After a while, Meg brings the boys out and gets them dressed and suncreamed-up beside the pool. Johnny appears and wanders to the pool hut, and I tread water and watch with amusement as he brings out all of the inflatable toys.
‘You going to try and master the shark today, Jess?’ he asks me.
‘Only if you do the croc,’ I reply.
Barney is dressed and ready so Meg lets him into the pool area. ‘Can you take him, Jessie?’ she calls.
‘Sure.’ I swim to the shallow end and stand up. ‘You going to jump in?’ I ask him.
‘Yeah!’ he shouts, putting his toes right at the very edge.
‘One, two, three, go!’ I shout and he leaps in, creating quite a splash. I laugh and grab his slippery little body and he giggles as I whizz him through the water.
I look over at Meg to see her smiling. She stands up with Phoenix and carries him into the pool, zooming him towards me as Barney takes off on his own towards her. I bounce up and down with Phoenix, making him giggle.
Johnny carries the crocodile over and stands on the edge, launching himself on to it and instantly upending himself. Barney laughs his little head off. I do too, and as I swim Phoenix through the water to his dad, I can’t help but feel melancholic. It occurred to me at the beginning of this week that I am a part of this family. But only now am I starting to feel it. I’m going to miss this. I’m going to miss them. I really don’t want to go home.
Chapter 18
‘Be careful,’ Johnny says. We’re sitting in the living room and I’m playing with the spare iPhone he’s leant me for tonight. I look up and see that he’s serious. He nods at the phone. ‘Davey’s number is stored in there. He’s expecting you to call him for a lift.’
‘Jack might give me a lift back,’ I reply with a frown.
‘If it’s Jack’s sister’s birthday, Jack will be drinking,’ Johnny says with a pointed look. ‘I’d rather just know you’re using Davey,’ he adds.
‘OK,’ I reply noncommittally, looking back down at the supercool phone.
‘Jessie.’
I look up again.
‘Promise me you’ll call Davey.’
‘OK, OK, I’ll call Davey!’ I exclaim. Jeez.
He raises one eyebrow at me, but he looks amused.
‘You look good,’ he says. ‘Nice T-shirt.’
I smile at him. ‘Thanks for getting it for me.’
‘Any time.’ He rakes his hand through his hair and rests his arm on the back of the sofa. We’re sitting beside each other as I wait for Jack. I’m nervous, but the iPhone – and Johnny’s worrying – is taking my mind off things.
I read the boys a bedtime story a little while ago – my last one – and now Meg is putting them to bed.
We went for lunch this afternoon at a cute little café on Melrose Avenue, followed by a shopping spree. I felt like a princess, spoilt rotten. I think Johnny was trying to make up for lost time. Either that, or he’s feeling guilty because I’m leaving tomorrow. He actually seemed disappointed that I’m choosing to spend my last night with Jack instead of him and Meg. I almost changed my mind, but Meg encouraged me to go out and enjoy one last night in LA with people my own age. More nerves ricochet through me. Jack’s late . . .
I’m wearing skinny black jeans and a cream, grey and black fitted T-shirt with sparkling red graphics on the front. I’m going for the rock chick look and I hope I’ve made the right choice. If I arrive and they’re all wearing ballgowns, I’m going to look like a right div. I’ve got my hair down and dishevelled, my eye makeup dark and glittery and my army-green strappy wedges on. Meg took me for a mini-pedi on our way home while the boys watched cartoons on the in-car DVD players, and my toenail polish is now dark red.
The buzzer goes, jolting me to life.
‘There’s your ride,’ Johnny drawls, lazily getting to his feet.
‘You’re not seeing me to the door, are you?’ I ask worriedly, as I stuff the iPhone into the new bag I bought earlier.
‘I was going to, yes,’ he replies with a funny look.
‘Well, you can’t. I’m supposed to be your nanny. You’re hardly going to check up on me, are you?’
‘Bloody hell,’ he mutters, shaking his head.
‘What? What would you rather I said?’
‘I’d rather we just come the hell out with it and tell everyone you’re my daughter.’
Hope surges through me. ‘Really?’
