Faking It

by Lotte Daley

Beeeep!! Beeeep!!

  I raced to the living-room window and pulled back the curtains. There in a sea of paparazzi that hadn’t been there half an hour ago, was Richard’s sports car, Danielle waving from the seats, Frenella perched beside the door, beckoning me out. My phone rang.

  ‘What are you waiting for, tinkles!’ Frenella squealed.

  ‘I don’t have any clothes on, just tartan pyjamas …’ I gasped, as I took it all in.

  ‘Fuck the tartan!’

  It was now or never. This was the stuff of dreams, he loved me, he wasn’t going to care about my outfit!

  ‘I’m coming, world!’ I said, fired up with happiness. I ran out of the front door, blinded by the light, blinded by love.

  ‘KATIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEE!! OVER HEEEEEERRRREEEE!!’

  FLASH! FLASH!

  ‘Hellooooo!’ I waved as I stood in my front garden in my tartan pyjamas and a pair of flip-flops, a camel shawl around my shoulders, bed head, smudged eyes, the lot!

  ‘Wahooo!’ I squealed and did a little jump, whilst grinning manically at everyone taking pictures plus the neighbours who’d come out of their houses to gawp at my crazy self.

  ‘Always knew she had a screw loose,’ I heard Mrs Bellamy bellow.

  I skipped towards the car and Frenella stood aside to let me in. As Richard revved up the engine, Danielle passed me a bag.

  ‘What’s this? It’s not for my head, is it!’ I said, as the wind picked up, pulling my hair in all directions.

  ‘Look …’ she winked.

  ‘Oooh, très exciting!’ Frenella wittered.

  I gingerly delved into the bag and tore at the silver tissue paper as the figures of the paparazzi faded into the background until they were first tiny and then out of sight.

  ‘Never mind them,’ Danielle said, pulling my focus back into my lap. The paper was off and in my hands I held the most gorgeous dress I think I had ever seen in my entire life!

  ‘Present from me, chosen by Tom Theodore,’ she smirked.

  ‘Oh my God! I don’t know what to say!’

  ‘Well, you didn’t think we’d let you go out to meet the man of your dreams in those, did you?’ Danielle said, pulling at my sleeves.

  ‘Bailey …’ I whispered, ‘I don’t get it, this declaration of love, this whole thing, makes … no sense?’

  ‘He called me just after I left,’ said Danielle, ‘you weren’t answering your phone …’

  ‘The sea-creature clutch!’ I exclaimed. ‘Left on the sofa!’

  ‘When Hanna crept back into the club, I guess to cause trouble, what she got was Bailey on his way to get to you. She was drunk as a skunk, so he carried her out to the taxi.’

  ‘But they were seen canoodling!’ I wailed.

  ‘No, they weren’t! She sat on Pippa who was stone-cold sober in the back of the cab, pulled Bailey down for a snog and he pushed her off. He then ran back in and …’

  ‘Oh God! He saw me leave with Jack!’

  ‘Got it in one, but never fear, he was coming to say that he was in love with you.’

  ‘So, what now?’ I queried.

  ‘He knows everything, thanks to us,’ Richard interjected. ‘And luckily for you, he’s an understanding chap and certainly not as stupid as your ex.’

  ‘Thank the Lord!’

  ‘No problem,’ Richard laughed.

  We all rolled our eyes.

  ‘Well, darling, we’re here,’ Richard said as he spun into the car park on the South Bank. ‘Don’t fuck it up this time, Katie,’ he said.

  ‘I won’t!’ I said, as I kissed the girls and smoothed my hair down. My heart was doing somersaults as Bailey came into view. He stood there looking gorgeous, in a pair of tight jeans, his trusty tight white t-shirt and an open blazer which flapped in the gentle breeze of the summer wind. He smoked his usual roll-ups in that sexy, cool fashion that was so typical of Sam Bailey.

  ‘Go get him, girl,’ Danielle nudged, and I did. I didn’t even open the car door, I leapt out and skipped all the way to reach him. He flicked his cigarette, opened his arms and I fell into them, and just like in the movies, I kicked a flip-flopped foot out as we kissed the most delicious kiss that there ever was.

