What's the Drama, Malibu Bennet?

by Michelle Gayle

  “When Dad finds out, I’m sure he’ll chuck me out. But now I have my own flat, that won’t be a problem.”

  “Your dad wouldn’t chuck you out,” said Dominic. “It’s my dad that we have to worry about. He’s kept my sexuality a secret from everybody except close family, and he’s never seen me in a relationship.”

  “What d’you think will happen?” Kellie asked.

  “Oh, he’ll probably stop talking to me for a bit. He did it for two months when I gave up rugby. Five, when I told him I was gay. Who knows, it might be a whole year this time – but you’re worth it.” He grinned.

  James grinned back and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “The thing is, being an adult entails so many compromises. Picking your partner is one of the few choices that’s all yours.”

  “Unless you’re forced into an arranged marriage, of course,” said Kellie. This is why she’s going to be a lawyer: she’s got a reply for everything.

  “You know what I mean,” James said, rolling his eyes. “And I know I can look Dominic in the eyes and say ‘I’d choose you again and again, no matter what’.”

  I sighed. It’s one of the most romantic things I’ve ever heard.

  Dad texted when I was on the way home. Said he was in the King’s Head for lunch with Elizabeth and wondered whether Mal and I wanted to stop by. I was surprised because he’s never taken Elizabeth out so close to home before. I texted back: Sure. Then called Mal. She didn’t want to come out.

  “You can’t stay moping around your bedroom all day,” I said. “Go on, Mal – there’ll probably be some fit blokes for us to gawp at.”

  “You’ve already got a bloke.”

  “I know. Just looking… For you. Ple–eeease.”

  “OK. Let me finish watching this thing on YouTube, then I’ll come over.”

  When I got to the King’s Head, I could tell that Elizabeth was bursting to tell me something. “Go on then, Reg, tell her.”

  Dad picked up her hand and said, “Elizabeth and I have decided to live together.” He was beaming.

  “Wow… That’s great news,” I replied.

  “You can’t keep a good woman waiting,” he said, giving me a knowing wink.

  I decided that now might be a good time to share my own news. “I’ve got something to tell you too… Celtic are keen on Stephen, and if he signs for them, he wants me to move up there with him.”

  “Oh Remy!” Dad was clearly surprised. “But are you sure you want to go? Don’t get me wrong – Stephen’s a great lad – but it’s a lot to give up if you’re not married. And you’re going to be ever so far away if things go wrong.”

  “Dad, it’s Scotland, not Timbuktu.”

  “And what are you going to do up there? What about the salon?”

  “Please, Dad, I’ll sort everything. I know my responsibilities.”

  Mal arrived thirty minutes later, saying she had a headache (surprise, surprise).

  “Big night, then?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah,” she groaned.

  “Good?”

  “It was interesting…” I answered quickly.

  “Mal, you should’ve stayed at home, love, if you feel that bad,” Dad coaxed, then he told her the news about moving in with Elizabeth.

  “I’m happy for you both,” said Mal. “Maybe Elizabeth could give us some tips on how to get our men to take the plunge.”

  Dad frowned at me, obviously confused. Oh-oh – time to tell Mal about moving to Scotland before I was busted. “Actually, there’s er … something I—”

  “Oh–hh my–yy bloody God.” Mal was staring across the pub.

  I turned and saw Lance “Heartbreaker” Wilson standing at the bar chatting to a couple of his mates, beer glass in hand. He gave us one of his slimy smiles, then had the audacity to come up to our table and ask Malibu outside for a chat.

  “All right then,” she agreed without hesitation.

  WTF?!

  I knew it was a bad idea but didn’t expect her to come back crying.

  “I need to go home,” she said.

  “I’ll come with you.” I quickly stuffed my Yorkshire pudding in my mouth (was saving it till last) and left behind the rest of what had turned out to be the best roast dinner ever. Proving that being an adult is also about SACRIFICE.

  Mal was silent all the way home and went straight to her room as soon as we got in. Humph! When I went into the kitchen, Mum was sitting at the table in tears. What is it with the Bennet women at the moment?!

