by Abbey Clancy
I told him about Neale, and how close we’d become, and how great he was, and how we’d helped each other through our crazy early days at Starmaker—how we’d been friends when I was just an intern, and even more so once I made it. And about how I’d accidentally outed him in the national media, and even though I hadn’t meant to, I’d completely cocked up his domestic life.
I told him how tired I was. How all the interviews and appearances and shows had drained the life out of me. How the thought of even singing any more felt exhausting—even if I could ever find a song I wanted to record and release. I told him how I had my own intern, Tilly, who I barely even knew, who organised my whole life for me, and that I’d actually thrown a pen at her head a few days ago; I’d been in the offices signing a stack of photos to be sent out to fans, and the pen had run out. So, just like Patty before me, I’d taken out my petty frustrations on an innocent bystander.
And then, in between the sobs, I told him about my love life. At first I was hesitant, just saying ‘my boyfriend’, or ‘the guy’—until he interrupted me mid-sentence.
‘Jess. It’s all right. I’m not an idiot—I know it’s Jack Duncan. You’ve always had terrible taste in men—I’ve known that since you snogged Gareth Murphy at the Christmas disco when we were fourteen. So tell me the whole story, and don’t worry—what happens in Sussex, stays in Sussex.’
‘Isn’t that supposed to be Vegas?’ I bleated, embarrassed beyond belief that I was so predictable.
‘No. That saying was invented in the South Downs. Not a lot of people know that. Now, go on—finish your story. You’ll feel better once you’re entirely drained of tears, and you will run out eventually, honest.’
So I did. I explained how Jack’s charm had sucked me in. I explained how gullible I’d been, and how I’d unwittingly played a part in hurting Vogue, someone who’d been nothing but kind to me. I told him how it had all but destroyed my confidence, and made me wonder if I was even capable of finding a man who genuinely cared about me. How I’d been so lonely ever since. That I’d barely seen him since our showdown, and felt nervous every time I walked into Starmaker, in case that was the day he decided to get rid of me—I was no Vogue. He could axe me whenever he wanted. So as well as the heartache, I was walking on eggshells worrying about everything else as well.
And finally—not realising how much it had bothered me until I said it out loud—I told him how I’d walked out of Yusuf’s flat all that time ago, and never even bothered going back to explain, or to thank him for looking after me so well.
By the time I’d finished, I was a damp heap of emotion, and was sobbing openly into Daniel’s now very soggy T-shirt. It didn’t seem to bother him—he was a man of steel, in fact, and just kept holding me, stroking my hair, and gently kissing the top of my head to comfort me. Eventually, as he’d predicted, I simply ran out of tears.
I peeled my face away from his top, barely able to see straight through my swollen, puffy eyelids, and gazed at him.
‘So,’ I said, grimacing and wiping my snotty nose on my sleeve. ‘Still think I look beautiful?’
He laughed, and held my wet face between his hands.
‘Always, Jessy. Always. Now, do you want my advice, or did you just need to get all of that out of your system?’
‘I want your advice,’ I replied, sniffling. ‘You’re probably the one person in existence who understands both my old world and my new one. And now, you’re definitely the only person who knows all my deep, dark secrets.’
‘You mean the fact that you’re an ugly crier?’
‘Shut up!’ I said, mock-punching him in the bicep and realising it hurt me more than it hurt him. He was a man of steel in more ways than one these days.
‘Okay, okay … I think, Jessy that you already know what you need to do. You know what you’ve done wrong—and now it’s up to you to fix it. Your family love you—they always will. You just need to go and see them, give them some of your time, let them know they still matter to you. You’ve always been a family girl at heart—and if you cut them out of your life you’ll wither up and die. That simple. With Neale? Well, I don’t know Neale—but if he’s your friend, he’ll forgive you. You just have to make him see how sorry you are. I’ve worked with so many people in this industry who’ve made terrible mistakes in the media—it happens. You’ve learned from it. Hopefully, he’ll be able to see that you mean it.
