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She nodded, white with anger. ‘Rearrange these words into a well-known nickname for me.Butt, Girl, Up The.That’s whatthey were calling me at the time, remember? And now it’s come back to haunt me thanks to thistripethat passes for a magazine. The worst thing is that none of it’s ever been true.Hemade it all up to destroy my career.’
‘You should sue the publication,’ I said, feeling incensed on her behalf.
She nodded. ‘I need to phone my agent. Selena will know what to do.’ She growled in frustration. ‘This damn slur against my name is in quotes, though, taken directly from that... thatthing’sbiography. I won’t call him a man because he’s actually lower in the food chain than a rat! Actually, I take it back. That’s an insult to rats.’
She sank into a chair in despair. ‘Oh, Rori. I’m going to be known by that horrendous nickname forever more now, aren’t I?’
*****
Later, in bed that night, I lay awake thinking about Skye and her roller-coaster life. It was amazing she was still functioning after everything that had happened to her.
And now this . . .
At least the police weren’t after her. It had been a huge relief to find that she wasn’t going to be prosecuted for assault. And after a day spent agonising over the digging-up of her infamous nickname, by that down-market scandal sheet – and Skye spending hours on the phone talking to her agent, Selena – I’d finally got her to see the funny side of it. Selena had eventually phoned with the good news that the magazine had agreed to print a retraction concerning the libellous headline.
I’d promptly opened a bottle of wine to celebrate.
‘You never know, it might even begoodfor your career,’ I’d murmured as I topped up Skye’s glass. ‘All publicity is good publicity and all that.’
‘True.’ She’d smiled for the first time that day. ‘I’ve got an important audition in a few weeks’ time. At least they’ll all know who I am now.’
*****
I’d replied to Kurt’s two messages of apology with not much more than a brief, ‘It’s fine.’ But I knew he’d realise from the tone I used that I hadn’t entirely forgiven him for giving away my whereabouts. Which I hadn’t. Not quite.
Then a few days after the scurrilous story appeared in the magazine, printing Skye’s old nickname, I woke to the sound of the flat’s buzzer, followed fairly soon afterwards by someone screeching fit to rival a flock of seagulls flying through my bedroom.
Skye?
I couldn’t make out what she was yelling but she was clearly very worked up about something. Had another character-slurring story been written about her?
I leaped out of bed and grabbed a cardigan. Struggling into it, I rushed into the hallway, from where a fierce altercation appeared to be in full swing.
‘I know your sort of old!’ Skye was shouting. ‘You’ve got a camera in that bag, haven’t you?’ She was red in the face with the effort of pushing her full weight against the door, trying to shut someone out. ‘I’m calling the police if you don’t go awaynow!’ she panted, losing her battle because the person on the other side of the door was clearly much stronger.
‘I come in peace,’ called a man’s deep voice. ‘I only want to do a bit of grouting.’
Saul!
‘Grousing? What’s that, then?’ demanded Skye, as I tried to pull her away from the door. ‘A new form of celebrity-bashing for the pleasure of the rag-reading public?
‘Erm, no? Can you calm down, please, and get Rori for me?’
She glared at me. ‘I thought it was someone with a parcel. I’m expecting a delivery this morning. Idemandto know what’s in his bag!’
I finally managed to prise her away.
And then there was Saul, framed in the doorway, looking a mite perplexed but other than that, his usual cool self in old paint-splattered blue jeans and a checked shirt.
He dropped his bag on the ground and calmly pulled out a tub marked Fix & Grout and some kind of spreader tool, which he held up for Skye’s benefit. ‘Grouting,’ he said. Then he picked up the bag, inviting her to inspect inside. ‘No camera. And I wouldn’t be taking any photographs, anyway, even if I had one.’ He shrugged. ‘Shots of drill bits and adjustable spanners tend not to make the front page.’
‘Oh.’ Skye stared at him, looking a mite perplexed herself. ‘You really are a workman, then?’
Saul’s eyes twinkled at her. ‘I really am.’
‘He really is, you dafty.’ I gave Skye a little push and smiled at him. ‘Come on in, Saul. Sorry about my hysterical sister. She’s been having a hard time lately.’
Saul acknowledged her pain with a little ‘sorry’ smile and a raise of his eyebrows. Then he picked up his bag and walked into the flat.
