Lost In The Starlight

by Kiki Archer

  “You’re not leaking it, it’s already leaked, and this gives credibility to your previous speculation. This does you a favour. This shows you’re not just a hard-hearted gossipy bitch. This proves you were telling the truth.”

  “I was.”

  “So do it.”

  “You’re right.” Meg keyed in the code and typed quickly. “Which sparkling treasure’s recorded a song about sexuality? Sing it sister!”

  “Sing it sister?”

  “Like Britain Sings and sisterhood for us gay girls.” Meg pushed up her glasses. “Can you think of anything better? No, thought not.” She copied the link from her phone. “There. Posted. It’s live.”

  Jo flopped onto the sofa. “Honey Diamond, you minx.”

  “You think she’ll release it?”

  “The song? No chance, but she sang it, and she sang it with heart.”

  Meg stared at the television and the silent close-up of Honey. “I knew it. I just bloody knew it.”

  Chapter Seven

  The door to the Holland Park mansion was opened with the pomp and circumstance to rival any royal visit at any regal palace. Diana Diamond’s head butler had bowed, called Honey ma’am, thanked her for gracing Velvet Villa with her presence, (Velvet Villa being her mother’s bizarre chosen name for this latest London property), before the procession of staff swept her through the house with offers of drinks, sundries, beauty treatments, a hydro session and a hypnosis consultation.

  “I’d just like to see my mother, please,” said Honey, grounding herself under a huge chandelier, the ridiculous attention doing nothing to lighten her mood. She turned to the butler. “And Philip, please don’t behave like you’ve never met me before.”

  “Sorry, ma’am.” He bowed.

  “It’s Honey.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Oh for goodness sake.” She spoke to the cluster of bodies. “Could we have a moment please?”

  The head butler nodded to dismiss the staff before turning to Honey. “Your mother’s in the front room.”

  “Who are these people?” she asked, softening somewhat as their departure refreshed the sheer scale of the mansion’s reception area, allowing her to breathe more freely. She looked up at the décor. The place was extravagant, garishly so, and in keeping with her mother’s habit of buying up properties and decorating them in certain themes, before declaring them out-dated and impossible to live in. Velvet Villa, with its fabric-covered walls and over-the-top bling, had a potentially shorter life span than most.

  “That was your mother’s new health and wellbeing consultant, her snack chef—”

  “Sorry? Her what? Her snack chef? In addition to her actual chef I’m guessing?”

  “Seven work in the kitchen now, ma’am.”

  Honey shook her head. “Oh Philip, don’t you get tired of this?”

  The man stood firm. “Never. I love your mother dearly.”

  Honey smiled, fully aware it was this man’s stoic loyalty that had kept him in position for over thirty-five years. Other staff came and went with the wind, her mother hiring and firing as one fad went out of fashion and another came into force. But when someone was loyal, she treated them well. Just like Sofia: taken on as housekeeper, promoted to nanny once Honey was born and so well trusted that she’d earned the honour of godmother alongside Gerty and Dot. Trust was paramount in her mother’s life and Honey knew what was coming.

  “How bad is it?” she asked.

  The butler lowered his voice. “She’s called Mark the yoga boy in to work on her while she watches the show. She says she’ll need his stretches to get her through it.”

  “In the front room?”

  He nodded. “Gerty and Dot are downward dogging too.”

  “Aren’t they always?” said Honey dryly as she made her way across the hall.

  Philip caught up and overtook. “I have to announce you.”

  “You don’t.”

  It was too late. Philip was at the padded velvet door. He knocked sharply, eliciting no sound from the fabric, so he twisted the handle, standing in position as he announced the arrival of: “Miss Honey Diamond for you, ma’am.”

  “Mother, it’s me,” said Honey, entering the room, immediately taken aback by the set-up in front of her. Her mother, Gerty and Dot were all kitted out in matching velour tracksuits, headbands and yoga gloves. Their heads were down and their arses were up as the three young men standing behind them massaged forwards and backwards up and down their spines. Honey grimaced. The pneumatic motion of thrusting was too much to ignore. “Good god, Mother.”

