Rumor Has It

by Jill Mansell

  'Don't be silly, it'll be fine. Who wouldn't jump at the chance to have dinner with a genuine Hollywood star?'

  'You don't even know my name,' Kaye protested.

  'Anyway, I promise you won't be embarrassed. Our supporters are wonderfully generous. And it'll be after the meal, so they'll have had time to knock back plenty of drinks!' Dorothy beamed, pleased at having the matter settled. 'There, all done. All you have to do now is help me find a dress for the night. And don't look so worried,' she added gaily, taking the midnight-blue taffeta gown from Kaye. 'It'll be fun!'

  Chapter 38

  STELLA HAD SLIPPED FROM shock into flat-out denial. Erin knew the doctor had spoken to her about the results of the needle biop sies, but Stella had decided she didn't want to be ill and had shied away from any mention of prognosis. Instead, she insisted on talking about future holidays, whilst sitting up in bed applying copious amounts of makeup. In less than a week, the changes in her physical appearance were pronounced. Watching it happen day by day was horrifying, and having to pretend you hadn't noticed harder still. Erin braced herself each time she entered the ward; it was like one of those time-lapse photography sequences, speeded up. When Stella had first mentioned the word cancer, Erin had envisaged an illness lasting years and years. This, though, was in a different league. Stella's skin had turned greenish-yellow, her eyes had become sunken, and she was losing weight practically by the hour. Her movements were slowed too, curtailed by pain, but still she insisted upon redoing her lipstick, piling on more eye shadow, and liberally dusting her face and chest with bronzer.

  The doctor had spoken to Erin again, spelling out to her what she didn't want to hear either.

  'I'm sorry, but it's about as bad as it gets. We can control the pain, but I'm afraid the cancer isn't treatable. I did broach the subject, but Stella didn't want to hear it. Her husband does need to be aware of this though.' He shot Erin a brief, sympathetic smile. 'It's nice that you and Stella get along so well.'

  Meaning that she was practically Stella's only visitor. Erin didn't tell him the truth.

  'And we'll be keeping her here,' the consultant added. 'It's not worth moving her to a hospice. We're talking a matter of days now.'

  Not even weeks. Days. Erin closed her eyes; she'd had no idea cancer could be this quick.

  'You missed a bit.' Stella's tone was querulous.

  On her deathbed and dissatisfied with the way her nails were being painted. Erin, redoing the edge of the nail, said, 'Sorry.'

  'I want to look my best for Max. Why isn't he here yet?'

  'Probably trying to find somewhere to park. It's a nightmare sometimes.'

  The doors to the ward crashed open. 'There you are,' said Stella. 'You're late.'

  Max arrived at the bedside; if he was shocked by the change in Stella's appearance since his last visit, he covered it well. 'Still stroppy after all these years. Bloody hell, woman, can't you give me a break? Some of us have work to do, WAGs to fight with.' He bent and gave her a hug. 'Tandy's got into the power of crystals—she's set her heart on having an eight-foot blue crystal pyramid in the hall. Anyway, how are you feeling?'

  'Like shit. I hate this place. And Erin's completely mucking up my nails.' Raising her face for a kiss, Stella said, 'Do I look all right?'

  'You look fab. I suppose you've been flirting with all the doctors.'

  'Maybe. Except they're all obsessed with completely grim body functions.' Stella pouted and rearranged her hair. 'I mean, it's all very well getting flirty and batting your eyelashes, but then they go and spoil it all by asking if you've opened your bowels today.'

  'I hate it when that happens,' said Max. 'Really kills the moment. Here, I brought you some mags.'

  'Thanks. I've already seen that one. And that one.'

  Max shook his head. 'I wish I hadn't bothered. Did nobody ever tell you it's polite, when someone gives you something, to at least pretend to be pleased?'

  Stella managed a smile, her bleached teeth bizarrely white against the muddy brownish-yellow of her complexion. 'Like you'd know about being polite. Sorry. I haven't read the rest of them.' Fumbling for one of the glossies, she studied the cover. 'Did you choose this one on purpose?'

