Jojo's French Escape

by Lorraine Wilson

  ‘Well, I hadn’t heard of you,’ Poppy replies mildly.

  ‘Which is just one of the reasons why I love you.’ I pass her a mug of hot chocolate. ‘But you’ve got to admit you’re not exactly typical … You don’t even have a TV here.’

  ‘Oh, I just haven’t got round to it yet,’ Poppy replies vaguely. ‘I must admit I’ve never quite understood why you are the one who is disgraced when you did nothing wrong. It was all down to him.’

  Him. Yes. It was my ex-boyfriend, reality TV star Aiden, who filmed us having sex without my knowledge. It was Aiden who was responsible for getting the video online, and this just after I had to absorb the shock of finding out, live on TV, that he was cheating on me with my best friend Sally. Apparently, the close-ups of my tear-streaked face were prime-time entertainment. My life became a soap opera.

  Or rather a very public melodrama. Maybe now it’s obvious why I prefer the company of dogs to humans? I sit down and drink my hot chocolate sitting next to Poppy in companionable silence. I kind of love her obliviousness. It gives me hope and reminds me there is another kind of world out there, it’s just up to me to find it.

  Why Aiden behaved the way he did I’ll never know. I used to think about it. I had plenty of sleepless nights thinking about it, wondering if it was because he fell in love with her, or I wasn’t making him happy. Maybe I just wasn’t enough for him? As for turning our sex life into a sordid sex tape … well, I don’t think I’ll ever understand that.

  My sister Annabel’s theory is that he’s a selfish prick who can’t keep it in his trousers, or, and this one gets my bet, he did it to make better telly and keep the spotlight on him and doesn’t care about Sally any more than he ever cared about me. The only love Aiden knows involves the use of a mirror or a TV camera.

  As it is, I’ll never know what was going on in his head because I can’t trust him to tell me the truth. He is the one still on TV, the star of Sex in the Suburbs, loving the limelight and basking in seemingly endless adulation while I’m the one … disgraced. He was seen as just a bit of a lad. I was seen as a … well, as a slut, to put it bluntly. That was how the narrative went online. You’ve got to love double standards, haven’t you?

  Ha! Either that or delete all your social media accounts.

  Although deleting all the links to my social media accounts on my phone feels a bit like sticking my head in the sand, ostrich-like. That world is still out there but for me it’s a dangerous place to visit. The temptation to engage is too strong, the desire to defend myself, to set the record straight, to persuade the people who think they know me that they’re wrong … It’s mental quicksand and I avoid it at all costs.

  The cost of my mistake has been that I’ve had to leave behind my family, my home and my business. And I’ve lost my ex-boyfriend and my ex-best friend. I don’t know what our guests think of me, but I can bet I’ve heard it all before and probably a million times worse. People don’t generally troll face to face, not when they can look into your eyes and see that you’re a human being, just like them. But they come out in force online, hiding in the anonymity of the internet. Aiden fans actually told me I should kill myself. That was the point when Dad disabled the house wifi and took my phone away ‘for my own good’.

  ‘Are you ever tempted to just say to people, “Yes, I’m that Joanna,” and set the record straight?’

  ‘Of course, but honestly it’s better not to engage. I want to leave all that behind me and how can I if I have to keep rehashing it?’

  ‘I suppose.’ Poppy bites her lip. ‘Do you want me to say something to them?’

  ‘God no, I’m okay, Poppy, honestly I am. Please don’t worry about me,’ I implore her.

  The thing is, I’ve probably even thought some of the comments myself. Some people seem to think that anyone who ends up on reality TV knew what they were signing up for and deserves whatever they get, regardless of how vile it is. If you’re on television you’ve agreed to be public property, entertainment with no holds barred.

  I never signed up to be vilified and hounded out of my life, home and business. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t have a frickin’ clue what I was doing. I signed a piece of paper allowing a production company to use my café in a new upcoming reality show. It would be great PR for my business, they said. I wouldn’t have to be in it at all if I didn’t want to be.

  And yes, I read the contract. Twice. I didn’t understand it all though. My dad read the contract too, but he is a painter and decorator, he doesn’t speak legalese.

  I was so naive.

  Stupid might be a better word.

  We both read it another time, together, and still declared ourselves baffled. The people seemed nice enough and they said the contract was standard so …

  Like I said, I was stupid and I’ve paid for that signature a million times over. I had misgivings when the working title of the show was changed to Sex in Suburbia. I was determined to stay out of it. I didn’t want to be famous, I just wanted to cook and make my café as successful as possible.

  Then I met Aiden. Gorgeous, charming Aiden who was so bloody sexy I would’ve done anything for him. I can see now that he manipulated me. At the time though I was operating in a haze of powerful hormones and mesmerised by Aiden’s charisma.

  I was stupid and flattered and I fell in love. It was all too easy to say yes to a date with Aiden and agree to let it be filmed. When he asked me out he was so charming. He charmed the pants off me.

  Literally.

  Unfortunately, he also charmed the pants off of Sally, my best friend and waitress at The Sticky Bun. I found out while being filmed watching the episode in which I told Aiden I loved him. God it makes me cringe to remember that. I actually told him I loved him, and his response had been ‘I know’. As sozzled as I was on hormones and lust, I knew that wasn’t a good sign.

  While I was watching that episode, he and Sally ‘popped by’, as though anyone ever does anything spontaneous on reality TV, and simply had to tell me what they’d done because they felt so terrible about it. They didn’t want to hurt me, but they were in love. I think Sally said something about destiny but I’d kind of blanked out by then.

  They didn’t feel terrible enough to tell me in private first though.

  If only Aiden could’ve let me lick my wounds in private after that. I could accept that what had been love for me was only sex for him, but I couldn’t accept what he did next. As soon as the media lost interest and ratings began to drop, he made sure a video he’d secretly shot of us having sex found its way onto the internet. It was … explicit. I’ve never been one for sex under the covers with the lights off, though if I ever have sex again I might change my mind about that. Somehow, I think insisting all electronic devices be left in another room might spoil the mood or display a lack of trust or something.

  To add insult to injury they had the right to keep on filming in the café because I’d signed that bloody piece of paper.

  Stupid.

  ‘You’re really okay?’ Poppy’s voice breaks into my thoughts.

  ‘Yes, sorry, I’m a bit tired. I’m off to bed once I’ve finished my chocolate and finished clearing up.’

  I stroke Barney’s soft ears and find it therapeutic. I have so much here in St Quentin sur Aude that I love. This is my new life. I’m not doing any ‘Joanna Grant, one year on’ special shows. I can’t believe they had the nerve to doorstep my parents about it. Good old Dad, telling them where to go.

  When the press found me last year, I considered doing an interview to get them off my back but in the end one European royal’s love life became more interesting. I got a reprieve, thank God, because I couldn’t bear it if I had to leave St Quentin.

  Annabel’s right, I need to think about selling the café because my life is here now. Barney’s contented sigh pulls me out of my head, and I focus on stroking his soft furry head and caressing his big floppy ear. Only one of his ears flops; the other sticks up for reasons best known
to himself and his mixed-breed gene pool. I love him and all the animals here. Things could be much worse.

  ‘You know that it’s this weekend the chef friend of Leo’s is coming, yes?’ Poppy scoops the two Chihuahuas up onto her lap and finds room for Pickwick on her shoulder while scratching Barney’s other ear. She says having multiple dogs has made her good at multitasking.

  ‘No.’ I frown. ‘What chef friend of Leo’s? I didn’t even know he had a chef friend. He’s coming for the weekend or for longer?’

  I am extremely fond of Poppy but sometimes her vague attitude to details can be a tad … challenging.

  ‘Didn’t I say? Sorry.’ She pulls a face. ‘He’s coming for a few months, having some time out in the South of France. But the big news is he’s going to help us get The Barn off the ground. He has a good reputation apparently so his influence will be really useful.’

  ‘I thought we’d decided it wasn’t doable to get the restaurant up and running for this season with all the delays we’ve had with the renovations and paperwork, so we were going to leave it until autumn?’

  ‘Maybe you weren’t there when Leo was talking about it?’ Poppy asks. ‘No, it’s no good, I can’t remember when we talked about it. The thing is this friend of Leo’s can come now so it makes sense to use him. Leo met him during his time in Paris. I guess if you weren’t there when Leo and I talked about it I was probably supposed to tell you. Sorry.’

  I bite back my irritation. Poppy is rubbing her forehead and I can see how tired she is.

  ‘So, this chef friend, he’s staying here in Les Coquelicots then?’ I ask, as calmly as I can.

  When the idea of turning the large barn behind the guesthouse into a restaurant was first suggested I was dubious but then we went on field trip visits to similar ventures, mostly on farms that had taken the initiative to diversify. Some barn restaurants were so rustic they didn’t even have electricity, all the food being brought through from the farmhouse kitchen. Others were more sophisticated with white linen tablecloths and crystal glassware but one thing they all had in common was great food made from local, fresh ingredients. It made sense to capitalise on the extra visitors to the Château’s art gallery and wine tasting tours. I’ve been excited about having a new project to manage.

  I was really looking forward to working on the menu and getting the restaurant up and running but with all the delays from the builders time has been running out and I’m crazy busy now we are entering the main season for the guesthouse. I don’t have time and I need help but even so … I feel a bit like I’m being sidelined.

  ‘Yes, we’ve got space for the first week. I checked and blocked it out on the calendar. I thought maybe after that he could have my room for a bit? I can always stay at Leo’s if we’re strapped for space.’ Poppy grimaces. ‘I’m really sorry this is the first you’ve heard about it. We’re not trying to take anything away from you. We thought you could use some help. You already do so much.’

  ‘I suppose it would be too much on my own,’ I admit. ‘It’s just a bit of a mental adjustment, his coming and being in the house. You know how anti-social I am.’

  ‘I don’t know, you seem to be getting more sociable. You even came to the village party.’

  ‘I suppose.’ It’s true. I have gradually been testing the waters, dipping my toe in, paddling in the shallows. I’ve even made friends with Sophie, who works in the notaire’s office, and Angeline, who is Leo’s partner in the vet practice. Though they were Poppy’s friends first really.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s very nice.’

  ‘Of course.’ I roll my eyes. ‘Chefs are known for being good-natured and friendly.’

  I smile to soften the sarcasm but I’m already uneasy … My world is cosy and safe and I don’t want anyone upsetting the balance. It would be great to have the opportunity to learn from a professional chef but what if he’s a misogynist who has no interest in the ideas of a female amateur chef? What, horror of horrors, if he tries to take over my kitchen as well as the Barn project?

  ‘You never know, you might hit it off, after you’ve both worked in the same industry.’ There’s a glint in Poppy’s eye as she smiles. Her comment is so predictable. She’s been trying to pair me off with virtually every single male we come across from the widowed farmer in the next village to the author with a holiday home in St Quentin. Anyone in close proximity of marriageable age basically, the bar isn’t set particularly high.

  ‘Noooo. No way. Stop right there, Poppy. I’m okay single. Maybe one day I’ll meet someone great and start dating again but there’s no rush and I’m not looking yet. I don’t need a man in my life to be happy.’

  Pickwick lets out a high-pitched woof.

  ‘Sorry, Pickwick,’ I add. ‘Male canines excepted.’ I get up and head back to the dishwasher to finish the last bits of clearing up.

  ‘It could be great. He likes cooking, you like cooking …’

  ‘And we’re going to have to work together, at least for a while.’ I pause, biting my lip. ‘I’ve already had one relationship ruin my workplace. You know I had to leave my café behind. I love what I have here and would never do anything that might jeopardise that.’

  Poppy gives me a sceptical look but doesn’t say the obvious. That I’d be scared to date again. Getting close to anyone again is going to be scary. That’s true but I really do mean what I say about not letting a relationship ruin something I care about again. Annabel’s email about the café is weighing heavy on my mind.

  Starting a relationship again would be hard enough without it having the capacity to affect my work too. I’ll always remember that gut-wrenching moment when I realised Aiden and Sally had betrayed me. It was like being in a lift that suddenly plunged downwards: there was a physical, inward lurch and then emotional free-fall …

  Climbing back up again has taken so long. If, and it’s a big if, I meet someone I think is worth the risk I’ll be a lot more careful with my heart.

  I sigh and shove the cutlery down into the tray with a loud clunk. I feel the need to make amends with Poppy. My desire to protect the status quo is a selfish one. She just wants to make sure The Barn is a success. I do too.

  ‘It’s an exciting project. I loved that trendy barn restaurant you took me to up in the Black Mountains. It would be great if we can create something similar.’ I try to inject enthusiasm into my voice and to swallow my emotions back under control. ‘Anyway what do you know about him, this chef? He’s French, yes?’

  ‘He was working in Paris when he and Leo met but he’s not French. I think Leo said he’d been in London for the past few years. He’s called Callum something. Callum O’Connor, that’s it.’

  I stop, dropping a plate into place in the dishwasher rack with a loud thunk.

  ‘Not the Callum O’Connor. The celebrity chef? Haven’t you heard of Callum O’Connor’s Cook Off? Or his Kitchen Cook Off show?’ I stare at her blank expression incredulously.

  ‘Hmm, dunno, I’ve never heard of the show or of him. Leo might have said he was on television, I can’t remember,’ Poppy replies distractedly while texting on her phone. I’ve lost her.

  ‘Honestly, Poppy.’ I sigh, trying to rein in my growing agitation.

  ‘What?’ Poppy looks up from her phone, expression blank.

  I take a deep breath. I’m tempted to ask how on earth she hasn’t heard of one of the most famous TV shows in the UK but then we are talking about Poppy. I was living with her for months before she found out who I was and even then it was only because somebody told her.

  ‘Never mind. Why on earth would he want to come here? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Why, what’s wrong with here?’ Poppy raises an eyebrow. ‘I seem to remember he wanted some peace and quiet. Leo said he was taking some time out. You can ask him when he gets here.’

  She doesn’t say what we’re both thinking, that I came here for some peace and quiet, to get away from scandal. I’m sure Callum isn’t coming here for the sa
me reasons as me though; I haven’t seen any scandalous news about him online. Not that I really keep up with the news now I’m here. I’ve been too busy.

  ‘Hmm.’ I finish stacking the dishwasher and set it going, trying to hide my agitation.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Poppy asks gently. It seems after all this time of living together I can’t hide my feelings from her.

  ‘He’ll know who I am.’ I wrap my arms around my body and lean back against the kitchen counter. A French male chef was going to be bad enough but an Irish celebrity chef from London is much, much worse. Even worse, he’s a celebrity chef I’ve always liked and respected. I care about his opinion.

  Poppy’s forehead crinkles. ‘I thought you were feeling much better nowadays, about meeting new people I mean?’

  I don’t know how to explain that although I’m feeling better and happier about socialising, having my home disrupted by someone from the very world I ran away from feels way out of my comfort zone. I doubt I’m even on his radar … Regardless, I can’t say what I’m feeling because Poppy will worry.

  ‘It’s a bit different, Poppy, but don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll work out fine.’ I shrug. ‘It’s just whenever I meet someone new, well … I can’t help wondering if they’ve seen the sex tape.’

  I wonder if Callum O’ Connor has seen it. Uncomfortable emotions prickle at my skin. Embarrassment tinged with shame.

  I know Poppy hasn’t watched it. If she had she might understand why ditching the bland, oversized T-shirts and leggings I hid in last year is such a big deal. Wearing clothes that are pretty, colourful or revealing, anything that might draw somebody’s eye to me, is taking a lot of courage. I might be ready to engage fully with my new life here, to start being JoJo again, but that doesn’t mean I assume it’s going to be easy.