His face falls. ‘I thought he was with you?’
I feel sick, horribly sick. I shove him out of the way and run to Barney’s bedroom, pushing down the handle. It doesn’t budge. I urgently knock at the door, dread filling every part of me. The door opens and a grave-faced Bess is standing there with Barney in her arms.
‘Oh, thank God,’ I say, hurrying inside and shutting the door behind me.
‘Mummy,’ Barney says sleepily, reaching out for me. I take him and cuddle him into me.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask Bess.
She shrugs. ‘I don’t know. They all appeared out of nowhere. Barney woke up with the noise so I came in to settle him, but he wasn’t going to go off again with that racket.’
‘No, of course not,’ I reply.
‘I locked the door so they wouldn’t come in.’ She shivers.
‘Why has he invited this lot back here?’
She doesn’t respond. Someone pounds on the door.
‘NUTMEG!’
‘It’s Johnny,’ I say. ‘Ignore him.’
But the pounding doesn’t stop. I hand Barney back to Bess and she takes him to the other side of the room, making shushing noises. I open the door a crack.
‘What are you doing?’ I screech in a loud whisper at Johnny.
‘Why didn’t you let me in?’ he demands to know, pushing the door wide open and sauntering in. He’s had way too much alcohol – and God knows what else.
‘I didn’t want you to disturb Barney!’ I exclaim.
‘Aah, Barney!’ he says happily.
‘Stop it!’ I shove him out of the room and follow after him. ‘Go away!’ I whisper angrily once we’re on the landing. A few revellers at the top of the stairs turn to look at us. I drag Johnny down the corridor.
‘Whoa, whoa, whoa,’ he says with a grin as I push him inside my bedroom. ‘Nutmeg, I didn’t think you cared.’
‘Fuck off, Johnny!’ I snap. ‘What the hell are you doing inviting all these people over? There’s someone snorting coke off the coffee table! Dana’s off her face – so are you – and YOUR SON is in the house!’ I’m practically screaming the last part.
‘Oh . . .’ Something dawns on him in the way that things do when you’ve drunk your own body weight in booze. ‘Sly broke his foot.’
‘What?’
‘Sly.’
‘Sylvester, yes?’
‘Broke his foot. Fell down the stairs. Party got called off.’
‘So you invited everyone here?’ I ask with disbelief.
He shrugs. ‘Dana did.’
‘That’s totally inappropriate!’ I cry.
‘No stopping her,’ he says cheerfully. ‘How long have you been back? I thought I saw you leaving with whatshisname.’
‘Joseph. I did leave with him. I’ve just got back now.’
‘Aah,’ he says knowingly, leaning up against the wall and folding his arms. ‘Good shag, was he?’
‘None of your bloody business,’ I reply hotly, wrenching open the door and shoving him out.
‘Don’t be cross with me, Nutmeg,’ he laments.
I slam the door in his face and wait a minute before hurrying back to Barney’s room.
It’s a long night. We decamp to my bedroom because the noise seems more manageable somehow and the bed is big enough for the three of us. Barney does eventually doze off, with me covering one ear with my hand, but he’s awake again and ready for breakfast well before the last person has left. Luckily I have a small kitchen in my room, so none of us has to venture outside yet. Bess didn’t have much sleep either, going by the bags under her eyes. As for me, I’ve still got all my make-up on and probably look like someone has punched me in the face. At least I managed to get out of my cat costume and into my PJs.
‘What a night,’ Bess murmurs.
‘What a nightmare, you mean,’ I reply.
She nods. ‘He really was wasted, wasn’t he?’
‘That was nothing. You should have seen him when we went on tour.’
She sighs and looks at me sadly.
‘What are you thinking?’ I ask after a while because the curiosity is killing me, even though I’m no longer a cat.
‘He really is a shit, isn’t he?’
‘Yep,’ I reply, deflated.
‘You know, I kind of thought . . . I don’t know.’
‘What?’ I press.
