What's the Drama, Malibu Bennet?

by Michelle Gayle

  “I knaw it’s happening a bit fast but we could get a place near the Highland Manor. Yer loved it there, didn’t yer? And it’s only forty minutes from the stadium.”

  Now I understood why he’d made such a big effort on his two days off. “Is that why you took me there? So you could talk me into living a gazillion miles away from my family?”

  “I’m living away from my family now, don’t forget.”

  “But that’s part of your job. You’re used to it.”

  “Naw, I’m not. This is the first time I’ve played outside Scotland.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve been doing it for nearly two years.”

  “It doesn’t mean that I don’t miss it. Because I do.” I could see from his eyes that he was telling the truth. I’ve heard Stephen and Angus reminisce about things “back home”, but I didn’t realize that he would actually prefer to be there instead of London.

  The waiter came and laid down two plates displaying edible works of art. But Stephen and I barely touched anything.

  I love him and I want to be with him, but moving to Scotland is major. I think he could see the doubt on my face.

  “Look, it’s worth being away from home if I’m playing but if I’m not… I’ll just be miserable.”

  “But what if living in Scotland makes me miserable?”

  Stephen sighed and held my hand tightly across the table. “I don’t have all the answers, Rem. I just knaw how I feel. Just say you’ll think about it, OK? If things go to plan I’ll be able to make the transfer deadline at the end of August.”

  “That’s only three weeks away! You can’t honestly expect me to make such a big decision in that time.”

  He sighed again. “That’s football, babe.”

  “Yes, but you chose football – I didn’t.”

  He said it’s the kind of decision footballers’ partners have to make all the time. Then he asked for the bill, paid, and we left. On the way back to his house I was thinking so hard about what to do that my brain hurt. Nothing seemed to make me want to live in Scotland though.

  “What about the salon?” I said suddenly as Stephen was putting his key into the front door.

  “What about it? Yer hardly there nowadays.”

  “That’s right, dismiss the salon like it’s nothing. Obviously chasing a leather ball is so–oo much more important than what I do.”

  “I respect what you’ve done with the salon, you know I do. But what I cannae respect is this celebrity crap. I don’t know why yer want it so badly.”

  “It’s not that I want it. It’s just that it’s happened and—”

  “Because of me,” he interrupted. “Don’t yer forget that.”

  “Oh yeah, it’s all about you, Stephen. I’d be nothing without you. Well, why do they want me to have my own TV show, then?”

  Me and my big mouth!

  “What TV show?”

  Instead of shutting up I carried on digging a hole for myself. “They want me and Malibu to be the British Kardashians,” I said, as if I actually thought it was a good idea.

  Stephen let out a loud groan.

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Seriously?” he said. “Sex tapes and marrying people for seventy-two days and yer asking me what’s wrong with it?”

  “The Kardashians earned sixty million dollars this year,” I said defensively. I should have known that wouldn’t impress him.

  “You’re right, Remy, I’m wrong. They should be my heroes. I need to stop admiring the skills of Lionel Messi and start making sex tapes. Aye, why don’t we make one tonight? Post it on Facebook. Is that what you want?”

  A text from Malibu came through: So what happened?!!

  Ugh!

  We went to bed and slept facing opposite walls.

  Just about said hello to each other when we woke up. Then when I was doing my face Stephen said, “Yer don’t need make-up.”

  So I gave my usual reply. “Well, I had a face full of it when you met me.”

  It’s our little joke and he smiled just like normal. “There’s a pre-season game on Saturday, if yer want to come.”

  “Sure.”

  So that’s it – we’ve officially made up. Problem is, I haven’t figured out what I want. It was so easy before, being a big, bossy salon owner, dreaming about building a beauty empire. But now it feels like I’ve been given this opportunity to be famous, and everyone would think I was stupid if I wasted it. And then there’s Scotland…!

  Anyhoo, I’ve come home and booked an emergency session with Dr Clein to help me work it out.