Perhaps he thinks better of it. ‘We’ll talk about it soon,’ he decides and I feel flat again. ‘Be the nanny tonight.’
My eyes narrow as I regard him.
‘Jessie, it’s for your own good,’ he says when he sees my expression. ‘Once it’s out there, your life will never be the same again.’
Hmm. I’m not at all convinced that’s a bad thing.
‘Trust me,’ he implores. ‘Come on, before he presses the buzzer again and wakes the boys up.’
‘OK.’ I start to walk past him.
‘Oi.’
He grabs my arm and I jolt to a stop and stare up at him. To my surprise he wraps his arm around my neck and pulls me towards him, kissing the top of my head. ‘Have a good time,’ he murmurs, letting me go.
I smile warily and turn to walk into the hall, but my eyes are shining at his unexpected tenderness. I take a deep breath, opening the door before I have a chance to exhale. The sight of Jack standing there, leaning against a shiny black expensive-looking car, makes me want to gulp for more air.
He’s even better looking than I remembered: tall, slim and tanned with ripped grey jeans and scuffed Chelsea boots. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with a yellow drawing of a family of stick figures on the front, and his black hair is messy and falling down across his forehead again.
‘Hey,’ he says, grinning.
‘Hi.’ I reckon the butterflies in my stomach could practically fly me over to him. Maybe I won’t risk it; I’ll use my feet instead. I pull the door shut behind me and walk over to the car. He opens the door and I climb in, then he shuts it behind me. The interior is dark grey and smells of fresh leather. I can tell from the sign on the steering wheel that it’s an Audi, but I don’t know which sort. His family must be wealthy, that’s what I’m thinking. And I guess they are – especially if they were invited to Michael Tremway’s last night. I don’t imagine he mingles with normal people. Like me. Am I out of my depth?
Too late to be thinking about that. Jack opens his door and climbs in, glancing across at me.
‘Nice T-shirt.’
‘Thanks.’ I nod at his. ‘Yours is cool, too.’
‘My sister made it.’ He starts up the car and sets off down the driveway. ‘It’s my one concession to making an effort for her birthday.’
‘Is she a fashion designer?’ I ask as we wind our way along the drive to the gates at the end.
‘No, but she wants to be.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Sixteen last week.’
‘Am I underdressed?’ I ask as he slows down on the approach to the gates.
‘No, you look hot.’ He grins and nods up at Samuel in the security hut beside the gate door. The gates start to open and I wave at Samuel as we pass through.
‘That’s Samuel. He told me a good joke earlier,’ I say, trying to keep my cool. Jack just said I look hot!
‘Really?’
‘You wanna hear it?’
‘Sure.’ He turns right on to the main road and we continue to wind up the hill.
‘OK. A woman gets on to a bus with her baby. The driver says, “Urgh, that’s the ugliest baby I’ve ever seen.” Fuming, she goes to the back of the bus and sits down, complaining to the man next to her: “That driver just insulted me!” The man replies, “Go back up there and tell him off. Go on, I’ll hold your monkey for you.”’
Jack bursts out laughing. ‘That’s funny.’
‘Told you. Want to hear another one?’
‘Sure.’
‘Went to the zoo. There
was only one dog in it. It was a shitzu.’
He sniggers with amusement.
‘OK, I’ve got one. A sandwich walks into a bar. The barman says, “sorry, we don’t serve food.”’
I giggle. ‘Two goldfish in a tank. One of them says, “How do you drive this thing?”’
We carry on like this, and after a while I realise my nerves have gone. We’re still winding our way through the hills – the road has levelled out a bit so we’ve stopped climbing. ‘Where’s the party?’ I ask.
‘It’s at my house. Just up here.’
I can hear the music pumping before we see the house, but then we round a corner in the hill and there’s a long, white wall surrounding a boundary with a red-tiled rooftop visible behind.
‘Here we are.’
Quite a few cars are parked on the road, everything from Porsches to shiny new Beetles, and a couple more are pulling up behind us. Someone toots their car horn and Jack looks out of his rear-view mirror. He holds his hand up in a half wave and then reaches into the central compartment and pulls out some sort of remote. He presses a button and the white wall starts to slide open. I stare up at the sandy-coloured Spanish-style villa on the hill. It looks enormous. His family must be mega wealthy. What does his dad actually do? Johnny said he knew him – that he used to be wilder than him. Why didn’t I think to ask Johnny what he did? Whatever it is, one thing’s for sure, Jack and I are from two very different worlds.