  ‘Wahooo!’ Danielle and Frenella clapped from the open-topped car. Richard gave a one-handed salute of approval.

  ‘I wanted to say …’ I began, but before I could finish, he was cupping my face in his hands.

  ‘Shh,’ he said, pulling me close, his hands reaching out for me, his lips nestling into my neck as he planted butterfly kisses all over my skin, making me tremble. What was I thinking, letting Danielle have the Mayfair suite! But then I got it, Bailey wasn’t about money, or being seen here or there, he wasn’t about labels. He was honest, genuine and he liked me for exactly who I was, spots and all.

  ‘I …’ I breathed.

  ‘Love …’ he whispered.

  ‘You …’ we said in unison.

  ‘I have a confession … but it’s a nice one, don’t worry. There are no skeletons in my closet,’ he winked.

  I smiled, thanking the Lord that skinny minnies Carolina Fernando and Hanna Frost weren’t any kind of fixture in his boudoir or his life. As if reading my mind, he laughed.

  ‘And no, I never did do it with that chick from Big Brother, or with Hanna.’

  OMG, we were in perfect synch already!

  ‘Thought stealer,’ I giggled.

  ‘Seriously, darling,’ he continued, while gazing into my eyes, ‘since I met you I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. You’re everything I want in a woman and then some. I’m crazy about you … and so I have to tell the world about you, about us. It’s time to stop faking it and come clean to Phil and Holly about what’s really going on in our world.’

  Oh my God, this is what I’ve always wanted – a boyfriend who took me places! But I only ever meant a cocktail bar, or the cinema or something, not on television, not for everyone to see! I’d have settled for a trip on the London Eye or something like that. This was absolutely out of this world.

  ‘Don’t worry, honey, we’re going to have a blast!’

  ‘But I still don’t get it … how come you get to go on telly and waffle about us? Who are you?’ I narrowed my eyes and cocked my head.

  ‘You’ll see,’ he said, and with one giant scoop, Bailey picked me up, kicked open the doorway to the building and carried me in.

  Epilogue

  One week on …

  SAMUEL BAILEY RUBENSTEIN, MULTI-MILLIONAIRE FASHION PR COMPANY HEIR, FINDS REAL LOVE WITH MODERN-DAY RAGS-TO-RICHES ‘REAL’ REALITY GIRL, KATIE LEWIS!

  Who knew? Bailey, the dogsbody, my driver, the tea boy, my future boss. Forget his mother, ah! His mother, Magenta, no wonder, he almost curtseyed in her presence … I cast my mind back, looking for clues. Even though there were many, for example, the way Magenta would demand and he’d comply with no obvious resentment towards her for her brusque intonation … just the kind of intonation your mum uses when she nags you. You just get immune to it, you get on with it, like he did. I simply hadn’t twigged that Bailey was anything other than a lowly assistant, much like myself. Would I have treated him differently had I known he has squillions in the bank? Nah. Not I! But it did explain why Hanna Frost was absolutely desperate to bed him and even more desperate for me not to bed him. Aside from her very obvious attention-seeking, jealous behaviour, Hanna couldn’t stand not to be the one the boys fell for. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if it came to light that Fabio had never so much as glanced at the woman for longer than a second, let alone perved and stared at her with such frightening intent. Bailey explained to me the reasons for his undercover behaviour, under the, uh, Sonata bed throw on my bed back in Lauriston Gardens. Seems he was very well used to women like Hanna digging their claws in and hanging on for dear life and all the monetary joys that being involved with a rich boy brings. Hanna could have married him and then taken him for all he’s worth, perhaps, even owned the entire co
mpany. Especially if she had his children. What a witch! Personally, the bells rang out for me with regards to this relationship, because for once it looked as though I wouldn’t have to keep my man, instead, things could be equal in all aspects, for the very first time. I assured him I had my own money, and he assured me that he already knew it – especially since my £10K Poets Field PR cheque for honouring my contract hit my bank that morning. Now I was taking some time out, some ‘me’ time, before my extremely exciting life took another interesting turn. With a frappuccino in hand, I walked through Soho with my gossip magazines. Some things will never change!

