by Jill Mansell
‘And how much of an effect did that have?’
Lara watched, enthralled.
‘But the thing is, they’re really nice people,’ Don protested.
‘Excellent,’ said Nettie. ‘I shall be really nice too. I’ll be an official from the council investigating noise pollution. I’ll explain that unless they get their act together I shall be forced to serve a Noise Abatement Notice on them.’
‘They’ll know it’s me who complained!’
‘And so they should!’
‘Oh God, they’ll hate me.’
‘And you’d rather suffer in silence?’ Nettie raised her eyebrows at him in disbelief. ‘Let your blood pressure climb until your heart explodes like a bomb? That, my darling, is called dying of politeness. Come on, let’s go.’
As Nettie rose to her feet, Lara said, ‘Do council officials wear checked shirts and jeans?’
Nettie said, ‘This one does.’
Don was surveying her as if she were a rogue firework that might be about to go off. ‘Are you always like this?’
‘Only when it matters.’ She reached for her keys and jangled them at him. ‘Right, hop to it. The sooner we leave, the quicker we’ll be back.’
Which didn’t exactly happen, it had to be said. Dusk fell, the lights of Bath came on, the hours passed and Lara was on the verge of heading over to Don’s house herself when they finally returned at nine thirty.
‘Where the bloody hell have you two been?’ She eyed them in disbelief. ‘Why didn’t you answer your phones?’
Nettie said reasonably, ‘Mine’s in Keswick.’
‘And mine’s right here.’ Don patted the inside pocket of his smart cashmere jacket. ‘It didn’t ring. Oh, sorry, battery’s flat.’
‘We were worried about you! I thought maybe the noisy neighbours had drugged and buried the pair of you under their patio.’
‘She’s always been like this.’ Nettie shook her head apologetically at Don. ‘Over-dramatic.’
‘You’ve been gone for four hours!’
‘The neighbours invited us to their party,’ Don explained.
‘And you went?’
‘He’s right, they’re lovely people.’ Patiently Nettie said, ‘I did have a chat with them about the noise and they promised to keep it down in future.’
‘They’ve done that before,’ said Gigi.
‘Well, maybe this time they’ll take notice. Anyway,’ said Don, ‘we had a good time. There was karaoke.’
‘You mean you sang?’ squeaked Lara.
‘“I Dreamed A Dream”.’ He looked proud. ‘From Les Misérables.’
‘And you?’ She turned to Nettie, whose grey-blonde hair was escaping from its clips.
‘She did “Born To Be Wild”,’ said Don.
Oh good God. ‘Seriously?’
Gigi said, ‘Wow.’
Nettie said, ‘Can you two stop looking at me like that? I got a standing ovation.’
‘She did,’ Don marvelled.
‘And was drink involved?’
‘Of course not.’ Nettie was brisk. ‘I’m driving home tonight. In fact it’s time I made a move now. I need to be up again at six to milk the goats.’
Harry gazed out at the twinkling lights of the harbour and marvelled that he was here. EnjaySeven’s tour had criss-crossed the continents, moving from Japan to Australia, from New Zealand to Singapore. Finally back in Europe to promote the upcoming TV series, he had called and persuaded Harry to join him in Monaco for the weekend so they could perform their odd-couple double act for the press due to interview them tomorrow. The photographers, at a guess, would joyfully play up the juxtaposition of fuddy-duddy Harry exploring this, the flashiest of billionaires’ playgrounds. He would be pictured on sleek yachts. There would be scantily clad girls with even sleeker curves and the kind of breasts money could buy.
Oh well. Harry, now comfortably settled on the wrought-iron balcony on to which his hotel room opened, sat back and sipped his coffee. Back at home the skies were leaden and the air temperature in single figures, yet here in Monte Carlo’s balmy microclimate the sky was inky blue, the stars were huge and bright and he was out here at ten in the evening in just his shirtsleeves.
Dinner downstairs earlier had been delicious. The hotel – a five star, naturally – was spectacular. And he’d started reading a book on the flight down here that was proving to be unputdownable. Checking how many pages he still had left to read, Harry saw to his satisfaction that there were three hundred. Excellent.
