by Matt Cain
‘No. What are you on about?’
‘Oh I don’t know. I just got the impression he’d been treating you badly. And maybe you were finding it a bit hard.’
‘God, Mum, not at all. All that stuff I said in the paper about wanting us to be friends, that was actually true. Trust me, if I was going out with Freddy I wouldn’t be in all this trouble now.’
‘Oh, so you are in trouble?’
She shook her head and firmly set down her tea. She obviously didn’t want to talk about it. ‘No, sorry, I didn’t mean that. I’ve just been overdoing it a bit, that’s all. I think I need to take it easy – at least till the tour’s up and running.’ She crossed her legs and folded her arms. ‘Anyway, I’m bored of talking about me. How about you? What did you mean about making a mess of things when you were feeling vulnerable?’
Now it was Karen’s turn to be evasive. ‘Oh, you know, just the shit that happens in life.’
‘No, I don’t know, Mum. You’ve never told me about the shit that happened in your life.’
No and I’m not going to either. For your sake.
But Lola wasn’t giving up. ‘I mean why do you think you did make such a mess of things? Did some guy piss you around? Did my dad get you up the duff and then dump you?’
At the mention of Lola’s dad, Karen’s mind flashed back to that holiday in Spain and the look on the stranger’s face as he’d chatted her up in the club, putting his arm around her and buying her drink after drink as he made jokes in his heavily accented English. Where had he said he was from? He wasn’t Spanish, that much she could remember. She seemed to think he was from somewhere in Eastern Europe, not that it mattered. All that mattered was what he’d done to her, slipping some kind of powder into her drink and then luring her away to a derelict warehouse where two other men had been waiting. She gave a little whimper as her mind flickered and flashed with memories of the three of them beating and raping her, hitting her round the head so hard she hadn’t been able to see properly for days afterwards. Just thinking about it stopped her breath and she clutched onto the side of the sofa for support.
‘Mum, is everything OK?’
‘Yeah, yeah, I’m totally fine. I just think my body’s still getting used to things, to be honest. You know, after everything I put it through it’s probably still expecting me to pump it full of crack any minute.’ She did her best to laugh at her own lame joke.
Can we please move on now?
There was no way she could tell Lola what she’d really been thinking – or the true story behind her conception. She’d decided long ago to let her think her dad was some charming and handsome Spaniard who’d seduced her on some kind of whirlwind holiday romance. She hadn’t even told her own mum and dad the truth about what had happened, convinced at the time that they wouldn’t believe her. She’d only gone out that night after having a massive row with them about wearing a skirt they said was too short and made her look indecent – like she was ‘asking for it’. As if to prove a point she’d hitched it up another inch and then stormed off into some sleazy bar with the express intention of flirting with every man in there. And she had – which was why she knew the police wouldn’t believe her if she’d told them a man had got her hammered, spiked her drink and then calmly led her away to destroy her life.
So instead she’d come up with some bullshit story about falling over drunk and waking up bruised on the beach the next morning with no idea how she’d got there, when the truth was she’d been shaken awake by a middle-aged Spanish woman as she lay battered and bleeding at the side of the road. A middle-aged Spanish woman who for a while she’d been convinced must have been an angel, giving her a hot bath, dressing her wounds and then taking her to a doctor she knew for a morning-after pill. A middle-aged Spanish woman who’d saved her life and whose name had been Lola, a name she’d given to the baby daughter who’d arrived nine months later. The daughter she’d tried to protect for the last twenty-five years from the full horror of everything that had happened to her in Spain.
Even now she was just as determined to protect Lola from knowledge she told herself could only corrode her soul. How could she ever live with the truth? Karen herself had struggled with it all her life and look where it had got her. Well she wasn’t going to let that happen to Lola. She’d failed in every other area of motherhood. In this one at least she was determined not to – even if it did mean Lola would go on imagining she’d done something to be ashamed of. No, however much Lola persisted she’d just have to go on avoiding her questions.
‘So you’re still not going to tell me?’ Lola frowned. ‘You still don’t think I deserve to know?’
‘Oh Lola,’ she sighed, ‘sometimes things just aren’t as simple as that. As you go through life I’m sure you’ll find out that everyone has their own story – and a lot of people have their own struggles. You don’t always need to know exactly what’s gone on in their lives to understand them. And just because people do bad things it doesn’t mean they’re bad people.’
Her words seemed to make a real impression on Lola. She turned to look at her and Karen was suddenly confronted by an image of herself when she’d been young and vulnerable – before she’d erected the hard front that had made her so difficult to love. As difficult to love as for so long she’d found Lola. But as she looked at her now she felt herself drawn in by a vulnerability she herself could just about remember feeling. And at that moment Karen knew for sure that she could love her. In fact, she knew that she did love her – and always had done.
‘Lola, I’m sorry I’ve been such a shit mum,’ she said slowly and clearly. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been a mum at all really. But if it’s not too late I’d like to start trying.’
Lola nodded seriously. ‘OK, I’d like that too.’
‘Great. Well let’s not rush things. You’ve obviously got a lot on your plate at the moment.’
‘Yeah but I’m up for it if you are. Just let me get the first night of this tour out of the way and then we’ll have a go.’
