Once A Bad Girl

by Jane O'Reilly

  She knew what she had to say. It would only take a drop of courage. The words were right there, on the tip of her tongue, waiting for her to get them out. She so desperately wanted to get them out.

  He lifted his head, shook it a little as if trying to loosen something, then flashed her that killer smile. He pulled her dress from his shoulder and dropped it on her head. ‘Better put this on,’ he said. ‘Before we get caught.’

  Lottie pushed to her feet. ‘We won’t get caught.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I met the bloke who owns this place in the café, Henri. He told me we should stop off and pick ourselves a few apples on the way home. All the workers are at the wedding. There’s no-one here.’

  ‘And you didn’t tell me this before you stripped me naked in public?’

  ‘Not naked,’ Lottie pointed out. ‘You kept your t-shirt on. Anyway, I asked you if you trusted me, and you said yes.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He grinned. ‘Would this be a good time to mention that you’re flashing your nipples at the world again?’

  Lottie rolled her eyes and hastily tucked her bra back in place then pulled on her dress. It didn’t seem to fit. Why didn’t it fit? Glancing down, she realised that in her rush to get dressed she’d put it on back to front.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Josh said, handing her one of her shoes. ‘It won’t be on for long. You’re going to beg me to ravage you as soon as we get home.’

  ‘You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?’

  He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissed her fingers. ‘Only because I’m right.’

  They rode home in silence, dumping their bikes by the back door and sprinting upstairs, without even bothering to shut the door behind them. Lottie stripped as fast as she could, Josh did the same. They didn’t touch, but they watched each other get naked. The look on his face made her feel like the most desirable woman on the planet.

  His body just made her hot and wet. This man was in love with her. In love. With her. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but here, and now. The past had been horrible, but the future held nothing but the promise of happiness.

  She scrambled back onto the bed and Josh climbed on top of her, covering her with all that heat and strength. He set himself between her thighs. And then he was inside her, and it felt so magical, so absolutely right that there weren’t words any more. There was only the two of them, and the heat, and the thud of the bed against the wall. She didn’t tell him she loved him, but she felt it in every cell of her body, and she gave it to him with every beat of her heart.

  The next morning, Josh brought her coffee in bed and said ‘I think we should go and visit my mother.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Lottie took a much bigger mouthful of coffee than she’d intended. The burning hot liquid scorched her tongue until she surrendered and spat it back into the cup.

  Josh raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t realise my coffee was that bad.’

  ‘Awful,’ she teased. ‘Like gritty bathwater.’

  ‘I’ll have you know that’s the finest Italian coffee money can buy.’

  ‘No it’s not. It’s instant from the jar in the cupboard.’

  ‘You got me,’ he smiled, but it was a cautious smile, a worried one. ‘So, are you up for it? She’s staying at her apartment in Paris at the moment. If we get going early, we’ll have time to go sightseeing afterwards.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Lottie nodded, putting her cup down on the side table and getting out of bed. She grabbed a clip for her hair and scooped it up on top of her head, ignoring the odd chill settling over her skin. ‘Ten mins. I’ll be ready.’ She rushed into the bathroom, turned on the shower and stepped under the spray before it had a chance to get warm.

  Her teeth and skin protested but she pretended to be tough, squeezing lemon shower gel into her palm and lathering herself as the water warmed up. When Josh slipped in alongside her, she smiled up at him and rubbed her soapy hands over his chest, his shoulders, his body as familiar as her own now.

  Six weeks ago, a month ago even, she’d have been bursting with excitement at the prospect of meeting Marlene Blakemore. A real-life film star, the woman who had owned all those couture gowns she’d so carefully catalogued for the sale, the woman who owned all the memories that belonged to those dresses.

  But now things were different. This was a big deal. This was serious. She knew what Josh had lived with, had a pretty good idea about what his relationship with Marlene was like. She wasn’t sure she could come face to face with the woman and keep her anger in check.

  No, she told herself silently as Josh spun her round and soaped her back. Josh trusted her. Josh loved her. All she had to do was trust herself. And she could. She would. She had to.

