The Accidental Life of Jessie Jefferson

by Paige Toon

  Tears stream down my cheeks and my chest shudders as I fight back sobs. I could have been going to Spain next week with her and Stu, rather than sitting here in a limo on my own, in a strange country, about to meet Johnny frigging Jefferson. My crying abruptly stops and I brush away my tears as the surreal feeling intensifies. I’d better pull myself together and sort out my hair and make-up before I completely lose it.

  The air-conditioning has cooled the car down – and me down with it. I run my fingers through my hair, hoping it will look tousled and not scratty. Brushing it will only make it look worse. I know that from experience. My make-up hasn’t fared too badly so I pop my sunnies on top of my head and apply some powder and lipstick, then pretty much leave it as it is. I don’t want to appear too done up. I look down at my silver swing dress and almost snort. OK, so it’s a little over the top. It’s the sort of thing I’d normally only wear to a party, but I bought it last week at work and wanted to bring it. Who knows what I’ll be doing here, where I’ll be going out, if anywhere. And quite frankly, I’m a bit past caring what I look like at the moment. I’m certainly not going to bother getting changed again.

  My arms and legs are a little chilly now in the air-con and my feet are frozen, so I shrug on my denim jacket and drag out some fresh socks, pulling them on. I’ll sort out footwear later, but for now I just want to relax. Ha. As if. I wonder how far away we are.

  I lean over and press the intercom button. ‘Hi, Davey?’

  ‘Hello, Miss Pickerill,’ he replies warmly. ‘I thought you might have fallen asleep.’

  ‘No, but I’m dressed now if you want to put the screen back down?’

  ‘As you wish.’ The screen glides down and he glances at me in his wing mirror, a twinkle in his brown eyes. ‘All set?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ I reply with a nervous smile. ‘Have we got far to go?’

  ‘Ten minutes. We’re just coming into Bel Air now,’ he says, and I look out of the window in time to see us pass through a large, wrought iron gate. Now this is more like it. Mansions line the pristine streets, landscaped gardens burst with colour, and sprinklers whirr round and round, drenching neatly mown lawns with fat drops of sparkling water. I grin and put my sunglasses back on as the road starts to wind upwards and the ever more enormous mansions begin to retreat behind high walls and impressive security gates.

  I’m finding it hard to breathe again and it has nothing to do with the atmosphere.

  ‘Almost there,’ Davey calls back to me.

  God! Really? I could do with a cigarette right now. I quickly zip up my suitcase and sit with a racing pulse. I won’t need my jacket on, will I? Suddenly I’m not sure about the dress. What was I thinking? It’s too flashy, too much, too . . . late!

  ‘Here’s home,’ Davey says as we start to pass through tall gates with security cameras pointing down from tall posts on either side. Davey puts his window down and waves at a man in a small office as we pass. If he could see me through the darkened limo glass, he’d think that I look like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Oh no, what about my shoes?

  We start to drive down a long driveway. Leafy green trees, rich from the summer sun, partly obscure the house. I look around with panic and realise that I have no choice but to pull my chunky ankle boots back on – never mind, it’s ‘a look’ and I can carry it off. I try to imbue myself with some of the confidence that I normally feel.

  The house comes into view: a long, two-storey, white, rectangular building punctuated with large windows. Davey pulls up outside the big wooden front door and gets out of the car. I feel like I can’t move. I’m glued to my seat. This is, without a doubt, the most scared I’ve been in all my life.

  Davey opens the door. ‘Miss Pickerill?’

  I don’t know why I haven’t already told him to call me Jessie, but now I can barely breathe, let alone speak, so I move to the door and hold on to it for support as I step one chunky boot out. Here I go.

  Chapter 10

  My feet crunch on the gravel as I climb out of the car and straighten up to see that the front door has now opened and a woman is standing there. She appears to be about thirty and is slim and pretty with straight, blonde hair which just brushes her shoulders.

  ‘Hi!’ she calls, coming out of the door. ‘I’m Meg, Johnny’s wife.’

  Now, I recognise her from the papers. I open my mouth to return her greeting, but sensing that my voice is going to come out croaky and quiet, I ramp the volume up a notch and end up sounding louder and more confident than I usually do. ‘Hello!’

