by Karen Swan
Nettie swallowed at the sound of his name, still feeling sick, still confused by what had happened between them last night. After the humiliation of their non-kiss – a moment that she had so clearly anticipated – she had insisted on catching a cab back home. She hadn’t been able to meet his eyes, rushing off before he could start up with the excuses.
‘You mean Jamie came up with this?’
‘Yeah, he’s playing here tonight and he said he’d done this tour the other day. That’s the thing – he’s been everywhere, seen everything. He can think of these things. He’s just been exposed to so much more life than us. Living on the road does that to you.’
‘Huh, never would’ve guessed,’ Jules said with a roll of her eyes, but her gaze coming straight back to Nettie. It was obvious she wanted every last detail of what had happened between them last night, but what was Nettie supposed to say? That she’d puckered up and he’d backed off? Her cheeks stung just from the memory of it. How was she supposed to face him again?
‘And since when did a singer start dictating our campaign policy?’ she asked tartly.
Everyone looked at her in surprise.
‘Well, he’s the charity ambassador now,’ Caro said as if it was obvious.
‘But he has no experience of running something like this. He’s just a celebrity, a famous face. What we’re doing is serious. We’re dealing with big budgets from a multinational company, making a difference on the front line of cancer.’
Still there was silence.
And then, like skittles hit by a ball, they all fell about laughing.
‘That’s brilliant! You sounded just like Mike!’ Daisy cried.
‘You sounded so serious and you’re standing there in that stupid costume!’ Caro screeched.
‘Good one, Nets!’ Jules giggled.
Nettie balled her hands – or rather, paws – trying to keep her temper. It was fine for them. They were just the support team; they weren’t having to sacrifice their dignity or pride, day after day. They just had to book the trips and hold the cameras. They didn’t have to face him like she did.
She reached out for the bunny head and pulled it on over her own roughly. There was no point in arguing – it was just better to be done with it – and without another word, she assumed the position and made like an owl.
‘You’ve made us breakfast?’ Daisy cooed, touching Jamie’s arm. ‘You really have thought of everything.’
Nettie and Jules swapped looks. Their teammate somehow managed to make it sound like the two of them were alone in a hotel room, rather than the vast black, domed arena of the O2. Nettie eyed the impressive spread of croissants and pastries, fruit and yoghurts with no appetite.
‘Well, I can’t say I made it myself,’ Jamie said, catching sight of Caro sticking her gum in a yellow paper napkin and surreptitiously grabbing a handful of grapes.
They had been welcomed back to earth by a black-and-plaid-clad assistant who’d been waiting for them, giving them passes to enter the arena and join the main man himself.
All around them, roadies were hauling massive black boxes onto and under the stage on wheeled tracks, miles of cables criss-crossing the stage like it was the National Grid. A vast screen was being manoeuvred into position on the far right of the stage.
Nettie hung back in the shadows. The arena seemed big enough when it was filled with 20,000 people, but less than 100? It felt as dark and large as the moon.
‘So did you get the shot?’ Jamie asked, folding the newspaper he was reading and directing the question entirely to her as she and the team emerged onto the stage, where he was sitting on a chair. He stood up, jamming his hands into his jeans pockets, his smile relaxed and betraying no sign of the awkwardness she carried from last night.
‘Yes.’
‘Is it up yet?’
‘You’ll have to ask Caro,’ she shrugged, keeping her eyes away from him. ‘She deals with that side of things.’
‘I’m gonna wait a couple of hours,’ Caro said, her cheeks as full as a hamster’s. ‘Most of our followers will still be in bed, and we need to get the donations rolling in first.’
Jamie took a few steps towards Nettie. ‘Well, can I see the picture? Promise I won’t share it.’
‘Daisy’s got it,’ she said quickly, pointing to her teammate behind him while changing direction herself, pretending to be interested in the rigging high, high above them.
He watched her for a moment before turning and walking over to Daisy, who took her time in scrolling through all seven photos that she’d taken on the top.
‘So, do you get, like, nervous before coming out on a stage like this?’ Jules asked, looking between Nettie and Jamie with a suspicious expression.
