The Reluctant Celebrity (19 page)

Guy’s
bleary eyes stared at the loud ticking clock willing it to shut up. From
outside the room he could hear the constant activity of the midwives station and
the bewildered screeches of newborn babies crying in the next ward.

He
stared at the washed out face of his sister lying asleep next to him. He had
never felt so helpless.

He
should have been a better brother, Guy thought as he dropped his face into his
hands. Debbie had always been there for him. Any time, day or night, he knew if
he called her she would answer. The same could not be said about him.

He’d
spent years jetting all over the world, attending fashion shoots, premiers, and
anything else he’d desired. Months would go by before he’d remember to return
her calls or drop by.

It
was only recently, when he’d chosen to pack up modelling and pursue his music
that he’d spent more time with Debbie, Carl and Sam. Only when the invites had
stopped flowing in, and he’d found himself in London with no social life to
speak of did he take up residency on Debbie and Carl’s sofa. A roast dinner on
a Sunday and a mid-week take-away; it did not seem nearly enough now.

He
should not have taken no for an answer when he’d offered to look after Sam last
week. Debbie had looked so grey and exhausted, but he’d been too wrapped up in
his own life to pay attention.  

She’d
even told him she was ill and all he’d done was type a hasty text and forget
all about it. 

His
own pregnant sister and he hadn’t bothered to stick around long enough to help
her. She was the only family he had. Fuck he hated himself.

Without
warning, Guy suddenly thought of Jules. Ever since he’d sat down in the hard
plastic visitors chair by Debbie’s bedside, his emotions had rocketed from one
extreme to the other – the guilt and fear for Debbie and the baby felt like a
fist squeezing his heart, followed by a panicked desperation for his
relationship with Jules. If he even had a relationship.

Twenty
past five. Ten hours since he’d left her. Why hadn’t she called?

Every
few hours, he would slip out of his sister’s room and turn on his phone. As the
display fired up, a dozen missed calls and messages appeared. Only a week ago
they would all have seemed urgent. But none of them mattered now.  

He
missed her so much it weighed down on him like a concrete slab.

Why
had he not woken her? He should never have left her sleeping, but she’d
looked
so beautiful by his side that it seemed wrong somehow to disturb her.

‘Um,’
Debbie murmured next to him, pulling his thoughts back to grey walls of the
hospital room.

‘Hey
Sis,’ he whispered, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

‘Guy?’
she mumbled just before her eyes shot open. ‘Is the baby okay?’

He
felt a bolt of pain as Debbie’s nails dug into the palm of his hand.

‘Everything
is fine, just relax, okay?’

‘Thank
God.’ She released his hand as fat tears fell down her cheeks. ‘Where’s Carl?’

‘He’s
gone to check on Sam, but he’ll be back soon. Sam’s going to stay with Carl’s mum
and dad for a few days and I’ll be dropping by in the morning to say hello and take
him to the park for a while.’

Guy
squeezed her hand again. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Tired
and thirsty.’ 

‘Here,
drink this.’ Guy poured some water into the plastic beaker by the bed and held
it to her lips.

‘Do
you remember what happened?’ he asked after she’d laid her head back on the
pillow.

‘I
fell down the stairs.’ She sobbed.

Guy
nodded. ‘The doctor should be back in a minute, he’ll be able to explain what
happened better than I can. Just rest now.’

‘No,
tell me now,’ she pleaded.

‘You
fainted as you were coming down the stairs. It was only a few steps, but they
think the impact caused you to go into early labour. Carl called an ambulance and
they were able to stop it,’ Guy explained, his voice cracking with emotion.

‘My
blood pressure was high. The midwife told me to stay in bed and I didn’t
listen,’ Debbie croaked. ‘If anything happens...I’ll never forgive myself.’

‘The
doctors’ think you’ll both be okay, you just need to stay off your feet. And
you may be stuck with hospital food for a while I’m afraid,’ he tried to joke.

‘Oh
Guy, what have I done? If the baby is born this early...I...I don’t think...’
her voice trailed off as fresh tears flooded her eyes.

‘Don’t
think like that Debs. You’ve got to stay positive. Me and Carl will be your
servants. Anything you need, just ask. Even a few days could make all the
difference. The doctor even said there’s a good chance you could continue to
full term.’

