by Jo Bartlett
‘It’s Tom I feel sorry for though.’ Imelda was well known for being soft hearted. ‘I met ‘im a few times working freelance wiv ‘is clients and ‘e was always great to me, genuinely warm and like ‘e was really pleased to see me. Any girl would be lucky to ‘ave ‘im and ‘ow Susie-Anne could have let ‘im go buggers me! ’e’s such a lovely bloke. I’d never pick someone like Michael Cox over ‘im.’
‘I’m not sure she did either.’ Marco was now laying full length on one of the leather sofas in the reception area of the spa. ‘I mean we all saw the papers when she cheated on Tom, but she’s a great one for telling you the ins and outs of everything and it seems he was already looking elsewhere.’
Neither Stevie or Ashleigh said anything and she didn’t dare look at him. She wasn’t quite sure if she could cope with hearing about someone else that Tom was seeing. Why couldn’t she just get herself involved, for once, with a man who didn’t have so many other options or at least one who didn’t take those options up so freely?
‘You guys might know more than me?’ Marco gave them a knowing wink. ‘Susie-Anne reckons he wasn’t even bothered when the news came out about her and that footballer. She told me one of the receptionist’s from Tom’s office phoned and told her he was already seeing someone new from Glitz.’
‘Probably Angus!’ Stevie interjected quickly and Ashleigh was grateful he hadn’t given the others a chance to put two and two together and work out that she was as likely a candidate as anyone.
‘If Tom’s gone for Angus, ‘e obviously wanted someone wiv bigger boobs than Susie-Anne!’ Imelda joined in the ribbing of their Editor, even though everyone loved him.
‘They’re ready for you now.’ One of the masseurs had appeared from behind the glass door separating the reception area from the spa. Their reverie broken, the four of them headed into the steamy, almost jungle-like atmosphere of the spa. There were plants everywhere and Ashleigh’s jeans instantly clung to her legs. She couldn’t think straight, the heat and Marco’s unexpected revelations had left her reeling. She couldn’t even talk to Stevie about it. Did Susie-Anne know about her and Tom or was it just some coincidence? It wasn’t as if they’d even kissed until after Tom had split up with her. Could there be someone else at Glitz? Obviously not Angus, but there were any number of pretty secretaries or journalists who might have caught his eye. God, she hated not knowing. The other side of Ashleigh screamed at her to ‘get real’. She’d spent long enough surrounded by models and actresses to realise she was nothing special. Added to which they barely knew each other and they’d made a deal to keep it casual. She’d seen the way that Francine had looked at her, pegging her as just another vacuous airhead in the long line of hopefuls, and there was no way she’d give Francine the satisfaction of proving her right.
‘What are you frowning at, bella?’ Marco set himself up in front of one of the full-length mirrors that lined one wall in the chill-out room of the spa.
‘Nothing, just thinking.’ The blush swept across her face immediately, but luckily it was well disguised by the pinkness of her cheeks brought on by the temperature in the spa.
‘Well, stop thinking then. It makes you look miserable!’ He squeezed her shoulder, seeming to sense that there was more to it than that. ‘I’m thinking how the hell I’m going to do anything with the girls’ hair in these conditions and it’s making me pissed off too!’ He threw his hands up in a typically Italian gesture.
****
Carly and the girls were in fine form and, despite his worries, Marco managed to make the girls’ hair look natural enough for a day at the spa, but not plastered to their heads in the unflattering way someone might look in real life. One thing Glitz definitely didn’t want to be was any mirror of real life. Imelda managed to apply some bronzing and basic makeup that didn’t immediately slide off their faces. With the spa shoot over, all of the girls’ hair and makeup was touched up again and they were despatched in groups of four by taxi. The cars were festooned with pink balloons, bearing Carly and Duane’s names and wedding date, and ferried them to the next venue – a celebrity hangout called Kitsch. It was one of the hottest places in town to eat, run by Michelin starred chef, Anton Andrews, and his ex-model wife, Isabelle, but more than that it was the place for celebrities and wannabe celebrities, to see and be seen. Since Isabelle was one of Carly’s hens, and a close friend from their modelling days, the party had been given exclusive use of Kitsch for the evening. Knowing that the paparazzi would be out in full force, and needing to keep Glitz’s exclusive as intact as possible, the taxis had stopped off in a car park around the corner. The absurdly glamorous group of women were then hidden in the back of a catering lorry that made its way into the yard by the back door to the restaurant kitchen. Anton and his staff, who were witness to bizarre celebrity behaviour on a daily basis, hardly batted an eyelid as the heavily perfumed entourage made their way through the kitchen, squealing with excitement.