  She comes towards me with an extended hand. She’s wearing white shorts and a navy blue top. ‘And you must be Jessica,’ she says.

  ‘Jessie,’ I reply, shaking her hand.

  ‘How was your trip?’ She smiles and I think she’s trying to sound friendly, but she looks a little stressed.

  ‘It was fun,’ I reply, as Davey pulls my suitcase out of the car behind me.

  ‘Shall I take this up to the White Room?’ he asks her.

  ‘Yes, thanks, Davey,’ she replies with genuine warmth.

  I’m curious to see the White Room, whatever it is.

  Meg turns back to me and nods towards the door, ushering me inside. ‘I’m afraid Johnny’s not here,’ she says with downturned lips. ‘He promised he’d be back in time, but he’s running late.’ She rolls her eyes good-naturedly, but I detect a definite edge to her voice. ‘But come inside and meet the boys.’

  I follow her through the hall, then stop short as we step into a huge, cavernous space with floor-to-ceiling glass looking out over the city of LA far below. I thought Wendel’s office was amazing, but this is something else.

  ‘Wow,’ I say aloud. There’s a huge swimming pool right outside on an enormous terrace, but my attention is diverted by a baby’s laughter. I look past a charcoal-grey L-shaped sofa to see a little boy with blond hair, standing directly over an even smaller child, who is lying on his back on a shaggy lime-green rug. The older boy has one foot on either side of the smaller boy’s waist and is wiggling his hips from side to side while the smaller boy looks up at him and giggles.

  ‘Barney!’ Meg cries. ‘I’ve told you not to stand over Phoenix like that!’

  Barney pushes his bottom lip out, but steps off the other child, wobbling slightly as he does. Meg rounds the sofas to get to him and kneels down on the floor. ‘You mustn’t do that,’ she says sternly. ‘Remember how you fell on him and hurt him?’

  Barney looks sad and I feel sorry for him. He was only trying to make his little brother laugh.

  Meg glances up at me and smiles apologetically. ‘Sorry about that.’

  I shrug and wander towards the sofas.

  ‘This is Barney.’ She purses her lips at the little boy, and I think that maybe she’s trying to keep a straight face. ‘And this is Phoenix,’ she says with a smile, tickling the smaller boy and making him giggle.

  ‘Hello!’ I say as chirpily as I can.

  Barney looks over at me with mild interest and then falls to his knees and starts zooming a car across the rug.

  ‘Barney, say hello to Jessie,’ Meg prompts.

  ‘Hello,’ he says casually, returning to his zooming. Meg casts her eyes heavenwards as the smaller boy sits himself up.

  ‘How old are they?’ I ask. It’s so weird to think that these two little kids are related to me.

  ‘Barney is four, and Phoenix has just turned one,’ Meg replies with a smile.

  There’s a noise of a car or something – a motorbike? – outside on the drive. Meg’s head shoots towards the door.

  ‘I think Johnny’s back,’ she breathes with relief, but I feel anything but. A powerful thrum of nerves surges through my body and I turn back to face the door with my heart in my throat. I suddenly realise I still have my sunnies on – the sunlight in here is so bright that I didn’t notice. I pop them on top of my head as Meg walks briskly past me.

  From my position in the living room I can see her open the door a
nd stand in the doorway with her back to me. In the background a figure approaches, wearing a shiny, black motorcycle helmet. He takes his helmet off and his just-below-chin-length, dirty blond hair instantly gives him away: Johnny Jefferson. He reaches Meg, but she doesn’t budge from the doorway for a moment. I hear him say, ‘Sorry,’ and, without a word, she steps aside. He appears contrite as he glances past her, and then he sees me.

  His face looks shocked. Meg turns around and meets my eyes and even she looks taken aback, although I don’t know why. Johnny composes himself as he pushes his hair off his face and stalks towards me, dropping his motorcycle helmet and gloves on a table in the hall as he passes, but leaving his black leather jacket on.

  ‘Hey,’ he says in a deep voice I recognise, coming to a halt in front of me. His green eyes are even more piercing in real life and I feel utterly out of my depth. ‘I’m sorry I’m late.’ He offers his hand for me to shake and I take it. It’s warm and sweaty from wearing gloves.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I reply timidly.