  Diana Diamond pushed herself to standing, her red cheeks and upright messy hair only half caused by her previous downward dog position. “Don’t you good god me, my darling.”

  Honey stood her ground, ready for the onslaught.

  “Can’t you see I’m stressed? Look at me! Look at my hair! It stands up when I’m worried. I’ve had hydrotherapy, hypnotherapy, even Mark’s manipulation can’t calm me through this. Gerty and Dot are the same.”

  Honey looked towards the two white-haired women who had slumped out of their poses and onto their bottoms, both smiling as their well lubricated sherry glasses were topped up by the eager-to-please young men. “Appropriate post-workout drinks I see, ladies.”

  The old women laughed. “There’s never a wrong time for a sherry,” said Gerty.

  “Croft Original,” added Dot. “Would you like a glass?” She clicked her fingers at the man who’d been thrusting behind her. “Tyrone, pour Honey a tipple.”

  “No, Tyrone,” snapped Diana, “you toddle off with… with… whatever your friend’s called,” she turned to the lead yoga instructor, “and Mark, I may need you later, but for now I’ll have a moment with my daughter.”

  Gerty and Dot tried to pull themselves off the floor without spilling any sherry.

  Diana waved them back down. “Not you two, you’re fine.” She looked around the room. “And Liza; where’s Liza? She’s riding this storm alongside us.”

  Honey rolled her eyes. “It’s not that bad, Mother.”

  Diana Diamond waited for the yoga boys to leave the room. “Not that bad? Not that bad? You’re all over the news. You’re everywhere, and not in a good way!”

  “I liked the song,” announced Gerty, taking a large sip of Croft Original.

  “Me too,” added Dot, trying to remember the first few lines as she started to sing. “Doesn’t matter who plays with my head. Just as long as you get in bed. ”

  Honey laughed. “Better lyrics than mine.”

  “Stop!” screeched Diana. “It’s not about liking the song, it’s about the damage the song’s leaking has caused. Eight o’clock last night and the nation was sitting down to watch you on Britain Sings, to adore you.” She paused and softened her voice. “That tear rolling down your cheek during the young girl’s ballad was genius, Honey, pure genius.” She straightened. “But still.”

  “It wasn’t a gimmick, Mother. I was genuinely moved. We filmed those auditions two months ago and I still get goosebumps when I think of her song.”

  Diana threw her hands in the air. “Oh well goody for you! Beats the heart attacks we’re all getting when we think of your song, leaked last night onto the worldwide web!”

  “It’s got a great beat,” said Gerty once more, lifting her glass in a toast. “To Honey and—”

  “Stop!” Diana Diamond guided her daughter to the velvet sofa and tried to look calm. “Honey, my darling, we spoke about this. I trusted you’d do as advised.”

  “I did.”

  Diana cleared her throat, trying desperately to control the rising tone of her voice. “So why’s the song out there?”

  Honey shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been busy these last two months. Liza’s still in the car on the phone to Picador. There must have been a breach at Apple Road. I did exactly what you said. I played them my song. We recorded some versions and the talks are ongoing. Do I release it? Do I sell it? If so
when?”

  “Well it’s too bloody late now!” snapped Diana, frantically running her fingers through her spiked hair. She looked at the clock and gasped. “It’s time. Gerty, turn on the telly.”

  The old woman handed her glass to her friend and crawled clumsily across the yoga mats to reach into the velvet footstool for the remote. Within seconds the padded wall cabinet had opened up to reveal a huge jewel encrusted television. “And we’re on,” she said, nodding at the screen.

  Honey watched as the talk show host introduced the next feature. “Up next we have what you’ve all been waiting for. An exclusive with Honey Diamond’s step-siblings, Nick and Nadia Diamond.”

  Diana lifted her hands in the air. “They are just incorrigible! I was married to their good-for-nothing father for less than a year and they take my name, all of them take my bloody name, using it once again to reminisce about life in the dynasty.”

