‘Oh, really?’ said Phil, appearing next to me and waving a newspaper at me. ‘Because I have never looked at my sister like this …’
He unfolded the Post on Sunday and brandished it in my face. There on the front page – just to the side of a story about immigration lowering house prices – was a photo of Patrick and me on the dance floor last night. We had been captured right at the moment of our non-kiss. Our lips were inches apart, our eyes locked on each other and my hands wrapped around his neck. It was a lovely picture, actually, but it really, really looked like Patrick and I were a steamy hot couple. Lower down the page was a smaller shot of Patrick and me outside the pub just after my hair cut. He was holding my hands and looking at me with admiration. Sodding citizen journalists – there was no privacy anywhere any more.
‘Shall I read it out?’ Phil said with undisguised glee as he sat down at the table.
‘No,’ I said. But Phil was undeterred.
‘Moving on?’ he read. ‘Shamed soapstar Amy Lavender looks like she’s put her turbulent love life behind her as she puckers up for a kiss with Strictly Stars Dancing partner Patrick Walker.’
‘Shamed bloody soapstar,’ I muttered. ‘Cheek. Carry on.’
‘Amy, twenty-six …’ Phil started.
‘I’m twenty-five,’ I said, outraged.
‘Amy, twenty-six, was publicly dumped by former fiancé Matty Hall and spent a night in the cells after punching her love rival, reality TV star Kayleigh Rogers.’
‘I did not,’ I spluttered. ‘They let me go after they’d cautioned me.’
I downed my glass of bucks fizz and motioned to Phil to keep going.
‘Amy is currently riding high in Strictly Stars Dancing and it’s rumoured that Matty’s regretting cheating now his ex is proving to be such hot property. Perhaps he’s going to have to Battle for her affections now Patrick’s on the scene.’
Phil looked up.
‘Why have they written battle like that?’ he said.
‘It’s one of Matty’s tracks,’ Bertie said, looking disgusted that Phil didn’t know the name of Matty’s biggest hit. Phil, who was more of an Elton John man, shrugged.
‘Is this true?’ he said. ‘Are you and Patrick doing it?’
‘Urgh,’ I said. ‘And no.’
Phil and Bertie both looked down at the photo in the paper, then up at me.
‘Really?’ Phil said, his eyes narrowed with suspicion
‘No,’ I repeated. ‘But I kind of wish we were.’
‘I knew it!’ Phil said triumphantly.
‘No, don’t be all full of yourself,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing going on. We’re just mates, that’s all. And Patrick’s being chased by that kids’ TV presenter anyway. And …’
I trailed off, wondering whether to tell Phil I was thinking about getting back with Matty.
‘And?’ Phil said.
‘I might do what Babs wants,’ I said quietly.
‘Which is?’
‘ImightgetbackwithMatty,’ I gabbled.
‘Oh, Amy,’ Phil said, despairingly. ‘Really? Why? Why now when things are going so well for you?’
‘Just for a bit,’ I assured him. ‘Babs reckons I can have my pick of auditions once I’m back on top. And she says getting back with Matty is the way to do it.’
‘He might not want to get back with you now you’re snogging Patrick on the front page of the Post,’ Bertie pointed out.
‘Yes, thank you, Bertie. I had thought of that,’ I said. ‘I’ll ring Babs later, I suppose.’
Phil frowned.
‘Amy,’ he said. ‘Matty broke your heart. He treated you horribly badly and he is never going to change. This is a crazy idea.’
‘But Babs says …’ I began.
‘Bollocks,’ Phil said, staring at me intently. He reached out and put his hand over mine.
‘Are you sure about this, Amy?’ he said.
I thought about being with Matty, who I had loved once upon a time. We’d had a laugh together; I’d enjoyed our life. It wasn’t all bad. And being in it with my eyes open – fully aware that Matty wasn’t to be trusted – was surely a better way to be than risking being humiliated again. If I was with someone else, someone I could really fall for, like Patrick – the very thought gave me delicious shivers that I tried to ignore – then, like Cora had said, I’d always be worried. I’d always be fearful that my judgement was off and that he wasn’t the man I thought he was. Cora had chosen to live her life alone. If she could do that, then choosing Matty seemed a much easier decision.