They smiled at each other and came together for a hug, the first hug Karen could remember them having since Lola had been a little girl, probably since the time they’d gone on holiday to Brighton. And it wasn’t the tightest hug in the world but at least it was something they could build on. She’d just have to wait less than a week until the tour had opened.
‘Oh, actually, Lola,’ she remembered, ‘speaking of the tour, I’ve got you a little present.’
‘Oh, right. Thanks, Mum.’
She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a box covered in some old Spice Girls wrapping paper she’d managed to hunt down on eBay. Lola looked at it and laughed. Karen hoped she remembered how happy they’d been as they’d sung her favourite music together.
‘Now don’t open it yet,’ she said. ‘It’s for the first night of the tour. To wish you good luck.’
‘Thanks, Mum. And are you going to come? It’s at the O2.’
‘Come? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
*
Lola bounced onto the back seat of the car. ‘Take me to rehearsals please!’ she called to the driver.
She clicked her seat belt and leaned back, clutching her mum’s present to her chest. Even though the rain was continuing to pelt down she could feel her mood lifting and her fear beginning to dissipate. Oh my God, that was completely amazing.
It would have been amazing enough to find out her mum was finally clean and making a new life for herself. But she’d even seemed serious about improving their relationship. For the first time since she was about eight Lola actually felt that her mum loved her. And as they’d hugged each other goodbye she’d been struck by the realization that she too could learn to love her mum.
Now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure she’d ever stopped loving her, even if her mum’s actions had sometimes made her difficult to love. But she’d actually apologized for being a crap mum. It was a lot to take in. But it was all good. And it made her feel so much
more positive about her own future to know that her mum would finally be a part of it.
As she listened to the sound of the car’s windscreen wipers battling against the rain, she told herself that last night’s coke binge had only been a minor blip. OK, so she’d been stupid to give into temptation after holding out for so long. But it wasn’t the end of the world and she certainly wasn’t going to go anywhere near coke again. She was even going to lay off the booze – at least until the tour was up and running. If her mum was taking steps to sort out her life after twenty-five years, then she could hardly fall straight into the abyss she’d just vacated.
No, as of this moment she was going to snap out of her self-pity and enjoy the brilliant life she’d fought so hard to create. So what if she’d let herself down and snorted a load of coke? It didn’t matter if it was definitely a one-off. So what if she’d fallen for yet another tramp and only ended up having her heart broken? If the heartache finally taught her a lesson then it wouldn’t have been a wholly bad thing. And so what if she’d fucked up and fired her manager when she was totally off her face? She was sure once they’d had a bit of time apart she’d be able to go back to him and ask if they could start again. Surely if I apologize for being a total bitch he’ll forgive me and agree to come back?
She took a deep breath and could feel her chest expanding. The more she thought about it, the more she realized she had nothing to feel frightened or depressed about. Nothing else mattered because for the first time in nearly two decades her mum had looked at her like she loved her. She’d even given her a present! She lifted it to her ear and gave it a little shake. She was dying to open it but she’d promised her mum she’d wait till the first night of the tour. Instead, she’d just have to concentrate on rehearsals and start thinking about today’s schedule. She put the box down next to her and reminded herself that right now, the important thing was for her to focus everything she had on the tour and making the opening night as brilliant as it could be. Especially now that her mum would be there.
*
As Freddy undid his tie he felt all the happiness leak out of him. Just a few hours ago Spike had told him that Lola had been having some kind of relationship with the womanizing drummer in her band. He’d let the news slip when he’d been talking Freddy through the events of last night’s party at Club Class – and it had hit him with as much impact as a twenty-stone prop slamming into him on the rugby pitch.
But at the same time it had suddenly explained so much. Lola hadn’t been interested in him at all. All the time she’d been stringing him along, either to distract herself from this womanizing drummer or to try and make the bloke jealous. He wondered whether that was why she’d grabbed hold of him after their date and kissed him in front of all those paps. Had she even spoken to this drummer on the phone when she’d gone to the loo? Could that explain why she came back to the table in a completely different mood?
He was so angry he let loose a low growl. He was sitting in the rather tatty changing rooms of his rugby club, trying not to choke on the smell of cheap deodorant as he got ready for the team’s regular Thursday night training session. Everyone else had already gone out onto the pitch but he’d arrived a bit late. He normally struggled to make it at all but today he’d finished work earlier than usual as he wasn’t in the programme. He and Spike had been taken off roster for a day of forward-planning when it had been confirmed they’d been granted permission to film their exclusive report on the opening night of Lola’s tour. Although right now Freddy couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do less. Especially since Hugh was still so keen on them searching for a skeleton in Lola’s closet – and dragging it out and onto the programme.
Even though he was late for training, Freddy took off his clothes slowly, lost in the jumble of thoughts whirling around his head. Could he work up this story about Lola seeing her drummer and expose her as a fake for singing to the world that she was through with tramps? But how could he even prove this guy was a tramp? And hadn’t Spike said they’d already split up? Freddy could hardly go on the national news and announce that Lola had just had a fling with another bad boy; if it had now ended she could still hold her head up high and claim she’d turned her back on tramps. No, he needed something much harder than that. And he had just five days to find it.