  10.45 a.m.

  Just had a good talk with Mum. She said that she only sent Dad divorce papers because she needs closure and Dad deserves the same.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Alan thought you’d be upset.”

  “And how do you feel?”

  “Sad.”

  “Mum, are you sure you want to get divorced?”

  “Yes, love… It’s for the best. It’s closure.”

  2.30 p.m.

  Arranged to meet Kellie for a quick catch-up at Nando’s (our spiritual home). Spoke to Mal before I left.

  “You were right, he does want me to live with him!” I gushed.

  “Knew it! I’m so happy for you!”

  There was no point adding “in Scotland”. She would’ve clicked that would be the death of Being the Bennets and I would never have got out of the house.

  Camilla phoned when I was making my way over to Nando’s. She asked me to do a phone interview today with The Mutts (apparently a v. popular mag with dog lovers).

  “It’s not Life Stories though, is it? I thought that’s what we were going for?”

  “Still working on it, dahling. But The Mutts is really quite prestigious… Prestigious means—”

  “I know what prestigious means,” I snapped. “How many readers has it got?”

  “Erm … not sure but a few. And we have a couple of other big things waiting to be confirmed.”

  “TV things?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to say, dahling, in case I jinx them. But I do think that you’ll be very, very happy once you find out.”

  I told her I was meeting a friend and I’d do The Mutts interview after that. Then it was Kellie time. Since she’s started uni, an hour with Kellie is like reading Fifty Shades of Grey. I actually felt like I needed a good wash afterwards to cleanse my soul.

  She asked how it was going with Stephen and I told her about possibly moving to Scotland.

  “Scotland?! It’s not really you, is it?”

  “I dunno. Loved it when he took me to the Highlands. It was so beautiful, Kel.”

  “But what’s there to do? Oh, I know…” Kellie put on a girly American voice. “You gonna be a good little wife, cooking dinner, making the beds, and teaching Effie and Dougie how to bake.”

  “Don’t you start,” I said, but I couldn’t help laughing.

  I suppose she has got a point though – what would I do there?

  Kel reminded me that as soon as she realized Stephen’s teammate, David Joseph (who she saw for a while), was after a Stepford wife she “stepped off”.

  “Yeah, right,” I said. “And it had nothing to do with him finding out that you were hooking up with Mark Carter behind his back.”

  She shrugged. “Uni does that to you, Rem.”

  “What, turns you into a slut?” I said cheekily.

  She ignored the jibe. “No. Makes it hard to sustain a proper relationship.”

  “You couldn’t sustain one before you went – remember?”

  “What about Jack?”

  “Oh yeah, Jack – I liked him.”

  “So did I. It’s just that I liked a few others as well.” She laughed.

  Anyhoo, I told her that I probably wouldn’t even be considering going to Scotland if I still had James in my life and she hadn’t deserted me for uni.

  “So call James, then.”

  “Nah. It’s
been too long. Best to leave it.”

  3 p.m.

  Just finished having the most ridiculous conversation with a journalist from The Mutts magazine.

  “What’s the name of your dog?” he asked.

  “Er… I don’t have one.”

  “Camilla said you did – that’s why we’ve agreed to do this interview.”

  “Well, I don’t know why because I don’t.”

  “Perhaps you had one that recently died?”

  “No, I’ve never had a dog. To be honest, I’m more of a cat person.”

  “Oh, cats,” he said in disgust. “Well, shall we pretend you have a dog?”

  “Erm… I don’t think so. No.”

  He said he’d have to get on to Camilla, and rang off in a strop.

  WTF?

  7.55 p.m.

  My Life: one step forward; two blooming back.

  Had a great session with Dr Clein. He is one smart dude. I told him how gutted I’d been about Dad getting divorce papers. He took notes. Then he listened when I described the panic attacks I’d had before and during the meeting with Robert Fitzgerald. He took notes. Then he listened and nodded as I replayed last night’s argument with Stephen, blow by blow. He took more notes, and didn’t speak until I said, “I just hate the way he shot down my Being the Bennets idea.”