‘I thought there might have been a happy ending in it for you two—’
‘Fat chance,’ I interrupt angrily. Then I’m the one who’s sighing. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing here, Bess.’ She keeps staring at me sadly. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. What have I achieved? Nothing. I’m nothing.’
‘That’s not true,’ she butts in, nodding pointedly at Barney. ‘You’ve achieved more than me.’
I shake my head, hopelessly.
‘How was last night?’ she asks, changing the subject.
‘Good,’ I reply, and can’t help smirking.
‘Was he?’ she asks with a cheeky grin.
‘Was he what?’
‘Good?’
I giggle. ‘Just a bit.’
‘Are you going to see him again?’
‘I hope so!’
We doze off again after breakfast, but after a while I get up and get ready. I ask Bess to stay with Barney in my room while I go downstairs into the unknown. I wouldn’t like to say it’s worse than I imagined – because what I imagined was pretty damn horrendous – but it certainly comes close. It reeks of alcohol, smoke and vomit. I can see from my view up here on the landing that there’s broken glass in at least three different places, and I dread to think of the cocaine dust on the coffee table and God know what – and where – else. I can’t see any people so hopefully they’ve all gone home, although I haven’t been outside yet. And right now, I don’t intend to.
I return to my room and call Sandy, Johnny’s maid. She says she’ll organise a team of professional cleaners.
‘They’ve been here before; they know what they’re doing,’ she reveals.
‘Have they been here before?’ I ask. Johnny never had house parties like this when I worked for him.
‘Three times since March,’ she says pointedly.
That was when Johnny met Dana. Another non-fan of the girlfriend . . .
The cleaners arrive within the hour. We stay upstairs and out of sight, but my anger has been steadily brewing since last night – and especially since Sandy’s revelation. I’m trying to keep a lid on it, but finally I can stand it no longer.
‘Are you alright here?’ I ask Bess, who’s watching a DVD with Barney on the flatscreen in my bedroom.
‘Where are you going?’ she asks.
‘I have to speak to him.’
She nods, her face serious. ‘Take your time.’
I go to his bedroom door and knock loudly. No answer, as I expected. I pound harder and harder, until eventually I give up and try the door. It’s not locked.
The stench I smelled earlier – smoke, booze, vomit – has started to evaporate from the rest of the house, thanks to the cleaners and fresh air, but now it oozes out of the room. Dread replaces some of the anger as I suddenly wonder what I might find inside. I take each step with trepidation until I round the corner and the bed comes into view. Dana is lying naked on her back and sprawled across the bed diagonally. There’s a pool of vomit on the floor beside her, but she is breathing. I feel sickened at the sight; but as for Johnny, he’s nowhere to be seen. I try the en-suite door – it’s locked. I pound on the door and call his name, but there’s no answer.
‘What the fuck?’ Dana calls groggily from the bed.
‘Is Johnny in the bathroom?’ I shout at her. She shrugs and collapses backwards, not even bothering to cover up her skinny frame.
I slam my hand on the door in frustration and then look at the lock. He may be a millionaire, but he’s still only got one of those locks that can be opened quite easily from this side, with a coin
.
‘Have you got any coins?’ I demand to know from Dana.
‘What?’ she asks. She’s totally out of it.
‘Damn you!’ I erupt. I run from the room to my bedroom and burst inside.
‘What? What is it?’ Bess asks fearfully.
‘Money, I need money,’ I say in a tizz. I grab my bag and get out a coin. ‘Stay here,’ I tell her, running out again.
Dana appears to have fallen back into unconsciousness so I unlock the door, full of nausea and fear. Is this how Rosa felt? My heart jumps as I see him lying in the bath, naked from the waist up.
‘Johnny? JOHNNY!’ I run to him and feel his pulse. It’s there. I shake him roughly. ‘Johnny, wake up!’
He moans and I feel like slapping his face – hard – again and again. He half opens his bloodshot eyes.
I sink down on the floor, full of despair tinged with relief. The anger, for now, has diluted.
‘What are you doing?’ I whisper.
He stares at me, but says nothing. He’s still in a drug-fuelled daze.
‘Barney is in the house.’ Tears fill my eyes. ‘We can’t stay here.’