  He’s taller than I thought he’d be, well over six foot.

  ‘Jessica, right?’

  ‘People call me Jessie,’ I tell him.

  ‘It’s good to finally meet you,’ Johnny says with a decisive nod. I’m not sure I believe him. This is so weird, so awkward. It’s not like I expected any long lost hugs, but . . . I don’t know what I expected, actually.

  ‘Has Meg offered you a drink or anything?’ he asks.

  ‘She’s only just arrived,’ Meg chips in, a little defensively. ‘I was introducing her to the boys.’

  Johnny jabs his thumb towards a curved glass wall. ‘Let me get you a juice or something.’

  I’m not particularly thirsty, but I follow him anyway, while Meg hangs back. Behind the curved glass wall is an enormous kitchen, almost as big as the whole downstairs area of our house. There’s a big, shiny white table with eight designer-looking chairs of various colours: yellow, red, green, blue. Johnny pulls one out and indicates for me to sit. I’m happy to because my legs feel like jelly. There are two large, silver fridges, and he goes to one of them and opens it, revealing a door full of cans.

  ‘What can I get you?’ he asks.

  ‘Just a lemonade or something would be good.’

  He sets about getting us both a drink, then shouts through to the living room to ask if Meg wants one, too. She declines. I think she’s angry with him for being late.

  ‘So,’ he says, placing two tall glasses of sparkling lemonade, on ice, on the table. He pulls up a yellow chair and sits down opposite me. ‘Sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived,’ he says again with a small shrug. He seems a bit tense. He’s not the only one.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I reiterate.

  I pick up my glass and he does the same, both of us taking a drink and returning our glasses to the table at the same time.

  ‘How was your flight?’ he asks after a moment of awkward silence.

  ‘It was good. I’ve only ever flown easyJet before, so it was pretty different.’

  ‘Did your stepdad come to see you off at the airport?’

  ‘Stu? Yeah, he did.’

  He smiles a small smile at me and I suddenly remember who I’m sitting opposite. This is so weird!

  ‘Daddy!’ Barney’s breathless voice breaks the silence, as he pitter-patters into the kitchen. Meg appears behind him, Phoenix on her hip. Barney starts to ask Johnny to come and see the car track he’s built, but I notice Meg falter in her steps. Maybe it’s the sight of us sitting opposite each other at the table, but she seems a bit freaked out as she stays glued to the spot.

  ‘I’ll be there in a sec, buddy,’ Johnny says to his son, distracted. I glance at him to see him raise one inquisitive eyebrow at his wife.

  She ignores him, addressing me. ‘Do you want to come and see your room, Jessie?’

  ‘Sure, yeah.’ I get to my feet.

  She and Johnny follow me out after a slight pause, and I feel distinctly uneasy about whatever unspoken exchange has just gone between them. I don’t think Meg wants me here at all, and right now, even I’m beginning to wonder if it was a mistake. I’m so far from home. I know it’s ridiculous, because I’ve only just got here, but I feel a sudden longing to see Stuart.

  ‘This way.’ Meg directs me towards a wide concrete staircase.

  ‘Look, Daddy,’ I hear Barney say as Johnny tails off behind us to go and see his sons.

  ‘How was Davey?’ Meg asks, bringing my attention back to her.

  ‘Fine. He’s nice.’

  ‘He’s been Johnny’s driver for years. On and off,’ she adds. ‘I used to think he talked in exclamation marks, but he’s chilled out in his older age.’ She smiles fondly as we turn right at the top of the stairs. ‘I still remember him collecting me the first time I flew into LA to work for Johnny. That’s how Johnny and I met.’

  A waist-high wall on our right safeguards us from falling into the open-plan living room below, and there are doors to our left. I glance inside one open door to see what looks like a child’s bedroom.

  ‘That’s Phoenix’s room,’ Meg tells me, pausing for a moment so I can look inside. It’s decorated with an underwater theme, a sea of calming blues and greens. The cot is shaped like a fish.

  The next room is Barney’s and it’s even more colourful. His bed is fashioned to look like a fire engine, with a bright red duvet. There are blue bookshelves crammed with books and a small table and chairs in the centre of the room. It looks more like a playroom than a bedroom. I bet he has no idea how lucky he is.