‘Champagne ladies?’ Anton’s young brother, Gerard, was Maitre’d at Kitsch and he immediately had the hens giggling and flirting with him as though their lives depended on it. The waiters weren’t safe and neither was Stevie, but he was giving as good as he got, and wasn’t averse to burying his face into a cosmetically enhanced cleavage given the opportunity. Ashleigh stood back from the throng and got some great natural shots of the party that captured the fun much more vibrantly than any posed shots would have done.
‘Looks great.’ She’d been reviewing the images on her digital camera and the voice behind her made her jump.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ As she spun round, Tom placed a hand on her arm to steady her. ‘I just thought I’d pop down to see how you were doing.’ They both knew it was a lie and, as their eyes met briefly, she felt that familiar tightening in her stomach.
‘That’s nice.’ She tried to stop looking at his mouth, determined to be cool and distant, but it was extremely difficult. ‘It’s going okay. Once they’re done here, we’re heading on to Carly’s club to end the night and God help the blokes in there. They’ve been groping the waiters here and I’ve got plenty of evidence for any sexual harassment cases they might want to bring about.’
‘How long will you be there?’ His voice was low and soft.
‘I’m not sure, not too long hopefully.’ There was a grazing of stubble forming on his cheeks and she could smell his aftershave, it took her back to that first kiss in her kitchen. Was this really a good idea? She was rubbish at relationships and he’d virtually said he didn’t really believe in them, so what was the point? Her brain and her body were having a battle over the whole thing. ‘I just want to get a few good shots to finish off the piece. One of the journalists, Sally Grainger, is going to meet us there and take over. ’
‘Do you fancy going for a drink somewhere after you’ve finished?’
‘A drink?’ She smiled and he looked for a moment as though he might be going to say something else.
‘Tom! What on earth are you doing here?’ Carly’s raucous shout cut through the narrow space between them and Ashleigh took a step back. Half the hens were represented by Tom’s company and, ever the professional, he dragged himself away from Ashleigh to submit to the kisses and excited chatter of his clients and the rest of Carly’s friends – whilst Ashleigh got on with her job.
Chapter Twelve
When the hen party finally decided to move on from the restaurant, Stevie and Ashleigh took a cab to the club, whilst Carly and the rest of the girls had a bone-shaking journey across London in the back of the van – although they were almost certainly inebriated enough not to feel a thing. Tom, who was being followed by the paparazzi in the wake of Susie-Anne’s revelation, acted as a decoy and was dropped at the prominent entrance to an explosion of flash bulbs leaving Carly and her girlfriends to slip into the staff entrance unnoticed. When Stevie and Ashleigh used the front entrance a few minutes after Tom they didn’
t raise an eyebrow, never mind a lens shutter.
‘You made it then?’ Tom was waiting at the bar. His appeal to the hen party thankfully diluted by the presence of a host of other celebrities.
‘Yes, I think the only interest we aroused was speculation about why somewhere like this would let people like me in, dressed in jeans and an old T-Shirt.’ Ashleigh pulled self-consciously at her top.
‘Don’t worry, you look great. You look like you.’ Tom poured her a glass of wine from the bottle that he had on the bar. ‘Have you got much more to do?’
‘I’ve just got to get a few shots here.’ She took a sip of wine and the liquid warmed her throat. Maybe a few drinks would help; she could feel the nerves starting to bubble again. ‘There’s a cake apparently and the girls are planning a song or something, so I really ought to stay and get that at least.’