Other than the faint buzz of traffic and nightlife in the distance, peace reigned. Perfect coffee, fresh fruit in the bowl on the table beside him and maybe a cognac later. Harry opened his book and began to read. Ah yes, there were definitely worse ways to spend a weekend.
‘That’s good . . . oh yes, great . . . now just turn over on to your front, darling, and let Enjay run his finger down your spine.’
Harry, sitting in the shade while the photographer danced around Enjay and the two bikini-clad models, watched as Enjay gave the blonde model’s bikini tie a playful tug.
‘Hey, naughty.’ She giggled and pouted up at him over her shoulder.
‘Sorry, babe, can’t help myself. Kind of just happens.’ Enjay rested his hand lightly in the curve of her spine and winked at the second model as he said it. In turn, she blew him a kiss.
‘Perfect,’ yelled the photographer, snapping away. ‘Harry, I want you in the background, peering at them over the top of your glasses and looking disapproving.’
Enjay’s pointed teeth flashed. ‘Harry can do that, he’s had plenty of practice.’
It was midday and they were on one of the yachts moored in the harbour, bright sunlight bouncing off the polished steel, the white paintwork and the varnished wood of the upper deck. As the photographer finished up, the journalist put his phone away and prepared to begin the interview. In his mid-forties and sporting a slicked-back ponytail, he said good-humouredly, ‘Is he always like this?’
‘Oh yes.’ Harry nodded.
‘Hey, man, what you see is what you get.’ Enjay was standing up now, his hand briefly cupping the blonde’s pert bottom as she sashayed past him. ‘It’s just the way I’m made, take it or leave it.’
The journalist switched on the voice recorder, placing it on the table between them as Enjay pulled up a chair. ‘And I’m guessing they don’t often leave it.’
‘Why would they, man? I keep myself in shape. I know how to treat a lady. Just ask the one I met in the casino and brought back to the hotel last night.’
‘And Marina doesn’t mind you sharing yourself around?’
Enjay shrugged. Marina was one of the backing singers he’d been seeing recently during the course of the tour. ‘I haven’t asked her. If she minds that much, no one’s forcing her to put up with it. But let’s be fair, she’s thousands of miles away and I’m here.’
‘Cool, cool.’ The journalist nodded with approval. ‘Their choice.’
‘Exactly.’ Adjusting the sleeves of his pistachio-green suit, Enjay paused to admire his reflection in the side of the silver ice bucket. ‘If they decide they don’t want me, they can always say no.’
‘And has anyone ever done that?’
Enjay’s light brown eyes gleamed as he paused for effect then broke into a wolfish, self-satisfied grin. ‘Uh . . . no.’
The day had been filled with back-to-back interviews. When Enjay’s immaculate pale green suit creased in the heat, it was replaced with an identical white one, then an hour or so later with a silver tuxedo.
Finally the last TV crew left, the empty champagne bottles were carried off the yacht and a limo took them back up the narrow winding road to the hotel.
‘Can I ask you something?’ said Harry as they rode up in the mirror-lined elevator to the fourth floor.
‘Fire away, old chap.’ Enjay still loved to practise his over-the-top British accent.
Harry waited until he’d stopped admiring his profile in the do
uble-angled mirrors. ‘Why did you lie to that journalist?’
‘Say what?’
‘The one with the ponytail. You spun him a story about the girl you spent the night with last night. But it wasn’t true, was it?’
Enjay’s jaw tightened; he was no longer studying his reflection. ‘It was.’
‘No, it wasn’t.’ They’d reached their floor. The doors slid silently open and they stepped out.
‘I don’t know what you’re gettin’ at, man.’
Harry paused at his door then watched as Enjay used his key card to open his own. His hand wasn’t trembling but nor was it entirely steady.
‘I’m not having a go at you, I’m just curious.’ Following Enjay into his suite, Harry added, ‘I don’t understand why you’d say all that stuff in the first place. You seem to think there’s something admirable about sleeping with girls you don’t even know, but I promise you there isn’t.’
‘OK, what makes you think I’m lying about last night?’ There was an odd look on Enjay’s face.
Should he back off? No, he jolly well wasn’t going to. ‘I just know,’ said Harry.
‘Bullshit, man. You said you were having an early night. You’d have been asleep way before we even left the casino.’