Jamie straightened up, but his eyes were following Nettie again as she trailed a hand over a Marshall amp that was almost as big as her. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘Don’t you ever worry you’ll forget the words?’
‘All the time.’ He looked back at Jules. ‘But once you’re out there, the adrenalin takes hold and you’re just . . . in the moment. It becomes instinct.’
Behind his right shoulder, Daisy looked like she was going to faint. ‘And you’re a man who follows his instincts, right?’ she practically mewed.
‘Yeah.’
‘So when are the rest of the band arriving?’ Caro asked, still eating grapes at a rapid pace.
‘After lunch. We don’t usually have such an early call.’
‘So you’re just here because . . . ?’ Daisy asked, with hope in her eyes.
‘The campaign. I just thought that I may as well get here early and see how you were all getting on.’
‘So sweet,’ Daisy whispered.
‘That’s really considerate of you, Jamie,’ Jules said, her eyes still sliding between Nettie and Jamie, while Nettie stayed silent.
A stocky man in an AC/DC T-shirt came over. ‘They’re ready to do that tour now, if you want, Jay.’
Jamie looked up. ‘Great. Would you like to see backstage? Ron’s got it set up for you.’
‘Would we?’ Daisy echoed, clapping her hands and jumping to her feet.
‘Cool,’ Caro muttered, making her way over to Ron too.
‘Does this mean we’ll get to see your rider?’ Jules asked with a flirty tone.
‘What’s that?’ Daisy asked, worried she was missing out.
‘Their list of demands – you know, white peaches in their Bellinis, virgin handmaidens to peel and hand-feed them their grapes,’ she laughed, giving a cheeky wink.
‘Actually, it’s usually just a tube of Pringles and a bottle of Jack.’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, tell it to the judge,’ Jules said over her shoulder, still laughing.
Nettie moved to follow after her, but Jamie caught her by the wrist.
‘Hey, just a sec,’ he said, his gold-flecked eyes focusing on her and her alone in the huge black hall. All around them, people were bustling about, hauling and heaving, calling and cursing, but none seemed to notice the two of them.
‘But . . .’ Nettie looked over to find the girls were already out of sight.
‘Not so fast. You ran away from me twice last night.’ He walked her a few steps towards the stage and, placing her with her back to it, released her wrist. ‘I get the distinct impression you’re avoiding me.’
She crossed her arms over her chest defensively. ‘Funny. I have the distinct impression you’re following me.’
He studied her for a moment. ‘Well, maybe I am.’
She tipped her head to the side fractionally, her arms folded over her chest like she was cold, keeping him away. What did he want? Rejecting her last night, chasing her again now? ‘Why?’
‘Why not? You’re a beautiful girl. You must get loads of men chasing after you.’
The world seemed to spin faster. He thought she was beautiful? She swallowed. ‘Not famous ones.’
‘Does it make a difference?’
She gave a dry laugh, re
membering how everyone had stared last night, witnesses to her humiliation. ‘I think it must do, yeah.’
He was quiet for a moment and the amusement faded from his eyes. ‘Actually, you’re right. It does, sometimes. I tell myself I live pretty normally, but . . .’ He exhaled. ‘There are times it gets in the way. Like last night.’ His eyes skipped over her face like a laser, contracting the world, the dome down to just a black sheet billowing around them, like lovers in a bed.
‘Hey, you took me for a skating lesson,’ she said quickly, trying to keep the conversation general, not wanting to revisit the humiliation. ‘It was great. Thanks very much.’
He watched her, undeterred. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘Do I?’ She hoped she wasn’t blushing, knew that she was.
‘I just didn’t want an audience. For once.’ She heard the note of exasperation in his voice, wanted to laugh out loud at the irony of where they were standing, right now – one of the biggest stadiums in Europe. ‘Nettie, look – we scarcely know each other. And I know it’s weird for you – there’s a lot of strange shit that comes with knowing me, but . . . I like you. You’re funny and cute and pretty weird yourself. I’d like to get to know you better, but it has to be in private.’