‘I suppose you should.’ Tom traced a finger along her jaw line. ‘I wish you didn’t have to, but you might get in trouble with your boss.’
‘He’s a tyrant, well known for it.’ Ashleigh grinned and picked up her camera, pulling away from him. ‘In fact I’d better get on, or he’ll make me pay for it later.’ She turned and headed towards the hen party, half of whom were busy with a shot drinking contest, whilst the other half were giving the dance floor good reason to be there.
****
Stevie, true to form, had been one of the first on the dance floor. For a gay man, he certainly had the dirty dancing moves and Carly was draped backwards over his arms in a move quite possibly good enough to score her a perfect ten on Strictly.
Ashleigh was confident she’d got some great photos and, once the cake arrived, she and Tom could leave. With the press camped out on the doorstep, maybe they’d be next in line for a bumpy ride in the back of the catering van.
Suddenly the music changed to Beyoncé’s Single Ladies and the rest of the hen party descended on the dance floor, recreating the dance routine in a way that only people with plenty of time on their hands to practice, and the kind of confidence that most WAGs had, could. Moments later a huge cake was wheeled into the middle of the dance floor, it was almost five feet high and topped off with replicas of Carly and Duane, made from candle wax. It was about the tackiest thing Ashleigh had ever seen and all around the club people stopped to stare or started choking on their drinks. The Carly and Duane replicas were lit and looked eerily macabre as their faces started to melt. The wicks of the candles crackled with light, like sparklers on bonfire night. As the music and booty slapping reached a crescendo, the top of the cake burst open and an unidentified man, who Ashleigh assumed would turn out to be Duane, appeared from a crouching position inside. Lumps of sponge and icing ricocheted off the cake and with a huge Tarzan-like roar, the identity of the cake dweller was revealed.
‘Shit, my fucking hair is on fire!’ Capturing the action, even though she knew she’d never be allowed to use the pictures, Ashleigh watched as Zac Starr created havoc. One of the staff leapt across the bar and was on the dance floor in seconds, clutching a hand held fire extinguisher, which he quickly used to put out Zac’s smouldering hair, along with the Duane and Carly candles which were doing their best to set fire to the dance floor.
‘Interesting look Zac, are you hoping to start a trend to replace spray tans?’ Tom was struggling not to laugh. Zac’s face had turned an unappealing shade of red and the edge of his hair was actually singed. It smelt like a hairdressers during the 1980s, one that specialised in offering particularly severe poodle perms.
‘It’s not funny!’ Zac was batting away the attempts of Carly and her friends to minimise the damage. ‘I could have been killed, then you’d be sorry.’ He was like a petulant child. His career might not be what it once was, but he still had an ego that matched its peak.
‘The important question is are you hurt?’ Ashleigh put her hand on Zac’s arm in an attempt to calm him down. Now that the fire had been put out, and Carly’s super-efficient bar staff had already cleared up the mess, the hen party had started to lose interest and drift back to the dance floor.
‘It’s a bit sore, but I’m more worried about whether my hair will grow back.’ Zac was nothing if not vain and the amount of product he had on his hair had certainly helped ignite the situation.
‘Maybe you should go to the hospital?’ Ashleigh doubted there would be any lasting damage, but Zac obviously needed some sort of attention.
‘Christ, no. The last thing I want is to be seen in public like this.’ He looked at her as though she had suggested he streak naked down Regent’s Street. She didn’t like to tell him that she’d seen several of the partygoers filming the whole thing on their mobiles. Zac’s flaming hair was set to be the next Internet sensation and would probably go viral within hours, but that was something best left for him to find out.
‘Let’s go through to the manager’s office and work out what to do. I can hardly hear myself think in here.’ Tom sounded every bit as frustrated as Ashleigh felt. It looked increasing like a giant Zac-shaped problem was going to get in the way of their plans. He ushered them through to the empty office, which was far enough away from the dance floor to have a proper conversation in.
‘I could call Dr Hussani, I’m sure he’d look you over, put your mind at rest.’ Tom already had his phone out and was scrolling through the contacts to find the number of the Harley Street clinic so beloved by celebrities. Plenty of Tom’s clients were big fans of plastic surgery, so no doubt the doctor would be willing to offer a bit of after-hours care in the circumstances.