‘Since
when did you become an expert?’ A thin smile touched her pale face.

‘When
I realised what a terrible brother I am. I’m so sorry Debbie. I should have
been around to help you out more.’

‘Don’t
be an idiot Guy. You’re the best brother ever.’

Before
Guy could respond, the door opened a fraction revealing a fluffy blue rabbit followed
by Carl and a giant bouquet of pink roses.

‘Carl,’
she croaked as the tears fell again. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Hey
hey hey,’ he soothed, striding to the bed and wrapping his arms around Debbie.
‘What have you got to be sorry for? I’m the one who needs to say sorry to you,
I should have helped out with Sam more.’

‘Not
you too,’ Debbie sighed, her face already brightening by the presence of her
husband.

‘Sam
wanted you to look after Floppy.’ Carl bounced the bunny gently on the bed
towards her.

‘But
he never sleeps without Floppy,’ she exclaimed with a sad smile.

‘He’s
a very brave boy,’ Carl replied.

Without
saying a word, Guy slipped from the room. It felt more like five in the morning
not the afternoon, he thought wandering along the shiny grey corridor of the
pre-labour ward.

 ‘Oh
my God, Guy,’ he heard Sonja’s shriek before he saw her. ‘I came as soon as I
heard.’

‘Why?’
Guy asked, his energy levels to low to appease her.

‘To
make sure you’re alright, silly,’ she replied, her heels clattering towards him.

‘I’m
fine; it’s my sister who’s in hospital not me.’

‘Yes
yes I know, but look there are a few photographers out front. I said you might
step out for some fresh air.’

‘What?
I’m not going anywhere. How did they even know I was here?’ Guy asked, his eyes
narrowing on Sonja’s face, glowing orange under the fluorescent lights of the
hospital waiting area.

The
idea that the paparazzi had a million contacts across the world and could track
down a celebrity any time they wanted was a myth. In reality, publicists,
agents and sometimes the celebrities themselves told the photographers where
and when to expect a sighting; something both Sonja and Guy knew well.

‘Well
I called them. But Guy something like this is great for your image.’

‘Oh
right, well I’ll tell Debbie that shall I? I’m sure she’ll be pleased to know
that whilst she’s lying there praying for the life of her baby my career is
thriving.’

‘Guy,
it’s not like-’

‘No
Sonja, I thought we agreed you would check with me first?’ he demanded, the
emotion from the day building into anger.

‘I
know but I had to Guy – it’s damage control.’

‘Damage
control for what?’ Guy slouched against the wall.

Suddenly
he didn’t care. He wanted to be back with Debbie. As long as she and the baby
were okay, and Jules still decided to give him another chance, nothing else
mattered.

‘Well
if you’d have answered my calls yesterday you’d know,’ she responded, throwing
her nose into the air.

‘Sonja,’
he warned.

‘Okay
okay, this was in this morning’s paper.’ She pushed a hand into the depths of
her giant black bag and pulled out a crumpled newspaper.

He
stared at the photograph, realising instantly why Jules had not called.

‘Guy.’
She touched his arm

‘But
this is from the video I did last month,’ he exclaimed, shrugging her hand
away. ‘How did they get hold of it?’ His gaze shot back to his publicist. He
had a feeling he knew the answer already.

‘I
gave it to them, but-’

‘For
fuck's sake you are supposed to talk to me about these things,’ Guy began, his
voice rising as he towered over her. ‘First all the coverage with Jules, which
I know you pushed even when I asked you not too, then this and now the
photographers outside.

‘It’s
got to stop. Do you know how this makes me look?’ Guy stared at the plastic
smiles of the models in the hot tub; his heart lurching at the pain it must
have caused Jules.

‘I
know, but Guy I gave it to one of my most trusted sources. They were supposed
to make it clear it was from one of your music videos. I wanted to make sure
you were still seen as sexy now that all your modelling campaigns have
finished.

‘But
hey,’ she continued, her tone lighter. ‘They’ll put an apology in tomorrow’s
edition and say some nice things about you, and with a few photos of you
looking sad coming out of here, it will all be forgotten.’