He shakes his head, but still words fail to come.
‘I’ll call the doctor.’ I get to my feet.
‘Meg . . .’ he says in a croaky voice, reaching out his hand to me.
I stare at him sadly for a moment before leaving.
Bess is standing on the landing looking alarmed when I re-emerge.
‘He’s alive,’ I say as I walk towards her. I nod at my bedroom door and we go back inside. ‘We’ll have to leave,’ I tell her.
She says nothing.
‘I can’t put Barney at risk like this.’ And then the anger returns. ‘How dare he!’ I glance quickly at Barney, who’s still engrossed in his DVD, and as I look back at Bess I’m fervently shaking my head, tears in my eyes.
‘We could go to a hotel?’ she says hopefully. ‘Until it all blows over?’
‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘That’s a good plan.’
Chapter 41
It’s not until Monday morning that it occurs to me that Joseph hasn’t called. It’s the first time I’ve thought of him since Saturday night, but before I rouse enough energy to care, something else happens.
‘Meg, you must ring me as soon as you can . . .’
I automatically jump to the conclusion that this voicemail message from Lena is to do with Johnny, but I soon find out that it’s regarding his son.
‘I got wind of it last night,’ she informs me. ‘I tried to call you, but your phone was switched off and Johnny didn’t know which hotel you’d gone to.’
It’s what I’ve always feared. A journalist has found out about Barney and they’re breaking it in one of America’s biggest tabloids.
‘Is there anything we can do?’ I ask.
‘No. It’s already been published.’
‘In this morning’s paper?’ My tone is incredulous.
‘Yes. And tomorrow, it will be everywhere . . .’
After I hang up, I stare at Bess, shell-shocked.
‘What is it?’ she asks.
‘The press know about Barney.’
She gasps. ‘Barney? I thought that phone conversation was about Johnny!’
‘No.’ I shake my head, gravely. ‘I’m afraid our secret is out.’
We have to go back to the house because it’s the only place we’ll be safe – for now. But I know I have to come up with a long-term plan, and staying with Johnny and his screwed-up girlfriend is no longer an option.
We took the Panamera when we left yesterday, and I’ve been thankful because all the paps know Davey’s car. However, when we pull around the corner to Johnny’s gates, I deeply regret my decision. There must be thirty paparazzi photographers and journalists all camped out there, and we have no protection. Our windows are tinted, but not blacked out.
‘Cover Barney’s face!’ I shout at Bess. She starts to scramble into the back seat. ‘No, wait,’ I change my mind. That could look even worse. ‘Oh, God,’ I moan. ‘We’re just going to have to go in with our heads held high.’
They don’t pay too much attention at first, but when they realise that this is the car belonging to Johnny’s former lover and his illegitimate lovechild, the pack becomes frenzied.
‘Mummy!’ Barney wails as bulbs start going off like strobe lights in his face.
I beep my horn to get them to move, but they won’t. They pound on the windows, screaming questions and taking photos, until suddenly the gates open and Johnny’s security team – which seems to have quadrupled overnight – swarms out and pushes back the crowd so we can slowly move forward into sanctuary.
‘Holy shit,’ Bess murmurs under her breath.
But I know – God, do I know – that this is just the start of it.
I don’t bother to park in the garage, pulling up instead right in front of the door. I clutch Barney to me protectively as we hurry into the house. I’m close to tears because he’s distraught and has no idea what’s going on or how his life has just changed dramatically. There are people milling about in the living room who I don’t even know. I regard them warily, then suddenly Lena appears.
‘Meg,’ she breathes.
‘Who are they?’ I ask quietly, stupendously aware of their eyes on me, but particularly on my son.
‘People from the record companies, publicists . . .’
‘I didn’t even know Johnny had a publicist.’ He always hated that sort of thing. ‘Record companies?’ I acknowledge the plural.
‘Dana’s also. They want to minimise the damage.’
‘Or maximise it,’ I say under my breath.
She gives me a sympathetic smile and pats my arm. ‘It’ll be okay.’
