by Kiki Archer
Honey’s voice was quiet. “Because she’s your friend and we needed to meet eventually.”
“But at The Muse? On a double date? With her boyfriend?”
“This was your idea.”
“No, it was hers!” Meg shushed herself, fanning her words as they spilled from her mouth. “She said she’d only come if it was somewhere spectacular, you said we had to meet regardless, so I’m just stuck here in the middle trying to keep my head down.”
“Why? Why’s your head down?”
“Oh, Honey, you know this. Once we’re together we’re together.”
“I thought we were already together? You call me your girlfriend.”
“Yes, but in the public eye. That suddenly escalates everything.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“It’s just the pressure. I’ll be judged as unworthy. I’m bound to muck up and I don’t want the world watching when I do.”
“You won’t! Have faith in yourself. Have faith in us.”
“I do have faith in us, I’m just not used to being on the brighter side of this world.”
Both women paused as Jo buzzed down her window, waving like the Queen at the paparazzi all clustered round the entrance to The Muse. “I certainly don’t have faith in her,” said Meg, quickly upping her volume. “Close that, Jo! Now, you idiot!”
“I told you. I’m getting out.”
“Not in the middle of the road you’re not,” said Tammara, double checking the central locking.
“I need to whet their appetites.” She paused before gasping and quickly buzzing the window back up. “Oh god, what if they think I’m you?” She lifted her nose at Meg. “What if they think I’m her lesbian?” She gifted Honey with the same nose lift. “That lot behind us have been following since The Alderley. They took my picture. You said they know Honey’s in the car. They’re going to put two and two together and call me a lesbian.” She mimed the act of being incredibly ill. “Gross. I’m definitely getting out now. Gavin and I need to make our grand entrance. I need to show them I like tail not titties.”
Meg rolled her eyes. “Oh Jo, who cares what they think?”
Honey turned her attention to the woman next to her, lifting her eyebrows with a look of confirmation. “Exactly my point.”
“I meant it in terms of Jo being a nobody.”
Jo tutted. “You’re a nobody too, Meg.”
“But I’m with Honey, and Honey’s a somebody.”
“So’s Gavin.”
“Not quite on the same scale.”
“Yes he is.”
Tammara joined in. “I’d not heard of him.”
Jo’s snipes were barbed. “You lesbians don’t know the first thing about sport.”
Honey cut in. “Tammara’s not a lesbian.”
“She looks like one.”
“Jo!” Meg’s hand was at her mouth in shock.
“What? I’m just saying it as it is. Gavin Grahams is just as famous as Honey. He got us the reservation. He’s the one who bagged the top table.”
Honey bit her lip, avoiding the temptation to correct. She’d asked Liza to confirm the booking once Meg suggested it, knowing how difficult it was to get a table at such short notice and not wanting anything to hamper this meeting of friends that had taken so long to arrange. No reservation had been made so Liza had worked her magic and booked them straight in. Honey accepted it was more her name than Liza’s way with words that had got them the slot, but still, her PA had done all the work, contacting Gavin Grahams’ people afterwards to confirm the booking with them. He was heading straight there from a game apparently, the reason for Jo’s travel arrangements. It was fine, thought Honey, smiling at the blonde in the front; it gave her a chance to get acquainted before the sit down meal began.
“So what do you like about him?” she asked with genuine warmth.
“He’s got the biggest bollocks you could imagine.”
“Jo!”
“What, Meg? They’re big; plus he’s minted as shit.”
“Jo! You said it was only one glass.”
“What? Don’t pretend you don’t swear like a trooper and don’t pretend you don’t drink like a fish.”
“I don’t!”
“You do. Unless you’ve changed already, which probably you have. I never see you anymore do I, so how would I know?”
“Jo, I’m busy, Honey’s busy, we don’t see each other that often. I’m still home a lot; you’re the one who’s hardly ever there.”
“I’m always there.”
Honey decided it was a good time to cut in. “We could go back to yours after the meal, make it into a girly evening?”