  “Remy, three days ago Being the Bennets was Malibu’s idea and you didn’t seem particularly keen on it. Now you’re claiming it’s yours. In fact, at the time you didn’t seem sure that you liked being famous. What’s changed?”

  I searched for an answer and all I could come up with was “Everyone’s going to think I’m an idiot if I waste this opportunity.”

  “They might, but you have to live your life for you, Remy. Do the things that matter to you. Even if everyone in the whole world rates fame – if you don’t, you’ll never be happy with it.”

  He was right. When I look back, Stephen has been the only good thing about this year; and maybe the salon (but I’ve hardly been there). Everything else has made me unhappy. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve cried at the abuse I’ve received on Twitter; then of course I lost it on live TV; and then I had those panic attacks yesterday. This new career that Camilla and Harry are busting a gut to save – I don’t like it. I don’t like being gawped at and judged, or not being able to go out without make-up on because I’m so paranoid about being papped. And so what if I’m living Malibu’s dream? It isn’t my dream. I want to live for ME again. As I said all this aloud it made perfect sense. I told Dr Clein that the best thing for me to do was to forget about fame, and I instantly felt ten stone lighter. (No need for lipo any more, ha ha ha!)

  “I’m contracted to do one more photo shoot for Terri Catalogue and then that’s IT – back to being a very happy nobody,” I said.

  “What will you do instead?”

  I smiled. “Move to Scotland.”

  And quite possibly open a new salon.

  Left Dr Clein and jumped into a taxi, full of confidence. Knew exactly what I was going to do.

  Plan of Action

  Tell Stephen to go for his transfer.

  Tell Mal “Being the Bennets” is not for me.

  Keep her sweet by still buying a flat, and letting her live in it. (Also v. good investment.) All she’ll have to do is pay bills.

  To help pay bills will ask her to replace me at Tah-dah! She was v. popular at Kara’s and is bound to get her old customers back.

  Ask Stephen to invest in new salon in Scotland as “business partner” Eek! This is properly freaking me out. Business goes wrong = kills relationship. Relationship goes wrong = kills business. Adds a lot of pressure to moving to Scotland.

  Was trying to work out whether I should even ask Stephen to co-own a salon when Lara called.

  “Are we allowed to use the kitty money to send flowers?” she asked.

  “Not usually. Why?”

  “Debbie Wyatt’s in hospital.”

  “What happened?” I asked, surprised.

  “Checked herself in to get help for depression.”

  But just the other day she was showing off her toyboy. “What? She seemed to be doing so well.”

  “I think she thought, deep down, that she and her hubby would get back together, but he’s told her he wants a divorce.”

  My mind jumped to Malibu. Mum thinks she’s post-natal, doesn’t she? Does that mean that crushing Being the Bennets will drag her even further down Depression Road?

  “Sure… Send Debbie some flowers.”

  I rang off, and before I knew it I was clutching a familiar pain in my chest and fighting for air.

  “Are you all right love?” The taxi driver pulled over. He was brilliant. He wanted to call for an ambulance but I told him not to bother. “Are you sure?” he asked, concerned. So I nodded and gasped that I knew what it was.

  “It’ll stop in a minute. I just need to take big breaths.”

  It took a while to calm down and he looked relieved when it did. “Thought you were having a heart attack.”

  “I’m sorry. It happens sometimes.”

  “You’ll need to get it looked at. Promise you will,” he told me when he pulled up outside my front door.

  Dr Clein had said the same thing before I’d left his treatment room, adding that my GP might be able to give me some medication to keep me in check. The thought of medication scared me – I’ve seen One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

  “Won’t need any,” I’d assured him. “Now I’ve decided to go to Scotland, I won’t get stressed any more.”

  Now look at me – I’m a big, panic-attack-ridden loser!

  Friday 9 August – 9 a.m.

