by Kiki Archer
“Not Jo?”
“No, me. Titbits I’d pick up through work but couldn’t print.”
Sofia spoke again. “The three a.m. girls do the same. But publicly. They write the gossip column in The Mirror. Perez too. They’re freely invited to all the celebrity parties because most celebrities like the column inches. I’m sure if people knew Meg did what she did they’d invite her too.”
“That’s not my point,” said Honey, “and whose side are you on?”
“Yours, dear. But is it really such a big deal what she did? She didn’t name names, she didn’t tell lies.”
“She lied to me!”
Meg nodded. “And that’s why I’m going. I made a mistake. I made a terrible, terrible mistake. I should have told you the minute I met you.”
Sofia tutted. “You wouldn’t have done that.”
“She should have,” said Honey.
“And what would you have done, dear?” continued the old woman.
“I’d have told her to go.”
“Exactly, and you wouldn’t have found this.” Sofia lifted her hands between them. “The way you were talking to me, I knew I had to let you find your own path, and you found it. You’ve been happy.”
“This,” said Honey, turning her back on the connection, “was a lie.”
Meg reached out and took hold of her shoulder. “Was it?” she asked, turning the body and forcing the eyes to connect.
Honey sniffed. “It was built on a lie.”
“I wanted to tell you, so many times. At the windowsill the night of the fermented egg curry, over meatballs at the Ikea café, in your dressing room the night of the show. So many times. All the time.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I didn’t want to lose you.”
“Before you had me?”
“I had one chance. One chance not to mess things up. But I did, like I always do. And deep down I knew this was coming; that’s why I’ve shied away from the photos.”
“You didn’t shy away because you were unsure?”
“God no! I love you, Honey, and I want to be with you. I just knew the minute we went public I’d be putting you in an awful position having to explain why it was so short lived, because you trusted a drongo, because you fell into my trap.”
Sofia cut in. “But this wasn’t deliberate. You didn’t set out to snare Honey?”
“As if! Look at me! Can you imagine me thinking I had any chance? Of course I fantasised and romanticised, I was a fan, a huge fan, one of your biggest, but I’ve always known I wasn’t worthy.” She sighed. “Anyway, I’m sorry. Truly I am. You deserve someone so much better than me.”
Honey felt herself starting to crack. “You were doing okay.”
The head was shaking. “I’m that duck who looks like they’re gliding over the water, when really they’re paddling like shit underneath. I’ve been paddling like shit since the moment I met you.”
Sofia coughed. “For a top journalist you’ve got quite the way with words.”
“She’s got quite the gift with presents as well,” said Honey, finally allowing herself to smile. “You brought me meatballs.”
“That’s not enough.”
Honey nodded. “That’s more than enough.”
“What if they don’t taste as good as the ones in the store? What if I don’t taste as good now that I’m damaged?”
Honey felt her heart forgiving; she couldn’t help but love this ridiculous woman with all her insecurities and high walls. So what if she ran some stupid site? So what if she spilled silly secrets? It had stopped, and the idea of not holding her again, not touching her again, well that was far more painful than any betrayal she’d felt when reading the letter. She paused, one final point she wanted addressed. “So my mother sends you that letter and you pull the site. Why? Fear of exposure? Fear of a law suit?”
“It was meeting you, and I know this sounds too hard to believe but that letter meant nothing. It was a threat. My site wasn’t illegal. I didn’t name names. I didn’t tell lies—”
“Only to me.”
Sofia chastised her goddaughter. “Honey.”
“Sorry.” Honey shook her head. “I’m letting it go.”
Meg reached out for Honey’s hands. “I don’t need you to let it go. I fully deserve to be punished. I was wrong. I should have told you. But whether I’d received that letter or not, the site was coming down. I knew the minute I met you that I couldn’t live with what I’d done… what I’d said. You’re a private person, Honey, and I should have respected that, knowing you or not.”
