Faking It

by Lotte Daley

  ‘I just want to talk, no funny business,’ he said quietly.

  ‘You can come in for one cup of tea,’ I said firmly. I was not so desperate that I would let him touch me again, no way. Oh, but he looked amazing, gorgeous. His features had softened. Perhaps the blow of being treated worse than an amoeba had changed him? Often, men change when they have been in love and when they have experienced loss. Difficult for him to fathom, that he ruined my life. Or maybe he’s come to his senses and is hoping for a reconciliation? And if so, is this something that I want? The taxi came to a gentle stop outside my house, what used to be our house, and I paid the fare. Jack hopped out the other side and loitered at the bottom of the steps whilst I fumbled for my keys.

  ‘So, uh …’ he began.

  ‘Here we are,’ I said brightly. The key turned and the door opened. We both walked through the hallway and into the living room which smelled divine from earlier, us girls getting ready.

  ‘It’s just the same as when I left,’ he said. ‘Apart from it smells less like cat food and more like …’ he sniffed the air, ‘Valentino, excellent choice.’

  ‘Tea it is, then,’ I said, ignoring him. I walked into the kitchen, kicking my skyscraper heels off on the way.

  ‘You look different,’ Jack mused as he walked towards me. He stopped a few paces behind me and looked me up and down.

  ‘Do you mind?’ I said, perturbed. This was not what I had in mind for us. I had to put a stop to this, immediately.

  ‘Look, Jack,’ I said, rubbing my temple. ‘Tonight’s been fucked up. I know you got your heart broken by Jessica Hilson in front of like, everyone, and I know how sensitive you are to public humiliation.’

  ‘It wasn’t ideal,’ he coughed, ‘but I was only ever using her for what she could give to me, which was fame. I have always wanted to be an actor, and she made it happen for me.’

  ‘Oh, really,’ I said, with a note of sarcasm. I knew it would be lost on Jack. ‘So, you’ve had more acting jobs come through, then?’

  ‘Not yet but, like, Joel is mega excited about our future, only a matter of time, he says.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I said, tapping my foot against the floor. The kettle began to whistle.

  ‘Why couldn’t you have dressed more like this when we were together?’ he said suddenly and without a hint of shame.

  ‘Excuse me? Would that have changed what you did to me?’ I half joked. I didn’t want to engage him any further than I had to. It was uber-weird. How can a girl spend so long, so many hours, days and lonely, long, stretched-out nights crying and wondering and analysing so much about one person? And now Jack is doing the one thing I have internally begged him to do, which is to be here, in front of me, ready, willing and able to unlock the door to my pain, to provide the answers I so desperately need to move on in my life. Here he was, the man who broke my heart, playing with the buttons on his denim jacket, without a care in the world, wanting, needing somehow to talk to me, perhaps to find answers of his own, perhaps to release some of his own pent-up guilt, so he and I can part ways having learnt a little bit about life, love and each other. His look was intense. Maybe he did really love me after all?

  ‘Oh, Katie, I can’t stand here and watch your nipples poke through that dress like piglet snouts,’ Jack growls, and launches himself towards me.

  ‘I’m sorry, babe,’ he mutters as he snorts and sniffles into the side of my neck. I am so shocked I can barely move.

  ‘Mmmmmm, you smell divine, your skin is so soft,’ his hands snake around my bottom. ‘Have you lost weight?’

  ‘Yes, Jack, I have,’ I say, hesitating slightly, pushing his hands away. He ignores me, pushes them back. This attention from a man such as Jack is definitely not lost on me.

  He lifts his head and whispers in my ear, ‘I still love you, Katie, always did, never stopped in fact, please, I need you, can’t live without you, let’s go to bed,’ and he puts his fingers on my chin and nudges my lips towards his. He places his own lips upon mine and sucks furiously.

  I tried to resist, but gave up trying, falling into his grasp. This man I used to love was all over me, his hands were like an octopus, his breath hot and heavy, his hard-on jabbed into my thigh as he moaned and groaned and attempted to mount me on the breakfast bar. The kettle whistled loudly in the background, bringing me sharply back to reality. My phone trilled from the living room where it lay next to my sea-creature clutch on the sofa.