I recognise Bill Blakely – Johnny’s manager – as he steps away from the crowd and comes over to me.
‘Meg Stiles,’ he says knowingly in his inimitable cockney accent.
‘Hello, Bill.’
We don’t see eye to eye. He never forgave me for whisking Johnny off to the Dales on a ‘rehab adventure’ when he should have been at his end-of-tour party. Loads of important people from the industry and the media had given up their Christmas Eves to be there.
‘Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again, darlin’,’ he says.
‘Surprise,’ I say wryly.
‘So this is the little chap?’ He looks at Barney.
‘It is indeed.’ I swivel Barney around to face him.
‘Jesus,’ he mutters under his breath. ‘He does look like him. The pics don’t do it justice.’
‘Pics? What pics?’ I ask with alarm.
‘In the paper.’
‘There are pictures?’
He looks at me like I’m mad. ‘Of course.’
I shake my head manically. ‘I haven’t seen the piece yet. Excuse me, Bill.’
I hurry over to Lena, waiting a few feet away. She ushers me into the office.
‘I’ll take Barney,’ Bess offers, but I hug him tighter.
‘No. Thank you,’ I add. ‘I want to keep him with me.’
She sinks down onto a chair and looks over my shoulder as Lena passes me the paper.
It’s front-page news. A whole front page. The photograph they’ve used is one of me carrying Barney out of the Halloween party. My heart clenches. He’s dressed as a pumpkin, the little soul. We must’ve been caught in the background of another shot – the resolution is grainy and a touch blurry. I scan the article. They know about me; how I used to work as Johnny’s PA. Inside the paper there’s another photograph of Johnny and me from when we got snapped at the Ivy one time. There was nothing in it – he just wanted to go out for a bite to eat and it was my job to accompany him – but even I have to admit that we look suspicious, arriving together on his motorcycle. No wonder his girlfriend at the time was angry. Now this journalist is making out that we had a sleazy affair while she was still on the scene. I read on and my nausea triples. I put down the paper and stare
up at Lena.
‘Our lawyers are on it,’ she quickly assures me.
‘It’s already been printed,’ I whisper with horror.
Apparently I’m living here now as Johnny’s second wife . . . Dana, him and me, all under the same roof as one big happy, sordid household. The journalist has spun a tale of debauchery – he seems to know all about the drug-fuelled party on Saturday night – but nothing of the facts. Bess has been painted as our live-in nanny, hired to give me more time to devote to my lovers . . .
I nod at Bess. She can take Barney now, because I don’t have the strength to hold him. She leaps up and relieves me. Just then, Johnny walks into the room.
‘Nice bit of bedtime reading,’ he says jauntily, nodding at the paper.
‘I don’t know how the’ – I almost say ‘fuck’ – ‘hell you can joke about this!’
Bess, thankfully, takes Barney out, which is a huge relief because then Dana appears and there’s no way I’ll be able to contain my anger now.
‘What the hell are YOU still doing here!’ I practically scream at her. ‘Haven’t you caused enough trouble?’
‘She couldn’t leave now, even if she wanted to,’ Johnny drawls.
‘I do want to,’ she points out.
‘Why? Have you got an appointment with your drug dealer that you just can’t cancel?’ I ask bitterly.
She laughs and it makes me so angry I could slap her. None of this is bothering her at all. She feeds off the drama. I get the feeling that that’s what she thrives on in life. Trouble and strife. That’s cockney for ‘wife’, I think distractedly to myself. Is there something in that? Back to the present.
‘You’re pathetic,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘Both of you. One of your fucked-up friends leaked this story—’
‘Who’s to say it was one of our friends?’ Johnny interjects sinisterly. ‘What about that Joseph?’
‘Yeah, your boyfriend could have spilled the beans,’ Dana adds with a sly grin.
My pulse quickens. Really? No. But he hasn’t called me . . .
No. He wouldn’t. I’m a better judge of character than that.
Aren’t I?
The two of them watch me, watch my reaction. My face has given away my doubt and they see this with satisfaction. I remember Charlie and wonder if she might have been to blame. Who knows?