‘Amy,’ Phil said again. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ I said.
But I wasn’t.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Strangely enough, Babs wasn’t nearly as cross as I thought she’d be about the photos of Patrick and me in the paper.
‘You’ve made the front bloody page,’ she hooted down the phone at me. ‘Clever minx.’
‘I didn’t mean to,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t planned.’
I stretched out on the sofa, relieved she wasn’t angry.
‘You’re not annoyed?’ I said.
There was a brief silence.
‘I was a bit,’ she admitted. ‘But then I realised how huge this is. Two men fighting over you. It’s brilliant. Have you wondered why I’ve not phoned you before now?’
‘I had, actually.’
‘Damage control,’ Babs said in triumph. ‘And, boy, have I earned my commission this morning.’
‘Really?’ I said drily. ‘What have you done?’
Babs took a breath.
‘I’ve spoken to Matty’s agent,’ she said. ‘He’s planning something big for this week. A public declaration.’
‘A public what now?’
‘Declaration, Amy. Don’t interrupt.’
I made a face, glad Babs was on the end of a telephone and not in the same room as me.
‘And I’ve made some other calls, too. If this all comes off you’re going to want to up my commission, doll.’
‘I doubt that very much,’ I said. Despite my clear-headed thinking about Babs’s plan, I still wasn’t completely convinced getting back with Matty was the right thing to do. I decided to have one last go at changing her mind.
‘Babs, surely I’ve done enough. With the dancing and these pics, I’m back to how I was before. Isn’t that good enough? Can’t we abandon this crazy plan to get back with Matty?’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Babs. ‘You’re riding high now, Doll, but it could all be over in a heartbeat. It just takes one dodgy disco move and you’ll be out of Strictly and back on the scrap heap.’
I had nothing to say, but it didn’t matter. Babs carried on regardless.
‘Being back with Matty is the best way to make the most of all this,’ she said. ‘It makes total sense.’
‘I know it does. But, at the same time, it makes no sense whatsoever,’ I muttered. But either she didn’t hear me, or she chose to ignore it.
‘Have you got me any auditions?’ I said, not wanting to discuss it any more. ‘That dragons thing has got a new season. Should I be going to America?’
‘Of course you should,’ she said. ‘But not yet. Let’s do one step at a time, shall we?’
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘But I want an audition, Babs.’
She tutted.
‘I’m sorting it. Just keep an eye out for Matty’s next move – and call me when you see it.’
She hung up and I stared at the phone for a second, wondering what on earth she was talking about. Then I realised there was no point in ever trying to second-guess Babs – or Matty – so I may as well not bother. And I went upstairs to see Cora instead. Patrick and I were dancing a waltz next and I wanted to see what insights she could give me.
The public declaration, when it came, was enormous. More enormous than I could ever have imagined.
It was Tuesday morning and I was on the tube heading north. Patrick had arranged for us to go to a lunch
club for senior citizens in East London. I had not been keen, but the film crew was following us today so it would make for a good VT before our dance on Saturday, and Patrick had promised we’d get some good tips about waltzing. He was meeting me there. He’d been a bit odd since the live show and the story in the Post. He’d laughed it all off and said something like ‘don’t believe everything you read’, but I definitely sensed a slight air of discomfort between us. I had a horrible feeling I’d offended him somehow but I wasn’t sure what I’d done.
So, I was a bit nervous as I sat on the train that morning. It was raining at ground level, so I was wearing my baseball cap – obviously – into which I’d tucked my new hair, and a storm jacket I’d found in the airing cupboard at my flat, which had clearly belonged to the last tenant. It was ugly, but very waterproof. And I was quite confident no one would recognise me in this get-up.
It was quite early and I was tired, so I sat with my eyes closed, dozing gently, until someone trod on my foot and woke me up.