‘No
Sonja. It won’t be.’ He rubbed his palm against his two-day old stubble. ‘I’m
sorry, but I don’t want it to be like this. I gave up modelling because I don’t
like all this shit. All I want to do is write some decent songs and do a few
performances. I thought I made that clear-’

‘But
this is how we get you to the top. Honestly Guy, you’ve got to trust me.’ Sonja
smiled at him, her teeth a beaming white against the grey walls.

He
could tell from her reaction that she’d had similar conversations with other
clients in the past. He paused for a moment, before he said, ‘Well if this is
really what it means to sell records then I don’t want it.’

‘What?’

‘It’s
over Sonja. Thank you for all of your hard work, but I will no longer be
requiring your services. I don’t want to play games anymore. If I can’t sell my
music on my ability as a singer, then I don’t want to sell it at all.’

‘Guy,
do you have any idea how much time I’ve spent on you?’

‘And
I’m grateful, but we’re finished.’

‘You’ll
regret this,’ she hissed, pointing a manicured red nail at him. ‘You will fuck
this up without me. I guarantee it. And then you’ll come crawling back like
they all do.’

‘Goodbye
Sonja.’ Guy turned away from her, moving back towards the ward.

He
would check on Debbie and then he would call Mrs Beckwith. He had no idea what
kind of message he would- Guy’s thoughts broke off as he turned the corner, a
crippling fear taking hold of his body as his eyes registered the midwives rushing
into his sister’s room.

Jules’
fingers rubbed the small folded note in front of her. One side had the jagged
edge of once belonging to a notebook. Her name had been scratched in pencil across
the front.

Her
gaze moved to the glassy grey eyes of Mrs Beckwith as Jules absorbed the last
part of her words.

‘…the
vacuum almost had it but I managed to rescue it. Didn’t want to throw it away
just in case. Oh that’s the toaster, hang on dear I’ll have your breakfast in a
jiffy.’

If
only the note had been lost forever, Jules wished as her hands tightened around
the smooth paper. It must have fallen down the back of the bedside table the
morning he’d left.

Don’t
read it, she willed herself.

Nothing
in the note would be able to explain why he’d left or justify the photograph,
she told herself. Still her fingers kept turning it over and over.

She
took a sip of bitter black coffee, the harsh tang removing the dry mouth of her
hangover.  

How
much had she drunk? Three or four glasses?

It
felt more like ten based on the queasiness bubbling in her stomach.

‘Here
you go,’ Mrs Beckwith said as she placed a plate with two slices of thick brown
toast in front of her.

‘Thanks.’

Grateful
to have something else to focus her attention on, Jules slipped the unread note
into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled the plate towards her.

‘You’re
most welcome. Well I’d best get on. It’s been so busy here the past few days
I’ve been rushed off my feet. Oh, that reminds me - I do hope my other guest
didn’t disturb you this morning?’

‘Disturb
me. No why?’ Jules quizzed as she smothered the butter across her toast causing
her mouth to water as it melted into yellowy pools on the crunchy warm bread.

‘She
must have left at the crack of dawn. I know it can’t have been later than five because
the heating hadn’t even clicked on. It was no bother to me as she’d paid in
full yesterday, but I was worried she might have been clattering about a bit.

‘Now
what was her name? Gosh my memory is really failing me if I can’t even remember
the girl’s name,’ Mrs Beckwith continued as she packed away the unused place
setting on the opposite side of the table.

‘I
didn’t hear anything,’ Jules mumbled between crunches. ‘Her name’s Becky,’ she
added after swallowing. ‘We went for a drink in The Nag together last night.’

‘That’s
nice dear.’

‘How
did she get her car back so early?’ Jules wondered aloud.

‘Back
from where?’

‘The
mechanic,’ Jules answered. ‘I thought she was having her radiator fixed?’

‘Radiator?
I don’t know anything about that I’m afraid.’

‘Oh.
I thought you found the tow service for her’ Jules replied, taking another bite
of toast. Had she made a mistake? She was certain Becky had said her car had
broken down. Why else would she have been in Cottinghale?

 ‘Oh
dear, now I’m getting in an awful muddle. I’m sure I did nothing of the sort,
but if she said I did, then maybe I did. My memory is not what it used to be.’

‘Don’t
worry Mrs Beckwith; I’m sure I just misheard her.’

‘I
guess we’ll never know now anyway. Can I make you dinner again tonight dear? I
don’t want you wasting away whilst you’re staying under my roof. Spaghetti Bolognese?