  I couldn’t stop looking at the gorgeous glossy pictures. I mean, I was as addicted to Sizzle Stars as the next girl and seeing my lovely, airbrushed, near-perfect face on the front cover no less, with straight teeth and hair in golden sand and pale biscuit swishing over my shoulders, next to a man even better looking than Jack Hunter (is that possible? It so totally is, trust me) I felt like I imagine Posh Spice felt when she graced the cover of Vogue. Stuff of dreams, man of dreams, living the dream … I was officially a smug chick. I clutched the magazine to my boobs and sighed gently. In times of extreme happiness and/or things going extremely well, it does a girl good to be reflective, count her blessings and give a little nod to whoever makes these fabulous things happen. It’s an epic moment for a girl like me, I was used to things nearly going right, being close to going my way, but ultimately fate never getting enough of a wriggle on to make it OK. A bit like being promised a hot day and getting drizzle, like expecting the world to spontaneously combust just because a scientist guy says so, you can’t go ahead expecting the best because you’ll almost always be disappointed. I had been plucked from the depths of despair, to find something a zillion times better. Sam Bailey.

  It was incredible how much my life changed since I got rid of Jack. They do say that everything happens for a reason, that what goes around comes around and although I have never really been one for karma and the like, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was some truth in it, especially when confronted with the news that Jack Hunter was now in the Priory for sex addiction (are you insane, Jack Hunter? You can’t even do sex properly!). I was also pleased to hear that Jessica Hilson’s movie had bombed so badly that any movie she ever does again will probably go right to DVD. The best news of all that I read in Sizzle Stars was that Fabio Matravers, sweet, polite and mega rich Fabio Matravers, had finally seen sense and dumped Jessica Hilson in a very public and humiliating way, albeit by accident. Carolina Fernando (remember her? Tall, enviably curvaceous lingerie model from Big Brother who I thought was having it off with Bailey in complicated Kama Sutra positions all over her, I imagined, white, posh, plush, minimalistic apartment) had stolen his heart after toppling from her vertiginous heels and very nearly ending up underneath a different kind of under-carriage to the lingerie she models, one black cab. Their chance meeting had occurred outside Mahiki, of all places, and according to this week’s Sizzle Stars their eyes connected and in the space of seven short days, they had fallen desperately in love. He had proposed with the biggest, most expensive diamond the world had ever seen and literally dropped Jessica like a hot potato. I could almost hear the irritating scrape of her voice shrieking OH MY GOD NO WAAAAY from my bench here in Soho Square. Jessica’s sob story was, of course, splashed across Jack’s favourite, Oh Yay! magazine, detailing the most intimate sexploits of the pair of them, plus what Jack was like in and out of bed. What a sell-out! I could tell you this for free, in bed he’s clumsy, lazy and he snores. Out of it, he’s clumsy, lazy and he grunts.

  Meanwhile, on planet moi, I was totally enjoying that enthralling can’t-get-enough-of-you stage with my new boyfriend, Sam Bailey. I was about to get on his private jet and fly to his father’s very own slice of Tropicana for an idyllic fortnight away from the lens, just the two of us, without a balaclava, Botox injection, boob-job leaflet or vacuous entity in sight. After that, Danielle and I were off to the Caribbean for more hazy, lazy living, drinking the most deliciously blended Caribbean cocktails the world has ever seen. Bliss! After all, it was the very least I could do. It seemed as though everything had worked out the way it was supposed to, and as I turned the pages of Sizzle Stars to read all about my happy new life, I thanked my lucky stars for Hanna Frost because, after all, if it wasn’t for her, perhaps things could have been very different …

  Acknowledgements

  With special azzzome thanks to my friends who, without their patience, support and hilarious anecdotes, this book wouldn’t have been half as much fun to write.