  For all of five seconds I thought that this was what I wanted. But when I opened my eyes, I felt nothing. Whatever we had, it was gone. I pushed him away from me, shook my head, but he ignored me, continued to paw at me.

  ‘Jack! Gerroff!’ I screeched and lambasted him with a fork I grabbed from the side, straight into his bum cheek.

  ‘Ouch! Katie! What did you do that for?!’

  ‘You were on me like a rabid terrier,’ I said, shuffling backwards towards the kettle to relieve it of its duties. The whistle abated.

  ‘I thought you loved me?’ he said, springing back and clutching his arse with both hands.

  ‘I did, yes, I used to love you,’ I said, gently. ‘I thought you were all that I wanted, the man I loved, but actually you’re just a thick, egotistical turd and I would rather like you to leave now, Jack Hunter, because you don’t go with my wallpaper any more, not in those denim horrors!’

  He went bright red and scowled at me.

  ‘Fine, Katie, but you just wait, I will do the world’s most horrific kiss-and-tell on you and everyone will know that you are so desperate for a shag, you took home with you the very man who left you for a movie star and humiliated you for fun!’ he spat, his male ego clearly getting the better of him.

  I glared at him.

  ‘This isn’t over!’ he squealed, whilst pointing at me.

  ‘Oh, it so is,’ Richard purred, stepping out of the shadows of my hallway. Danielle stood behind him with her arms folded.

  ‘What the …’ Jack said, backing up.

  Richard held the bug in his hands. With an emphatic click, he stopped the tape running.

  I stood there, grinning. My friends, God knows how they got here, what they were even doing here, but my lovely, wonderful friends had just saved my bacon.

  We all stood looking at Jack and he just looked back, defeated and humiliated for the second time this evening.

  ‘Please don’t ruin my career,’ he bleated.

  ‘Get out!’ I screamed, before throwing an apple at him from the fruit bowl.

  ‘But, Katie, what are you going to doooo?’ he squealed, as he narrowly missed being decapitated by a banana.

  ‘Kill you!’ I screamed so hard that he legged it out of the house and down the front path. The door gave a heavy slam.

  ‘Cup of tea, anyone?’ I said brightly, as Richard and Danielle collapsed into hysterical giggles.

  ‘That was amazing!’ Danielle laughed as I succumbed to the fun.

  ‘What are you both doing here?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, it’s my fault really,’ Danielle said. ‘Despite everything you did to me, I just had to check you were OK …’ she trailed off, half joking, eyebrow raised. She wasn’t angry with me, just hurt and trying to make the best of it.

  ‘I know, I know,’ I begged, ‘I feel terrible, awful, the worst there is, and don’t think you’re not in line for something mega amazing, in fact, fuck it, I will tell you now, how does a trip to the Caribbean sound, on me!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘You’re serious?’ she asked, smiling. ‘Yes, yes, YES!’

  ‘Of course, except, only one thing …’ I said, as I noticed my house phone flashing with an answerphone message.

  ‘Leave it,’ Richard said.

  ‘But it could be important.’ I leapt to the machine and pressed play. I smiled up at my best friend who smiled warmly back at me. I knew as much as I was certain that night followed day that Danielle Kingsley was at that moment mentally packing a suitcase full of very expensive and très glamorous outfits.


  ‘Kate, darling, this is your mother here, remember me? No, thought not, not now that you are thin and well dressed, of course I always knew you’d take after me in the end, that’s what I tell everyone after all. But still, when you have a moment between film premieres and having your picture taken, do call me, at the very least, to tell me where you got that jumper from. Anyway, I have had a very good-looking young man appear at the house this evening searching for you, I nearly sent him back to London as heaven knows when you will grace our doorstep again.’

  ‘Bailey?’ I gasped. Richard shrugged.

  ‘I said nearly sent him back to London [heavy pause] His name was James Watson from the Daily Mail’s Femail section, OOOH it’s tremendously exciting and he’s coming back to do an exclusive on us, your loyal, adoring family, Kate. I am so over the moon, I can’t tell you. Aunty Fiona is coming over to take me to Boden for a new outfit and Betty Baxter will be making me over to look just like the brand-new you!’

  We all sniggered.

  ‘Anyway, darling, Janice informed me of your little getaway to the Caribbean, but in light of the Daily Mail interview and Janice’s exams, I’m afraid we can’t make it … [muffled sounds] NO, young lady I am NOT telling you where your passport is! Toodles!’