Shock made her laugh. ‘God, you move fast!’ she exclaimed, holding her arms tighter to her body.
‘I didn’t mean . . .’ His voice trailed off as he watched her, an unreadable expression in his eyes. ‘Look, time’s a luxury I don’t have. I’m moving around constantly. I’ve had to learn to read people quickly. Sort the good from the bad, if you like.’ His hand touched her arm. ‘And that’s harder than you’d think. This industry attracts . . . Well, it doesn’t tend to bring out the best in people. It’s a mad job.’
‘Not as mad as mine,’ she muttered, looking out into the rows and rows of empty seats that extended into the blackness, out of sight. There were more seats than she could count and she didn’t need to ask if every one of them would be filled tonight – the concert had sold out in an hour when tickets had been released; she knew because she and Jules had been two of the many trying to get through online. She tried to imagine the thousands of people who’d be here in just a few hours, screaming his name, lifting the lid off the place so that London rocked to his beat.
And right now he was standing here, with her.
He smiled, as if detecting a chink of light. ‘That’s true. Your job is bloody odd.’
‘It’s not usually. Everything’s just . . . off-kilter at the moment.’
‘But you must be enjoying it? Everyone’s mad for you.’ His fingers brushed hers. ‘Including me.’ He was staring at her, a smile on his lips, his fingers resting lightly on top of hers, and for a split second she remembered the fantasy of what this would be like to have Jamie Westlake touching her and looking into her eyes. But it paled beside the reality. Her imagination wasn’t wild enough to have conceived the emotions he aroused in her. Every nerve ending was vibrating, her body shot through with adrenalin.
‘Do you love it?’
‘I love this,’ he said, motioning to the arena around them. ‘Playing live’s what it’s all about for me, but I’d gladly turn my back on the rest of it.’
‘The paparazzi, you mean?’
‘Them and the industry politics too – image, branding, all that crap. Sometimes it seems so difficult just to get to play the songs I want to play.’
‘But you’re a massive star. Surely you get to control what you do and don’t do.’
‘You’d think. But I’ve been around a while now. The powers-that-be want me to bring in a younger fanbase. Collaborate with the right producers and DJs, even if it’s not where I want to be.’
She hesitated. ‘I heard you’re doing a duet with Coco Miller.’
He glanced at her. ‘Did you? And who did you hear that from, then?’ His gaze was unnerving.
She tucked her hair behind her ear, embarrassed that he’d caught her out, reading gossip about him, rumour, innuendo. ‘Well, actually, I didn’t . . . didn’t actually hear it. I r-read it somewhere.’
‘You should believe very little of what you read about me,’ he said, turning to face her again, a reluctant smile breaking through on his mouth. ‘Although that bit is actually true.’
‘So you are singing with her?’
‘It’s a shit song and Coco’s . . .’ He sighed, stopping short, and Nettie bitterly wished he’d not been so discreet. ‘Well, Dave represents her and he’s trying to break her over here. He said if I do this with her, get her some headlines over here, he’ll give me carte blanche on the next song.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s what I mean when I say don’t trust what you read; it’s all just a game. You’ll only see what they want you to see.’
‘What’s the name of the one you want?’
‘What, song or girl?’
‘S-song,’ she stammered, taken aback by the question, again feeling like he’d tripped her up.
His eyes were roaming her again. ‘It’s called “Night Ships”.’
She blinked at him. ‘Are you going to sing it tonight?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s not finished.’ He locked her gaze with his. ‘But I’ll play it for you when it is, if you like.’
Her mouth parted. If she liked? If she liked? She stared back at him; he didn’t seem to understand the impact of his words. He said such normal things, clearly oblivious to the stark fact that nothing about him was normal. She didn’t feel normal around him. The oxygen felt thin and too pure; she wanted to gasp for air, to hold on to the walls for balance.
‘Will you come tonight?’
The question startled her almost as much as the touch of his hand on her arm. She went to shake her head, but he beat her to it.
‘If you come, I’ll say something about the campaign.’ A smile started in his eyes.