OK, maybe technically not any more. Now I know that I’m Johnny Jefferson’s daughter I should fit right in, but all this extravagance is not me. I feel daunted.
But wait. Jack thinks I’m a nanny. That’s pretty ordinary, right? And he still invited me. So he must not care about all this material stuff.
My head is buzzing with all of these thoughts and I’m so preoccupied that I don’t immediately notice the girl in a short pink dress, standing on the driveway in front of what looks like a six-car garage.
‘I’m in trouble,’ Jack murmurs.
‘What? Who is she?’ She has an edgy black-haired bob, is wearing thick black eyeliner and hot-pink lipstick and she doesn’t look happy.
Please don’t let her be his ex-girlfriend, or even worse, his current girlfriend.
‘That’s Agnes.’
‘Agnes?’ Isn’t that the girl that Charlotte mentioned yesterday?
‘My sister.’
The relief is short-lived. As soon as he pulls up in front of her, she stalks to his door and yanks it open. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘Chill out, sis,’ Jack says calmly. ‘I just went to pick up Jessie.’
‘Jessie?’ She’s glaring as she peers into the car, but she jolts with surprise when she sees me.
‘Oh! I couldn’t see you with the sun reflecting off the car,’ she says.
‘Agnes, meet Jessie, Jessie meet Agnes,’ Jack says slowly.
‘Hi,’ I say weakly. ‘Happy birthday.’
‘Humph.’ She straightens back up again and Jack flashes me an apologetic look.
‘Am I gatecrashing?’ I whisper, feeling nervous again as he unclicks his seatbelt.
‘No!’ he brushes me off and climbs out of the car. Warily, I do the same.
‘Miles, Eve and Brandon have already set up,’ she tells Jack crossly.
‘Sounds like they’ve got it all under control,’ he replies smoothly as I make my way around the front of the car to the two of them on the other side, nearest the house.
‘Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing?’ she asks irately, while I hang back a few feet.
‘You were busy getting ready.’ He puts his hands on her shoulders. He’s taller than her by about four inches. ‘Relax.’
The glare on her face wavers and for a split-second she looks like she’s going to cry. But then the glare is firmly reinstated.
‘Are you wearing that?’ she indicates his T-shirt and then stares back up at his face.
‘Yeah. It’s my favourite.’
‘Whatever,’ she snaps, but even as she turns away from him she looks slightly mollified. She glances at me and gives me a quick once over. I have a horrible feeling I’m not dressed at all right, but it’s too late now. She stalks off towards the house. ‘Go and check on the band,’ she snaps over her shoulder.
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ Jack replies. He looks at me and rolls his eyes. ‘I warned you.’
Erm, he didn’t really warn me that much.
‘Are you sure I’m OK to be here?’ I ask worriedly, as he comes to stand by me.
‘It’s my house, too. Come on.’
He points his keys at the car and it beeps as he locks it. He doesn’t walk across the tiled courtyard towards the intricate-carved, wooden front door. Instead he leads me around the right-hand side of the Spanish-style villa, underneath shady, fat palm trees and beside greenery bursting with pink, orange and red flowers. The view is in front of us as we emerge from the side of the house, and it’s of the city, similar to the view from Johnny’s.
The garden steps downwards – a flat expanse of green lawn and then a steep slope, followed by two more flat expanses and two more steep slopes. There is a large rectangular swimming pool on the first flat expanse, set within a terrace of peachy-coloured floor tiles and enormous potted palms. Hot pink and yellow flower-shaped candles are floating on the blue water. A bunch of cool kids are milling about the terrace and garden, laughing and chatting and drinking colourful cocktails. I spy a bar laden with drinks near the pool, with two young guys wearing black T-shirts serving. To our right is what looks like a smaller house in the same style of architecture, but then I realise the music is coming from there. I can see a bunch of people through the four wide-open double doors.