  Marlene’s apartment was on the top floor of a very fancy building in the eighth arrondissement, the interior expensively sparse and spotlessly clean, yet oddly uncared-for and cold. Marlene herself was tall, slender, elegant, more absent than present. They spent maybe an hour in her company, if that, but an hour was more than enough for Lottie to see exactly what Josh had lived with for most of his life, and to hurt for him. The funny thing was, Marlene didn’t seem drunk, not at first. She wasn’t loud, staggering about the apartment with a wine glass in her hand. But then Lottie began to notice other little things. The stiff way his mother walked, each movement slow and tightly controlled. The faint, sour smell that clung to her skin, despite the expensive French perfume Lottie had noticed when they’d shared air kisses and niceties. The red screw cap of an empty vodka bottle peeping out from behind a silk cushion, and the look on Josh’s face when he spotted it. He removed it without comment, shrugging off Marlene’s astonished babble, her suggestion that the maid must have left it there, then the vicious lash of her tongue when he shook his head in disbelief.

  They left shortly after that, which was a good thing, as Lottie was close to finding a few vicious words of her own. They rode the lift to the top of the Eiffel Tower, strolled along the Rue de Rivoli, bought exquisite handmade chocolates and admired the old masters in the Louvre. By the time the rumbling of her stomach got loud enough for the assistants in the Champs Élysées boutique he’d pushed her into to start dishing out disapproving looks, it was mid-afternoon and her feet were ready for a break.

  They settled into a pavement café and ordered overpriced salade niçoise and sparkling water. They kissed and laughed and talked, about everything, about anything, but not about Marlene.

  But Lottie couldn’t get the woman out of her head. There had to be a way to handle it. People went into rehab, didn’t they? Celebrities went there all the time, and not all of them ended up in Guilty Pleasures, surely. Marlene wouldn’t go without a fight, that much was obvious, but Lottie was certain Josh could persuade her if he put his mind to it.

  She didn’t want to ruin the day by bringing up the subject now but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do some preliminary digging. The next time Josh went to the bar, she nabbed his phone and did a little exploring on the internet. A couple of rehab centres in London looked promising.

  Josh was still at the bar. There was time to make a quick phone call. Within a couple of minutes, she’d requested brochures to be sent to Josh’s house in London. Hopefully they’d be waiting for them by the time they got back.

  ‘And who is the treatment for?’ asked the woman on the other end, after Lottie had given her Josh’s name and address.

  Lottie stalled, her heart beating out of time as Josh reappeared at their table with a couple of bottles of sparkling orange. ‘A…a relative,’ she managed. ‘That’s fine. Thank you for your help. Bye.’

  She ended the call as quickly as possible, her heart still racing. ‘Ordering flowers for my mum,’ she said, and the lie came so easily it almost knocked her flat. The one thing she’d never done to Josh was lie. Until now. ‘It’s her birthday tomorrow. I totally forgot.’

  ‘No worries,’ Josh said, settling in beside her. He kissed her cheek, found
her mouth and kissed that too. It was so tender, so full of promise that she wanted to cry, unable to understand what she’d just done. ‘Thank you for today.’

  Lottie smiled up at him, but inside she felt nothing but sick. Why hadn’t she told him the truth? She tried to eat, but the food tasted slimy and off. She forced it down anyway. The truth wouldn’t stay buried forever, she’d asked them to send stuff to his house, for goodness sake. Panicked thoughts of checking the post, of sneaking the letters away before he saw them zoomed around in her head, and she half considered it before she stopped herself, utterly appalled. When she screwed up, she faced it. That was her way. She tried to frame the words in her head, so she could be up front with him here and now.

  Only…only they were having such a brilliant time, strolling round Paris like a pair of love-drunk tourists, Josh holding her hand as he nuzzled her neck and whispered little secrets that made her blush and smile. Everything was so perfect, as if everything she’d dreamed of over the past few weeks had become real. They were here, together, not because of the auction, or the club, but because they wanted to be. Lottie couldn’t bring herself to spoil it. She wasn’t ready to hear what he’d say when he found out.