  The host started her pre-amble, discussing the facts surrounding the leak. “The internet’s going wild with speculation. Record company Picador have confirmed the song was written, composed and performed by Honey, but have yet to explain what it’s for. Rumour has it she’s got the lead in a new Hollywood musical. Could this song be for a character?”

  The co-host joined in. “Playing the part, or coming out loud. What could it possibly mean? We’re lucky enough to have Nick and Nadia Diamond in the studio. Honey’s step-siblings. Can you give us an insight? What’s this song all about?”

  Nadia spoke first in her nasal voice, the result of one too many nose jobs. “We prefer to call her sister.”

  “Sorry, your sister, Honey. What has she said? Was the leak deliberate? Surely she doesn’t need any more publicity?”

  Nick took over. “Young Honey was a quiet child.” He spoke with his lip curled. “We’ve often wondered, haven’t we Nadia, if our sister was hiding some big secret, some hidden angst.”

  Nadia shared the private laugh. “We have, and I remember once, when we were playing dollies,” she paused for effect, “she would always make the two dollies,” she paused again, “…kiss.”

  The host spoke seriously. “Female dollies?”

  Nick nodded gravely. “Female dollies.”

  “Oh just turn it off, Mother,” said Honey. “This is nonsense.” She thought back to last summer and the reports of Nick and Nadia in the Celebrity Big Brother house, regaling viewers on a daily basis about their lives as Diamonds, even though they had lived with their own mother for the duration of their father’s short-lived dalliance with Diana. His custody visits were restricted to one weekend a month, meaning Honey and her step-siblings were only ever in each other’s presence on a handful of occasions, the most notable being the actual wedding. Hundreds of photos had been taken of celebrity guests, notable foreign royalty, a wedding cake big enough to feed the five thousand; yet there was one shot of the bride, groom and their offspring that had, over the years, featured more than any other. One photo. One photo that Nick and Nadia used as proof at every given opportunity. Proof they were close. Proof they had influence. Honey Diamond, age eleven, flanked by her two teenage siblings. Big brother and sister to what was soon to be the nation’s most famous singer, quite possibly their guidance and support the major factor in her success.

  “What could I have seen in their father?” asked Diana.

  Gerty slurped some sherry. “Your next one was worse.”

  “At least he didn’t have kids, and that was only an engagement.” She looked back at the television. “But their good-for-nothing father said he didn’t have custody. Said the kids would be seen occasionally but not heard. And look at them now, yapping away.”

  “Mother, they’ve always used your name.” Honey lifted herself from the sofa and found the remote. “It’s nothing new.”

  “It is! No one’s touched you before and two months into your ‘I want to take charge of myself’ initiative and we’ve got prime-time television discussions about your sex life.” The screen went blank. “Turn it back on, Honey.”

  “It’s Channel 5. No one watches Channel 5.”

  Diana jumped up. “Everyone watches Channel 5 and everyone reads news on the web. Your leaked song’s everywhere! Speculation’s everywhere.” She started to pace.

  “Speculation was always there, Mother. Maybe not mainstream, but it was there, on the web. I found it.” She watched the hair become static. “Are those velvet socks? On a velvet carpet? No wonder your hair looks like it does.”

  Diana fingered the spikes. “The speculation was so well hidden that even my Benedict and his tech team couldn’t trace the owner of that site.”

  “I thought you got it shut down?”

  “The forum threads on the L Chat site, yes, even though they’ve just started up all over again, but that SlebSecrets site, no.” Diana shook her head. “And Benedict told me that site was the first bugger last night to point everyone towards the leaked song.”

  “So sue them for breach of privacy.”

  “We’re working on it! And we’ll find them. My men won’t let me down.” She paused. “But my darling, I don’t think you get this. This is your reputation. This is your character. I have my crisis team in the kitchen working on a way forward as we speak.”

  The crisp voice was loud. “Miss Liza Munroe for you, ma’am.”

  Liza marched into the room. “Picador think it was a runner. Their lawyers are shutting down the host site.”

  “My lawyers are working on that,” said Diana.

  “Lots of lawyers then; doesn’t matter, it’s happening.”

  Honey nodded. “And the SlebSecrets site?”

