AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 1
Chelsea, London
August 2002
She knew he was gone before she’d even opened her eyes. That the space beside her on the bed would be empty and all that remained of him would be a hollow in the pillows where he’d lain the night before. Instead of rolling over and facing the truth she kept her eyes closed and allowed herself the fantasy, only for a moment, that he was still there, using the bathroom or outside on the balcony, having a smoke. There was no unmistakable sound of a male peeing or the flush of the chain, no draught from an open door, or traffic noise as London went about its business, not even the unmistakable waft of, what were they? Ah yes, she remembered now, picturing the red, white and black packet he’d pulled from the pocket of his faded jeans. Marlboro.
The hit of disappointment took her by surprise, but in some ways it should have been familiar because after all, that’s what blokes did. They let you down, ran out on you, lied, cheated, pissed all over your bathroom floor and drank the last of your milk before staggering off into the sunset. Or in this case, the early hours of a misty Chelsea morning.
Her list of poor choices and regrets was huge but, in this case, he’d been honest, a good guy who’d told her he had to leave early, catch another flight to another city.
‘I have to leave in the morning so if you’re sleeping, I won’t wake you. Now close your eyes and dream good dreams. You’ll be okay, kid; you just need to straighten yourself out and keep away from the booze and the pills and guys like me. Will you promise me you’ll try?’
The stuff that flowed through her veins must have had her in its grip and she was fading in and out, like someone messing with a dimmer switch inside her head. Back on again and he was stroking her forehead as he spoke, brushing away strands of hair, and she could still feel his fingers on her skin, and even though she’d willed her eyes to stay open, to make the moment last, the drink and whatever was in the pills she’d taken forbade it, so instead she’d nodded, agreed.
And there was something else, something he’d done but she couldn’t grasp it, or the whispers of words that floated somewhere on the edge of her memory. Stars, a compass maybe. No, that wasn’t it. Then she heard the radio, a song, or was it humming, did he sing to her? But it was fading away again.
Keeping her eyes firmly closed, the black canvas of her lids provided the perfect backdrop to the dregs of memories from the previous night. She was determined to remember. They came and went like stolen glimpses from behind a veil. Some in multicolour glory while others were murky grey and blurred around the edges, like a contact sheet of overexposed images, out of focus and destined for the bin.
The evening, her snapshot recollection of it, began at a party, somewhere in Berkshire, a huge event for charity. She didn’t want to go but her agent, Marvin, had talked the talk and persuaded her it was a good gig, easy money and she’d have fun if she made the effort. He was wrong.
She’d already had far too much, even before she’d glided past a bank of photographers whose cameras flashed as she headed inside the stately home on the arm of a Britpop idol. They were the new golden couple; their agents were loving it. She thought he was a pillock so refused to smile for the birdie and told each photographer to get fucked, but only in her head. The only reason she’d turned up was because if she stayed in her hotel room, she’d have gone mad, overthinking and raging against the world and her mother.
So, she’d worn the beautiful silver Armani dress and ridiculous shoes that her agent had couriered over, slapped on some make-up then wiped it all off again, scraped back her white-blonde hair into a ponytail, preferring the tortured, gaunt, spaced-out alien look she’d perfected. Spotting her reflection in a huge gilt mirror she congratulated herself on nailing it, capitalising on being off her face to a tee.
And no matter how badass she behaved, she would get away with it, she always did, because the paps loved the moody mare persona, the middle finger salute that would end up on the front page of The Sun. It was her trademark reaction, and her face was one that was recognised on magazine covers all over the world – only on this occasion, the expression was for real, not for sale.
The glare from ice-blue eyes belied the white-hot fire that raged in her soul, anger reflected by the set of her jaw which was making her face ache as she sucked in her temper, holding back the demons that prowled inside. She knew they would escape eventually. Just a matter of time, and she would pay for it the following morning when she had her head stuck down the toilet and Marvin called and told her to curb it. Again.
While her date waved and postured, she looked straight ahead and cringed when she spotted the reporter from a celebrity magazine who had walked in and was on her way over. In an attempt to smother her irritation at having a microphone shoved in her face, never mind the banal question the eager woman posed, she ground her teeth so hard she could feel a vein pounding in her temple. She needed a drink so badly.