  We reach the last door on the landing and Meg opens it up, standing back to let me pass.

  Now I see what they mean by the White Room. Apart from my battered purple suitcase at the foot of the bed and the huge, black flatscreen TV, mounted on the wall to my right as we come in the door, everything in the room is white: plush white carpet, the biggest bed I’ve ever seen, covered with a soft white duvet, four plump pillows and multiple white cushions. Shiny, highly-polished built-in white wardrobes line the walls on the right hand side, and ahead of me are large windows stretching from one side of the room all the way to the wardrobes, revealing the leafy green trees at the front of the house. To my left are two doors.

  ‘Kitchenette and en suite,’ Meg reveals with a smile, noting my awed expression.

  I suddenly realise I still have my boots on.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mutter, quickly bending down to take them off before I ruin the carpet.

  ‘Don’t worry about it!’ Meg exclaims. ‘You don’t need to take them off.’

  I still feel like I should.

  ‘Honestly, the carpets get cleaned every few weeks anyway,’ she tells me, but by then I’m in my socks. I place the boots on the landing outside the door and go in a daze to look inside the first door on my left. Dazzling white stone lines all of the surfaces. There are two basins to my left, a large open shower to my right, and at the back of the bathroom is a huge stone spa bath. Fluffy white towels hang on chrome towel rails.

  I open my mouth to speak, but find I’m lost for words. Meg steps past me and opens up the cupboards underneath the sink, revealing rows and rows of jewel-coloured bottles of lotions and potions. I recognise some really expensive brands.

  ‘These are all for you. I wasn’t sure what you’d like,’ she says with a smile.

  I shake my head, speechless. I can’t wait to try out all of these products. Meg giggles. I meet her eyes.

  ‘Sorry,’ she says, trying to keep a straight face. ‘It’s just that this was my room when I first came to LA, and I know exactly how you feel.’

  I don’t think she does, but I don’t say it. I have never seen such luxury in all my life.

  ‘Shall I leave you to settle in?’ she asks. ‘Do you want to unpack or leave it until later? One of the maids could do it for you in the morning . . .’

  They have maids? ‘No, no,’ I brush her off. ‘I’m happy to do it myself.’

  ‘That’s
what I thought you’d say,’ she says and I glance at her. ‘I was exactly the same,’ she adds.

  I give her a small smile. Maybe we have more in common than I thought. I hope so. I really don’t want her to hate me being here.

  ‘I still remember texting a picture of this room to my best friend,’ she says with a far-off look.

  My face falls as I think of Libby and Natalie. I feel very isolated from them at the moment.

  ‘We thought we’d eat early because you’ll be tired after your flight,’ Meg says. ‘Do you want to have a shower and settle in for a bit? Or would you like a tour of the rest of the house?’

  What I really want is to go back downstairs and see Johnny, but I don’t feel comfortable saying so. ‘A tour would be great,’ I reply.

  After the boys’ bedrooms, there are two more spare rooms, one of which has predominantly gold furnishings, the other green. The penultimate door we come to on our right, as we walk back along the landing, is Johnny’s music studio, and it’s just like the ones you see in films, with desks full of controls, knobs and dials. Behind a glass screen is another room with a full drum kit in the corner and several guitars mounted on the wall. A round, flattish microphone hangs suspended from the ceiling in the centre.

  ‘And last but not least is our room,’ Megs says, leading me out of the studio and to the final door on the landing. She opens it up to reveal a space that is probably as big as my home, spanning from the front to the back of the house with floor to ceiling windows looking down on the swimming pool and the city beyond. It’s decorated in colours of green, grey and yellow, with a plush smokey-coloured carpet and a bedspread with a yellow and green symmetrical graphic. The white stone bathroom, to my right, looks out on to the trees at the front of the house. I notice there are no blinds in the bathroom, but Meg answers my unspoken question and flicks a switch. The clear window glass immediately turns opaque.

  ‘Cool!’ This place is amazing!

  ‘Want to see downstairs?’ Meg asks.

  ‘You mean there’s more downstairs that I haven’t seen?’ I ask with confusion.