  'No. Why?' Max looked at Erin, clearly thinking what she was thinking: God, don't say there was a piece in there on things to do when you've only got a week to live.

  Stella pointed a still-wet burgundy fingernail at the words 'Biological Clock Clanging? Phone a Gay Friend!' 'Thought this might be your way of telling me you've changed your mind.'

  'No.'

  'But you might.'

  'No I bloody won't,' said Max.

  'Not now, obviously. But when I'm better.' Stella gazed intently at him. 'I want a baby, Max. Please.'

  Erin stared at him. Max shook his head. 'I know you do, but it's not going to be with me. Sorry, you'll have to get some other sucker to do it.'

  'Fine then. I will.' Summoning up another brief smile, Stella said, 'Wouldn't want any child of mine inheriting a nose like that, anyway.'

  Max stayed for another forty minutes, swapping insults, regaling them with Roxborough gossip, and eating not only the contents of Stella's fruit bowl but half a dozen of the biscuits belonging to the woman in the next bed.

  When he left, Stella watched him go then sank back against her pillows with a sigh. 'He's great, isn't he?'

  'Hmm.' Erin shrugged and semi-nodded, privately outraged by Max's earlier behavior. God, would it have killed him to pretend that—

  'He's made me feel so much better.'

  Oh cheers. Max breezes in and makes all the difference in the world, while some of us cancel our holidays and spend practically the whole week here; how absolutely fantastic that one quick visit from him should help so much.

  'I feel silly even saying this, but at least I know now that I'm definitely not dying.'

  'What?'

  'Oh well, you know.' Sheepishly Stella said, 'When you feel this rough and people keep being nice to you, it kind of crosses your mind. And that's pretty bloody terrifying, right? But if I was dying, Max would have gone along with anything I said, wouldn't he? He'd have humored me, promised me as many babies as I want. Pass me one of those.' She gestured weakly at the box of tissues as tears slid down her cheeks. 'But he didn't. He told me to get stuffed. So that means I'm all right.'

  'Well, good.' Erin didn't know what else to say.

  'God, it's such a relief! All I have to do now is get my strength up so they can make a start on the treatment. So, when are you and Fergus planning on getting married?'

  Erin was having trouble keeping up with this conversation. 'We haven't even talked about it. You aren't divorced yet.'

  'That won't take long. We can get it sorted. I don't care about Fergus anymore; you can have him. I just want you to promise me one thing.'

  Oh help, what now? 'Promise you what?'

  'That you'll invite me to the wedding. So I can turn up looking absolutely fantastic, in a truly great outfit. I'll be thin and classy and gorgeous,' said Stella, 'and everyone will wonder why Fergus ever divorced me.'

  'You know something?' said Erin. 'I have the strangest feeling your invitation's going to get lost in the post.'

  'Don't worry, I'll gatecrash.' Stella winced with pain, then her smile of satisfaction broadened. 'Ha, stealing the show at your ex husband's wedding. How cool is that?'

  Chapter 39

  'GUESS WHAT I'VE BEEN doing all day?' Tilly burst into the shop and flung her arms above her head. 'You'll never guess!'

  Kaye, who had been carefully de-bobbling a Brora cashmere sweater, eyed Tilly with her arms in the air and said, 'Pretending to be an orangutan? Swinging from high branches? Ooh, I know, learning to be a trapeze artist!'

  'Any of those would have been so much more fun. I've been gluing Swarovski crystals to a midnight-blue ceiling. A thousand square feet of ceiling. Fifteen thousand Swarovski crystals. My hands are covered in glue and all the feeling's gone from my fingers.' Win
cing as she lowered her arms, Tilly said, 'And I had the com pletely brilliant idea of rollering glue over the whole ceiling then just flinging handfuls of crystals at it, but Max wouldn't let me.'

  'He's an evil slave driver.'

