shock to hit. I’m not used to a life without drama. I set up the donation page. The centre sees a huge turnaround in its fortunes. I head there almost every other day to walk dogs. Sophie says she wouldn't have a problem if I wanted to adopt one, but I tell her I don't want the commitment right now. I prefer helping many, rather than just one.
I'm comfortable at the centre, so my shoulders tense up when I spot a familiar, muscular back, with those corded arms that I can't help fantasise about having wrapped around me as soon as I see them. It's like when you see a snake. You're half afraid, while the other half wants to hold it. Harry Taylor is walking around. He is a snake.
I sigh. 'Harry.'
'You've not answered my texts. I've been worried about you.'
'Really?'
'Yes really. At the very least I thought we were friends, and then that night—'
'Harry I just want to ask you one question.'
He looks at me, stroking his chin. 'Oh-kay.'
'Is there a camera pointing at us about to take a picture?'
There it is. A split second of guilt across his face, then he moves towards me, his hand outstretched. No doubt that's the money shot—us holding hands.
'Go fuck yourself, Taylor. I thought we were friends, but the only person you're bothered about is yourself and your bank balance.'
'Ronnie. I…I didn't ask the press honestly. I thought about it but I didn't.'
'Save it for someone who gives a shit. I don't want to see you again, just fuck off.'
'But you need to come and finish the garden.'
'Oh, I finished the garden Harry. You'll see the fruits of my endeavours shortly. It's time is coming. Make sure as many people as possible are there to see it in its full glory, preferably in a morning.'
I walk away from him, biting on my lip to stop my emotions taking over. The dogs must sense it though as they are extra fussy with me that day.
Monday 25 August 2014
A tip off to a local tabloid (I wonder who could have made that call?) results in a fly-over of Harry Taylor's property. The bird’s eye view reveals my ice-cream design was amended to that of a large penis. It stretches across the top of his garden, complete with white floral ejaculate. It's rude, but beautiful. Thanks to Sophie's advice, my submitted coursework was of her vegetable garden along with a beautiful Van Gogh inspired flowerbed that a neighbour of hers let me design for them.
I make a special broadcast on my channel where I denounce my friendship with Harry, explaining the 'truth'. That all along, he has been using me to get more pages in the press.
'So finally he has all the fame he wants.' I speak directly to camera. 'Now he can relax knowing his dick will always be erect. I'm assured Harry, that you will be making the front pages of several quality newspapers this week. If anyone would like the complete garden design plan to grow their own penis, you can access it on the link below this clip.
The Calendar Game (The Alpha Series Book 2) Page 18