by Jade West
“It happened anyway. All of it.”
“It’s no good thinking about that now, Gemma. One day Jason Redfern will be a distant memory. I promise.”
But I didn’t want him to be a distant memory.
That was the very last thing I wanted.
***
I pulled myself into some kind of vague shape for work that evening, but I needn’t have bothered.
RS442 Gemma Taylor: Access disabled. Please contact your supervisor.
Sheena asked me to call her via messenger. Not a good sign.
“I’m sorry, Gemma, but you can’t work. Not now. The lines are ringing off the hook with idiots trying to find you, and we have to conduct an investigation. The papers say you met him through chat. You didn’t, did you? Please tell me you didn’t.”
My silence spoke volumes.
Suspended without pay, effective immediately.
The nightmare was getting a whole lot worse.
I wondered if the same was true for Jason.
***
Chapter Twenty One
Jason
April sat down on the sofa opposite, far out of the lamplight. I poured myself another whisky. Even in anger she had perfect features.
“Don’t start again,” I said. “I’ve had enough.”
“I wasn’t planning on it. I’m tired of shouting, Jason. You never fucking listen anyway.”
“What do you want?”
Her face was drawn, like a pale sheet of paper. “Why her?”
“Why not her?”
“I’m being serious. I’ve seen the pictures, I just don’t get it.”
“You never will.”
“Try me.” She crossed her legs, tapping one foot in mid-air, over and over. “Is she a pervert, like you? Is that it? You need an ugly girl to play your sick games?”
“She’s not an ugly girl. Not even close.”
A thin smile crept across her lips. “If you say so.”
I sighed. “I met her on chatline...”
“That figures.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Do you want to know or not?”
She rolled her eyes. “Go on.”
“Gemma is funny, and sexy and vivacious. She’s natural, and she’s real. She doesn’t have any bullshit expectations, or stupid ideals. She’s just her. I find her beautiful.”
“And she’s a pervert? She must be.”
“That’s none of your business.”
She groaned. “I can’t believe your twisted needs landed us here again, I thought you were done with all that.”
“She’s different.”
“Yes, she is. I’ll give you that.” She checked her nail polish. “I was angry earlier. You know as well as I do this can’t be over. We’ve too much invested. Another decent season at the club could set us both up, I’ve got the Cherry Electric reunion tour brewing, you’ve got your sponsorships, if we manage to keep them. We need another twelve months.”
My heart fell through the floor. “We don’t need another twelve months. We both need out. The sooner the better.”
“You still aren’t going to sign the house over, though, are you? I don’t want to drag this through court, Jason. The humiliation is bad enough already.”
I could feel my jaw tensing. “What are you angling for, April?”
“I’m angling for an agreement to ride this shit out for twelve more months. I’ll set up a meeting with PR tomorrow.”
“I’ve already told you, I’m not saying a word against Gemma. Not one word.”
“You won’t have to. PR will say it all for you. We just ride it out, scoff about the rumours, claim you were visiting some poor fan who’d been ill or some crap.”
I smiled at the absurdity. “Nobody would believe that.”
“Everyone will believe that. Nobody wants to believe Jason Redfern, national superstar, had a seedy affair with some chatline girl. Fat girls having sex makes people uncomfortable. They’ll laugh about it, but they won’t believe it, not really. She’ll be a storm in a teacup, and it’ll be the best thing you can do for her.”
I didn’t want to believe her, but the fucking bitch was right. Shallow-arsed fucking losers and their online trolling. The sooner this scandal crap could blow over the sooner Gemma could get her life back. Hell, I wanted that. “You know, it’s funny. I’ve spent years surrounded by women who only want me because of who I am. How ironic that the one girl who really means anything is the one who finds the celebrity a deal breaker.”
April’s laugh was loud in the room. “She ditched you?”
“Yes. That’s the kind of girl she is.”
“She sounds a real catch,” she scoffed. “Do we have a fucking deal or not?”
***
Gemma
I holed up tight in the apartment, relying on Tessa for packets of noodles and junk food. The reporters were still outside, but they were thinning out as the days went on. Soon they’d grow tired, just like everyone else. Or so I hoped.
The abuse raged on online. Jason’s Twitter and Facebook feeds were filled with the usual football news, but the comments underneath continued to spout venom. So many times I thought about sending a message, but figured it was almost certainly a publicity company behind his profiles. I just wanted to hear his voice, see how he was doing.
They weren’t all bad guys. The threads would be peppered with friendlier voices, kind souls offering a well-meaning balance to the venom. Sometimes they would make me cry, heartfelt pleas to see beyond the smoke and mirrors, beyond Photoshop and designer clothes and to judge a person for what’s inside.
Underneath my die hard realism, I harboured secret fantasies that Jason Redfern would charge into the virtual cesspit and leap to my defence. Those fantasies were ridiculous, of course. He maintained radio silence, and I didn’t blame him. I was doing the same.
The offers flooded in, of course, obscene sums for a no-holds-barred kiss and tell. I gave them short shrift. I’d be on the streets long before that ever happened, and I had a fair way to go before that point, even if chatline permanently terminated my contract.