At functions like these, no expense was spared so once they’d taken their seats, she’d be able to quench her thirst and ignore whatever knobheads were unlucky enough to be sat at her table. She was bad company at the best of times and as her mum would say, tonight, she was on one.
The reporter really couldn’t take a hint and tried again to engage. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?
She stared for a moment and reminded herself that the poor cow was only doing her job so she said the first thing that came into her head. ‘No, mate, I’m only here for the beer.’
Before anyone had a chance to respond she pulled her date away and as her body relaxed she allowed herself to laugh but only on the inside. It was a second-hand story, told by her mum, that it was something her grandad used to say at every ‘do’ he ever attended. He loved a good knees-up, apparently. What she would give for a Saturday afternoon at the Labour Club; bingo, pie, peas and gravy and a couple of bottles of stout. Dancing to Slade and shouting Merry Christmas, helping him blow out the candles on his cake. Her grandma rolling her eyes and telling him to sit down. She had missed out on so much. Thanks for that, Mum.
That was when she knew she couldn’t stay. Not for a pay cheque, or for the kudos of seeing her face in a magazine or a Sunday spread, not even for a charitable cause. These weren’t her people. This thought, even though it was true, unsettled her further, sticking the knife in, agitating her current fragile state of mind.
After unhooking her arm and walking away from a man who wouldn’t even notice she was gone, she grabbed a bottle of champagne from the hands of a passing waiter who gave her a look and got a better one back, then headed towards the rear of the room and out the nearest door, not caring where it led. The place was vast, easy to become lost in, so she wandered the corridors unchallenged, taking herself further and further away from the twenty-four-hour party people, and by the time she emerged into the summer evening, through the French doors of a very plush room, her mood had eased.
She was in the grounds at the rear of the building, and she could just about see the drive where headlights of limousines lit the way. She wasn’t supposed to be there and expected to be removed at any minute by a security guard but until it happened, she would savour the solitude.
Her feet were killing her; after she kicked off her stupidly high heels, she walked a while. Then hoping she was well out of sight, she flopped onto the spikey grass and winced, the earth hard beneath her bottom, baked by the sun and needing sustenance, just like her. Resting against the trunk of a huge tree, the strains of music from inside just about audible, she began to open the bottle of… she twisted it around and rolled her eyes at the label, Bollinger. Perfect for washing down whatever the hell was in the little plastic pouch she’d been given earlier. Her date said they could share. Tonight, she felt like being greedy.
It was cigarette smoke, the scent of it that roused her, not the violent shaking of her shoulders or the voice of a man telling her to wake up but when she did, she saw a smudged face that gradually came into focus, one she recognised.
He’d found her in a bad way. She must have wandered towards the driveway, where, so far out of it, she’d collapsed. His driver had spotted her by the fence. He said later that he thought she was dead. He hadn’t seemed fazed when she threw up all over the grass, told her not to worry, seen it all before apparently, but he’d been kind and offered to take her home.
Then there was something weird that she had to unscramble, not as clear as the other stuff. She was looking down at the stones on the driveway, and the back pocket of his jeans, head dangling and her eyeballs felt like they were popping out of her head, then she realised he’d thrown her over his shoulder. Next, his Rolls Royce glided alongside them and once he’d lowered her to the ground she’d managed to crawl inside and onto the back seat. Her head lolled against his shoulder and the spirit of ecstasy carried her away, or at least to her hotel room in Chelsea.
He had stayed, saying he wanted to make sure she was okay, when he could have got his driver to dump her in the foyer. And as he held her upright in the lift, she presumed he wanted payment in kind, unsurprising but hey, at least she could say she’d laid a legend.
Instead, he’d wanted nothing of the kind, had been such a gentleman, she knew that, could tell by the way she was still wearing her designer dress, all zipped up, slightly grubby and crinkled but on the right way round, just like her knickers.
Opening her eyes, she tried to remember the rest, fill in the blanks but nothing came to her. She hoped it would once the pills and alcohol wore off because the night with him had been special. She wasn’t sure how she knew this, but she did. There was something tangible lodged in her heart, like she’d been touched by magic or graced by the presence of an angel. Or you’re still high.
