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‘What’s stopping you?’
‘I have a career. In Hollywood.’
‘Then why do you look so shit-scared when I ask how long you’re staying on Eigan?’
Sam felt embarrassed to be caught out. Eigan was idyllic, but that wasn’t the reason why he wanted to stay on the island indefinitely. Its remoteness and solitude protected him, and made him feel so disconnected from reality it was as if the events of the previous few days – Katie, the court case, the showdown with Jessica – had never happened.
Mike looked at him sympathetically, as if he was reading his thoughts.
‘I know how much your career means to you. Go back to LA. Sort things out. Make some decisions. You can’t hide away here for ever.’
‘You did,’ Sam said softly.
‘I’m not you,’ replied Mike, and deep down Sam knew that his old friend was right.
15
‘So I got the anti-harassment order against named paparazzi agencies this morning,’ said Anna, explaining her morning in court to Grammy Award-winning singing sensation Chantal Elliot. ‘They can’t come within a hundred metres of you and we’ll put a notice to that effect outside your house, your mum and dad’s place and at these offices. They’re not allowed to approach or follow
you either. It’s not perfect, but it should make things better.’
The tiny star leapt off the sofa in her manager Ron Green’s office and threw herself around Anna.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you. You’ve saved my life,’ she said, grabbing her tightly.
Anna froze, not knowing how to respond. She couldn’t believe how bony the girl felt in her arms. The twenty-year-old peroxide blonde was like a tiny doll that might break if she hugged her back.
‘Does this mean it’s going to stop? Like, for ever?’ sobbed the singer, black make-up running down her face. ‘’Cos I just can’t cope with it any more. If the paps keep chasing me, I’m going to kill myself. I mean it.’
Anna nodded. Chantal was well known for her struggles with drink and drugs and seemed to be in the papers on a weekly basis for various hysterical outbursts on the pavement outside nightclubs.
‘The paparazzi will have to back off for now at least,’ she explained gently. She could understand how the constant presence of photographers would be hard to handle if you were so highly strung. ‘But you have to know we can never stop it all. Not if you keep . . . well, putting yourself in the news.’
Chantal pouted, wiping her eyes vigorously and smearing her mascara even more.
‘But I’ve been in rehab, I’ve been clean for two months now.’ She shrugged. ‘I mean, why are they still so interested in me?’
Because you’re a one-woman headline machine, thought Anna. She looked at the fragile girl dabbing her eyes, all scrunched up on her manager’s sofa, and wondered if it was all an act. Could she really be so naive? In the weeks preceding their application for the anti-harassment order, Chantal had complained about journalists and photographers peering in through her windows and going through her rubbish, following her to the off-licence and waiting for her when she stumbled out of a club. It was as if she genuinely couldn’t connect the two parts of her life: Chantal the performer who thrived on and desperately needed the attention, and Chantal the damaged little girl with the multiple addictions who couldn’t stand the pressure of living in a goldfish bowl. The final straw had been two days ago when she had popped out for a packet of Rizlas and been besieged by half a dozen paparazzi. As she had run across the road to escape them, one photographer had run over her foot on his moped. Chantal had had a complete meltdown and sat on the pavement screaming until someone had called an ambulance. This, of course, had been splashed across every front page in the country: ‘Chantal Finally Loses It’, ‘Pop Star Taken To Nut House’. Anna had actually been shocked at the complete lack of sympathy the papers had shown her. But then she supposed this was just another in a long line of breakdowns for Chantal. If you couldn’t get this close to her and see just how vulnerable she really was, it could easily look as if she was cynically courting the publicity, then crying wolf when she didn’t like it.
Chantal forced a smile, then started skipping around the office like a child.
Ron touched Anna on the shoulder to beckon her out of the room.
‘Are you sure they are going to leave her alone? You can see how unsettled she is.’
Anna folded her arms in front of her and looked doubtful.
‘Right now, she’s a meal ticket for the media. She’s an addict, so it’s a story. She kicks the habit. Another story. She falls off the wagon – another story right there. The press are just waiting, watching, and if they want pictures, they’ll get them. We’ve got the order against those named agencies, but there’s nothing to stop them employing freelance photographers and cutting a deal.’
Ron smiled.
‘Well, the main thing is that Chantal feels as though the pressure has been lifted for a while. So thanks for that at least.’
Anna shook her head. ‘No, Ron, thank you.’
She knew that Ron had particularly asked for her when he needed legal help, and it had been just the boost Anna had needed. After all the publicity with the Sam Charles case, clients were giving her a wide berth; no one wanted her bad professional luck to rub off on them. But Ron was a good friend. She’d done a lot of work for his management company when she’d been at Davidson’s, and he’d stayed loyal when he’d needed help with Chantal.
‘You don’t know how much it means to get back in the saddle and nail a successful injunction for you,’ she said.
