‘Right. Will do. Thanks, Valerie.’ He turned to Netta, the left corner of his mouth hiking into a smile. ‘You ready? Or do you want to finish your tea first?’
***
Netta and Mo had made it halfway from Valerie’s door to the waiting car when the photographers came running, appearing from their hiding places like swarming cockroaches. The flashes of light were blinding and Netta instinctively raised the back of her hand to shield her eyes, covering her face. Then the shouting started.
‘Who’s this then, Mo? Your girl?’ said one.
‘You going to show us your suit, Mo? Can you confirm you’ll be wearing Valerie Salt at the gala?’ said another.
‘Mo, over here!’
‘Hey, love, give us a smile!’
‘She’s not your usual type, is she, Mo?’
Mo pulled Netta close as he pushed through the scrum of photographers clamouring to get a shot of him. Clamouring even harder to get a shot of Netta.She felt bile rise in her throat. She’d been here before, chased by paparazzi, called vile names just so they could photograph her reaction. She kept her head down, her hands still cupped around her face, and resisted the urge to use her elbows, fists,fingernailsto get themthe fuck offher. She could feel the hot, cigarette-tainted breath of one close to her face and she reached out blindly to nudge him out of her personal space, the palm of her hand connecting with his chin.
‘Don’t do that,’ murmured Mo in her ear. ‘Just ignore them. Look like you don’t care.’
But she did care. Being back in Chelsea was triggering enough. Being back in Chelsea and hounded by paparazzi was Netta’s worst nightmare.
Mo pulled her in front of him, his torso pressed against her back and his arm reaching in front of her to open the car door. He gently encouraged her inside and, once she was in and safe, Netta looked up to see him giving the photographers exactly what they wanted. His middle finger.
Chapter Thirty-Four
MO
Camera lenses knocked against the car window and palms pressed prints onto the glass as the car carefully edged away from the kerb before rocketing down the street. Mo’s regret at flipping his finger at the photographers was drowned by a wave of worry when he looked at Netta, slumped on the other side of the back seat, her arms wrapped across her front and her hands pressed tightly to her ribs.
‘I’m so sorry about that,’ he said quietly. ‘Those women must’ve made a call to one of the magazines or posted a photo, and they’ve tracked me down. They lurk online, you know. Wait for hashtags to pop up. It’s gross. I’m so sorry, Netta. Are you okay?’
Netta shook her head and turned to stare out the window. ‘Do you think they saw me?’ Her voice was thin.
‘I don’t know,’ he said, truthfully. ‘I think you did a pretty good job of keeping your head down. It should be fine.’ It wouldn’t be fine, he knew that. They always found an angle.
‘I just want to go home.’
Mo planted his hand on the back of the driver’s seat. ‘Jac, can you take us straight to Netta’s hotel, please?’
‘No, I mean, I want to gohome,’ Netta said. ‘To Melbourne.’
‘Oh.’ Mo sat back and nodded slowly.
‘I don’t need first class. I’ll sit in the baggage hold if I have to. I just want to get out of here. I’ve done what I needed to do. You’ve got your mysterious diary.’ She sounded angry now, but whether it was at him or herself was unclear. ‘I should’ve known this would happen. It’s just way too close to the bone. I want to be gone before the photos come out.’
‘Netta, they’ll be out already,’ Mo said, flatly. ‘Things move fast with these guys. They don’t waste any time.’
Netta covered her mouth with her hand and hugged herself tightly with her other arm. She looked miserable. Worse than miserable. Guilt yanked at Mo’s heart. All of this was because of him and the bloody diary. As if it hadn’t already caused enough fucking damage.
‘I’ll call Rhona,’ he said. ‘She’ll know what to do.’
Rhona answered on the first ring.
‘We’ve got a bit of a problem, Rhones,’ Mo said. He had an overwhelming urge to reach over and hold Netta’s hand. He balled his fist and tapped it on his thigh instead, staring out the window like the solution to this mess might be out there somewhere. ‘There were photographers after the fitting. Can we come over? We need to work something out for Netta.’
He hung up and turned his head to look at Netta. ‘You okay to go to Rhona’s for a bit?’
She nodded numbly.