  ‘Well, that’s that problem solved, no Janice, no Mum, just you, me and a couple of Sea Breezes!’

  ‘Yay!’ Danielle squeals as she gives me a giant hug. ‘You’re totally forgiven!’

  ‘So,’ I say, turning to Richard. ‘What’s the 411?’

  ‘Well …’ he begins, rubbing his neck, ‘I bumped into Danielle and Stewart as I was leaving and then all of a sudden a certain Hanna Frost went past in the arms of one Sam Bailey, shoeless and screaming about injustice, revenge, heads will roll …’

  ‘I thought she’d been ejected?’

  ‘Must have snuck back in … Anyway, she was ranting and raving about you.’

  ‘I had a spare key – the cat, you know,’ Danielle said, pulling it out of her pocket. ‘Thought she might have come over to cause trouble …’

  ‘So you thought you’d babysit me?’ I said.

  ‘Look out for you …’ Danielle interjects.

  ‘And aren’t you very well glad we did!’ Richard says, smartly. ‘There’s everything on this little bug, everything …’ he continues. ‘It’s up to you what you do with it.’

  ‘Nothing for now,’ I say, taking it and popping it in the kitchen drawer. I sigh heavily and rubbed my eyes.

  ‘Well, all’s well that ends well,’ Richard says, clasping his hands together.

  ‘It’s late, Katie, go to bed, everything will feel better in the morning,’ says Danielle.

  ‘Here,’ Richard says, picking up the fruit from the floor and handing it to me.

  ‘Thanks, not just for the fruit, but for everything,’ I say, and I mean it, I truly, honestly have the very best friends there are in the whole entire world.

  Chapter 18

  I woke up the next morning feeling surprisingly refreshed for a girl who’d ingested half of Oddbins plus various different concoctions from a plush nightclub only twelve hours earlier. Despite Hanna’s insidious behaviour, and Jack Hunter’s smarmy manhandling and the news that the Daily Mail are doing an exposé of my early years through my shameless mother, I was feeling decidedly bright-eyed and bushytailed. And then I remembered. Last night, as my best friends left my house after spending an evening rescuing me from the evil clutches of various pop tarts and lipstick bitches (Jack Hunter included, of course) I had come to the conclusion that I had what I wanted all along … I then had such a restful sleep, having let go of my so-called dreams and aspirations, my designer demons, I suppose. Bailey was a fervent pain somewhere between my gut and my heart and Jack Hunter was always going to be a pain in my arse. I knew, though, that an indeterminate amount of time sunning myself surrounded by Hawaiian Tropic men in the Caribbean, family-free and with just my best friend and copious amounts of alcohol, would make significant tracks in sorting out my wonky love life. The sun shone through my windowpane, illuminating my bedroom, my cat stretched out on the rug, I stifled a yawn and shifted my gaze to my laptop which sat upon my desk, the screensaver dancing across the front. Cripes! I remembered that I’d sent an evil email to Nicola Baxter last night. I wonder if she’s replied? I shuffle along the end of my bed and move to the desk, click the mouse and my Gmail begins to load up on the screen.

  Six emails.

  DAILY MAIL! from Mum … read later …

  Excusemoi! From one Nicola Baxter.

  Dearest Katie,

  I’m not altogether sure what you’re talking about with regards to my exposé of our crabs incident in Ibiza … back when? Good Lord, I can’t even remember when. I was, however, approached by a sinister-looking woman in a so tight she couldn’t possibly be wearing pants dress and I know that in London, what with it being cosmopolitan and all that, there must be some kind of invisible G-string/underwear ensemble that’s not been seen this way yet, to excuse the fact she was not only knickerless but very much bra-less too, just ask my Jamie, who got an eyeful of her peanut smuggling. I wasn’t impressed, I tell you. I will inform you though that this hookeresque woman with the plummy accent offered us an undisclosed amount of money for tales about our friendship back in the nineties. I am engaged now, your invitation to the wedding is at your mother’s although I’m not so sure I want to invite you after your little outburst. Honestly, the money means we can get married in some place other than Little Glove village hall, so I hope you can see where we’re coming from. If I have upset you by talking about the questionable hygiene habits of the El Codo Playa beach huts, then for that I’m truly sorry.