‘Game room,’ Jack tells me. ‘I’m just going to make sure the guys are all set up.’
Labrinth’s ‘Earthquake’ is blaring out of huge speakers outside the games room as I follow him over there, the beat pumping through my body.
‘Who’s DJ-ing tonight?’ I shout.
‘A few of us,’ he shouts back. ‘I’ve gotta do a set, too.’
‘What about your brother?’
‘Not here tonight.’
What? Not at his sister’s birthday? That seems a bit weird. But we reach the double doors and Jack’s mates spot him, so I don’t get a chance to quiz him further. One guy takes a running jump and practically lands on him. A few others swarm around him, backslapping him and doing complicated handshakes.
Jack laughingly shoves off the guy who did the running jump and is still half hanging around his neck. He’s dressed in a grubby-looking white T-shirt and skinny jeans with a metal studded belt. His light-blond hair is styled in a slick quiff and he looks like he could be a member of the band. I spot one of the guys from the fairground last night. He breaks away from Jack and goes over to a drum kit on a raised platform. Yeah. He does look like a drummer.
It’s then that I notice the absolutely stunning, skinny, dark-skinned girl standing on the platform adjusting the mic stand. She has slick, shiny black hair combed into a boy cut and she keeps furtively glancing at Jack, but she doesn’t go over. I watch Jack and see the blond guy saying something in his ear. They both glance at the girl, but now she appears to be steadfastly ignoring them.
Uh-oh. I have a bad feeling about this.
Then Jack seems to remember me. He looks over and as he does so, the blond guy throws one arm around his neck. Jack good-naturedly smacks him in his stomach and he lets go again, but he follows Jack over.
The music is not as loud in here because the outside speakers are facing the garden.
‘Jessie, Jessie, Jessie,’ the blond guy says playfully, winking. His eyes are deep blue and he’s very good-looking. He leans forward and shakes my hand. He’s tall – as tall as Jack – and he has a tattoo of a seagull on his right shoulder.
‘This is Brandon,’ Jack says with a wry grin, as Brandon straightens back up.
‘You’re in the band,’ I say. I remember Ag
nes saying Brandon, Miles and . . . Eve. Oh. I look at the girl on the stage again. That must be her. ‘Earthquake’ comes to an end, followed by an unnatural silence.
‘Crap!’ Brandon curses, running away from us over to some DJ decks.
‘What an idiot,’ Jack mutters, smiling, as Brandon hurries to put another record on.
‘What does he play?’ I ask, glancing at Eve and unfortunately catching her eye. She quickly looks away.
‘Bass guitar. He sings a bit.’
‘What about you?’ I ask.
‘Lead.’
‘You sing, too?’ I remember seeing the picture of him with the microphone touching his lips. Sigh.
‘A little. But it’s mostly Eve.’ He looks over at her and back to me. Does he seem guilty?
‘Shall we get a drink?’ I ask. I think I’m going to need one to get through this party.
It turns out the cocktails by the pool are piss-weak, but Jack tells me he has a sneaky bottle of whiskey in his bedroom. The house inside is big, albeit smaller than Johnny’s. There’s a large living room, which is in keeping with the Spanish villa style of the place. The rooms are crowded with a lot of dark-wood furniture, and there are carpets, curtains, cushions and rugs throughout, in contrast to Johnny’s minimalist pad. Old-fashioned artwork in ornate frames hangs on the walls. Again, I wonder what Billy Mitchell does. This does not look like a wildman’s pad.
‘Where are your parents tonight?’ I ask as Jack leads me up the wooden staircase.
‘My mom and dad are divorced,’ he tells me over his shoulder. ‘Mom and Tim will be around somewhere.’
‘Is Tim your stepdad?’
‘Stepdad Number Two,’ he says drily, turning left at the top of the stairs. We walk a little way along the corridor – there appear to be about six bedrooms up here – and he opens the second door on the left.
I follow him in. This is more like it. His bedroom doesn’t resemble the rest of the house at all. Posters of indie-rock bands line the walls and his clothes are draped over the bed and the back of a chair. Books have toppled over on his bookshelves and the wardrobes are half open, with the contents spilling out on to the floor.