As he pulled off his trousers he was hit by the first stirrings of an idea. Apparently Lola’s affair with this drummer was the reason she’d had a massive row with Harvey at the party – a row that had been so bad it had culminated in her sacking him. Spike had also said Lola had gone ballistic when she’d seen him and had thrown him out of the party, which surely implied she had something to hide. Freddy remembered him saying she was completely shit-faced and had almost fallen flat on her face on the dance floor, although that was hardly headline news when half the world had already seen her tumble arse over tit down a flight of stairs in Stockholm. But when he added together all the different factors – the affair with the drummer, the arguments with Harvey and Spike, and getting herself so shit-faced she couldn’t stand up – it did sound like her life was hurtling out of control. And he knew that a major star going into meltdown was just the kind of story Hugh loved, even if it was just the kind of story he hated. But there was no point worrying about that now – however he felt about it, he had to go ahead and file some kind of story. And at the moment this was the best he could come up with.
And anyway, why shouldn’t he tell the world Lola was cracking up after the way she’d treated him? She hadn’t shown the slightest interest in his feelings when she’d openly flirted with him on their date, on stage at the gig in Hyde Park and on camera in front of millions of viewers. No, the more he thought about it, the more he felt used and duped; Lola had simply toyed with him and then tossed him aside as soon as he’d served his purpose. And as usual, he’d simply rolled over and taken it − Mr Nice Guy, always aiming to please and never wanting to upset anyone. Well, he’d had enough – and for once he wasn’t going to roll over and take it.
He stopped and looked at himself in the mirror. He was now wearing his full strip, including the skintight top he was sure was too small for him and always made him feel self-conscious. Freddy looked at his muscles bulging out like some kind of cartoon superhero and scoffed at his own reflection. Me, a superhero? That’s a joke. He didn’t think he’d ever felt like less of a hero. He thought about what he was about to do to Lola. Was he the kind of journalist who dug around for scandal and then went all-out to hurt people? Evidently he was, whether he liked it or not.
He sat down to put on his boots and reminded himself that it was no use feeling guilty if he didn’t have any choice. And anyway, everything Lola did was so successful at the moment, one news report about her going off the rails would hardly end her career – it wasn’t as if she was doing drugs or anything. But it would save his career, and that’s what he had to remember. The only problem was, could he actually make his story stand up? Sure, he had lots of gossip to work with, but there was nothing concrete. What he really needed was some kind of evidence, preferably something visual that would work well on TV. And then he could go big – big enough to satisfy his editor. But where would he find it?
He took a deep breath and jumped to his feet. His whole body felt tense and he jiggled up and down to try and release some of the stiffness. It was no use. To work off this level of tension he needed something much stronger. He didn’t think he’d ever been so up for a game of rugby. He ran out onto the field, ready for battle.
*
As Harvey powered through the water, he hoped the tension would start to leave his body. But with every stroke and every breath it clung onto him, gnawing away at his insides and driving him on. He didn’t think he’d ever swum with such energy or vigour.
Ten lengths. Twenty. Thirty. Nothing made any difference.
He wondered whether he’d ever be able to stamp out his scorching anger at the injustice of what Lola had done. Or his deep sadness at her destructi
on of their friendship, the best friendship either of them had ever had. Or his humiliation at the thought of how everyone else must be reacting to the news of his sacking. Carlson was probably having a good old laugh about it. And he didn’t dare imagine how smug it must have made Jake. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think about it.
Forty lengths. Fifty. Sixty. Still he felt no better.
But the funny thing was, even though he was devastated at the way Lola had treated him, that didn’t stop him from panicking that somebody else might have seen her snorting coke and would go blabbing to the press. Should he call Barbara and warn her about it? No, it wasn’t his problem anymore. Lola had made it quite clear how she felt. She wanted him to hand everything over to Amina, which he’d done first thing that morning, even though Amina had been paralysed by what looked like a hideous hangover and he wasn’t sure how much of his information she was actually taking in. But he’d done as he was told and his only option now was to step back with love. Even if Lola did sometimes make herself difficult to love.
Seventy lengths. Eighty. Ninety.
Right, that’s it. If a hundred lengths weren’t going to make him feel better, keeping going to two hundred certainly wouldn’t do it.
He hauled himself out of the pool and splashed his way over to the changing rooms. The minute he entered he almost choked on the sickly scent of expensive aftershaves sprayed one on top of another by the gym’s affluent clientele. As he opened his mahogany-panelled locker and began to towel himself down, he heard the famous theme tune to Channel 3 News coming from the big plasma TV fixed high up on one of the walls. He lowered himself onto a bench and watched Amanda Adams appear on screen and read the headlines. The latest unemployment figures, flash floods in Yorkshire and Lola Grant—
Just as Amanda started talking about Lola, some fat Greek bloke who always insisted on styling his hair whilst stark naked switched on the hairdryer. Oh no! But I can’t hear the TV!
Harvey felt a little spasm of panic and jumped to his feet. What if someone’s blabbed and Lola’s coke binge is about to be plastered all over the news?