Celebrity Bride

by Alison Kervin

  'To The Sun, is it?' he asks, smiling warmly at me.

  'Yes,' I sniff, in an 'I'm feeling so sorry for myself ' sort of way.

  'He'll be back in no time, you know,' says Henry. 'Just you wait and see. If you get out and about with your friends, and have some fun, before you can say "boo" he'll be back here, and the two of you will be out partying again.'

  I'm silent because I know he's right, but if I speak, I'll burst into tears.

  'Use this time to really settle in properly,' he suggests.

  I just nod.

  'I think Rufus's mum's coming over next week, isn't she?'

  'Is she?'

  Oh God, not the snotty cow we saw when me and the girls were Googling Rufus.

  'She usually comes for the Interior Design Awards. She's a sponsor of them. I'm sure Christine said it was next week.'

  'Right. Will she be staying in the house?'

  'Sweetheart, she'll be taking over the house.'

  The sound of gentle classical music wafts through the car. I'm slowly sinking into the soft leather seats as my phone bleeps and prompts me into action. It's Sophie. 'Am sooo pleased u r cming 2nite. Mandi's been talking bout u all nite; she'll die of happiness wen sees u lol :).'

  Now that's just the sort of inspiration I need to get me out of my maudlin, comatose, can't-stop-thinking-about-Rufus state. The idea of Mandy's face lighting up when I arrive fills me with a delirious satisfaction. Off come the sunglasses and out comes the make-up bag. As the car rolls into Richmond, not a trace of my former, tearful condition remains. I want to make this the best night of Mandy's life; I want to burst in there and give her the best birthday ever, with the three of us reunited and drinking all together once again. Bring on the Purple Nasties.

  We're just minutes away from the pub when I spritz on a little perfume, check my hair in a small hand mirror and add a dash of lip gloss. I notice that Henry has slowed the car down to such a degree that we're crawling along. 'It's not quite here,' I say. 'Just about a hundred yards further on and we'll be there.'

  'Yes, I know. I'm just a bit. Um . . . yes, just as I thought . . .'

  'What is it?' I ask.

  'Don't worry,' he says. 'I just want to check something first.'

  We arrive outside the pub.

  'Don't get out of the car just at the moment,' he says. There's a steeliness to Henry's voice that I've never heard before. 'Just wait here a minute, love.'

  While Henry looks in the rear-view mirror and reaches for his mobile phone, I wind down the window and look out at the pub. Gosh, it feels like I haven't been here for ages. There was a time when I'd meet the girls here most nights. We all work in Richmond, you see, so a little drink on the way home was always a nice way to end the working day.

  'Right,' says Henry. 'Behind us there are two cars with photographers in. I know the registration plates. If you go into the party, they will follow you and try to get pictures of you and your friends.'

  Fuck.

  My first thought is: Sod it, I'm going in anyway. Why should I let some horrible photographers ruin my chance to say happy thirtieth birthday to one of my best mates? I've got a great present for her and can't wait to catch up with all her gossip.

  'Rufus wouldn't like it, you know, if there were pictures of you all over the papers,' says Henry. 'Sorry, ma'am, I don't want to speak out of turn, but I know how these photographers can be, and they really will look for the worst photographs possible. They'll end up ruining your friend's party.'

  Shit. I feel really torn now. I don't want anything to ruin Mandy's party, but I do want to go in there and have a drink. I feel so bloody lonely sometimes. I've been looking forward to this for ages.

  'The photographers are getting out of the car. Can you wind your window up, ma'am. We really should get out of here.'

  I think of Mandy's sweet face and of her family all gathered round her and realise Henry's right; I can't plough in there tonight with the world's press on my tail, and ruin her evening. I'll get to make it up to her really soon by taking her somewhere special.

  'Yep, you're right. Drive on,' I say to Henry, and he speeds off like Lewis Hamilton, leaving the photographers who are trying to look like normal pub-goers, standing in the street, scratching their heads.