I blinked in surprise and my eye was caught by the magazine that the woman sitting opposite me was reading. It was the new issue of Hot magazine and on the front cover was a huge picture of Matty. He was wearing a white T-shirt, his head resting on his hand, and he looked sad. Underneath the enormous close-up of his – I had to admit – very handsome face, it said: ‘I love Amy and I want her back.’
My jaw dropped. I squinted to read what else it said.
‘Exclusive!’ I read. ‘Matty reveals why he’s made a BIG mistake!’
I needed that magazine. I had to find out what was in it. The train started to slow down as it approached a station and I made a split-second decision. I stood up, swaying with the movement of the tube, and hung on to the strap next to the woman reading Hot. She paid me absolutely no attention whatsoever. Good. As the train pulled into the station, and the doors opened, I pointed to the other end of the carriage, and I shrieked: ‘Ohmygod! What on earth is that?’
As she – and the rest of the passengers – turned to look, I snatched the magazine from her hands, dived out of the door and legged it off up the platform before she had time to work out what had happened.
Up at street level, I ignored my thirty-five missed calls from Babs, and slumped into a taxi. Then, as we drove through the busy streets towards the lunch club, I read the interview over and over, wondering what the blinking bloody flip Matty was playing at.
I won’t bore you with all the details, but let me give you a few choice extracts. And you have to imagine this across five pages of Hot, illustrated with pictures of Matty looking tortured, yet extremely well groomed. Showing off just enough of his buff biceps and – I’m not making this up – his new tattoo, which spelled out ‘Amy’ in curly black script on the inside of his arm.
‘“I was an idiot,” says Matty, curling up on the sofa of the flat he shared with Amy until a couple of months ago. “I didn’t know how lucky I was until I lost her. But now the flat seems so empty and I’ve lost the only thing that made me want to come home …”’
‘Oh, give me strength,’ I muttered.
‘As Matty talks about what love really is, his eyes fill with tears. “My parents have a very strong marriage,” he reveals. “They’ve always worked things out in the end and I admire them so much for that. Because love is all that matters.” Unconsciously he strokes the “Amy” tattoo on his arm. “Love is all you need.”’
Matty’s parents had been married for a thousand years, that was true. But they hated one another and would get divorced in a heartbeat if they thought it would do them any good. His dad, though, was terrified his mum would take him to the cleaner’s – he had a point, she totally would – and his mum didn’t want to give her husband the satisfaction of being single again. Hardly the best role models for a happy relationship, though perhaps it explained why Matty was the way he was.
‘“I know Amy’s career is important to her and her talent needs to be nurtured,” he says as he gazes at a vast blown-up picture of Amy that hangs above his fireplace. “I’m prepared to put my DJ career on the backburner for a while, and support her as she becomes a star.”’
I laughed out loud. Matty was a DJ, that was true, but if it hadn’t been for his reality TV show, he’d still be spinning the wheels of steel at eighties night at the club his best friend owned in Ilford. He was hardly Mark Ronson.
But right at the end of the article was something that made me stop and think.
‘“Amy’s the best thing that ever happened to me,”’ I read. ‘“I took her for granted and I trampled all over her heart, and I hate myself for it. I’m a nicer person because she was once my girlfriend and all I can do is hope that she gives me another chance to be even better.”’
That sounded genuine, I thought, feeling tears prickle my eyelids. Whatever Matty had done, we had a lot of fun together and I had really loved him once upon a time. Maybe he was sorry, after all?
As we pulled up outside the day-care centre, my phone rang again and this time I answered it.
‘Well,’ said Babs. I could actually hear her smiling. ‘Have you read it?’
‘I’ve read it,’ I said, handing the taxi driver some money.
‘And?’
‘And nothing,’ I said.
Babs snorted.
‘That last bit’s good, eh?’ she said. ‘That’s from the heart, that is.’
‘Don’t,’ I said.
‘Don’t throw this away, doll,’ Babs said. ‘This is your big chance to get back on top. Make the right decision.’
‘Oh, sod off,’ I said, but she’d already ended the call.