Honey felt the warmth and honesty in the words and pulled her girlfriend in close. “I’m sorry for walking away.” She lifted her shoulders with a smile. “But I’ve realised I don’t want to be private. I want all the secret sites screaming about us. I want the pictures. I want the gossip. I want to show you off and parade you around. I’m in love with you, Meg, and I think you’re in love with me too.”
“I am. I love you so very, very much. You’ve changed me. You’ve made me want to be a better person.” She smiled. “I am a better person when I’m with you.”
The cough sounded first, then the rustle of plastic. “I’ll go and pop these in the freezer, dear,” said Sofia, lifting the bags.
“Get some of them cooking,” instructed Honey. “I want us to party.”
“PARTY?!” came the scream. “PARTY?!” Diana Diamond crashed into the lounge with her mobile phone outstretched and collar at an all-time high, her entourage of OAPs following in quick succession. “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”
Honey stood protectively in front of Meg. “This is my house, Mother.”
“LOOK! LOOK WHAT SHE’S DONE!” The phone was waggling. “She’s posted again! Benedict just pinged me! You shagged She-Ra, Honey?! SHE-RA?! SHE-RA?! I can clear up some messes but this shit’ll stick!”
Honey grabbed the phone and read quickly. The purple site and shushing finger filled the screen. Which ginger singer shagged She-Ra? She’s a lesbian and she glitters like a crap bit of glass. “Meg?” she cried, throwing her hand to her mouth as she stepped back in horror.
“GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE!” cried Diana.
“Yes, shoo,” said Gerty.
“Piss off,” added Dot.
“Meg?!” Honey felt the horror turn into tears. “How could you?”
“What?” The eyes were wide.
“I walk out and you start up again?”
“Start what?” Meg was trying to edge a look at the phone. “What does it say?”
“WHAT DOES IT SAY?” screamed Diana. “It says law suits and emergency PR stunts and boyfriends. You need a big burly boyfriend, Honey, that’s what we’ll do, but you might not come back from this one; she’ll sue us! She’ll sue you. It’s She-Ra! She won’t want any of this out there!”
“What’s out there?” asked Meg, her face still a picture of confusion.
“WHY’S SHE STILL HERE?!” Diana pointed at the door. “Ladies, remove her!”
“Meg, how could you?” cried Honey.
Diana sneered. “This one could do anything! Has she told you I bribed her into changing your story?”
“My what?”
“Your interview.” Diana nodded. “My interview. Her interview. We colluded. No lesbian labels, no need to reveal her true self.”
Honey cried out. “No!”
Meg was gasping. “No, it wasn’t like that!”
Diana offered her arms to welcome her daughter back into the fold. “It was, my darling. Now come back to me where it’s safe.”
“No to all of you!” screamed Honey, racing out of the room.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Two months later:
Sitting at the make-up table in the arena’s dressing room, Honey looked at the scene reflected in the mirror. Her mother, Sofia, Gerty and Dot were all squashed up on the sofa, quaffing drinks from the never-ending supply they had on request from the eager-to-please runners. Caitlyn, Heidi and Louisa
were busying around, making her perfect, talking politely and getting involved, but still not playing a true part in her life outside of work. Looking in the top of the mirror, she caught a glimpse of step-siblings Nick and Nadia Diamond as they flashed onto the flat screen TV, Liza quickly trying to change channel. Another exclusive interview no doubt, giving their spin on the She-Ra rumours that simply refused to die down. The fact the singer had left her husband added more fuel to the fire. Had she left for Honey? Had the affair been going on for the whole of her marriage? The bisexual community bore the brunt of the drama, the age-old once a lesbian always a lesbian rhetoric a nasty undercurrent in all the main papers. The fact that She-Ra had indeed contacted her to reminisce about good times and praise her for being true to herself didn’t need to be known. She-Ra wasn’t angry about the rumours; yes her PR machine was now in full flow, but she wasn’t personally angry. She’d called it a memorable time in her life and one she wouldn’t mind revisiting. Honey smiled to herself. It was no more tempting now than it had been two months ago when originally offered. All she’d been able to think about was Meg, all she continued to think about was Meg.