I wasn’t prepared at all when the call came in. A number I didn’t recognise, ringing repeatedly over and over without leaving a voicemail. I answered gingerly, hoping against hope that it was one of the chatline bosses trying to get hold of me, but fully prepared to cancel the call in a heartbeat should it be one of the tabloid vultures. It was neither.
My heart was in my mouth as I heard his voice.
“Don’t hang up. Please.”
“Jason...”
“I wanted to call sooner, but I’ve had people all over me like a rash. How are you holding up? Please tell me you’re ok.”
I wasn’t ok, tears already welling up, but I wasn’t going to burden him with that shit. “I’m ok.”
He sighed in relief. “Good. I tried your chatline number. Disconnected.”
“I’ve been suspended. Breach of contract.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.” His voice was so sad. “Do you need money?”
The offer smarted, although it was well meaning. “I’m fine. It’s temporary, I hope.”
“I’m so sorry about all this, Gemma. I didn’t mean any of this to happen.”
I couldn’t resist laughing, a horrible resigned laugh. “It’s not your fault I have a horrible, selfish bitch of a friend, Jason. I should be apologising to you.”
“Please don’t.” I could feel him smile. “I miss you. Please don’t let any of that shit in the papers get to you, it’s all bullshit.”
The lump in my throat made my words crackly. “You should go. You must be busy. I watched the game on Saturday, on the TV.”
“I wish you’d have watched a better one, I played like shit.”
“You looked amazing.”
“I don’t feel amazing.”
Neither do I. I kept quiet. “I see April’s putting on the face, I hope you manage to keep it together. You know, for the house and everything.”
“I don’t give a shit about the house, Gemma.” I heard him scrape his fingers through his hair. “I have to go, we’re training hard. Seems all the big games spring up at once.”
“Thanks for calling.”
“Thanks for answering.”
So much I wanted to say, but I said none of it. The call end tone hit like a sucker punch, twisting my stomach to shit.
Cara and Raven ventured out my end of town, calling in with a couple of bottles of wine and armfuls of sympathy.
“Motherfuckers, those journalists, all of them,” Raven spat. “I hate the sons of bitches. Never a good word to say about anyone, not until they’re dead or part of their backhanded political agenda.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said. “But they’re pretty nasty. They seem to love April Redfern, at least.”
“Only because she’s their victim,” Cara said. “They love a good sob story.”
“Maybe.” The wine went down a treat. “He called me.”
Two pairs of eyebrows shot up. “He did?”
“Just to see how I was.”
Cara practically pounced on me. “Did you tell him you missed him? Please tell me you did.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t say much. Wish I’d said more.”
“Call him back!”
“Maybe one day soon. He might be with her, or with his teammates, I don’t want to cause him any problems.”
“So text him.”
A niggle in my stomach, the same one I’d had for says. “I dunno.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Cara said. “You miss him, don’t you?”
I smiled my sad smile again. “All the time.”
I wished I could tell them, tell them how scared I was, how scared of the rejection, and the embarrassment and all the crap the papers had printed. Scared that he’d see me like they did, one day if not today. Scared he’d already moved on, onto another chatline girl, someone thinner this time, someone prettier. Someone who wasn’t plastered all over the papers.
Cara seemed to sense the need for a conversation change. I was grateful. “When are you coming back to dance?”
I shrugged. “This year, next year, sometime never.”
“We can keep those assholes out.”
“Not all the way through London.”
“Get a taxi.”
I didn’t want to tell her I was saving money. Didn’t want to tell her how many weeks I had left before I was flat out broke. “I’ll think about it.”
She smiled. “You can’t hole yourself up in here forever, Figi. You’re much too precious for that.” She stared at Raven for long seconds. “We could bring a pole, one of the portable ones... we could practice here.”
Raven nodded. “That could work.”
I felt myself blush. “You don’t need to do that.”
“It’s our big night in three weeks. We definitely do,” Cara smiled.
I stared in shock. “You can’t be serious.”
“Deadly,” she grinned. “Even if I have to drag you. You need this, Figi, trust me. You need to get out there again. Don’t think we can’t see how badly this shit has shaken you up.”
“Come on,” Raven said. “Don’t let those assholes get you beat.”
It felt a little late for the advice, but I smiled anyway. Maybe a practice or two wouldn’t be too horrible.
I’d rain check on burlesque night, though. Most definitely.
***
Jason
I was drinking too much and sleeping too little, listening to April’s PR master plan every time she could get me in earshot without so much as an iota of enthusiasm. Call your rep, set up a meeting, they can co-ordinate with mine, Jason. For fuck’s sake, pull your fucking finger out, will you?
Life on the pitch wasn’t much better. Newcastle had hammered us five nil. Trevor was losing patience, snapping at my lacklustre footwork, my lack of drive.
“Get with it or get off the fucking pitch!”
I gritted my teeth and carried on, but still I played like shit. He cursed as I sent another ball wide, throwing his clipboard to the ground and ordering me off pitch.
“One more screw up, lad, one more and I’ll be pulling you from the Birmingham game on Saturday. I fucking mean it. We’ve got good players on the bench desperate for a shot, and you can’t even pretend to be fucking interested.”
