Faking It

by Lotte Daley

  ‘Champagne on ice,’ the waiter appeared and filled up our flutes. I felt really posh tonight. Whole weekend actually. I could most definitely get used to this. But why the potato crimes? What was wrong with spuds?

  ‘Jessica,’ he began, and my belly constricted in an instant. I felt nauseous, wanted to be sick, actually be sick on Fabio, not on my new dress, the sheer mention of her sent my guts into a tailspin. ‘She was fearful of gaining the weight, so we never ever have potatoes, pasta, chips, pizza … food of the staple Italian diet. My mama would take her to the doctors if she were in Italy with me, there be something very wrong with you if you don’t enjoy, if you don’t love, the pizza, the pasta … all Mama made, it’s very good,’ he continued as he took a sip of his drink.

  ‘I just love all those things,’ I gushed, trying to make myself look the very best I could in his eyes.

  ‘And you have an Italian mama’s physique. You are very beautiful, Katie, very womanly, curves in all the right places,’ he winked. Again, it should be smarmy but it’s not, he’s adorable, actually, really adorable. My heart fluttered.

  The rest of the date progressed nicely. Quaint and polite, Fabio extended his arm for me to take hold of on our walk back to the car, where his faithful driver opened the door for us.

  ‘That was beautiful,’ I said, meaning the food.

  ‘Not as beautiful as you,’ Fabio said. Smooth. Love it! Feel like million zillion pounds, hah, if only my mother could see me right now, hobnobbing with posh Italian swoon buckets.

  ‘Thank you,’ I gushed at his compliments that had been flowing thick and fast all evening. My head was so big I wasn’t quite sure how it was going to fit through my front door. Thoughts of Jack and of Bailey had been shoved to the back of my mind as I gazed into Fabio’s chocolate, swimming-pool eyes. In a really perverse way, I felt almost like I was getting off on dating Jessica Hilson’s ex-boyfriend. After all, in my opinion, it doesn’t matter whether you did the dumping or were the dumpee, when the person you are no longer with moves on – or at least makes a very good job of looking like they’ve moved on – it never fails to sting the heart a bit. And if I could hurt Jessica Hilson even a pinch of how much she’s hurt me, then I would go to bed that night a very happy woman. The car came to a stop and I waited for what would most definitely be one of the richest kisses of all time to land upon my primed lips. I had blotted my lipstick so as not to make a mess all over his face. Must do one of those clean-cut kisses, not too much tongue … ooh conundrums! Do you use tongue on very rich Italian men? Is that too forward? Should I wait for him to make the first move? If he uses his tongue is that tantamount to wanting to have sex with me? I couldn’t, wouldn’t have sex with Fabio, must retain the power. Everyone knows a woman’s in power until the man has had his wicked way. Then, because of the cruel laws of Mother Nature, I would, along with all other women who surrender their bodies to sexual adventure with attractive hunks, render myself incapable of calling the shots. I would have made a biologically emotional tie to this man, which is why I become obsessed with whoever it is that I have had sex with, most notably, Bailey. So, no sex. No, siree. Fabio’s face is so close I can smell the stuffed quail with garlic he had for his dinner. Close my eyes … he’s coming closer … pucker up …

  ‘Katie,’ he says slowly.

  ‘Hmmm,’ I purr in my sexiest voice.

  ‘I would like to see you again, would you like that too?’

  Fabio had moved back against his seat away from me. Oh God, prime embarrassment.

  ‘Um,’ I said, pretending to think about it. I’d love to go on another date, right away, tomorrow even, ooh, this is soooooo exciting!

  ‘I would like that,’ I said, giving away no clues as to how euphoric I felt on the inside.

  ‘I will call you,’ he said, as he leant in to kiss me. This is it, I thought, the kiss! I puckered up once again as his lips connected with my cheeks. I near enough knocked his nose off his face in my eagerness to secure a snog.

  ‘Ommph,’ he said, rubbing his nose gently.

  ‘I’m so sorry!’ I squealed, ‘I just don’t really do continental kissing, I’m sorry, are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine, I think,’ he said, not looking at me.