  “What’s the matter, Mum?”

  She pointed to the official papers lying in front of her, wiped her eyes, picked up a pen and then slowly signed them. She looked up. “Divorce… It’s so final, isn’t it?”

  That’s adulthood: even when you choose your lifelong partner, you still might end up regretting it.

  Genuinely hope Mum’s made the right decision. Especially now Dad’s moving in with Elizabeth.

  7.30 p.m.

  Gary Junior’s back and Mal’s in a much better mood!

  After she put him to bed she came into my room and said she couldn’t wait until Wednesday (day of ITV meeting) because that was going to be the day she moved on with her life.

  I could feel my heart rate speeding up. “Don’t rely on that though, Mal. They might not want to do it. Maybe we should think up a plan B?”

  She suddenly became the strong big sister that she used to be. “Don’t worry,” she said, hugging me tight, “they’ll do it – we just have to believe.” And then it was my turn to cry.

  How can I get out of it now?

  8.30 p.m.

  Need to leave. Feel so trapped in this house – it’s an emotional minefield. Going to ring Stephen and see if I can go there.

  8.45 p.m.

  Stephen said, “Don’t think it’ll be wise ter come round at the minute.”

  “Oh. I take it Angus is still angry then.”

  “’Fraid so.”

  “But I need to come over. He’ll just have to get over it.”

  “I don’t think yer should. We’ve still got a lot ter sort out.”

  “Haven’t we agreed that we’re going to blame a Hawley United fan?”

  “Not about last night. It’s about us moving to Scotland.”

  “Us…”

  “Yes. I’ve let him know that he’s going ter have ter find his own place. I want you and me ter make a proper start on our own.”

  I love him so–ooo much.

  Monday 12 August – 8.15 a.m.

  I am Remy Louise Bennet. Blah, blah, blah.

  Stayed in last night, after all, and must have fallen asleep by ten. Woke up with a great big smile on my face: I have the best man in the world.

  Then I heard Malibu chasing Gary Junior down the passageway. “Come on, honey, Mummy needs to put on your nappy. Ple–eeeeease.”

  She sounds so happy. I am totally screwed.

  4 p.m.

  @MimiFitness mercy pleeeeeeease!

  Got training with Mimi in fifteen mins. Ugh!

  Fitted in loads today. First stop was the salon, and Dad called on the way. Harry planted the troublesome Hawley United fan story in at least three papers. Did a bloody good job too – made Angus look like a hero, and Dad was v. concerned. “Why didn’t you mention it yesterday?” he asked.

  “Um… Well…”

  “Anyway, thank God you didn’t get hurt. And I’m sorry if I didn’t sound overly enthusiastic about Scotland. It’s not definite yet though, is it?”

  “No, but I think we need to have a meeting anyway. Will you and Uncle Pete be around tomorrow?”

  They will be, so we’re meeting at the King’s Head.

  Then had to deal with Lara. She wanted a private word as soon as I arrived. I knew what to expect.

  “Have you thought any more about the salon manager job?”

  “Well, I, er… Have had a lot on my plate.”

  “OK, but you should know that I’ve been offered a partnership at another salon. Obvi
ously, I’d prefer to be here.”

  Shit. “Right. Well, thanks for letting me know. I should’ve made a decision very soon.”

  Got big news on the way to Dr Clein’s – Celtic have made Stephen a firm offer.

  “I’ve just handed in my transfer request. If all goes well, things’ll be wrapped up in a week,” he told me.

  “A week?! I thought you said the end of August?”

  “Well, I had until then to put in the transfer request, but if it’s accepted I can sign for Celtic straight away.”

  “I’m so happy for you, baby!” I meant it, but so soon? Moving to Scotland had just become very real. OMG.

  “We’ll have to go house-hunting.”

  The joy of that thought wiped away my fears, but only for a moment.

  “What about Angus?” I asked. “How’s he going to find a place that fast?”

