NETTA
Morrison’s question monopolised every corner of Netta’s mind as she re-entered the kitchen. That sort of money would mean she didn’t have to wait to try for a baby on her own. An extra five thousand pounds would mean she could keep the apartmentandget started with assisted conception straight away. And at her age, every day counted. But at what cost? She’d kept her head down for nearly twenty years, and here she was being asked to walk a red carpet with one of the world’s most well-known celebrities. She would draw less attention if she stripped off and streaked through Harrods.
Seeing the table set and ready, she did her best to shelve the conundrum as she reoriented herself in the kitchen. The kids were at the bench pouring glasses of Pepsi, fighting quietly about who’d gotten more. Carly was shorter than her brother, despite being the older one. Her hair was cropped short and bleached white, her face a younger version of Rhona’s—softly curved and beautiful— her nose sporting a fine silver ring. Miles was tall—lanky like his dad—and in that not-a-boy-not-a-man phase that meant he looked inherently awkward in his skin. Netta thought them both adorable even as they bickered; clearly, her maternal instincts had kicked into overdrive. The smoky aroma of pizza laced the air and the table was decked out beautifully with eclectically mismatched crockery in every colour under the sun. Long candles flickered from over-thetop candlesticks and bunches of winter heather had been stuffed into coloured glass vases.
‘Oh, Don,’ she said. ‘This is stunning! Like something from a magazine!’
‘Dinner is serious business in this house, my love,’ Don said, pulling a chair out for her.
She sat and gratefully accepted the wine he’d already poured for her—a crisp white that would pair well with the prawn pizza waiting on her plate.
The kids slipped into their seats and Rhona and Don took theirs, leaving the chair right next to Netta for Morrison. As he pulled the chair out, his face folded into a quick, almost bashful, smile—a split-second expression that was still more than enough to dial Netta’s pulse up to sprint mode. She quickly averted her gaze. She couldn’t get distracted by the way his cells happened to be arranged. It was just a face. Everybody had one.
He sat down, grabbed the cloth napkin by his plate and smoothed it over his lap. He smiled tightly at her, the crease in his cheek deepening, and looked down at his pizza. ‘Actually looks pretty good for something I made.’
Don unleashed a dramatic cough from the other end of the table.
‘Okay, something Iassembled,’ Morrison corrected himself, smiling.
Netta covertly watched him lift a slice and take a bite. Eating pizza with Morrison Maplestone was categorically absurd. Being offered cash to go on a glamourous date with him was even more so. Not to mention how counter-productive this whole thing— whatever it was—was to the man ban. Swearing off men and then getting embroiled with Morrison Maplestone was like giving up wine and then accepting a job as a sommelier.
‘How’s your pizza, Netta?’ asked Rhona.
‘Oh!’ said Netta. ‘I haven’t even tried it yet.’ Feeling Morrison’s eyes trained on her, she took a slice of perilously loaded pizza and stooped her head to catch its drooping point in her mouth. Just as it reached her tongue, the cheese and prawns she’d merrily piled up gave in to gravity and slid onto the bridge of her nose, splashing sauce over her cheeks. There it was, the event that would keep her awake for the rest of her life. Netta closed her eyes and prayed for death.
Morrison snorted beside her and before she knew it, she felt his napkin—the one that had just been laid across his crotch of all bloody places—being carefully wiped across her face, his hand separated from her skin by nothing but a piece of linen.
He laughed. ‘How’d you manage that? First it was flour and now gourmet pizza toppings. Your nose is into everything.’
Netta groaned. ‘I have a problem,’ she said, opening her eyes to meet his as he took his hand away. ‘My face is very attracted to foodstuffs. It’s genetic. I can’t help it.’
His eyes sparkled with a held-in laugh. ‘Is there a charity I can donate to or something?’
‘There should be.’
Another chuckle escaped him and she couldn’t help but join in. His response had been perfect. He’d laughed and he’d helped. If he’d been too concerned, it would’ve been vomitous. If he’d just laughed, it would’ve been cruel. He’d nailed it.
The rest of dinner was more fun than Netta had imagined it would be. Rhona and Don made her feel like she’d been a part of the fold forever, and spending time with their kids had offered her a window to what her own future with teenagers could be like if she was ever lucky enough to become a mum one day. They all helped to clear up after dinner and once the kitchen was back in order, Morrison was hustled away by Miles, who needed help with a guitar piece he was trying to learn for a school concert.
As they disappeared upstairs, Rhona passed Netta a cup of steaming camomile tea and they sat at the bare table while Don went outside to ‘check on the fire’.
Netta took a cautious first sip and turned to Rhona. ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Thank you, Netta,’ Rhona replied. ‘Things are a bit precarious for Mo at the moment. It’s looking unlikely that he’ll be able to deliver the songs for the new album on time and his record label is serious about dropping him. They’re pricks. He’s made them so much money over the years but they’ve got newbies coming up and Mo’s getting old in celebrity years. They’re more interested in who’s got the most TikTok followers these days. Mo doesn’t even have Facebook.’ She raised her eyebrows over the top of her glasses. ‘A reputation slump is the last thing he needs. It could be the straw that breaks the recording deal’s back.’
‘Right.’
‘Plus, I can tell he likes you, Netta,’ said Rhona. ‘It might be a fun night for you. Not to mention financially rewarding.’
Netta shifted uncomfortably in her seat, cast her gaze down at the table and let out a deep sigh. Any normal person would jump at the chance for a night out with Morrison Maplestone. Rhona probably couldn’t believe she hadn’t leapt at it. For a terrifying second, Netta teetered on the edge of telling Rhona why she couldn’t go—about Mitch—but just as the words were about to spill, she pulled them back in. There were plenty of other perfectly plausible reasons to say no to the proposition without exposing herself as Annie the Nanny.
‘You can see how it’s a bit of a weird situation to be in, though, right?’ Netta said. ‘I mean, this whole thing with returning the diary has been strange enough, but this takes it to another level.’
Rhona nodded. ‘Yeah, I can see that.’
‘And things are pretty precarious for me at the moment, too,’ said Netta. ‘I broke up with my partner just before I came here. He was … unfaithful. We’d been trying to have a baby, so …’
Rhona leaned forward and placed her hand over Netta’s, the gesture causing Netta’s throat to thicken. When she spoke again, she had to fight to keep the wobble from her voice.