She arched an eyebrow, a smile escaping her. ‘That’s blackmail.’
‘Not at all,’ he demurred. ‘You’re simply . . . incentivizing me.’
His hand slid down her arm, finding her hand and squeezing it lightly. She looked away, feeling overwhelmed. ‘Say you’ll come.’ His eyes had found her and wouldn’t put her down.
She swallowed, remembering last night’s pain as she’d sat in the taxi home, creeping into the house and diving under the duvet, knowing sleep wouldn’t come. It had hurt far more than it should have done; she barely knew him, and what was ever going to come of it anyway? She had way more to lose than he did. ‘I can’t.’
‘You’ll be perfectly safe; we won’t be alone. It’ll be you, me and nineteen thousand, nine hundred and ninety-eight other people.’
She laughed even as she shook her head. ‘Sorry, but I’ve got plans.’
‘Cancel them, then.’ His expression changed. ‘This is work. We’ve got work to do.’
‘Oh.’ She felt foolish again. She’d thought . . . ‘You mean you want me to wear the costume and do an appearance or something too?’
He winked, laughing lightly at his trick. ‘No. I want you to be there. I’m just messing with you.’
She rolled her eyes and groaned.
‘Hey, where were you?’ Daisy demanded, coming back onto the stage and stopping dead at the sight of them talking, side by side. Daisy’s eyes dropped to Jamie’s hand, covering Nettie’s. She quickly withdrew it and straightened up.
‘Y-you went off too quickly. I got lost,’ Nettie said as Caro and Jules reappeared too. Their happy-go-lucky expressions all changed when they saw Nettie had been left behind with the star. ‘Was it good?’
Daisy didn’t reply. Betrayal swam in her eyes like a shark.
Caro shrugged. ‘Dressing room was boring. You need to have higher standards. J-Lo demands all white. Or is it Mariah Carey?’ She stopped chewing to concentrate. ‘Anyway, whatever, that sofa in there is rank.’
‘Duly noted,’ Jamie quipped. ‘Did you see the rider, Jules?’
‘I certainly did.’ Her eyes were again sliding be
tween him and Nettie. ‘I agree with Caro. You can hardly call a bottle of whisky, Sky Sports and Top Gear magazine living the dream.’
‘Well, what would you suggest?’ he asked, jumping athletically onto the stage. Nettie tried not to stare.
‘Well, if it was me, I’d have baskets of kittens and men in loincloths to give me a massage,’ Jules cackled.
‘Niche,’ Jamie said slowly. ‘What about you, Caro?’
Caro considered. ‘Sour Skittles, a gaming chair and Xbox, and the whole place black with just lava lamps.’
‘Huh.’ He turned. ‘Nettie?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t see it, remember?’
‘Yes, but if you could demand anything back there, what would it be? What would make you relax?’
A double bed ran through her mind as he locked her gaze again. Was this . . . was this normal? Did every girl feel like this in his presence? Yes, probably. More than likely, she told herself as he walked towards her again. ‘A bath and a good book and a glass of champagne,’ she said quickly, opting for the safety of a stereotype to hide behind.
‘A bath in the dressing room?’ He had his back to the others now and a glint glimmered in his eye that made her blush again, shocked to see what was running so clearly through his mind. She felt her body respond in an instant, a heat running through her limbs and pooling in her belly.
‘You asked.’
Jamie’s name was shouted suddenly and he turned, shielding his eyes against a bright light coming from the far end of the arena. He gave a thumbs-up. ‘Damn. I’ve got to go. Sound checks.’
‘Bummer,’ Caro said, quickly reaching for two Danishes and putting one in her jacket pocket. The girl was permanently famished.
‘Any of you free to come tonight?’ He deliberately, it seemed, didn’t look at Nettie, and she felt her stomach plunge at his question. She had thought he had been asking only her. She stared at the ground, not sure which way was up with him. Would he have asked them all if she’d said yes, or had it been his intention to invite the entire team along?
Jules’s eyes widened. ‘You mean backstage passes?’