  But she heard it when they arrived back at the house late that evening.

  ‘What the hell?’ Josh slammed on the brakes. At least two dozen people were camped out in the front garden. More stood around the front door. Four vans with blacked-out rear windows lined the driveway.

  Fear swamped her as the crowd spotted them. Cameras flashed. People rushed towards the car, peppering the air with shouts. ‘Is it true, Mr Blakemore?’, ‘When is Marlene going in rehab?’, ‘Is it drink or drugs?’, ‘Miss Spencer, did you phone the rehab centre?’

  Someone yanked Lottie’s door open, grabbed a handful of her dress and shoved a camera in her face. The flash went off, blinding her, as her dress surrendered with a sharp, splitting sound. Spots swam in front of her eyes, white, pink, blue. She couldn’t think. Her brain switched into some previously unused survival mode. She grabbed the camera and swung it. There was a pop, the sound both sickening and satisfying, then warm liquid dripped onto the back of her hand. Warm red liquid.

  ‘Stupid bitch!’ the man snarled, staggering back. Lottie threw the camera to the ground as the car moved, jerking her forwards towards the dash. Her door somehow managed to slam itself shut as Josh executed a perfect handbrake turn, tyres screaming.

  He drove on into the darkness. He drove and drove, the twists and turns of the road adding to her fear, increasing it until it almost became a living, breathing thing. ‘Stop the car,’ she yelled. ‘Right now.’

  Josh slammed on the brakes and killed the engine. The overhead light flicked on automatically, highlighting his razor-sharp cheekbones, and those vivid blue eyes. She could hear the heavy, adrenaline fuelled rasp of his breathing.

  He looked like a man on the very edge of control. She felt the same wild terror that she’d felt on the night David had crashed, only this time she wasn’t upside down in a car full of broken glass, with the smell of blood and death in her nostrils. This time they’d stopped before that line had been crossed. But she should never have got anywhere near it.

  ‘What did you do?’ he asked, his voice quietly loud.

  Lottie twisted the torn skirt of her dress between her fingers. She could see the fabric dig into her skin, though she couldn’t feel it. ‘I rang a rehab centre in London. When you were at the bar. I gave them your name and address.’

  He rubbed a hand over his jaw. ‘The flowers for your mother.’

  She nodded. It was all she could do. Everything was numb, as if her body was trying to protect her from pain she knew she deserved to feel.

  ‘I trusted you.’

  And then she did feel it. Those three words ran over her skin like a knife. ‘I know you did.’ And she’d taken that trust and thrown it back in his face. It was too late for what she said next, but she said it anyway. ‘I love you.’

  ‘I know you do.’ He didn’t sound angry. He sounded devastated. ‘But I wish you hadn’t said it. I really want to hate you right now, Lottie. I spent my whole life working to keep my mother’s drinking out of the press. Do you know what the media do to addicts? To their families? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?’

  ‘I…I wanted to help.’

  ‘I don’t need your damn help!’ he yelled. ‘I don’t need anyone’s bloody help. I was managing fine on my own.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose, curved one hand into a fist and pressed it hard against the steering wheel. ‘I don’t know where the hell we go from here. This is such a bloody mess.’

  And she’d done that to him, all because she was too stupid, too thoughtless to stop for a minute and think what the consequences of her actions might be. She’d assumed he would be angry, but she hadn’t bothered to think about the realities of his life. About the wider implications of her actions.

  And now he was going to have to deal with her mistake. Just as her parents and David had had to deal with her mistakes. Why did she do this? Why? Why hadn’t she simply talked it through with him first? That was what a normal, rational person would have done. Why couldn’t she be normal?

  The only thing she could do now was put as much distance between herself and Josh as possible. He was already dealing with the burden of a selfish, alcoholic mother. He didn’t need a selfish, untrustworthy girlfriend screwing around with his life as well. ‘You know exactly where we go,’ she told him. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the face. ‘This was never meant to be a permanent thing. It got out of hand. And now we need to put a stop to it before things get any worse.’