  “Don’t worry, he’s already seen one he likes. He’s meeting the estate agent in Glasgow on Wednesday.”

  “Oh. He’s moving back to Glasgow then.” I thought having Stephen to myself was too good to be true.

  “Aye. Yer get more fer yer money up there.”

  “Didn’t know Angus had any money! Has he won the lottery?” I joked. But Stephen didn’t laugh. I suddenly twigged. “You’re buying it for him, aren’t you?”

  “It’s an investment,” he explained. “It’ll be in my name – he’ll just live there.”

  “And pay you rent?”

  “Eventually … when he finds himself a job.”

  Which, roughly translated, means never.

  The thing is, I couldn’t criticize because Stephen’s only doing for Angus what I plan to do for Malibu. It’s our duty, I suppose; and it’s cheap at the price: A hundred grand – that’s nothing compared with the guilt he’d feel if he left Angus high and dry.

  “How did Malibu take yer not doing the TV show, by the way?” he asked.

  “Well… She, er… Um…”

  “Yer haven’t told her, have yer?”

  *sigh*

  Got to Dr Clein’s and he said it was the happiest he’s seen me.

  “Yeah, I am happy, I suppose. There are just a couple of things I still need to sort out.”

  “And they are?”

  “Telling Malibu I’m moving to Scotland. And that I’m not doing the TV show.”

  Dr Clein raised his eyebrows. “Good luck!”

  I blooming well need it!

  Then went to Terri Catalogue HQ to discuss my last photo shoot – the Remy L.B. bikini range. I said yes to everything they ran by me, thinking, Who cares? This shizz is about to be over. Harry, however, clueless about my celebrity retirement plans, kept banging on about Terri Catalogue offering me a new contract.

  “If ya don’t snatch her up again, she’ll get a flood of new offers y’know. I’ve already had Littlewoods on the phone.”

  He was lying of course. OK, he had had Littlewoods on the phone but, he admitted once we’d left the building, they’d called about another of his clients.

  “Still, that’ll put the fear of God into ’em,” he added.

  Terri Catalogue haven’t offered me a new contract yet because, so far, the sales of my clothes range have been crap. Or, as they put it, “Sales haven’t been as expected.” But now I understand what people in the celebrity world really mean when they say things. I’m like a bullshit code breaker. Anyhoo, they’re hoping the bikini range will turn things round. With my backside modelling it? Oh Lawd!

  6 p.m.

  Mimi made me jump, skip, run and row.

  “I’m not Jessica frickin’ Ennis!” I protested.

  “Do you want to look good in a bikini?”

  “YES!” (She made me shout like an army cadet.)

  “Do you want to do it in three weeks?”

  “YES!”

  “Then that takes dedication. Are you dedicated enough?”

  “YES!”

  “I said, are you dedicated?”

  “YES!”

  Mimi says I’ll need to cut out all carbs: no bread, potatoes, rice and pasta. And I’m not supposed to even look at crisps or chocolate for three weeks. WTF?! Might as well be in prison!

  To cheer myself up, when I got home I searched online for houses for sale in the Highlands. Houses surrounded by mountains and as far away as possible from paparazzi lenses – bliss. That’s when I received an email from the Highland Manor spa. They want me to come for an interview this Wednesday at 4 p.m. Shi–iiiiit. That’s the day of the ITV meeting. But checked for flights to Glasgow anyway, as by then ITV should have rejected the show in an ever-so-nice “Sorry it’s not quite for us” kind of way, and chucked us out by eleven. I could then jump into a taxi, catch the 2 p.m. flight to Glasgow, and be at Highland Manor for 4 p.m. So I emailed back to say yes and have just booked the flights. Yippee!

  Right. Better tell Mum I’m moving to Scotland.

  8 p.m.

  Mum was completely surprised when I told her.

  “How are you going to do this TV show if you’re up there and Malibu’s down here?”

  “Mum, there isn’t going to be a TV show.”

  “Really? Malibu said ITV are keen.”

