‘First of all, you weren’t an idiot. You were young and he took advantage of his “status”,’ he said, making air quotes. ‘Secondly, the weasel let you take the fall for it and then went on his merry way. Am I right?’
Netta nodded. ‘Yep. Liza actually did end up divorcing him, as you know, but it all just slid off him like water off a duck’s back. Most people believed his stupid story, and the people who didn’t, didn’t care either way. I was just collateral damage. The disposable nanny. I left London straight after and went back to Melbourne.’
‘I’ve met him, you know,’ Mo said. ‘I was a guest judge on his shitty show a few years back.’
‘What was your take on him?’
‘Pure dick. So puffed up with his own self-importance.’ Mo fought the urge to reach for Netta’s hand, settling for what he hoped was meaningful eye contact instead. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Netta. I hope you know that. None of it.’
Netta cast her gaze down to her lap, but Mo could see her face had crumpled. When she looked up again her eyes were glassy with tears, but her expression was stoic.
‘So, there it is. My big story.’
‘Thank you for trusting me with it.’
Netta sighed deeply. ‘I wouldn’t have said anything, but I’m worried if I go to the gala, someone will recognise me and they’ll dig it up again, which would honestly break me to pieces. And you’d get swept up in it too, which seems counter-productive, given the whole point of taking me is to lessen your existing shitstorm. So, I guess what I’m saying is, I understand if you want to retract your offer. It’s probably not a good idea for either of us, given the circumstances. I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone who’d make the whole thing a lot easier.’
She had a point. It was messy, no question. But sitting there with her, in that moment, Mo knew he’d choose her messy over someone else’s easy any day. ‘You know what, Netta?’ he said. ‘Mitch Carlton, the magazines … all of them can get fucked. Let’s just go. Have a good time, hey?’
Netta looked surprised by his response. She’d clearly been expecting him to back away from her like she was a ticking bomb—like she was damaged goods, sure to cause another dent in his already pummelled reputation. But it was the opposite. Her opening up to him had been like a blast of fresh air. He found himself hoping for her to just say ‘yes’.
Her brow folded into an irresistible frown. ‘I don’t know, Mo,’ she said. ‘I’ve played it quiet for nineteen years. I’ve spent thousands of dollars on therapy. Even my social media accounts are under a made-up name. You can’t imagine what holding onto such a big secret does to you.’
Mo swallowed. Little did she know.
‘But I feel like I’m on the other side of it now,’ she continued. ‘I just don’t know if it’s worth the risk of opening that particular Pandora’s box all over again. But I’m torn, because I really do need the money.’ Her cheeks flushed. ‘I hope that’s not crass to say.’
‘Not at all,’ Mo said, the reminder that this was a business proposition suddenly making his growing fondness for Netta feel misplaced. ‘This is business—it’s only fair you be paid. You help me, I help you.’
Netta nodded, her face closed. ‘Right. Well, I’ll think about it.’
Mo stood to leave. He wanted to hug her goodbye. Or maybe a handshake would be more appropriate. ‘Have you got your phone on you?’ he asked instead. ‘Let me give you my number. You can call me when you’ve made your decision.’
As she entered the digits into her phone, Mo’s heart pinballed. He could count the number of people he’d entrusted his number to on one hand. He just hoped he was right about Netta.
Chapter Twenty-Five
NETTA
Netta woke late, and messy. Her head was strewn with the debris of last night’s confession to Mo, his proposal sitting in the middle of it all like a boulder. She’d stayed up deep into the night, researching the costs of different assisted conception treatments—which varied wildly—and had come to the conclusion that if she didn’t take him up on his offer, she’d pretty much have to choose between trying for a baby and keeping the apartment. Either she said yes to Mo and his money and exposed herself to the media—set flames to the work she’d done to heal from the Mitch fiasco—or she said no and saved for having a baby herself, which would take ages. And at her age, and with her track record of not getting pregnant, waiting too long would be a gamble.
And then there was Mo himself. She was hardly going to act on it, but she couldn’t deny her attraction to him. He’d been so easy to talk to about Mitch, which was an unexpected—but welcome—discovery. He seemed like a genuinely good guy, but her instincts hadn’t exactly been spot-on in that area in the past, and regardless of how nice Mo was or wasn’t, she wasn’t sure she was keen on being used to brighten up his murky image. It was all so fake. Andweird. Then again, the money he’d offered was a Jurassic-sized bone from the universe, thrown directly at her feet just when she needed it.
The debate wore a circular track in her brain as she stared at the ceiling, still cocooned in the warmth of the hotel bed, still one step removed from the reality of her situation, Mo’s number still burning a hole in her phone.
A dire caffeine deficit eventually dragged her from the bed. She didn’t have the bandwidth for deciphering the coffee machine so she showered, dressed and went out into the chilly morning, tugging her hat down over her ears as she walked to the café a few doors down from the hotel. The sky was a deep bruise of threatening rain but the vibe on Portobello Road was pure festive joy. The market’s buzz could be heard blocks away and the crowd of shoppers straggled down past the hotel, carrying the ubiquitous Notting Hill shopping bags stuffed with treats and trinkets. The thrill of it pepped Netta up a little. She might be lugging around one of the biggest decisions she’d ever have to make, but it was still Christmas, and despite everything, the magic of it always held her up a little, above real life and all its mess.
The café was busy, its checkerboard walls festooned with Christmas decorations, the scent of ginger and sugar waltzing with the aroma of coffee through the cheery din. Christmas carols hummed under the chatter of friends catching up for a quick holiday cuppa, colleagues grumbling about still working this close to Christmas and parents treating kids with hot chocolates and pancakes to fill the torturous gap between the end of the school term and the big day. Netta looked around. Not a single free table. She joined the snaking line to order a takeaway instead.
‘Netta! Netta, over here!’
She spun around and leaned back to see past the line’s tail to find Audrey, the woman from the park, waving at her from a table on the other side of the café. She was wearing an impeccable pink and green outfit that matched the café’s décor.
‘Come, sit!’ Audrey called, gesturing to the empty seat at her table.
Too polite to decline, Netta left the line and weaved her way through the crowd to join her.
Audrey folded her newspaper and smiled at Netta. ‘Good morning, dear. What a lovely surprise to see you again!’