  ‘You think things could get worse?’

  ‘Believe me, I know they could.’

  ‘Enlighten me.’

  Lottie could feel her heart breaking. It was a physical pain, an actual agony, like she’d been smacked in the chest with a brick. ‘I’ll destroy your life. And do you know what the really awful thing is? I won’t mean to do it. But I will. You’ll never be able to trust me. I can’t live like that. Can you?’

  He slumped back in his seat. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m no good for you, Josh.’ Lottie turned to face him. She lifted her hands to his cheeks, needing to touch him one last time. She’d always thought breakups involved shouting and throwing things and drama. At least, that was how her other relationships had ended. And she’d thought they’d hurt. But nothing before had hurt like looking at this man, knowing he loved her, knowing she loved him back, and knowing that she had no choice but to walk away. Because when it came down to it, she couldn’t trust herself not to screw things up again. And he couldn’t trust her at all.

  Her chest burned with the pain of it and she desperately needed to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. They were both right back where they’d started four weeks ago. And she had no-one to blame but herself.

  ‘I want you,’ he said stubbornly, taking her wrists, cuffing them with his long fingers. ‘Why do I still want you? Why can’t I hate you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘This would be easier if I did.’ His gaze was fixed firmly on her mouth, and when he lifted it to meet hers she saw that his eyes were heavy with tears.

  ‘I can make you hate me,’ she whispered, her own vision suddenly thick and blurry. ‘It’ll be easy.’

  ‘So do it.’

  ‘David was only in that bloody car because of me. I snuck out to a party and got drunk, and then I had sex with some guy whose name I can’t even remember. Then I rang home and asked someone to come and get me. At three in the morning.’

  ‘Teenagers are stupid,’ he began, but she cut him off.

  ‘Stupid enough to try to grab the steering wheel because they don’t want to puke on their new shoes? I was out of control, Josh. I didn’t give a damn about anyone else, and David paid the price.’ She looked down, saw her ripped dress, the dried blood caking her hand. ’I’ve spent the past five years try
ing to fix what I did, but do you know what I realised today? I can’t ever fix it. And whoever I’m with, I’m just going to hurt them too. Like I hurt you.’

  He eased her back onto the passenger seat, then started the engine. ‘You have hurt me, Lottie. But not nearly as much as you hurt yourself.’

  ‘It’s over,’ she said, loudly, boldly.

  ‘Yes.’ He leaned across, touched his lips to her cheek. ‘It is.’

  He dropped her off at her flat the following afternoon. Neither of them spoke. There was too much pain between them for words to be of any use, even if she could have thought of anything to say.

  She forced open her front door with shaking hands, desperate to get inside before she had to listen to him drive away. Everything seemed unfamiliar somehow, dusty and neglected and strange. The air was cold, and the chill settled on her skin and refused to move.

  Rubbing her arms, she ignored the post cluttering the floor and walked into the kitchen. She opened the freezer, hauled out a tub of mint-choc-chip ice cream, past caring about the calories, and called Rachel. ‘Can you come round?’

  Half an hour later, Rachel knocked on the door. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, the second Lottie opened the door.

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘Everything?’

  Lottie nodded. Then she started to cry.

  They made it through two seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the rest of the ice cream before the tears stopped and she was finally able to tell Rachel exactly what had happened.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Rachel. ‘You’ve really screwed up this time. What are you going to do?’

  ‘Go back to work,’ Lottie said dully. ‘Pay the bills. Try to function. Try not to think.’

  Rachel set her spoon down carefully. ‘You don’t know, do you?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘The auction house has been sold.’

  Lottie pressed a hand to her stomach. She stared at Rachel for a long, horrible moment. Then she sprinted into the bathroom and threw up. Afterwards, when it was over, she lay down on the cold linoleum and said hello to rock bottom. She’d lost everything. Josh. The auction house. Josh. And the really awful thing was that only one of those really hurt. She’d worked so hard to save the auction house. It had been the most important thing in the world to her, the focus of her life for the past five years, and now it didn’t matter at all.