  “It doesn’t matter what ITV want because I’m not going to do it.” I remembered what she’d said to me when she broke up with Dad. Now I finally understood. “I’ve tried to go along with what other people want, Mum, but I hate fame. I don’t want any part of it. So now I’m going to do something for me.”

  I swear I saw tears come to her eyes. “I knew something was wrong. I thought I’d lost the old Remy for good – you’d changed that much.” She threw her arms around me and squeezed. “I’m so proud of you. Now we have to prepare because this is going to break your sister’s heart.”

  Tuesday 13 August – 9 a.m.

  Spent the night at Stephen’s. Just wanted to feel sure that I was doing the right thing. When he opened the door with his trademark smile, I knew I was. He’s proper gorgeous when he smiles. Angus had cooked dinner – poached salmon with new potatoes, and salad on the side.

  “This is a big move fer yer, Stevie boy. Yer got ter turn up ter Celtic looking fit.”

  Angus was much nicer to me than I expected. He actually apologized for the fight.

  “How’s yer sister doing?” he asked.

  “Fine.”

  “Still single?”

  He has no shame.

  When we got ready for bed, I told Stephen about the job interview at Highland Manor tomorrow.

  “I’m going to fly up there in the afternoon.”

  He looked surprised. “That’s great, but yer don’t have ter work, yer know. I’m making enough money ter—”

  “Keep me?” I cut in.

  By footballers’ standards, we’ve had a strange relationship when it comes to money. Stephen has bought me loads of great birthday and Christmas presents – my black Louboutin pumps are my fave – but it’s nothing compared with what the Netherfield WAGs are regularly showered with. I suspect it’s because Rosie took Stephen for a ride, but I’ve enjoyed proving that I’m nothing like her. Besides, I’ve seen far too many WAGs trapped by the lifestyle.

  “It’s OK. I can look after myself,” I told him.

  Stephen didn’t say anything.

  When we woke up this morning, Stephen was dreading going to the club. Players who make a transfer request are treated like traitors. They’re not allowed to train with the main players any more, and train with the kids instead.

  “It’s humiliating.”

  “Don’t go in then.”

  “I have ter. I’m still contracted to Netherfield. And the deal might go wrong. I’m not a Celtic player until the contract’s signed and I’ve passed my medical.”

  What?! The big emosh conversations with Mum and Dad might’ve been for nothing!

  “So, are we going or not then?”

  “Seventy per cent, yes.”

  “Seventy per cent?”

  “Yes. But y
er can’t bank on it.”

  “Well, it would be nice to know – it’s only one of the most important decisions of my life!”

  He told me about a player who drove hundreds of miles to join another club on the last day of the transfer window and did an impromptu interview outside his “new” club, only for the offer to be withdrawn. He had to drive back to his old club in shame.

  “That’s so embarrassing.”

  He shrugged. “That’s football.”

  1.55 p.m.

  Proper chaotic morning. Went to the salon for treatments (need to look good for my interview tomorrow) but was constantly interrupted by phone calls to my mobile. Journalists were fishing for info because the papers were speculating about Stephen’s transfer request.

  “Sorry, no comment,” I said to everything they asked – not that they were willing to accept that as an answer.

  “But are you looking forward to living near the coast?” said one.

  “No comment.”

  “Maybe it’s Sunderland then – is that right?” said another.

  “No comment.”

  “Won’t you miss London?”

  “No–oo comment.”

  “Have you met any of the Celtic WAGs yet?”

  “No … comment.” Nearly got caught out with that one, so decided to switch off my phone.

  The journalists then bombarded the salon with calls instead.

  “Could you please get off the line? It’s for customers. Thank you,” Lara snapped at them like a pro. Which only confirmed what I’d already been thinking: Lara would be more than capable of running Tah-dah! for good. So I let her know that I’d like to make it official, for a share of the profits.

  “I just need to clear it with my investors,” I explained. “I’m meeting them today.”

  “Great. Can you let them know that I have a very good offer from another salon?”

  She’s always been a tough cookie.