  Shit, I’ve blown all chances now. That’s the only blowing either of us will be doing from now on. God, I have to remove myself before I cause any more problems here. Not only have I pretended I eat woodland creatures, I’ve just behaved like a cheap tart. Maybe as a parting shot, I should go all out and flash him my pants?

  ‘See you soon,’ he said, patting my arm, with a gentle smile on his face.

  ‘You, uh,’ I said, pointing at his nose, ‘have lipstick on your face,’ I smiled a worry smile and legged it from the car and up the path to my house, shame burning throughout my body from top to toe. Not for the first time in recent days, I scrambled with the keys to my front door, feeling eyes upon me from the waiting car. What a gent, waiting to see that I’d got home safe, gosh, it was only a hop, skip and a jump from the car to my house, not like any passing rapists could attack me or anything. Still, I opened the door – eventually – and as I closed it firmly behind me, I sank back against it and put my head in my hands. There were no tears this time, just sheer humiliation. I really needed to work upon my social decorum. I couldn’t go on another date and feign knowledge of posh food only to be caught out again. I totally couldn’t close my eyes and pucker up my lips for a kiss that wasn’t forthcoming, well, not when I was expecting one, anyway. Poor Fabio. At least his nose didn’t bleed. I looked up to the hallway mirror and below it, where my telephone resided, were angry red numbers, flashing loudly, crying out to be heard.

  I stood up and pressed play.

  ‘You have … eight … new … messages … To listen to your messages …’ the BT woman said.

  I pressed the button. Eight new messages? Wowee, who could they be? One of them had to be Bailey!

  ‘First message … received today … at … five forty-five pm …’

  ‘Katie, I’m sorry I left like that, it’s Danielle.’

  Phew! She doesn’t hate me after all, our friendship is still intact and not in the friendship graveyard!

  ‘I’m just feeling a bit weird right now, and this work stuff is bugging me a lot, shouldn’t have taken it out on you, will call you tomorrow, love you …’

  Beep

  ‘Next new message … received today … at … six … pm …’

  ‘Kate, this is Hanna, please will you call me on 07887 …’ Beep

  ‘Katie, please come home. Mum’s driving me mad. She thinks I’m going to become a high-class escort because my hair’s now blonde. You have blonde hair. You’re not a hooker … as far as we know …’ Cheeky sod! I thought. Delete. Bloody Janice.

  Beep

  ‘Kate, sigh, this is Hanna Frost, will you call me on 07887 …’

  Hmm, I thought, as the remaining messages were all from Hanna. What could she want? I wonder if she knew about Fabio?

  The phone rang. 07887 … flashed up on my call screen.

  ‘Hanna!’ I said, picking up the receiver and answering her, bright as a button.

  ‘Katie,’ she replied, cool as an Icelandic winter.

  ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you, where on earth have you been?’

  ‘Harrods … and, um, the spa trip that was given to me by Tom Theodore on the photo shoot, you know?’

  ‘Fabio’s spa,’ Hanna confirmed. Shit. This is the bit where she kills me, right?

  ‘Yes, I believe that is correct,’ I said, gulping down my anxiety.

  ‘And how was dinner?’ Hanna said, coolly. OK, I’m rumbled, she knows, heaven knows how she knows, but she knows … must not lie.

  ‘It was lovely thanks, Hanna, how did you …’

  ‘Katie, relax. I organized the trip to the spa. Fabio is a good friend of mine, we mix in the same social circles, we have a vested interest, specifically, in you.’

  ‘Then wh
y did you have, you know, um, why did I upset you so much taking his business card?’

  ‘Because, Katie, you really need to understand how PR and publicity campaigns work. I’m the one busting my backside for your benefit right now. And haven’t I been over the top beyond, over and above good to you, what with the Harrods gifts, the expensive cosmetics, the free clothes and now a date with Fabio Matravers?’

  ‘You set me up?’ I said, feeling the wind knocked out of my sails.

  ‘Why, yes, Katie. You didn’t think he actually liked you, did you?’ she said, all matter-of-fact.

  ‘No, course not, I had an inkling myself,’ I lied.