  'Tell me about it. Oh, and you have to see the Alzheimer char ity's website.' Tilly reached past her and waggled the mouse to bring the computer's screen to life. 'Jack called Max earlier and told him to take a look.'

  'Oh my God,' Kaye wailed when she reached the charity's home page. Tilly, who had already seen it on Max's laptop, gave her arm a sympathetic squeeze.

  Beneath the headline NEWSFLASH! NEWSFLASH! came the announcement: 'Due to unforeseen circumstances Antonella Beckwith has had to pull out of our charity auction. However, we are thrilled and delighted to inform everyone that her place will now be taken by a true celebrity, the sensational and much-loved award winning Hollywood superstar, KAYE McKENNA!!!'

  'Oh God,' Kaye let out a groan and covered her face. 'That is soooo embarrassing.'

  'It's not too bad.' Well, sometimes you just had to lie.

  'It is. It's like a million people turning up at Wembley for a Madonna concert, then you walking out on stage and telling them they've got you instead.'

  'Wouldn't that be fantastic, though?' Enthusiastically, Tilly said, 'It's always been my secret dream to sing at Wembley.'

  'Except you wouldn't get a chance, because the audience would rip you limb from limb before you even opened your mouth. And that's what it's going to be like for me.' Kaye banged the heel of her hand against her forehead. 'Furious old people, feeling cheated and booing me off the stage, throwing their false teeth at me—and I bet Max thinks it's hilarious.'

  'Just a bit.'

  'I can't believe Dorothy stitched me up like this. She asked me if I'd won any Emmys or Oscars and I said the only award I'd ever won was when I was seven, for the carrying-the-jelly-on-a-plate race.'

  'Well, it's for charity. People won't mind.'

  'They might not mind, but who's going to bid to spend a couple of hours with me?' Gesturing around the shop, Kaye said helplessly, 'If they wanted to, they could come and sit in here for free. All they'd have to do is give me a hand with the de-bobbling.'

  The door opened and a couple of women Tilly vaguely recog nized came into the shop. Well-groomed and in their early thirties, she'd seen them somewhere before. In the Lazy Fox, probably. They were chattering away together. Tilly watched as Kaye prepared her easy welcoming smile and waited for the potential customers to smile and acknowledge her in return.

  Well, that didn't happen. Ignoring both of them, the two women began flicking through the rails. Kaye shrugged slightly and turned back to the computer. Tilly checked her watch; she should be heading over to Harleston to pick Lou up from school.

  '…I mean, can you believe it? I know she's always been a tart, but not knowing who the father of your kid is, God, that's just tacky.'

  'Ha, though, I bet we can guess which one she's hoping it is.'

  Tilly exchanged a glance with Kaye; honestly, they might as well be wearing an invisibility cloak. Still, it had its own entertainment value. As Erin had remarked in the past, working in a shop was great if you wanted to eavesdrop.

  'Well, if it's Andrew's,' said the taller, blonder woman, 'it's going to be born with weird little stumpy legs.'

  'And if it's Rupert's,' the brunette grimaced, 'God help it! It'll have a bald head, hairs sprouting out of its pointy ears, and come out wearing mustard-colored corduroys!'

  They both snorted with laughter at this. Tart or otherwise, Tilly felt sorry for whoever they were mocking. Tapping her watch, she said in an undertone to Kaye, 'I'd better be making a move…'

  'Ha, no wonder she's worried. At least she knows it won't look like a gargoyle if it's Jack's. I suppose we should all keep our fingers crossed, for the kid's sake if nothing else. Now, what about the buttons on this shirt? Do they make it look too officey?'

  Tilly's stomach disappeared. One minute her insides had been there. The next, they were just gone. Like in Tom and Jerry when Tom hangs in thin air for a bit before crashing to the ground. She looked over at Kaye, who was staring at the women, equally stunned.

  'Those shoulders look a bit square. And I'm not sure about the collar. If it's Rupert's,' giggled the brunette, 'it might come out doing that laugh of his, like a hyena on helium.'

  Who were they talking about? Who?

