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Tiptoeing through the house, I peer through the door of my bedroom and see he’s still fast asleep. It’s eight o’clock and it’d be presumptuous of me to assume a rock star would ever be up this early on a Monday morning.
I quickly pull my hair up into a messy bun, drag on a pair of jeans and a leather jacket. Flip-flops added—and I’m ready to go. Soundlessly I leave the flat since we’ve got no food and I ran out of milk last night. I’m halfway to the shops when I switch my phone on and wait for the inevitable influx. There are a billion messages but the only one I bother reading is one from Kallie:
Call me when you can x
This was sent since we communicated yesterday, when she told me to turn off my phone already. I dial instantly but no answer.
I’m in the shop and just grabbing a basket when she calls back.
“You all right?” I answer. “I’m just getting groceries.”
“Fine. I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t done something stupid.”
I roll my shoulders, my neck still stiff. “He fell asleep early last night and I slept on the sofa. It’s… why do you ask?”
“Just felt a tremor in the force.”
Kallie has these strange premonitions which are oddly, more often than not, accurate.
“He’s a mess and needs help. That bitch Sharon… you should hear… I can’t say over the phone.” I grab milk and orange juice, then head for the smell of freshly baked pastries. “But I will say that my days working for them are numbered.”
“You’ve been miserable for a while.” Part of that is never feeling like I’m going anywhere. Stagnant. Also, I suppose, having to witness him fucking around all the time.
“She’s a piece of work, Kal. You’ve no idea.”
She laughs. “Oh, I can imagine.”
“Any more run-ins with her?”
“None, though it spread like wildfire through the festival yesterday afternoon that Albie had deserted his guest appearance due to bereavement. Of course, the fans understand why… but she won’t.”
“Ah, umm.”
“She’ll be spitting feathers, mate.”
“I have the thousands of unread messages to prove it. I can’t be arsed.”
I pile some other bits in my basket, like bread, bacon, coffee (that’s what he usually prefers), plus a magazine in case we have to remain hermits for a while longer. Reading material will alleviate any boredom.
“Don’t do something stupid,” she reiterates.
“I promise, I won’t. He’s a mess. It’d feel wrong.”
“I’m glad you’re being sensible. And don’t let them think you have no other options. You could work anywhere now. You’ve survived the dragon. Anything else will be piss-easy.”
“I guess so.” I know so.
However, I would probably never see Albie again if I left my job as Sharon’s personal assistant. For all I know, she might also try to make it impossible for me to leave, threaten to refuse to give me a reference or whatever—just so she can keep bullying me into doing whatever she wants.
I’ll deal with whatever may come, somehow.
“Was that all, then?” I ask, since she’s gone quiet and I’ll have to ring off to I pay for this lot.
“I’m telling you, Mira,” she sighs, “don’t do it. You’ll regret it. You’re the only one who’ll get hurt. Trust me.”
“Come on, give me a little credit.”
“This is me you’re talking to.”