Jo grimaced. “And do what? Plait each other’s leg hair?”
“What’s got into you? How much have you had?” Meg was alarmed. “Can you please just behave?”
“Look at you, Miss Prissy. It’s not like you to be positive and you know I like a drink when I’m getting ready. And what’s changed? You’d usually be blasting all this secret entrance rigmarole and hidden appearance crap.”
“I wouldn’t!”
“Oh, you little liar!”
“I’m sorry about this, Honey.” Meg was talking fast. “Maybe we should just call it a night?”
“And miss my grand entrance? No chance. Gavin says he’ll meet me out front.”
Tammara nodded to the security guard who raised the barrier and let the car into the underground entrance. “We’re here now.”
“Open the doors, I’m walking back out.” The blonde was pulling on the handle and signalling to the central locking. “I’ll meet you inside.”
Tammara looked over her shoulder for guidance.
Honey shrugged. What could she do? If Jo wanted to totter back up the ramp and out into the open then so be it. She nodded to the driver who released the lock on the doors. “We’ll see you inside.”
“So long, suckers,” came the shout as the heels clipped back through the tunnel.
The three women left in the car stared at each other in disbelief, Meg’s face more embarrassed than the others. “I’m so sorry,” she said, speaking first. “Now do you understand my slight trepidation?”
Honey was puzzled. “But you’ve been friends for so long.”
“I know, right.”
“Is she fun to be around? Does she stimulate you intellectually?” She watched as Meg laughed. “Does she care for you?”
“Like when I’m ill?” The laughing continued.
“So what’s the pull, and I’m not being judgemental, I’m sure she’s lovely.”
“Don’t you have friends you’re just friends with? You don’t question why, you just sort of slot into each other?” Meg sighed. “We’ve been through a lot. She’s got her issues and she says having me helps. Obviously not at the time, at the time of the dramas she’s yelling at me to do one, but—”
“Is it the drink?”
“Mostly.”
“Some people don’t want to be helped, Meg, and there comes a time where you have to lift your hands and walk away.”
“Move out?”
“It’s a thought.”
“I couldn’t do that to her. We’re too similar.”
“But you’re nothing like her.”
“Maybe I was.”
“No. Stop it. You two are chalk and cheese.”
“She’s just an acquired taste, that’s all. You’ll get used to her.”
“Maybe I’m an acquired taste and she won’t like the taste of me?”
Meg raised her eyebrows wickedly.
“You know what I mean!”
“Jo doesn’t like anyone. The meaner she is, the more she secretly loves you. And FYI,” Meg lowered her voice and leaned in closer, “you taste like perfection.”
Honey felt that surge of lust rise once more from deep in her stomach. It was a wash of shudders trembling through her in memory, in anticipation. “Can we go back to yours? After the meal, I mean?”
“I’m not prepared. I’ve not cleaned. The place is a mess.”
“I want you to take me… in your bed… in your house… any which way you should please.”
Meg swallowed. “Well, when you put it that way.”
“Is that a yes?”
Meg glanced at the heels tottering away in the distance. “No. Actually it’s a no. A definite no.”
****
Entering the restaurant through the back door meant they avoided the public area below and could climb the wide staircase to the VIP balcony room from an entrance to the left. It wasn’t that Honey wanted to avoid the crowds, it was just a by-product of avoiding the paps, neither of which some celebrities, including her mother, ever chose to do, loving the attention and courting the stares. Of course, the people in the VIP room stared too, but their stares were more subtle, less devouring. Maybe this time it would be different. This time she wasn’t arriving alone. Reaching out, she took hold of Meg’s hand.
“What are you doing?” came the gasp.
“We’re nearly at the top.”
“Exactly!”
Honey felt the fingers wiggle away. “We’re a couple, Meg.”
“But we don’t want the world to know that!”
“Why not?”
“We seriously cannot have this conversation again on step twenty of this twenty-five-step mammoth staircase. It’s like that one on the Titanic, only curving.”
“Stop changing the subject.”