  'And if it's Andrew's, it'll be wearing vile stripy socks.'

  Tilly closed her eyes. Please let it be some other Jack.

  'God, she must be desperate for it to be Jack's. Ooh, look at this!' Triumphantly the woman pulled out a grey crepe bias-cut dress. 'Ghost!'

  Tilly felt as if she'd seen one. Her heart was pounding and she felt sick.

  'Plus,' said the blonde, 'at least he has a decent surname. Imagine if she married Rupert!'

  'I never even thought of that. God, how awful,' squealed the other woman. 'She'd be Amy Pratt!'

  Amy, oh God no. Tilly still vividly remembered being inter rogated by skinny, stiletto-heeled Amy in the pub on the night of Declan's birthday. She'd been besotted with Jack then. And now she was pregnant with what could turn out to be his baby. How could Jack have been so reckless?

  Except that was a rhetorical question, wasn't it? Because the answer was that he was a man, and when it came to sex, they didn't bother to consider the possible consequences. Tilly felt light-headed and, to her horror, just the tiniest bit jealous.

  'So what does Amy's new bloke make of it all?' The blonde was still carefully examining the Ghost dress.

  'Haven't you heard? He's legged it. Dropped her like a stone. You know, you could wear your gold Kurt Geigers with that.'

  'So she's going to be chasing after all three of them.'

  'Poor sods. I bet they're wishing they'd kept it in their trou sers now.'

  'Um, excuse me.' Frowning, Kaye said, 'Is this Jack Lucas you're talking about?'

  The two women turned to look at her, eyebrows raised as far as Botox would allow. The blonde said, 'That's right. Do you know him?'

  Kaye was visibly dismayed. 'Yes I do. Very well.'

  'Ohhhh.' The brunette gave a slow, knowing nod. 'You're another one. Well, the law of averages says it had to happen one day. I mean, I know it's his own fault, but you can't help feeling sorry for him.'

  Tilly's mouth was dry. There was a one in three chance that Jack had casually impregnated Amy and the news had knocked her sideways.

  The other woman shook her head. 'And you know what Amy's like when it comes to money. She'll be praying that baby's Jack's. If he's the father, she'll have that lawyer of hers working overtime, pushing for every last penny she can get.'

  Chapter 40

  FERGUS SHIFTED UNCOMFORTABLY ON the bright orange hospital chair. The sight of his estranged wife, shrunken and discolored and growing visibly weaker by the day, filled him with a mixture of emo tions he could barely define. Years ago, he had loved Stella enough to marry her. But theirs had never been the kind of easy, natural relationship he now had with Erin. Stella's towering ego, her high self-regard, and her endless capacity for criticizing others had suc ceeded in wearing that love away. But now, seeing her like this was really churning him up; he felt guilty and ashamed of himself and resentful and… oh God, guilty again because if she hadn't put her physical symptoms down to the fact that her husband had just left her, she might have gone to the doctor months earlier, in time for the cancer to be caught before it had spread…

  'Come on, come on, you're supposed to be making polite con versation.' Even now, Stella was able to mock him.

  And it was true; he was an estate agent, a salesman. The art of chatting about anything under the sun was something he should be good at, normally was good at. But here, in this hospital, he was finding it hard, almost impossible. He didn't know how Erin did it. Erin, of all people, the one Stella had been most vile to. Incredibly, though, she had put all that behind her. Day in and day ou
t, for hours at a time, she stayed here and kept Stella company, talking easily about the hospital staff, their favorite doctors and nurses, the other patients, clothes, TV, schooldays—anything and everything.

  'You look like someone in deep trouble, waiting to see their bank manager,' said Stella.

  Fergus made an effort to cheer up. But that was exactly how he felt. Checking the clock on the wall, he saw that it was almost three. Erin would be here soon, thank God. And he could get back to work. Looking at Stella, he wondered if she knew, deep down, that she was dying. And if she did, what did it feel like? There were so many questions he wanted to ask her but couldn't. God, who could have imagined that something like this would happen?