Remembering the scene, Honey sighed. Meg, dragged kicking and screaming from the house by the Golden Girls, professing her innocence, saying she had proof it was Jo. And, yes, even though it transpired the gossip was indeed posted as Meg was standing in her living room next to two bags of meatballs, the fact remained that she’d told her. Meg had told Jo her secret about She-Ra, and it hurt. Had she gone home and gossiped about their meeting? Laughed at her lesbian lust? Had she sneered? Judged? And this wasn’t even mentioning the details with her mother, not telling her she’d changed the interview to save her own skin. Plotting. Scheming. Honey shook her head. Once more, Meg had professed her innocence, claiming that’s the way she’d written the article to begin with, claiming she’d wanted to explain all that too.
But that was the crux of it. Meg trying to tell her about the site. Meg wanting to tell her about her mother. Meg needing to be honest, but never quite getting to that point. Meg was clearly a person who couldn’t face up to the truth. The one who’d turn the blame on to you for not giving them the opportunity to be open. “I’d have told you if I didn’t think you’d react.” Or: “You’ve not made it easy for me to be truthful.” No. There would always be a reason, an excuse, or a passed blame. Meg was just too far into that grey area, and yes the site had gone down within hours of the She-Ra post and was as yet to reappear, but the damage had been done. She didn’t need someone like that in her life.
It wasn’t simply a case of saying sorry and moving on. The rumour had been copied, there were screenshots, discussions, interviews. Honey tutted as the channel flicked past Nick and Nadia Diamond once more, milking every moment of what could potentially be the fall of her mother’s ridiculous Diamond dynasty. That was the reason for everyone’s presence in the dressing room, supporting her in this one-off make or break concert. That’s what her mother had called it anyway, her grand idea to assess damage to the brand. A night in the O2 arena. The fact the tickets had sold out within three minutes still not enough to appease the irrational anxieties of her mother.
Honey had stood firm when declaring her song list, her new one appearing in the middle of the mix. It wasn’t called the sexuality song, but that’s the way everyone referred to it. She had in fact given it the title of Honest Love. She’d slowed it down and turned it into a more typical ballad, but she’d been advised that singing it live onstage for the first time in front of such a big audience would be too much too soon. Even so, this was the route she wanted to take, singing songs that meant more than just words, and if she was honest the past two months had seen her writing some of her best, most heartfelt and meaningful lyrics to date.
Hearing the knock on the door, Honey watched her PA’s reflection. Liza was back to her usual self: overbearing, dictatorial, moody and cross. Cross at her, cross at the girls, cross at Tammara, but mostly the PA was cross with herself. Svetty had tried to make up on many occasions but Liza’s stubborn streak had got in the way, and now Svetty was holed up at Velvet Villa, no longer performing any treatments off-site. Honey watched as Liza’s face burst into smiles. “What is it?” she asked quickly.
Liza’s mouth stayed turned at the corners. “The runner’s just announced the arrival of your holistic therapist.”
“Oh Mother,” said Honey, spinning around in her seat. “I don’t want Svetty Sokolova channelling my chakra before I’m on stage.”
“She can channel my chakra any day of the week,” said Dot.
“I prefer Kuntse,” said Gerty. “Her suction cup’s deeper than Svetty’s.”
Diana lifted her collar. “Svetty resigned. Kuntse’s in charge.” She nodded. “And here she is now. Set up in the corner would you please?”
The holistic therapist giggled. “I be sorry. I be needing Svetty. I not be good with the making of portable table.” The voice giggled again. “I not be good at driving big wagon either. You got big wagon, Madame Diamond. Madame Diamond’s wagon be huge.”
“Svetty’s here?” gasped Liza, the disappearing smile now back on her lips.
“Outside in big wagon. I get her. She be driving better than Kuntse and she be setting portable table better than Kuntse,” the therapist wagged her finger, “but Kuntse be folding the sheet with more neatness than Svetty.”
“She’s resigned?”
The therapist nodded. “For you. You be thinking she dip her feet deep only if you pay her. But now she show you she dip her feet deep all by herself.”
“Because she wants to? For me?”