“Let go of my hand and you can stay at my place.”
“Deal,” said Honey with a wide smile. It was going to be about the small wins with Meg, the small steps. This side of the world was new to her; of course she’d have doubts, and of course they were wise not parading themselves in front of the press in case it all went terribly wrong. Looking across at the woman walking by her side, Honey smiled to herself. This wouldn’t go terribly wrong, this was all so perfectly right.
“There’s Gavin Grahams.” Meg was whispering as they rounded the curve, the VIP floor coming into full view.
Honey knew where they’d be seated, her eyes found him quickly. “There at the table? Wow, he’s really quite suave.”
“My point is he’s not outside.”
“Right. No.” Honey found her head dropping as the gasping got louder. Diners were nudging each other, stifling their animated gossip. She kept her eyes down and followed the maître d’s ankles.
“Your table, Miss Diamond.”
“Honey, please.” Regaining her composure, she looked up at Meg. She was like a rabbit in the headlights. Placing a hand on the small of Meg’s back, she guided her towards her seat.
The man didn’t stand.
“Hi, I’m Honey,” she said, giving him one last chance to do the polite thing.
“And you know who I am,” he said with a wink, bottom firmly in place. “Meg, nice to see you again,” he continued. “Looking more sexy than usual, if I do say so myself.”
Honey looked at her girlfriend, still visibly shocked from the diners’ attention. “Are you okay? Shall we sit down?”
“Sorry, yes. I’ve just not been here for a while. It’s strange seeing it from the other side.”
Gavin cut in. “The side of us celebs? It’s a hard life but someone’s got to live it. Where’s my bird?”
Honey spoke first. “Jo? She’s waiting outside.”
“What’s she out there for, silly bint?”
Honey coughed. Was this how couples spoke to one another? “She thought you were making your entrance together.”
“Too bloody cold to hang around out there.” He whistled the maître d’. “Do us a favour, mate, my bird’s outside, go find her for me, would you? You can’t miss her, big tits.” He paused. “Well, big tits, that’s it really.”
“Wouldn’t you rather go?” asked Honey.
“And lose valuable time with you, my gorgeous, no chance.”
Honey studied the man: tanned skin, dapper suit, perfectly clean cut, but a coolness behind his eyes that she knew she wouldn’t warm to. “Did you win today?” she asked, despite her concerns.
“Louis fucking Laurent’s fault. Over-paid toss-pot missed the penalty, didn’t he.”
“You know Louis? He’s my neighbour; lovely family man.”
Gavin exaggerated his snort. “The nanny’s more his thing. I told Jo all about it first time we met. He’s a right royal fucktard. I used to be careful who I told, but not no more now it’s out there with that site—”
Meg interrupted. “Gavin, could you ask for the menu?”
Honey frowned. The menu? This wasn’t a Harvester. Meg had said she’d been here before. “They’ll bring the wine choices when everyone’s arrived,” she whispered quietly, “then the food menu.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“Are you okay? You look a bit flustered.”
“She probably can’t see without her glasses,” said Gavin. “A right specky four eyes first time we met.”
“When was that?”
“Oh, back in—”
“There’s Jo!” Meg’s voice was high pitched.
Looking towards the staircase, Honey grimaced. Jo looked like a drowned rat, hair slick to her shoulders, dress damp to the skin. “The rain must have started,” she said, waving her hand and welcoming the latecomer to their table. “Here, have my napkin,” she offered.
The snap was vicious. “You said you’d be outside, Gavin! What the bloody hell are you doing sitting up here?”
“Chatting up our Honey, aren’t I my love?”
Honey ignored the come on. “Miscommunication I think.”
“They wouldn’t let me in,” continued Jo, “said they didn’t know who I was.”
“Good call.” Gavin was laughing. “Get your arse down and stop making a scene.”
“Me? It looks like you’re the one making a scene with our Honey.” She spoke with affectation.
The footballer pulled on his cuffs. “She’d be my Honey if I set my mind to it.”