‘Normally, yes, I would.’ Harry stood his ground. ‘But I was reading a good book. I heard you come back at midnight,’ he went on. ‘I was sitting out on my balcony and your window was open. I wasn’t eavesdropping,’ he added, because Enjay had now begun pacing the room like a panther. ‘I just heard you flick through the TV channels. You called your mother and chatted to her for a bit. Then you had a shower and watched an old episode of Star Trek. After that you must have fallen asleep. I was outside until gone three and you definitely didn’t have anyone else in that room with you.’
‘Fine.’ After a pause, Enjay’s shoulders slumped. ‘You’re right. I was on my own last night.’
‘So why—?’
‘Hey, it’s just something to say. That’s the way people expect me to behave. All part of the job description.’
‘Well, that’s where I think you’re wrong,’ said Harry. ‘A lot of people would be far more impressed if you were just honest with them.’
At this, Enjay emitted a brief bark of laughter. Turning his back on Harry, he gazed for several seconds through the full-length glass doors leading out on to his own balcony. Then his shoulders began to shake.
Watching him, Harry was puzzled. Surely it hadn’t been that funny? After a moment he said, ‘I don’t get it.’
‘Don’t you? Really?’ Slowly Enjay turned to face him and Harry, to his horror, saw that there were tears glistening in his eyes. He hadn’t been laughing at all. ‘You think my fans would want me to be honest? Well, let me tell you, they would not. No way, man. They’d be repulsed. My career would . . . I don’t know, disappear into some bottomless pit. I wouldn’t have no career, that’s for sure.’
Harry was bemused. ‘But, but . . . why would that happen? Pop stars don’t have to behave like you do.’ Blindly casting around for a suitable role model, he exclaimed, ‘Look at Sir Cliff Richard. He doesn’t sleep around and everyone loves him!’
‘They do? Funnily enough, that doesn’t make me feel better.’ Enjay stopped and cleared his throat, then gazed directly at Harry. ‘You still don’t have the faintest idea what I’m sayin’, do you?’
And up until that moment, Harry genuinely hadn’t known or even suspected. But Enjay’s manner was resigned and his eyes were still swimming; he blinked and a single tear rolled down his left cheek.
‘Um . . . I’m not sure . . .’
‘OK, but I think you’ve got it now. So I’m just gonna come right out and say it, because if I don’t talk to someone I’m going to lose my mind. And I trust you, man. I’m trusting you with this and I hope I can rely on you to keep it to yourself because I swear to God I can’t tell any other person on this earth.’ Enjay’s voice cracked as he reached the end and roughly brushed his hand over his face. ‘Oh shit, I can’t believe I’m doing this.’
Harry watched him cross the room, remove a miniature of vodka from the fridge and knock it back in one go. Something else he’d noticed in the past was that for all the conspicuous champagne consumption Enjay urged on those around him, he actually drank very little himself.
Presumably because he couldn’t afford to lose control, to let his guard down, for so much as a single second.
‘You’re gay.’ Harry said it and saw him flinch.
Enjay nodded. ‘Yes.Yes, I am. Oh God.’ He was hyperventilating now. ‘And this is the first time I’ve ever said it aloud. I’m gay. I’m a liar, I’m a fraud, I’m a homosexual and I’m never going to be able to live a normal life. I’m never going to be happy. My family would disown me if they knew. And I’d never sell music again because who wants to follow a freak?’
‘You’re not a freak.’
‘Trust me, in my world it’s not what you dream of. If my family ever found out, they’d die of shame. If I ever left my house I’d be yelled at in the street.’
‘It can’t be that bad,’ Harry persisted. ‘People might be surprised at first, but they’d get used to it. You’d still be you.’ He felt himself flush because talking like this wasn’t exactly something that came naturally.
‘I would still be me.’ Enjay rubbed a hand wearily over his jaw. ‘In their eyes I’d still be a faggot. Trust me, in my job no one’s going to forgive me for that. Which is why no one’s ever going to find out.’
He was serious. He meant it. Thinking it through, Harry realised he was right. In Enjay’s world, homosexuality was something you didn’t admit to; amongst his peers it simply wasn’t an acceptable state of affairs. He would become an object of ridicule and his fans would desert him in their droves.
‘I won’t breathe a word. Ever,’ said Harry. ‘You can trust me.’