I shoved the magazine into my bag and went inside to find Patrick.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Patrick was inside the centre, surrounded by adoring elderly ladies. He was dancing with one of them, who was wearing skinny jeans and ballet pumps and looked about twenty-five from the back. It was only when she turned round that I realised she had to be at least seventy, possibly even older.
‘I’m hoping you guys can teach us a thing or two today,’ he was saying.
I smiled to myself. He was such a nice man. He wasn’t putting this on for the cameras – though he was being filmed. He was genuinely interested in all these people and I didn’t doubt for one minute that, even though he was a professional dancer, a world champion even, and we’d topped the leader board in last week’s show, he honestly believed we could learn a thing or two from these Hackney pensioners who’d been waltzing for years.
My heart swelled with affection for him and – as he came over to say hello and kiss me on the cheek – my tummy flipped with what I was pretty sure was lust.
‘Hi,’ I said weakly. ‘Let me just dump my bag.’
I stuck my bag, and the offending Hot magazine, into a cupboard, pulled on my dancing shoes, and headed back to the dance floor.
‘Ready to work hard?’ Matty said.
I glanced round at the elderly people who were all taking their partners, ready to begin.
‘I think I can handle it,’ I joked.
But, oh, my God, could those people dance! We waltzed for hours – with just a brief break for tea and cake and, I had to admit, I learned a lot. I danced with all the elderly men, who were all so smartly dressed that I beamed with pride. I compared shoes with some of the women, and listened to their tips on using sandpaper on my soles to stop slipping, and putting soap on my tights if I got a run in them.
In exchange I told them all about Cora and what a wonderful dancer she still was, and gave them some – pretty indiscreet – gossip about some of their favourite soap stars.
Eventually, Patrick and I took to the floor and showed off our waltz. We were dancing to a song by Adele and we’d not practised much yet, but we got a standing ovation from all our new friends. It was lovely.
‘They’re all so nice,’ I said as we changed our shoes and got ready to leave. ‘It was a really good idea you had to come here.’
Patrick gr
inned at me, and I felt my heart flip over once more.
‘That couple over there …’ he began, nodding to a smartly dressed pair by the door. The man was helping the woman on with her raincoat. ‘They’ve been married for almost sixty years.’
‘Blimey,’ I said. ‘I can’t imagine that.’
I gazed at them for a while, trying to picture a grey-haired Matty helping me on with my coat. But I couldn’t.
Patrick was looking at them, too, a soppy expression on his face.
‘You’re such a softie,’ I teased.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I just like seeing people in love, that’s all. I hope I have that some day. That partnership, where you’re better together than apart.’
I thought about Matty saying I made him a better person and winced. Patrick looked at me.
‘Did I say something wrong?’ he said.
I opened my bag, pulled out the magazine and held it up for him to see.
‘Woah,’ he said, as he took in the cover. Silently, I turned to the page where Matty’s interview began, then I handed it to him to read.
I couldn’t bear to watch him as he read it, so I went to the loo, deliberately taking my time, and when I came back he’d finished.
The day-care centre was empty now – there was just us in the corner and the film crew who were packing up.
‘What are you going to do?’ Patrick said as I sat down next to him again.
I shrugged.
‘Dunno,’ I said. ‘It’s weird but I think he means it. Some of it, anyway.’
Patrick looked doubtful.
‘Really?’ he said.
‘Maybe not,’ I said. ‘But maybe it doesn’t matter.’
‘How so?’
‘Cora really loved Donnie, right?’ I said. ‘She really loved him and she thought he’d stand by her, and they’d be together for ever – like that old couple.’
‘I have no idea where you’re going with this,’ Patrick said.
I was getting into my stride.
‘And I loved Matty. I trusted him, and he stamped all over my heart.’
‘Okay …’
‘What I mean is, you can’t ever be sure, can you? That someone’s the right one? Because what if you’re wrong. It’s just too painful to imagine. Cora hasn’t been with anyone else, Patrick. She’s been alone for years because she couldn’t ever trust herself to feel that way again. So obviously the best thing to do is expect the worst. Go into a relationship with your eyes wide open. And then you can’t get hurt again.’
A Step In Time Page 17