‘Your career … well, I have some thoughts on that, Jess. We spoke a few days ago about me writing for you and since then, well, I have been. Once you’d put the idea in my head, it wouldn’t go away. I have material. Good material. Stuff that’s right for you. But—I won’t come to Starmaker. I don’t think its right for you, and it’s definitely not right for me. I never liked Jack Duncan and, after what you’ve just told me, I feel like driving to London and beating the crap out of him.’
‘You can’t,’ I said, settling back into my cuddle position, ‘you’ve had too much Baileys.’
‘I know. But there will be other opportunities. Maybe I’ll deck him at the Brits. So, you need to think about your future—do you really want to follow this road? All you’re doing is being touted around as a person who’s famous for being famous! Do you want your whole career to be a few crappy singles you don’t even like, a semi-successful album, and then a stint on some reality-TV show when it all starts to go tits up?
‘You were always serious about your music—even at college, you could take control of that stage, and make everyone pay attention. You’ve always been a star—Jack Duncan didn’t create you, he just noticed you. You have one of the best voices I’ve ever heard, even after the last few years working with pros from all over the world. You’re special, Jessy—and I think if you follow the path Starmaker has you on, you’ll lose that. I think the Jessy I know and love will be dead and buried—and Jessika with a K will be the only one left standing.’
I’d been listening to every word he said, honest I had, and it all made perfect sense. But I’d also been a bit distracted by the fact that my hand had somehow found its way beneath that black T-shirt of his. It wasn’t intentional—it just kind of drifted, seeking contact and comfort, and before I knew it, my fingers were resting on his bare skin. Skin that was covering ridges of muscle that he definitely didn’t have when we were seventeen.
And then, in the middle of all of his brilliant advice and suggestions that I knew were right, came that one phrase—one that maybe he didn’t even know he’d said.
‘The Jessy you know and love?’ I asked, looking up at him.
He froze still for a moment, the gentle stroking movements in my hair stopping and his vivid blue gaze meeting mine head on.
I knew I looked awful. Like something from a horror film. And I knew I’d had a bad day, and too much to drink, and, by own admission, had been making some rotten decisions lately. But suddenly, this felt right—the spark that I’d sensed between me and Daniel was starting to ignite into something a lot brighter. We both knew it, and I hoped that this time, we weren’t going to ignore it.
‘Yes,’ he said, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips. ‘I love you, Jess. I always have. And I’ve been waiting to do this for way too long …’
He tangled his fingers into the hair at the back of my head, pulling my face slowly, steadily, towards his. He paused for a moment before our lips met, and I nodded slightly. Yes. This was what I wanted—what I’d wanted ever since Daniel had walked back into my life. What I wanted more than anything just then.
He nodded back, and kissed me.
It was one of those kisses that starts off slow, and gentle, and soft—both of us taking our time, letting the feeling sweep us away, stepping into unknown territory and enjoying every second of it. Savouring it, relishing it, surrendering to it. I could feel his fingers in my hair, on my neck, stroking my cheeks, bringing everything he touched to life. Even his warm breath against my skin felt sexy.
It was … wonderful. The best first kis
s I’d ever had—and a sure sign of terrific things to come. I knew then, as our tongues touched, as our breathing deepened, as we both sighed with arousal, that every time I’d looked at Daniel and felt attracted to him, I’d been right. That this was right. He wasn’t just my friend—he was way more than that. And as our kiss became more intense, more desperate and urgent, my body was letting me know that it wanted more. Much more.
The fingers that were already underneath his T-shirt started to explore further, and I heard Daniel sigh as I stroked his flesh, all the time maintaining the passionate momentum of that kiss.
Without even breaking lip contact, he picked me up, then lay me back down on the sofa, his own body following until he was stretched out on top of me—long, lean, and gloriously hard in all kinds of ways.
He finally broke away from my mouth and moved his attention to my neck, my ear lobes, my throat; pulling the fabric of my sweater away so he could drop soft, sensual kisses on my bared shoulders, and the sensitive skin of my collar bone.
I really, really wanted to be able to see his body, as well as touch it, and started to tug at the hem of his T-shirt, trying to pull it up and off over his head.
‘You have too many clothes on …’ I muttered, smiling as he sat up, still straddling me, and shrugged out of his top. He was, to put it bluntly, magnificent—all lean muscle and flat lines and smooth skin, his perfectly cut torso disappearing off into Levi’s that I’d previously admired, but that now seemed to be getting in the way of what we both wanted to happen next.
In one of those comedic shuffling around moves that romance novels never prepare you for when you read about sex as a teenager; I managed to pull my baggy sweater off as well, getting my arm caught at a funny angle and losing all sense of dignity when it stuck around the top of my head. Daniel, grinning, finally tore it away, and looked down at me in my bra—not even my best one, it has to be said—as though he’d never seen anything quite so fascinating before in his whole life.
The way he looked at me—my face, my eyes, my breasts, my eyes again—made me feel like a goddess. It wasn’t just lust—I’d seen that from men before—it was amazement. It was desire; it was reverence. It was love.
I blinked my eyes, slowly, and realised that I’d managed to dredge up a few more tears, just when I thought the well had run dry.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said, when he noticed and started to look concerned. ‘I’m not sad. I’m just … surprised. And excited. And turned on. And … it’s been a mad day. Would you like to take those jeans off? You look a bit—uncomfortable.’
He smiled and glanced ruefully at the action-packed denim straining at the seams. He climbed off me, and I waited for him to unbutton them.
*
Just as he was reaching the good part—pulling them down over his angular hips—his phone started to ring. And ring. And ring. At first he did the logical thing and ignored it, letting it skitter around on the table. But as soon as it stopped, it started again—and it went on and on and on.
‘Aaaagh!’ he said. ‘It’ll be my mum—I forgot to let her know I was home, and she’ll be convinced I’ve been killed in some freak motorway accident. She won’t stop calling until she knows I’m all right …’
I nodded, and bit back a smile. Frustrating as the interruption was, I got it—mums were just like that. He did a funny hopping jump over to the table—disabled by a combination of his jeans being half down, and having what looked like some serious problems in the boxer department.
He grabbed up the phone, spoke incredibly quickly to his mum, and switched it off. I expected him to hop straight back over to me and continue where we left off.
But he didn’t. He looked at me, and smiled, and then just stood there, bare-chested and glorious, running his hands through his hair until he left ruffles. He sighed, blew out a long, frustrated breath, and scooped his T-shirt up from the floor.
‘I think that’s what you call saved by the bell,’ he said, still keeping his distance. He started to fasten his jeans back up as I looked on in confusion.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, caught completely unawares and feeling my own frustrations take hold. I’d enjoyed having Daniel on top of me. I’d enjoyed touching his skin, and feeling his lips against mine, and I’d wanted more. I thought he had—but instead, he was backing off just as we seemed to reach the point of no return.
‘Don’t you … don’t you fancy me?’ I said, feeling suddenly humiliated. ‘Did I do something wrong?’
‘No!’ he said, firmly, sitting down next to me and covering me with the blanket, tucking me in gently until I was completely wrapped up. ‘Don’t ever think that—I have never fancied anyone more than I fancy you! Even when you think you look like the elephant woman, even when you’ve been crying so much your baldy eyelashes are glued together, you’re still the most beautiful, gorgeous, and sexy creature on the planet. I’m sure you noticed I wasn’t exactly bored during that, Jessy—and at least a few of my body parts are regretting ending it.’
‘Mine too. So. Why? What’s wrong?’
He reached down, and gently tucked a few stray strands of hair behind my ear. I kissed his hand on the way, and he grinned at me.
‘Don’t do that. I’m only flesh and blood—and I can only hold off for so long.’