Enjay nodded. ‘Thanks, man. I know. That’s the only reason I told you.’
Following his confession, he was looking emotionally drained. Harry could only imagine the extent of the pressure he must have been under for years.
‘So all those girls . . . the groping, the come-ons, the flirting . . .’
‘I didn’t want to do it. I had to.’ Enjay grimaced. ‘I know I act like a complete sleazebag, but it’s what the world expects you to do.’
‘You kissed Lara.’
‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Don’t tell her about me, man. Please.’
‘I won’t. Everything was for show,’ Harry marvelled. ‘Did you sleep with any of them? Girls, I mean.’
‘Just a few.’ He pulled another face. ‘Carefully chosen. Only the ones I knew would brag about it to the press. With the rest of them I just made out I was too tired. No one wants to admit to being the girl who wasn’t exciting enough to keep EnjaySeven awake.’
‘What about Marina?’ said Harry.
‘She’s just a friend. We play computer games together.’
‘OK, but one thing’s bothering me. You’re so adamant no one’s going to discover the truth . . .’
‘They aren’t. It can’t happen. If word ever gets out,’ said Enjay, ‘it won’t have come from me. So I’ll know it was you.’
Had he seriously not considered the risks? ‘What about . . . if they say something?’
‘They who?’
‘You know.’ Harry cleared his throat; just choosing the right words was awkward enough. ‘The men you . . . are friendly with.’
‘You mean the ones I have sex with?’ Enjay regarded him frankly. ‘Is that what you’re trying to say?’
‘OK, yes. But doesn’t that worry you? Any of them could go to the papers, blackmail you . . .’
‘Believe it or not, I do know that. And yes, it’s something that concerns me. But it’s never going to happen.’
Exasperated on his friend’s behalf, Harry burst out, ‘How can you be so sure?’
Enjay turned away, clasping both hands behind his hea
d and tilting it from side to side as if to ease the accumulated muscle tension in his neck. Finally, addressing the wall, he said tonelessly, ‘Because there aren’t any men I have sex with. For precisely that reason. It’s a risk I can’t afford to take.’ He paused and swung back round to face Harry. ‘So I don’t take it. End of.’
‘What? Never?’ Truly shocked now, Harry said, ‘Never ever?’
‘Not since I was eighteen. Hidden cameras, getting stuff recorded on mobile phones . . . how can I take that chance?’ Those light brown eyes were brimming once more. ‘Better safe than sorry.’
‘It’s no way to live.’
‘It’s the only way to live. I don’t have any other choice.’
‘What happened when you were eighteen?’ Harry sensed that this was what had triggered the return of the tears.
‘Oh, nothing much. I got friendly with a boy in our town. We used to go fishing every weekend. He was . . . the same as me. We ended up spending the summer together. It was our secret and no one ever found out. But Shaun couldn’t handle the guilt, you know? He hated the way he was, just wanted to be normal. It really got to him, he couldn’t see a way out.’ Enjay paused, swallowing hard as he struggled to compose himself. ‘Anyhow, he got more and more desperate and depressed. I tried my best to help him through it but there was nothing I could do to help. Shaun was something he didn’t want to be and he just couldn’t handle it. The shame was too much to bear . . .’
Harry broke the silence, although he already knew the answer. ‘What happened?’
‘He threw himself off a bridge into the river. They found him the next day, a few miles downstream. He left a note for his family.’ Enjay’s voice was devoid of emotion now. ‘Told them he was in love with a girl who didn’t love him back, and he couldn’t bear to live without her.’ A muscle began to jump in his jaw. ‘His poor mother tried for years to find out who the girl was. Not knowing almost drove her demented. She never found out the truth, that the person her son couldn’t b-bear to live without was m-m-me.’
The next moment he broke down completely, years of suppressed grief and guilt bursting out like a disintegrated dam. For Harry, veteran of a lifetime of awkward moments, this was the most awkward by far. Paralysed with indecision, he didn’t know what to do. If he were Lara, he would have already rushed over to Enjay, murmuring soothing words of comfort whilst enveloping him in a hug. It had never been his forte. Moreover, this was Enjay, who wouldn’t want to be pitied and comforted by another man. He was the proudest of the proud.