  I am Remy Louise Bennet. I am not perfect. Blah, blah, blah.

  Last night I suddenly wondered What if I’m not a drama queen after all but at death’s door?! So when Stephen called to check if I was OK, I said I’d go round to his house. Lying in his arms would be the perfect place to pop my clogs.

  This morning I lay in bed while he got ready for training. So far, there had been no mention of moving to Scotland. I think he wanted to concentrate on smoothing things over rather than starting another argument, and he knows it’s a big ask. If I am missing a sensitivity chip, Stephen must have twenty. He also happens to have a v. v. fit body.

  I whistled as he got into his trackie bottoms.

  “Aw, I’m just a piece of meat ter yer, aren’t I.”

  “Yep, and don’t you forget it!”

  Grinning, he said, “That pre-season match is tomorrow – yer still coming?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Right. Better get yer a ticket then.”

  “Thanks. And baby, you can put in for that transfer if you want.”

  His face was a screenshot of pure joy. Then he turned serious. “Are yer sure, gorgeous? I don’t want ter force yer.”

  “I’m positive. I want to go. Let’s live in Scotland!”

  He kissed me.

  “I love you,” I told him, just in case it was for the last time. *slowly plays violin*

  9.45 a.m.

  Finished my make-up, booked an appointment with my GP, then decided to phone James. Yikes! I was so–oo nervous.

  “I miss you,” I said before he could hang up. “Sorry for accusing Rupert of spiking my drink. He—”

  “Is a tosser,” James cut in. “Don’t worry, Remy, I’ve seen the light.”

  “So you’re not going out with him any more?”

  “Haven’t done for ages. He’s so bloody up himself it’s untrue.”

  “Yeah, I did notice.” I laughed.

  “And Rem, I want to apologize for being up myself too. Believe me, I’ve missed you more.” James said he was desperate to be accepted by the cool set in Shoreditch back then, but it was actually exhausting. “I’m always going to like Britney and Kylie. I know it’s a stereotype, as Rupert kept telling me, but that’s just me – and what’s the point in pretending when I’m with other gay people?”<
br />
  James isn’t even working in Shoreditch any more. He’s joined a new salon in the West End.

  “Yay!” I said. “In that case, I’m coming to get my hair done. It’s the only reason I’ve made up with you – far too many bad hair days.”

  “User.”

  We laughed.

  “How are things with your parents?”

  “Fine.”

  “Great. That worked out, then.”

  “Oh no, I haven’t told them yet.” Last year he came close to telling them he was gay more times than I can count. He never managed it though. “But I’m going to next week for definite. I’ve met someone. Actually, I’m in lurve.”

  I could tell he was beaming.

  “Who with?”

  “Don’t know what’s going to shock my dad the most – the fact that I’m gay or the fact that I’m seeing his boss’s son.”

  “No. Way.”

  Apparently his dad’s boss had a barbecue and as his dad was up for a promotion, he wanted to make a big impression and forced James to go. Little did his dad know that James happened to spot that the boss’s son, Dominic, was “beyond gorgeous” as soon as he’d opened the front door. Seems he’s a real sporty/rugby type. An hour into the barbecue they were in the downstairs toilet kissing.

  “Classy. Don’t know who’s worse, you or Kellie,” I said.

  We chuckled together for a bit. Felt like old times.

  “So, come on, tell me – what’s it like to be a celebrity?” he asked.

  For a second I thought about pretending, to avoid the “But you’re so lucky. You should appreciate it, blah, blah, blah.” But what was the point?

  “Shit,” I replied.

  “No way. It can’t be!”

  “Yes, it can. Especially when you’re getting tons of insults on Twitter all the time. In fact it makes me feel so shitty I’m seriously considering giving it up.”

  “Well, get on with it, then. Because if there’s anything I’ve learned this year, it’s that life is too short.”

  “Tell me about it.” I sighed.

  Great speaking to my BMF @James1Hair today. Now we have to go out with @Kelz #goodtimes #backforgood