‘Yes
please. Last night’s hotpot was amazing.’

‘Glad
to hear it.’

Jules
drained the last dregs of coffee from her cup. ‘I’d better get going. I’m
hoping to move up to the house this week, if I can make it liveable that is.’

‘Good
for you dear. Although I’ll miss having you here of course.’

‘See
you tonight then,’ Jules said, heading for the door. ‘Bye,’ she called out as
she stepped outside, pulling the collar of her jacket up against the bitter
wind.

Jules
heaved a sigh of relief as she turned the corner to her driveway a little
before eight-thirty that morning. Everything was exactly where she’d left it
the previous night – her car, full of the purchases from her spending spree,
sat unlocked with the passenger door still wide open, and the two pots of white
paint she’d left on the driveway had not moved.

She
could unpack and Terri would be none the wiser to her foolish behaviour the
previous night. The last thing she wanted to do was fuel her builder’s
imagination about ghosts in her house.

Picking
up the paint, Jules lugged the heavy tins towards the front door, noticing for
the first time the difference to the outside of her house. In the grey overcast
daylight, she could see the progress Jason had made in the front garden.

The
thick green brambles which had acted like barbed wire, stopping anyone from
entering the garden, had disappeared. Only their roots remained, poking out
from the black earth like giant green worms.

She
hadn’t realised how much land there was. She could plant rows of beautiful
roses bordering her drive, or even build an extension, she suddenly thought. A
whole new wing to the house in the same stonework would look stunning. A bigger
kitchen, another bathroom, maybe even a study.

Jules
stopped herself, cutting the idea dead before it could form any further in her
mind. An extension might make it her perfect home, but she would not be the one
living in it, Jules reminded herself again.

She
would finish the basics on the house over the next few months, maybe less if
she worked hard, and then she would sell and move on. Just like she always did.

With
an abrupt reminder of the task at hand, Jules threw herself into unpacking her
purchases. It took an hour, but by the time she’d finished everything was in
its place ready to be used.

Only
then, as she flicked the switch on the kettle, did she realise something was
wrong - Terri and the boys had still not arrived.

It
suddenly felt strange without them. Ever since they had helped her move in on
her first night, Terri, Dan and Jason had been working alongside her almost
every day. The house seemed empty without her three builders bustling around
inside. 

Jules
picked up her mobile from the kitchen counter and scrolled down to Terri’s
number.

Maybe
Terri had another job on today and had forgotten to mention it, Jules wondered
as the phone rang.

What
to do? Jules wondered, as she found herself connected to Terri’s voicemail for
the second time.

It
would be much easier to paint the hallway before the stairs arrived later in
the week. The bare plaster would soak up the paint like a sponge. She’d need to
do at least two coats to stop it looking patchy.

It
was the kind of job that would take her days to complete, but with Dan and
Jason’s help, they could get the first coat done in just a few hours. With that
in mind, Jules grabbed her car keys and stepped back outside. They needed
another batch of tea bags and more biscuits anyway, Jules thought, slipping
into the drivers’ seat of her car and turning on the engine.

It was
still only early morning. Terri would turn up soon enough.  

It
took less than a minute to reach the store. She’d driven up and down the lane
so many times in the past fortnight she didn’t even slow down as she moved into
each turn.

Drawing
to a stop outside, Jules jumped out, not bothering to lock the car as she
walked through the open doorway, finding the place empty apart from the bald
shop owner standing behind the counter.

‘Hi
Stan,’ she called as she stepped towards the back.

The gruff
shop owner lifted his head from his notebook but said nothing as she picked up
a box of tea-bags and a double pack of chocolate bourbons.

Jules
placed her items on the counter and smiled to Stan as she handed over the
change.

‘You’ve
got some nerve,’ he muttered under his breath.

‘Sorry?’
Jules asked in confusion.

Stan
shook his head but did not repeat himself as he packed her items into a blue
carrier bag and slid it towards her.

It
was only when she entered the cold and empty interior of her house and put the
kettle onto boil that she noticed
The Daily
poking out from the bag Stan
had given her.

‘For
fucks sake,’ she cried out, ripping open the paper and scanning the pages.
There was only one reason Stan would have slipped the newspaper in with her
shopping, Jules thought as her eyes searched frantically across the headlines
until she found it: