‘Yeah. It’s a bit of a pain, actually. My publisher wants it covered in the book. Reckons it will be a nice end point.’
‘How are you going to manage that? I thought it was going to the printers soon?’
‘It’s supposed to be, yes. They’re pushing back the publication date a little so we can get in the court hearing and any jail time, if necessary.’
‘When is the court hearing?’
‘His lawyers are trying to get one, asap. He’s got them working overtime.’
‘How’s Johnny about it? Is he okay?’
‘Pretty pissed off, as you can imagine,’ he says. ‘Reckons the cops were out to get him.’
‘They probably were.’
‘Yeah, well, what do you expect when you’re out drinking and doing drugs every bloody night? He’s as bad as he was when we were on tour, you know…’
‘Is he?’ I ask, nausea creeping up on me.
‘Afraid so. In fact, I’m going to change my flight and come home Thursday, instead.’
It’s Tuesday, now.
‘Why? Had enough?’
‘Yeah.’
I feel pity for Johnny being left on his own, but I know I can’t say that to Christian.
‘Do you want me to change the flight for you?’
‘No, it’s okay. Johnny’s PA can do it.’
My head throbs. ‘Johnny’s PA? Has he got another one?’
‘Yeah. Some Danish woman. Not very attractive. Not a patch on you, gorgeous.’
‘Aah.’ I feel warm again. ‘Have you told Johnny about us?’ I ask, tentatively.
‘Not yet,’ he says. ‘But I was planning to tonight. If that’s okay with you?’
‘Yes,’ I decide. ‘That’s fine.’
‘Meg,’ he starts.
‘Yes?’
‘I love you.’
I pause before replying. ‘I love you, too.’
In the late hours of Thursday night or the early hours of Friday morning, I’m not sure which, someone starts pounding on the door downstairs.
The knocking keeps coming, so I go downstairs to the front door and look through the peep-hole.
It’s Johnny.
I flatten myself up against the wall. What is he doing here? Oh God, I’m in my crappy PJs. What should I do?
‘Meg, open up!’ he whispers, loudly.
I hurriedly smooth my hair down and wipe the sleep from my eyes. I glance down at my outfit. Urgh. Okay. I’m opening the door.
He rushes past me, into the corridor.
‘What’s wrong? What are you doing here?’ I look back outside in alarm, wondering if he’s being chased. He pushes the door shut and tries to take my hands.
‘Meg, Meg, Meg,’ he says, over and over again. He’s drunk.
‘Johnny, stop it. Where’s Christian?’
‘Meg,’ he moans, taking my arms in his hands.
‘Johnny! Where’s Christian?’ I ask in alarm. ‘Is he okay?’ Panic rises up inside me as I start to imagine he’s here to deliver bad news.
‘He’s fine, he’s fine!’ He cups my face with his hands.
‘Where is he?’ I demand.
‘LA!’ he shouts, frustrated.
‘What are you doing here?’ I shout back, equally frustrated and more than a little confused.
‘I had to see you,’ he says, desperately.
I push him away violently. ‘He told you, then.’
He looks at me in anguish.
‘I get it.’ I’m angry. ‘You don’t want me until he’s got me. Is that right?’
‘No…I miss you, Nutmeg.’
‘My name is MEG.’
He looks hurt. ‘Don’t say that.’
‘How did you get here before Christian?’ I ask. His plane’s not due until the morning.
‘Jet.’
I assume he means his private one.
‘Meg, please…’ He comes towards me again.
I put my hand up to stop him. ‘Haven’t you hurt him enough?’
He looks bewildered.
‘He loves me, you know. He loves me,’ I repeat, hoping it will sink in.
‘Nutmeg…’ He runs his thumb down the side of my neck.
‘Stop it!’ I bat his hand away. ‘Why are you doing this? I’m happy, Johnny. I like Christian!’
‘There!’ He practically shouts, pointing at me. ‘You said “like”!’
I step backwards. ‘I love him,’ I say, determinedly.
He shakes his head and leans back against the corridor wall, opposite me. We still haven’t made it further than the front door.
‘You said “like”,’ he says again, this time more slowly. ‘You love me.’
‘I do not!’ I bite back. ‘I love Christian and I don’t even like you! You’ve been a wanker to me since the first day we met!’
‘I have not!’
‘You have!’ I yell, crossly, before suddenly remembering the neighbours.
I must calm down. ‘Go home, Johnny. I’m not doing this again. You’re jealous and you’re drunk, and I don’t want anything to do with you.’
His shoulders slump, dejectedly, and he leans his head back against the wall and gazes at me.
Don’t look at me like that, I think to myself.
‘I’ll go to rehab,’ he says, simply.
‘You’ll what?’
‘I’ll go to rehab,’ he repeats.
I’m flabbergasted. ‘You would do that? For me?’
He shrugs. ‘Yeah.’
‘Oh, I get it,’ I say, sarcastically. ‘You’re going to have to go to rehab anyway, right? Is that the deal your lawyers are putting together?’
He looks shifty.
‘Argh!’ I push him in the chest. ‘Go, go, go!’
He grabs my wrists. ‘I love you.’ His tone is urgent.
I stop struggling and stare at him in shock.
‘Please…Meg…’ He puts his hands on my waist and tries to pull me in.
My chest hurts. I can’t go through this again.
He starts to kiss me and I melt into him, just like I used to.
No.
NO!
I pull away and push him backwards again. Then I open the door. ‘Leave. I love Christian. You won’t hurt me again. GO!’ I shout.
‘I’m coming back for you,’ he warns, stepping outside. ‘After rehab. I’m coming back.’
I slam the door in his face and run upstairs to sob my heart out.
‘Where is he?’ Christian demands hours later. ‘Was he here?’
‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘He’s gone now,’ I hurriedly tell him, when I see the look on his face. ‘I told him to leave.’
He drops his bags on the floor of the living room. I’m sitting on the sofa in my PJs. I haven’t had the energy to get dressed this morning.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks, coming to join me.
‘I’m fine.’
Actually, my eyes are red and puffy from crying so much, but I’m hoping Christian will see what he wants to see.
‘He went mad when I told him,’ Christian says, looking away.
‘Shit!’ I exclaim, seeing the side of his face. It’s tinged red and blue.
‘He punched me.’ He lets out a half-hearted laugh.
‘He punched you?’ I ask in disbelief.
‘Yeah.’
‘Oh, no, you poor thing!’ I touch his face gently and he flinches. Compassion wells up inside me.
He meets my eyes. ‘You told him to leave?’
‘Yes,’ I reply.
He smiles at me, softly.
‘Come here,’ I say, and wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his neck.
I feel safe again.
Chapter 36
As predicted, the judge remands Johnny to rehab for six weeks. The press are all over the story like a rash, and I can’t go anywhere without hearing or seeing something about Johnny Jefferson.
He got into trouble for breaking the terms of his bail and fleeing the country for a couple o
f days. The judge let him off lightly because his dad, of all people, swore an affidavit to say he’d been poorly. He said Johnny had flown over in a panic to see him.
No one knows it was actually me he came to see.
I don’t tell Bess about Johnny’s visit. And I don’t tell Christian he kissed me, either. I just try not to talk about it. Or think about it. But the latter is easier said than done.
Late at night his words haunt me.
I’m coming back for you…
He won’t come back for me. He just won’t. He was drunk. He was angry. He was reacting to a situation he couldn’t control.
I love you…
He didn’t mean it.
Work is really starting to get to me. I want a new challenge, but I’m not quite sure what. Even now I’m not ready to be someone else’s PA. I’m still considering the idea of going travelling. Christian hates it when I bring it up.
‘Don’t go travelling.’
‘Why not?’ I ask.
‘I’d miss you.’
‘Come too!’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘I have to work.’
He’s not lying. His publisher is so happy with Johnny’s biography that he’s been given a two-book deal–to write fiction, this time.
Christian is ecstatic. It’s what he’s always wanted.
The day Johnny is allowed out of rehab, I’m glued to the TV like the rest of the world.
I watch him walk out of the centre in his dark glasses and silver shirt, looking forever the rock star. He climbs into a car, which I suddenly recognise as Davey’s. I feel a pang as I watch him drive Johnny away.
Christian has decided it might be for the best if he speaks to Johnny about his rehab experience on the phone instead of in person. He thinks it might be too soon after what happened. He’s probably right.
The footage of Johnny walking out of the centre is being replayed on the television. They’ve got some commentator talking about it, claiming to be an expert about what Johnny is going through.
I fold my arms tight across my chest. I hope he’s okay.
Christian is upstairs, watching the footage in the office. He needs peace and quiet to concentrate and make notes.
I need peace and quiet to think.
The phone rings, making me jump.
‘Hello?’
‘Meg, it’s Bess. Are you watching it?’
‘Yep.’ I cast a glance at the TV.
‘How do you feel?’
‘Okay, I think.’
‘Do you reckon it will last?’ she asks.
‘I doubt it. He’ll be back to his old ways before long.’
‘Bloody good publicity for his new single, though, hey?’
‘That’s for sure.’
They’ve been playing Johnny’s new single on the radio for a few weeks now. It’s tipped to go straight to Number One.
‘Well, I just wanted to check you’re okay,’ Bess says.
‘Thanks. I am,’ I tell her.
But as the days pass by, I feel increasingly on edge.
Christian keeps asking me what I’m thinking and why I’m so quiet, and I have to lie and tell him I’ve got a stomach ache or period pains or something. He buys it, most of the time, but I usually have to offer up more cuddles to put his mind at rest.
Do I want Johnny to come back for me? I’m happy with Christian. Do I want to feel confused all over again?
But I am confused. I’m always confused. It’s out of my hands, now, anyway.
I put make-up on every day, just in case. It’s stupid, I know, but I want to look my best in case he comes. You know, for when I turn him down again.
One afternoon I arrive back at the flat after working the morning shift. I’ve walked down the narrow outdoor stairs and have my keys in the front door before I see him. He’s standing in the far corner behind me, out of sight of anyone walking above on the street.
‘Jesus!’ I squeal. ‘You scared the life out of me!’
‘Shh,’ he says, approaching slowly. ‘Can I come in?’
I can tell immediately that he’s sober. I feel light-headed. He follows me inside.
‘Christian’s not here,’ I say, leading the way through to the kitchen.
‘I know,’ he replies. ‘I called him earlier.’
‘Oh. Okay. Do you want a tea or coffee?’ I ask, half expecting him to opt for whisky instead.
‘Tea would be good.’
‘It worked, then?’
‘Rehab?’ he asks. ‘Yeah.’
‘Not going to relapse?’
‘I hope not,’ he says. ‘But every day as it comes.’
I nod and turn away to get a couple of mugs.
‘Thanks,’ he says, as I hand over his tea and he hesitantly takes a sip.
I watch him. ‘What are you doing here, Johnny?’ I ask, finally.
‘I said I’d come back for you.’
My heart beats so loud I worry it might pierce my eardrums.
‘I told you, I’m with Christian.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ he answers, indifferently.
I stare at him, frustrated.
‘You know it would never work, don’t you?’
‘Why not?’ he asks.
‘We’re not suited to each other,’ I say. ‘Lola’s more your type.’ I shoot him a loaded look.
‘No, she’s not,’ he says.
‘Whatever happened with her?’ I can’t help but ask.
‘Nothing after that night.’ He puts his mug down on the countertop.
I don’t know whether or not I believe him. The crazy part of me wants to.
But there was still that night. Still all the other women who have been there before me–and since. I’d always wonder if he was comparing me…How I measured up…I don’t think I could handle that.
And is he even capable of being faithful? I’d love to believe he is, that I would be enough for him, but I haven’t been so far, and the memory of Lola and all the other girls is still so raw. It’s a hopeless situation.
‘What do you want?’ I ask again. Be specific this time.
‘I want you to come back to LA with me.’ He folds his arms.
‘I can’t go back to LA with you.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t want to be your PA again!’ I raise my voice.
‘I don’t want you to be my PA again, either. I’ve got a perfectly good one as it is, thanks.’
I look at him in surprise. ‘What do you want, then?’
‘I want you to come back to LA with me as my girlfriend, Meg. Come and live with me.’
Thoughts rush through my head. Red carpets…Glitterati…Everything and anything I could ever want.
Except Christian. I want Christian.
He may not be a world-famous rock star. He may not have the female population of the world falling at his feet. But he cares for me. He’s a good guy. The type of guy I’ve always gone for–at least, before I met Johnny. But I’m still the same person I was back then. Despite the world I’ve been living in–drink, drugs, sex–I haven’t changed. And neither has Christian.
I do love him. I love him so much.
‘I can’t.’ I turn to Johnny, resolute.
He nods. ‘I just want you to think about it.’
His words do something to calm me, bizarrely. I sigh. ‘Okay.’
‘Cool.’ He picks up his mug again.
‘You seem different,’ I say, carefully.
‘I am different.’
‘But you’re still happy to steal your best friend’s girl?’
‘I’m not happy about it,’ he replies, nonchalantly. ‘I’ve never been happy about it. But you were my girl first.’
He meets my eyes quite calmly. God knows how. I feel anything but calm.
‘I like your new single,’ I say, trying to keep the conversation light.
‘Thanks. I hope you like the next one more.’
‘Why?’ I as
k, intrigued.
‘I wrote it for you.’
I look at him in amazement. ‘You wrote it for me? When?’
‘Up in the Dales. I started it then,’ he says. ‘Finished it when we got back. It’s the second single released off the new album.’
I’m stunned. ‘When is it coming out?’
‘In a couple of months,’ he says. ‘But you can hear it tomorrow if you come back to LA with me.’
‘I can’t come back to LA with you,’ I tell him again. ‘Will you stick around for a bit?’ I ask, glancing down at my uniform. ‘I might go and get changed.’
‘Sure,’ he says.
I walk upstairs and go into my bedroom. I can’t focus. My head is a jumble of thoughts.
I pull some jeans and a shirt out of my wardrobe. I’m just sliding my arms into the shirt when I hear a noise behind me.
‘Johnny, what are you doing here?’ I exclaim, wrapping the shirt around my chest.
‘You’re not sleeping in Christian’s bedroom, then?’ He gives me a wry look.
‘Yes, I am,’ I reply. ‘But I keep my clothes in here.’
He walks towards me.
‘Don’t,’ I say.
He reaches me, his stare intense.
‘Don’t,’ I say again, putting my hand on his chest to stop him coming any closer. My knees feel weak.
He takes another step, pressing my hand hard into his chest. I freeze, barely able to breathe. And then he’s kissing me.
My willpower is shot. I kiss him back.
He pulls my shirt off my body, caresses my breasts, runs his hands down my back…His touch becomes more urgent, more frenzied, as he pushes me down on the bed and kisses my neck. I reach down to unbutton his jeans, Christian far from my mind. Right now it’s just Johnny.
I’m addicted to him. And no rehab centre is the world is going to be able to cure me.
Afterwards I lie on the bed beside him, a film of perspiration covering my body. I look up at the ceiling, at the frosted green-glass lampshade that Christian bought me weeks ago in Camden Market.
Guilt washes over me.
Oh God, what have I done?
I get up and pull my clothes on. Johnny props himself up on his elbows and watches me. I don’t look at him.
‘You’d better go,’ I tell him, once I’m dressed.
‘Meg…’ he says, gently.