  ‘I didn’t want anyone to take pictures of you taking his business card and run stories willy-nilly about how you are dating him undercover. I’d rather break the story sometime this week with the collected pictures of you and Fabio emerging from The Dorchester in that hideously ageing dress of yours. I’d prefer not to, seriously, I hope you kept the receipt for it. Swap it for something more current, will you? The pictures of you in a couture dress with Fabio Matravers would be simply to die for. But we have to give the press something to play with, otherwise things could get a lot nastier,’ she said, gravely.

  ‘Nasty in what way?’ I queried, feeling fear in my belly. What could they have on me other than dodgy trims and teenage escapades?

  ‘You caught crabs in Ibiza when you were seventeen.’

  ‘OH MY GOD!’ I squealed. ‘How did you get that information! This cannot become common knowledge!’

  ‘Quite. It was one Nicola Baxter.’

  ‘I knew it!’ I hissed angrily. That silly cow seemed to have it in for me right now. Just what was her problem? I totally needed to knock on her door next time I was back in Little Glove.

  ‘I’ll do my best to contain it,’ Hanna said. ‘I will do my best if you do your best for me, Katie, and that means, you wine and you dine and you do whatever it takes to get your face all over the magazines with Fabio Matravers. I have it on good authority that Jessica Hilson is still in love with him, so there is a very high chance you can get Jack Hunter back in your life and in your bed by parading about like love’s young dream. There’s nothing like a bit of jealousy to help seize the day. God knows, you will make yourself a packet with subsequent stories such as ‘My life of hell without Jack’ which we will be doing with Sizzle Stars this week.’

  ‘But my life isn’t hell without Jack, actually, I am not altogether sure I want him back …’ I said, thinking about Danielle’s words of wisdom. She was right. With Jack, I did think so little of myself that his needs came first, I never came at all. So what’s the use of having Jack in my life? Let’s see, I thought, rummaging in the side dish for the PRO and CON list I made about Jack when we first broke up. It was scribbled down on the back of my notepad the night Danielle came over to keep me strong in the face of the paparazzi who had camped in my street.

  Pros for going out with JACK HUNTER:

  Gorgeous (very)

  Yummy body including six-pack he owned that wasn’t actually beer in the fridge

  He was going to be mega famous and we were going to live in the Hollywood Hills

  He was sweet and thoughtfully recorded Jeremy Kyle & Airline for me to watch

  I liked to steal his Space NK products

  I loved him

  Cons for going out with JACK HUNTER:

  He was rubbish in bed

  He skipped Saturday morning sex with me for brunch with other women

  He never bought me any presents

  He never invited me anywhere

  I never met his family

  He made me feel like I was an embarrassment to be seen with

  I never felt good enough for his wannabe media lifestyle

  He always forgot about me and never put me first

  It was always about him!

  I never met any of his friends

  I felt like Jack Hunter’s personal therapist at times

  He never appreciated me or paid me any compliments

  Whenever I had a problem, he’d conveniently disappear on me

  I unfortunately loved him

  I slowly digested the note and my heart sank. I was living in some kind of rose-tinted land of ex-boyfriend admiration. It was not good. Code Red.

  ‘Katie?’ Hanna said loudly down into my ear, making it ring slightly. ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes, sorry, Hanna, I’m here, where were we?’

  ‘Katie, this is how the week will pan out. Tomorrow you do nothing, Tuesday is Sizzle Stars release day so Richard will drive you to your mother’s house in Little Glove for some respite, because the media will no doubt be camping outside your house again.’

  ‘Richard’s driving me?’ I queried, feeling confused. Richard wasn’t my driver, Bailey was, and I totally needed to talk to Bailey, find out where I stood with him. Yes, OK, I know I must be some kind of psycho glutton for punishment, but I still held on to the glimmer of hope that Bailey really did like me and that our passionate encounter meant something more than just two people sweating all over one another in an animal embrace.

  ‘Bailey is busy this week,’ Hanna said.

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Why ever do you need to know, Katie?’

  ‘I’m just curious, I quite liked having him around, you see, for the time that he was, um, around …’ I was stuttering. I hoped Hanna didn’t guess about the sex.