  Nicola

  PS: I do believe you were far redder than me and have photographic evidence to prove it!

  I smiled. Oh deary me! Hanna had done it again … I knew with 100 per cent certainty that I had been in the presence of the most manipulative individual I had ever had the unfortunate luck to meet. Even with the Prada shoes and the killer dresses, she was wrong on just about every level. Still, knowing what I knew about Bailey, I couldn’t fathom what made him take her home – or indeed how she even got back in the club in the first place. Oh, who cares! This is so passé it’s ridiculous. I continued to check the rest of my emails, found nothing exciting, so shamelessly Googled myself to get the gossip on my crazy life. I was still worried in case Jack went to the press with made up stories. But nothing new came up on the search. I closed my laptop and made my way downstairs. Popping the kettle on the boil, I flicked on the telly and listened as the chef waffled on about organic muffins. Mmm, I thought. Sounds good, must make mental note to download recippppeeeeeeeeeoooooooooooh!!! I dropped my teacup and in a scene reminiscent of the day I discovered Jack Hunter had walked out on me for a real-life blow-up doll, aka Miss Jessica Hilson, I was once again gobsmacked.

  ‘OH MY GOD!’ I squealed as my gaze fixed on the television screen.

  JACK HUNTER CAUGHT WITH PANTS DOWN IN HIGH-CLASS HOOKER ESCAPADE!

  ‘I’m so sorry …’ he pleaded to the camera. ‘All I ever wanted was a kebab!’

  Bzzzzzz! Bzzzzz!

  My phone jittered from beneath the sea-creature clutch that remained on the sofa from last night’s throwage. I picked it up and discovered a ton of texts from Danielle warning me about Hanna, a pleading one from Pippa about whether I was going to rat her out, several from Richard about Danielle and Hanna and one from Bailey …

  ‘Check your messages,’ it said.

  Check my messages? I was checking them. There was nothing else left I hadn’t checked … except my actual voicemail! I stood dialling the number while Jack Hunter sat looking like a naughty schoolboy on the television sofa, images of Hugh Grant and Divine Brown popped up behind him. A helpline ran along the bottom of the screen, followed by the strapline: Things we do when dumped, inviting viewers to call in with their own horror stories. God … the man still came out on top. I swear if he had
a face like an infected backside he’d have been dropped quicker than a hot potato by all media, just goes to show, looks are everything in this fame game.

  ‘You have one, new, message,’ said the answerphone lady.

  I wish it told you who from, so I could prepare myself. My heart stopped beating. I felt the familiar rise of tense, anxious sweat … Could it really be Bailey? And if so, what did he have to say? Everything had been so chaotic, I wouldn’t have blamed him for running a mile …

  His voice was rich and dark, butterflies rose and fell inside my belly.

  ‘Kate, it’s me.’ Ooh, rather brusque, not liking this.

  ‘We need to talk.’ Fuck, I know what that means, it’s along the same lines as ‘It’s not you, it’s me!’

  ‘I know everything there is to know about Hanna, Fabio … but there are certain things that you don’t know about me.’

  I was beginning to feel like a weapon in a Cluedo game. Here we have Katie, she had her heart broken by a big tool in the drawing room, who is the culprit?

  ‘It’s not true, whatever Hanna said, says, maintains, whatever … look,’ he sighs deeply. ‘I’ll be outside the South Bank television studios at midday, I’ll explain everything …’

  Explain everything? What did he have to explain? Was my contract now terminated by Poets Field PR? Was Magenta Rubenstein going to smother me with her pashminas and feed me to Hanna?

  ‘And Katie …’ he said, warmly.

  ‘Yes?’ I said, forgetting I wasn’t actually having a conversation and that I was actually only listening to him on my voicemail.

  ‘I suppose I should tell you that … well … I think I love you and if you love me too, then that’s just awesome.’

  Oh my God! This totally trumped anything good or amazing that had ever happened in the entire twenty-six years of my being present on this planet. Bailey said the L word! He said I love you! I sat there, dazed, confused but deliriously happy! Not only had I seen Jack Hunter humiliated thrice over, the club, my house and now kebab-gate, I’d moved on, really honestly moved on.