“Life’s a bit fucking tough right now, Trev. Cut me some slack, will you? I’ll be good for the fucking game.”
“Best had be.” He eyeballed me. “Away game, Jase, tough fucking crowd. You up to it? Can you keep your head? I heard what happened with Fernandez in the canteen last week. Can’t have a 90s replay of some footballer going loopy and dropkicking a gobshite over the barrier, even if they ask for it.”
I managed a smile. “I’ll keep my head.”
“Hope so. You’ve had a great run second half of this season, lad, enough to get a contract proposal to the board for approval. It’s up in the air, but it’s on the table. Show me you’re worth it.”
I wished I cared more, hoping my thankful pat on the arm conveyed more than my dour expression. “Thanks, Trev.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Redfern. Just get out there on Saturday and show those blue fucking assholes how to play football, will you?”
“I’ll do my best.”
I hoped I wasn’t lying.
I sat at the front of the tour bus while the team chanted and bayed behind me. A handful of games left to secure my next season and I couldn’t find even a scrap of enthusiasm. I pictured my dad in the stands, egging me on, and felt like a twat as the grief caught me off guard. So many games he hadn’t been around to see, this was only one of many. No better, no worse. All these years I’d been doing this for him, playing harder, playing faster, playing better. For what? To end up in the football hall of fame as a defender that was good once upon a time? Maybe they could put a plaque at the house when I was long gone. Jason Redfern lived here, and he was thoroughly fucking miserable for it. God rest his merry soul.
I hoped Gemma’s family were around for her. I’d seen them in my Facebook feed, only fleetingly while her dad gave an almighty bollocking to some loser reporter for Morning Wake Up Live, but enough to clock that he looked formidable. Probably hated me and the rain of shit I’d brought down on her. I don’t know why the thought hurt so bad, but it sure didn’t help my mood any. I was stormy as thunder by the time we reached the game, more so as I saw the fucking WAG-mobile turn up and unload all the fucking hangers on. April waved across the car park, stupid trendy shades covering half her face. I didn’t wave back.
We talked strategy in the dressing room, but I only had half an ear open. A half-decent smile for my kid mascot and I was on the pitch to the team anthem, taking up position and doing my best not to spy April in the fucking VIP box.
I waited for the whistle.
Time to get this shit on the road.
***
Gemma
I sat down to the game with a cushion clutched to my chest and a big old packet of popcorn at my side. I was still in my PJs on a Saturday afternoon, hair so curly I couldn’t even run my fingers through it. The lack of routine was becoming too familiar. Too easy.
“That him?” Tessa asked, grabbing the popcorn.
I pointed to the figure in red and white just as the camera zoomed in on him. “That’s him.”
“Nice,” she said. “Go Singers!”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Tess. I know you took the day off.”
“Nah, I didn’t. It was just how the rota fell.” She was a crappy liar. “You’ll have to explain how the game works, I have no fucking clue.”
I laughed, and it felt good. “Me neither. Where’s Chelsea where you need her, hey? Oh wait, she’s down the newspaper office selling me out for a quick buck.”
“The bitch sent me a text the other day. Says she feels bad. She was hurt, she said, and desperate for the money. Claims she didn’t mean it.”
“I don’t give a shit,” I said. “We’re done. Forever. Over.”
“Forever?”
“Definitely forever.” I passed her the popcorn. “This PJ monster look is all her fault. That’s not the kind of shit you can forget easily.”
Tessa shot me a smile, and it was a warm one. “It’s nice to hear you sounding like you again. You had me worried awhile there, thought you were all goofed up.”
“Only so many times you can hear you’re a fat, ugly, useless, bed-wrecking demon before you toughen up.”
“Only three reporters outside this morning. I think you’ve broken them.”
The game interrupted our conversation, Birmingham were charging down the pitch, straight for Jason. He reached their striker in a few long paces, barging him off the ball before he had chance to shoot. The ref didn’t look happy, granting a free kick. The camera zoomed in and Jason was scowling, jaw tight. His eyes were sunken and dark, his hair wild. My heart thumped in my ribcage. I’d read the news, I knew how important these next few games were. Make or break, they said, next year’s contract or retirement.
“He doesn’t look full of the joys of spring,” Tess remarked. “He could probably do with a PJ party, too.”
The crowd went wild as Birmingham scored from the free kick, and the cameras tailed Jason as he skulked around the pitch with his hands in his hair, shaking his head. His manager looked livid, other players, too. My breath hitched as the camera cut to a serene looking April in the stands. Her expression gave nothing away, not even a hint of frustration.
“I guess that was bad,” Tess said. “He gave them that goal, didn’t he?”
“Looked that way.” I bounced in my seat. “Come on, Jason!”
By half time I was watching the game through my fingers. He was an angry bear on the pitch, leaping this way and that with jagged paces. Even I could see he was going in heavy, charging after the ball without a care for who was in front of it. He got a yellow card before the whistle blew and he didn’t even argue it, stomping back to position with a scowl. Come on, Jason!