  “Clever enough not to repost. They’re just pointing people in the direction of the song. Like torrents. They’ll pull the story when they realise the link doesn’t work.”

  Diana licked her fingers and tried to flatten her hair. “People have downloaded it. There’ll be another link. We’re like Beyoncé trying to chase that ugly picture off the web. Think ladies, think. Liza, what are your thoughts? I want to go into the meeting prepared with a good grasp of the options.”

  Honey took a deep breath, ready to relay the words she’d rehearsed. “Sorry, didn’t I mention? That’s what I came round for.”

  Diana nodded. “Yes, the crisis meeting.”

  “No. To tell you there is no crisis meeting. This isn’t a crisis. A song I wrote leaked onto the web. Yes, I’m annoyed, but it’s not from the album; it wasn’t set for release.”

  “But the speculation!”

  Honey slowed her words. “I’m getting ahead of that.”

  “How?”

  Turning to her PA, Honey nodded. “I’d like to do an interview, with someone you trust. Someone who won’t sensationalise. Someone who’ll debate fairly whether there’s any need in this day and age for celebrities to come out.”

  Diana gasped. “We’re a good ten years away from that, my darling!”

  Honey ignored her. “Liza, who do you know?”

  Liza paced with little legs, swiping through her PDA as if it had the answer to all of life’s questions. “It has to be The Beacon. Old school. Upmarket. Thoughtful. I know the Arts and Entertainment correspondent. Been there for centuries. Won a Pulitzer Prize a few years back. An old dyke herself.” She corrected her words. “Crude, sorry, I’m thinking fast. I meant she’d be sympathetic. She interviewed Eton Myers when he went public about the surrogacy, and David Johns when he came out as gay. She’s got stature. She’ll sell a good story.”

  Honey shook her head. “This isn’t about selling a story.”

  “Sorry, no, you’re right. I meant she’ll do a good job.”

  Diana’s hair was electric. “Have you two planned this? You just spill the beans for some broadsheet?”

  Honey shrugged. “There’s nothing to spill.” It had been an easy decision when the first call came in last night. Liza and her ever-efficient PDA alerting her to the leak, then her mother and Benedict’s ever-pinging notifications, panic
from all quarters; nothing worse than an ill-prepared, uphill PR battle. Yet strangely, all Honey had felt was relief. She’d never been questioned before. She’d never known there was interest. Now whether that was due to her mother and Liza’s stranglehold on affairs, or just a genuine level of respect from the media, she didn’t know. But reading those whispers in those well-hidden chat rooms and that speculation on the SlebSecrets site, she’d felt uneasy. Like she’d been lying. Like some dirty little secret was being discussed. There was no secret. She never had any secrets. Honey let her mind wander. If only there was a secret. Some private lover. Some person to hold. She pulled herself together and nodded. “I’m doing the interview.”

  Gerty lifted her glass. “Brilliant. That’s decided then. Let’s have a toast.”

  “Oh lovely, a toast,” giggled Dot, finding her way to the bottle and filling her glass to the brim. “We’ve been getting quietly sozzled over here.”

  “There is no toast,” said Diana. “This isn’t happening.”

  Gerty cheered the room. “To Honey and her Honeybunnies!”

  Honey sighed. “If only there were.”

  Chapter Eight

  The loud, authoritarian knock sounded again. “Pia!” screeched Jo from her expert elbow-balance on her cluttered dressing room table. “The door!”

  The little woman appeared in the messy bedroom, polish and duster in hand.

  “The door,” said Jo, adding a precise flick to her winged eyeliner.

  Pia stood still, smiling politely.

  Jo made a knocking gesture with her left hand and pointed at the door. “Could you answer it please?”

  The cleaner smiled and nodded. She turned to the bedroom door and started to polish the panels.

  “Pia! The front door! Someone’s knocking! Oh for god’s sake.” Jo left her make-up where it was and stepped over the discarded clothes strewn all over the floor. “Now I have to open the door looking like David bloody Bowie.” She edged past her cleaner. “Meg told me you’re part of a posh cleaning company, but I’ve never seen the paperwork.”