‘I’m not sure I want you to hold off—I’d quite like you to hold on.’
‘I know,’ he said, sitting himself out of reach at the far end of the sofa and tickling my toes instead. He knew I was really ticklish, and it was hard to feel sexy when you were laughing so hard you can’t breathe.
‘Okay,’ I said, sitting up myself, and putting my sweater back on. ‘I get it. Fun time’s over. But I’m still waiting for a reason. You’ve not signed up to some kind of chastity thing since I saw you last, have you?’
‘Hardly,’ he smirked. ‘And I’ve not been living like a monk, waiting for you to come back into my life, Jess, pleased as I am that you did. I want this—I want it badly. But I also want it to be right. There’s too much in your life that isn’t right at the moment. We’ve spent ages talking about the things that aren’t right, including the fact that you’re still screwed up over Jack. I think, before we start this thing between us, that you have to fix some of those things.
‘I want us to be together. I think we’ve always had something special, and I want to find out just how special—but this isn’t the time to begin. I know what I want, a hundred per cent—and I know, right now, you think you want the same. But that, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, is lust speaking. That’s not enough. Before this can work you need to sort yourself out, Jessy. I’ll help you any way I can.’
I raised an eyebrow at him, and he laughed. I could think of at least one way he could help me.
‘Any way but that. Look, does that make sense? Any of it?’
‘Annoyingly,’ I replied, pouring us both another glass of Baileys. ‘It does. I don’t want it to, but yes, it makes sense. So. I’m going to have another drink. I’m going to sleep it off. And tomorrow, I’m going to start sorting it all out.’
Chapter 35
I started with the easier ones.
Well, not easier—just more geographically convenient. The London-based items on Jessy’s Giant List of Things to Sort Out. This was a list I’d compiled—mentally—while sitting at Daniel’s big, scarred pine kitchen table on Boxing Day, as he cooked me an omelette made from Girls Aloud’s eggs.
I’d eventually passed out on the sofa halfway through watching Die Hard the night before, and when I woke up I was in bed in Daniel’s spare room. He’d taken off my leggings, but left me in my long jumper and pants, and there was a bottle of water and a pack of paracetamol on the table next to me.
My very first thought, once I’d woken up, stretched, and relocated my brain, was that I wished I wasn’t in Daniel’s spare bed. I wished I was in his bed, with him—even if it was just for a cuddle. A cuddle, I now suspected, that could definitely develop into something more
, and I was feeling remarkably frisky for a hungover chick who’d recently had her heart broken.
Maybe, I thought, rolling over and hugging the pillow instead, that told me everything I needed to know about my relationship with Jack. If I could wake up days later dreaming about sex with another man, how real could it have all been? It had felt real. The love had felt real, and the pain had certainly felt real. But perhaps—perhaps—I’d been more infatuated than in love? I now realised that I didn’t even really know Jack Duncan. I’d never met his parents, or heard him talk about his childhood, or seen embarrassing photos of him as a little boy.
I didn’t know what he’d been like at school, or what he wanted to be when he grew up, or where he’d gone to university, even though I knew he had. I’d never met any of his friends, or talked about his ex-girlfriends, or seen what he put in his trolley when he went to the supermarket. Apart from meeting his horrendous niece the summer before, I knew nothing about him—it was as though the Jack Duncan I knew had sprung from the womb, fully formed, as a Starmaker record executive.
He’d been charming and sexy and he’d played me absolutely perfectly—he’d actually made me work for it, which made our relationship even more exciting. Looking back, I felt sick at exactly how naive and trusting I’d been. I’d mistaken a casual fling for something much more. Even one night of not having sex with Daniel had shown me that.
Now, I could see things a lot more clearly—even if my eyes were still swollen from crying.
Daniel drove me all the way back to London, and we parted ways outside my flat with a long, lingering kiss that left me breathless, desperate for more, and utterly convinced that I needed to get on with that mental list. If my own conscience hadn’t been driving me, sexual frustration would have been.