“Hello, I am here.”
“No, she wouldn’t,” said Jo, still standing by the table. “She’s a lesbian, a tit tosser.”
Honey made a mental note to Google whether tit tossing was an actual thing. “I am here.”
“She can toss me with her tits any day of the week.”
Honey glanced around at the seated diners, all staring their way, all straining for titbits. She smiled at her own joke. Titbits. None of it really mattered anymore. She was happy. She was confident. She was in the middle of a lovers’ tiff with tit talk clearly audible, but with Meg by her side nothing would phase her. The papers could write what they liked, who cared what half-truths they told? Not her, she realised as she encouraged Jo to sit down once more.
“I’m not sitting next to someone my Gavin would rather be with.” The blonde had folded her arms.
“Of course I’d rather be with her. Hot Honey. Even hotter now I know she’d want her mates to join in.” The footballer shook his head at Meg. “Not you though, love. No offence.”
Meg spoke softly. “I think we should go.”
Gavin nodded. “Yeah, you two head home and leave us celebs here.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Jo, finally taking her seat. “Where’s the menu? Are we all sharing some starters? Garlic bread anyone? Do they do it with cheese?”
“I know what I want for my pudding.” Gavin winked seedily at Honey.
Honey weighed up the options. Stay and let things degenerate further, or go and confirm all of Jo’s suspicions. The woman clearly didn’t like her. The woman clearly thought she was wrong for her friend. But what if Jo was the one wrong for her girlfriend? What if their friendship was harmful? Honey stopped herself. She couldn’t be judgemental, she didn’t live in the real world. Maybe this was how people spoke to each other. Maybe this was how people chose to act and behave. She’d caught a Christmas episode of EastEnders once and was shocked but equally drawn in to the family rifts and shouting confr
ontations. Maybe real people did goad each other. Maybe it was a sign of affection.
Gavin Grahams whistled. “Hey, gringo, get my big-titted bird something to swallow.” He lowered his voice and turned to Jo as he sneered. “And I’m not talking about my big bollocked balls this time you thirsty bitch.”
Right, that was it. Honey nodded. She’d had quite enough. “Meg, follow me, I’ll show you the wine rack.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Pulling Meg down the stairwell and into The Muse’s underground car park, Honey questioned her actions – a claimed visit to the restaurant’s wine rack her excuse for a sharp exit from their table and the horror of Gavin Grahams and his “bird”, or was it “bad bitch”? Why Jo would put up with such vileness was beyond her comprehension, and even though the blonde appeared to give as good as she got, wouldn’t she rather be with someone who valued her, respected her, was proud of her? Honey smiled. She’d been proud of Meg as they’d walked up that grand, curving staircase, and as much as it would have pleased her to have Meg’s hand willingly in her own, she was more than happy with the runner up reward of an invitation home. If she was honest, it wasn’t quite an invitation, more of a bamboozlement. She’d bulldozed Meg into having her back, with Meg immediately trying to retract once she knew they were making their grand escape.
Meg had been apologising profusely for her flatmate’s behaviour, but there really was no need to say sorry. Meg wasn’t Jo’s keeper, it wasn’t her place to hold her in check. What Jo was, however, was a litmus test indicating the level of palatability Meg could accept in a friend, and it seemed her tolerance levels were high. Wasn’t it a good thing Meg wasn’t judgemental? Looking over at her now, as they awaited Tammara’s earlier than scheduled arrival, Honey questioned it once more, unable to shake off that old saying: surround yourself with people that reflect who you want to be and how you want to feel. The saying was right, energies are contagious. What must a night in the flat be like? Sitting, moaning, bitching? No. Meg had seemed just as aghast as she had. Jo was probably just nervous, or showing off, or maybe she’d had one too many pre-dinner aperitifs, and anyway, a text to Meg’s phone had announced Jo’s plans to head back to Gavin’s after the meal, a reply to Meg’s lie of a Honey Diamond music studio emergency. At least it meant she wouldn’t be involved in any more of their evening.