‘I suppose that might work,’ Zac chewed on his bottom lip. ‘But I want someone to come with me, because I’m not going on my own.’ There was the petulant child again. Zac was needy by nature and years of being pandered to as a pop star hadn’t helped. Ashleigh wondered if it was why he drifted from one fiancée to another; he just didn’t want to be on his own.
‘The press are all over me at the moment,’ Tom sighed. ‘I’m not sure it would help you keep much of a low profile if I were to come with you.’
‘Fucking Susie-Anne.’ Zac’s neck grew redder still.
‘What you too?’ Carly had followed them into the office and Ashleigh’s hopes rose briefly. Maybe she would offer to accompany him to Dr Hussani’s.
‘God, no.’ Zac grimaced. ‘It’s that silly cow’s fault that Tom can’t shake the press off and I wanted him to take me to get this checked out.’ He gingerly touched the worse affected area and it crackled, revealing just how crispy the edge of his hair was.
‘Borrow the catering van, that way the press won’t even know you’ve gone.’ Carly smiled benevolently. ‘I won’t be needing it again. By the time we’ve finished up here, even the paps will have gone to bed!’
The last chance of Tom being able to get out of accompanying Zac had disappeared, but Ashleigh couldn’t blame Carly or even Zac; she knew it was Tom’s job to make their lives easier, not the other way round.
‘Maybe that is the best option.’ There was an edge to Tom’s voice. ‘Get yourself sorted Zac and I’ll meet you by the back door in a couple of minutes. Do you have anything more appropriate for him to wear?’ Tom turned to face Carly. ‘I’m not sure the cupid’s outfit will help him blend into the background.’
‘Yeah, I’ve got some spare bar uniforms out back. Come on Zac, let’s get you changed, otherwise the party will be over before I get back to it.’ Carly, who clearly thought he was making far too much fuss, dragged him away.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Tom caressed the back of Ashleigh’s neck.
‘Me too.’ She managed a wry smile. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if some greater cosmic force is trying to tell us something.’
‘I don’t believe in all that.’ He frowned. ‘It’s just bad luck and bloody annoying! I’ll get my driver to take you home, I don’t want you getting a cab at this time of night.’
‘Thanks Dad.’ She
smiled despite her disappointment; it was nice knowing that Tom cared about her safety. It was certainly different from most of the men she’d gone out with. His warm lips brushed against hers all too briefly and then he pulled away.
‘I’ll call you.’ He was already turning to leave as he spoke and she barely resisted the urge to stamp her foot with frustration. Zac was in serious danger of being struck off her Christmas card list.
****
Ashleigh caught up with Stevie, who had disappeared into one of the club’s private rooms in the wake of the cake disaster.
‘Should I ask what you’ve been up to?’ She gave him an appraising look; he didn’t have the appearance of someone who’d just taken part in a wild orgy.
‘Would you believe me, if I said playing cards?’ He didn’t sound that convinced himself.
‘Nope, but I don’t think I want to know anyway.’ She suddenly felt really tired. Having missed out again on getting to know Tom better, the last thing she wanted to do was hear about someone else’s sex life. ‘I just wondered if you wanted a lift home?’
‘I didn’t realise you’d brought your push bike!’ Stevie’s reference to their student days brought the memories flooding back to her. Many was the time when one of them had ridden a pushbike home from the pub, with the other one perched on the cross-bar.
‘Tom offered to lend us his car and driver.’ It wasn’t a lie, as such, and she couldn’t face another cross-examination about why she and Tom never seemed able to get it together.
‘That was nice of him, but why isn’t he using it?’ Stevie didn’t seem too surprised that she wasn’t heading off with Tom, no doubt just pleased not to have to hustle for a cab. ‘Only I can’t imagine Tom taking the tube home in some kind of selfless act of chivalry, no matter how much he fancies you!’
‘He’s taken Zac to the doctor.’ Ashleigh was tempted to swing for him when he burst out laughing.