  To Danielle ‘Fluffykins’ Levy … well what can I say? You’re really something special, honeybee, so here it is. Woop! This book is definitely for ‘us’. To my agent, Ger Nicholl, for taking my thoughts, dreams and aspirations and turning them into reality. To Richard Salt, you’re one of the bestest friends a girl could wish for – this book is also, in part, for you. To Ellen, my godson Freddie, and to Kelly, thank you for welcoming me into the family. I love you very much. To my family, with thanks for the support: Grandma, Grandad, Mum, Glen, Lucy and to my uncle, Peter Walsh. I’ve actually done something with my life!

  To my Wimbledon Wombles, Lisa Kiddie and the lovely Paul, (he’s so your ‘One’!) thanks for putting me up and making me feel like I’ve come home. To Lucy ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ Fisher, your anecdotes are priceless (‘Too fast? That’s no good!’). Thanks to Sarah Kate Ramsden for reading parts of the book in draft, and to all the others who pitched in with feedback. To Caroline Naharnowicz, you’re incredibly special.

  To Sophie ‘Daaaahling’ Leigh, you are so Katie and if we make it Stateside, I’ll pimp you out for the lead role! And also to Nick, you are the best. Thanks for taking care of me, both of you, going forward to good times.

  To Paul Donnelley, for all the advice on how to be a proper writer over scampi and chips in Elephant and Castle back in 2008 but especially for that one comment you made after my first rejection letter: ‘You don’t have to use everything you’ve got you know, you can just write something new …’ And so I did – this book. Cheers!

  To my talented friend Grum, with tons of love. You are the most inspirational, funny, wonderful person, seriously. Your unwavering support and one hundred per cent dedication to helping me shape this book (falling asleep in front of David Attenborough on the TV, covered in paper with scenarios for Jack and Katie, anyone?) has definitely made it infinitely better. To Greg Harrop Griffiths and Natasha Gaynor, my oldest and very much wisest friends, thanks for keeping me on the straight and narrow. Can’t wait for us to walk past Waterstone’s armed with a camera – and is it OK to go up to folk who are reading your book on a train?

  To Janice and Simon Zutt, there are no words for the love I have for you both. You’re both one in a kazillion! To Magda Knight and all the girlies at Mookychick for giving me a platform to write my random thoughts about life, love and everything in between, and to Maxim for giving me my very first break – the experience writing sexy columns and erotica certainly helped when it came to the ‘steamy scenes’. To the very sexylicious Jessica Underwood and Lucy Hilson, two of the most glamorous girls I know, the inspirations (in looks, not personality!) for super-diva-bitch Jessica Hilson’s character.

  To my new London friend Alex ‘Modders’ Modley, you’re a dove amongst the crows. You know why I’m thanking you. And I can’t forget my Scottish friends: to Billy Camlin (what a wonderful friend you are, I wish I could be there more. Let’s open a Stoli!) and to Lindsay Thain and Steph Doull, my wee lasses!

  Thanks to Hayley Gunton for putting up with my moaning about men and the unglamorous lifestyle involved in writing a novel – love you lots, we’re going to live the dream m’dear! To my (brief) Ibiza girlies, Kim Gardner Edwards and Laura Summers for being awesome and also for marking the celebrations with Jagor bombs and Sangria way back in May 2009 (that’s if any of us quite remembers it!) To everyone I worked with at the Royal Mail on Old Street, and particul
arly to my old boss, Simon Burman, for providing much needed guidance throughout my time in the marketing department and for always encouraging me to follow my dreams. Thanks to Simon Hunter, Ian Moore and Martin K. Smith, you’re all absolute stars and I can’t thank you enough just for being yourselves. And to my lovely talented artistic friend Ben Hurlie of the Graffiti Life Company (check us out!)

  And to Sparky. You’ll shine again. Promise. (‘We’re on an adventure, Charlie!’)

  A really special mention – and you’ll definitely know who you are when I say this – ‘to the one who believes’. Thank you for helping me sleep, for introducing me to films and, for a brief moment in time, showing me how it was supposed to be. And yes, you do deserve it, you butt-kicking ninja!

  Finally, last but by no means least, to my editor(s) and all the wonderful people at Penguin for loving this book almost as much as I do. HUZZAH!!