  ‘If you must know, Katie, Bailey is in Soho right now with our new girl, the Big Brother evictee, Carolina Fernando, opening a new cocktail bar, the Wu Bar.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s stepping out with Carolina Fernando, raven-haired lingerie model. They are opening the Wu Bar. Now, can we go back to business? This week Sizzle Stars comes out and you’ll need to prepare yourself for that. Let me get my thinking cap on re possible questions for you and I will get back to you. Must dash.’

  The phone went silent. I stood there holding the receiver and all I could hear was the dull durrrrr of a disconnected phone line.

  Bailey was with Carolina Fernando? Arguably the best-looking, mocha-coloured beauty that the series had ever seen. She had the legs of an athlete and the body of a goddess. No wonder he hadn’t called me! I half thought about hotfooting it down to Soho to catch him in a clinch with this Carolina Fernando and announce to the paparazzi that we’d had it off only two days ago all over my seventies fashion-crime bedding in my tartan pyjamas, but then thought better of it. What is it with the men in my life of late? Cloak and dagger dating, whereabouts unknown, get your end away and leave me pondering the end of my love life. I hated men right now, Jack Hunter marginally being overtaken by Sam Bailey, modelizer. I walked into the kitchen, put the kettle on and opened the biscuit tin. The rest of the night passed slowly. I had a zillion and one thoughts in my head about Fabio, Jack and Bailey. Fabio seemed so genuine, how could I fall for it? He really seemed to like me. Was he ever going to tell me our date was a set-up? What if he told Hanna Frost that I embarrassed myself with the badger faux pas? What would I do then? At least Hanna was talking to me. She hadn’t apologized for using the F word on me, though. Still, what did I expect? For her to send me flowers and beg at my slippers for mercy? Nah, this was prime-time bitch features in full flow. Can’t for the life of me think why Danielle would prefer me to model myself on horse-faced, chinless Hanna. Oh well. I switched all the lights off, checked my phone, tried really, really hard to expel all thoughts of Bailey writhing around a bedroom that was all white and pristine with posh art hanging on the walls and doing complicated sexual positions with Carolina Fernando, because in my mind, that’s what the beautiful people did, in places like Notting Hill and Mayfair. I sighed, pulled my Sonata throw up and over my head and attempted to go to sleep.

  Chapter 13

  Trrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing

  I nestled against my super-expensive bedsheets, trying to block out the sounds of my doorbell. I’d
slept like a princess in the Harrods bedding.

  Trrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing

  ‘Gah!’ I muttered, pulling one of my sumptuous goose pillows on to my head and pretending that there wasn’t someone at my door. They could sod off, I was in no mood to wake up right now.

  Riiiing … Riiiiing went my phone.

  ‘Meow! ’ went the cat.

  Trrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing went the door.

  Ooooh, baby! Nobody hurts me like yooooou! went my alarm clock radio. Beep Beep my phone growled against the bedside table with a text message.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ I screamed as I sat bolt upright. The cat sprang off the bed and ran down into the kitchen, mewing as he went.

  I turned down the sound of the alarm clock and noted the time: 9am. That wasn’t such a terrible time to be awake, but oh, I was enjoying my nightmare-free dreams about clothes shopping and chocolate cake. I picked up my phone and opened the text.

  Triiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing … bang bang bang

  ‘KATIE!’ Richard’s voice bellowed through the letterbox. ‘Open the door immediately, it’s all systems go!’

  ‘Shit,’ I thought, getting out of bed as I heard Richard scuffle with folk outside the front door. I pulled my brand new plush white fluffy robe around my body and checked my reflection in the hallway mirror. Didn’t look too hideous, so I pulled my hair into a messy bun and screamed, ‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ through the wooden door to placate a very uppity-sounding Richard Dewberry.

  ‘Thank the Lord you’ve finally awoken,’ Richard said breathlessly in his usual over-the-top manner. ‘I’ve been standing out there for fifteen minutes! What did you take last night? A truckload of Valium?’

  ‘No, just some warm milk. Where’s the fire?’ I said, rubbing my sleepy eyes.

  ‘Coffee, immediately,’ Richard said, throwing himself down on to my sofa and switching on the television. Some low-rent news hacks were on your doorstep, I told them to come back tomorrow for an exclusive.’

  ‘Are you for real?’