“Svetty wanting to go deep in here,” Kuntse waved her hand in the general area of Liza’s womb, “and in here,” she slammed her fist against Liza’s heart.
Liza’s brogues started to riverdance. “Go and get her! Quickly! Go and get her.”
Diana snapped. “Stop acting like a schoolgirl.”
“I won’t stop, and you, Diana Diamond, need to find love, doesn’t she girls?”
The three stylists kept their heads low and ignored the question but Sofia, Gerty and Dot all seemed to shrug in agreement.
“It frees you,” continued Liza, “it lightens you. You’ll be a different person entirely.”
“Oh will I?” Diana sniffed. “It seems when people do fall in love they always end up wallowing in tears. Look at the pair of you.” She nodded in Honey’s vague direction. “Miserable for months.”
Preaching to the room, Liza’s brogues continued to tap. “Sometimes you just need to forget about the doubts, the arguments, the miscommunications and questions and just feel what you feel. Svetty taught me that.”
“When she was foot deep in womb?” Diana finished her drink. “I think we’ve all heard quite enough about what Svetty’s feeling. Ladies, let’s escape to the bar. I’ve heard there’s a VIP section.”
Dot pulled herself up. “Oh goody. It’s been a while since we were spotted in Tatler.”
“Speak for yourself,” added Gerty. “I made the who’s who column in Vogue.”
“Mother, I’ll be singing my song.”
Diana Diamond turned on her way out of the room. “As long as you don’t make any dedications then it should be bearable.”
“Oh, Mother, you know I’ve been right about everything. No one cares who I love. My sales are higher than ever, my…” Her mother had gone, Sofia was the only one still sitting.
“Sing your song, dear; sing it loud from the centre of your soul.”
“Sofia, thank you, I will.” She smiled at her godmother before signalling her to go after the others. “Go on, have fun.” She’d been the one by her side through it all: the sleepless nights, the midnight feasts, the quiet lulls in the house. Listening, comforting, but never advising. It must have been the same when she’d found out about Meg, not wanting to judge Diana’s decision, not wanting to influence anyone in any way. She was good like that, but it was also incredibly frustrating. She�
�d have loved her godmother to have tried to convince her that Meg was the one, that the onslaught of various Ikea items left at the front gate on a weekly basis was a sign of her sorrow, a sign of atonement. But she hadn’t, so they’d both carried on mourning something that never quite was.
“All this reminds me,” Liza said, clicking through her PDA. “Give us a minute would you please, girls.”
“We’re not even half way through her hair,” said Heidi.
“A minute.”
Honey watched as the stylists sulked out of the room after Sofia, leaving her and her PA standing alone. “It’s something private?”
Liza passed over her handheld. “It’s from the editor of The Beacon. He’s awaiting my response.”
“What is it?”
“Read it. It’s a piece by Meg.”
“About what?”
“She’s like Svetty, given her notice, but I guess she wants to go out with a bang.”
“It’s about us? Our affair?” Honey gasped. “How could she?”
Liza’s head was shaking. “SlebSecrets. She’s fessed up.”
“What?”
“Just read it.”
Honey scanned the draft copy. Meg was outing herself as the site owner, claiming she created it because of resentment at the false world she observed and was resigning from her job due to the guilt she now felt. There were professions of malpractice, culpability and disgrace, and an awareness of the hurt and upset she had caused. There was no attempt to sway favour or even really justify her reasons for sharing the secrets, just an admission of error, her hands held up high as she confessed to her readers the poor judgement of her past. The tagline at the bottom simply saying: Meg Rutherton, formerly Margaret Rutherton of The Beacon, lives alone in East Dulwich.
Honey gasped. “She left her flatmate? She quit her job?”
“It looks that way.”
“Oh no! She’s done that for me! Jo needs her! I advised her badly. It’s admirable the way she puts up with her. She was clearly drunk when she did what she did. Maybe Meg’s put her in rehab? She can’t leave her alone. I was the one being judgemental. Everyone needs someone like Meg. I need someone like Meg. The Beacon needs someone like Meg.” The voice was panicked. “They can’t print this!”