  'Sorry, I can't do tonight,' I text Sophie, not revealing why because the truth sounds so absurd. 'But will defo b there for lunch on Sat. Kxx'

  Chapter 9

  'You'll get used to it, honestly, don't worry,' says Elody. 'You get to the stage when you worry if the papers don't follow you everywhere. I miss the mad press attention that Jon and I used to get; God it was exciting.'

  I look over at her strangely but she doesn't notice. She's far too busy wandering through my dressing room and tossing aside some of my favourite items of clothing with gay abandon. She thinks I need lots of new clothes ('need' you notice, not 'want' – in this new life of mine, designer clothes are needed, not wanted!). In the process she's unburdening me of 'old' stuff. (I thought it was new stuff until she got going, now I realise that anything that's been on the catwalks is deemed to be already 'old'. What we're after, I've just learnt, is the designer collections that are fresh off the sewing machines and unseen by anyone but the sharpest fashionistas in the world.) I'm lying on the chaise longue trying not to think about the stuff she's rejecting. I get quite attached to things; I'm one of life's hoarders. I don't like this throwing-things-away business.

  More than anything, though, I'm thinking about Rufus.

  'Why is Olivia going on this trip?' I ask Elody. 'I don't understand why she's going.'

  'She's an assistant,' says Elody. 'Not sure what she'll be assisting with, but that's her title.'

  'But Rufus already has an assistant. Christine's gone out there with him.'

  'Different sort of assistant entirely, sweetheart,' says Elody vaguely, and I realise just how much I don't know about Rufus's life away from me. As soon as he calls, I'll ask him exactly who's out there and what they're doing.

  'Did the photographers get pictures of you earlier?' she asks, as she examines the buttons on my cream blouse.

  'No, I don't think so. I didn't get out of the car at the pub.'

  'Thank the Lord,' she replies with obvious relief, before adding, rather uncharitably, 'you're a few pounds over fighting weight. We could do with keeping them at arm's length until you've shifted a bit of excess baggage.'

  'Thanks a lot,' I say. 'I don't know why they're interested in me anyway. I'm not the film star; he is. I'm just Kelly from Twickenham who met this guy and fell in love with him. What's so bloody interesting about that? I'm exactly the same person I was six months ago, and no one wanted pictures of me then.'

  'D'er,' says Elody, dropping the shirt and walking over to me. 'That's exactly why they want pictures of you – because you're a normal girl who's going out with a big star; you're living the dream. You're hot stuff right now. Designers are going to want to dress you, stylists will want to advise you, TV producers will want you on their shows and – yes – photographers will want pictures of you. Everyone likes the new big thing and that's you.'

  'Oh,' I say, remaining as baffled as ever about the whole thing. I know the papers are interested in me because I've had about twenty-five interviews requested through Rufus's agents. They want me to do everything from photo shoots to lunch with the editor. I can't think of anything worse, so I just say no. I appreciate that makes them want me all the more, and that's why the house has a cluster of photographers permanently at the gate, but nothing will make me pose in lingerie for men's magazine or have lunch with a journalist who wants to know all about Rufus's home life. I'll keep ignoring them in the hope that they get bored and go away. I'm just not that interesting . . .

  'When will they give up?' I ask.

  'Never,' she replies.

  'But they can't sit outside the house forever.'

  'Oh, they can,' she says. 'And they will.'

  'Shit. It makes life so hard. I still
feel awful about missing Mandy's party. I must phone the girls and apologise,' I say.

  'I thought you sent them a text?'

  'I did. I told them I'll be there for the birthday lunch we've arranged.'

  'Oh, well let it go then. Call them later; you don't want them to worry about you. Let them enjoy their party.'

  'Yeah, OK,' I say, because Elody's right. No point in spoiling their fun.

  'Try this on.' Elody is clearly tired of trying to find nice things in my wardrobe and has turned, in the manner of a Blue Peter presenter, to some she prepared earlier. The garment she's giving me is a black sheath dress. It looks simple and elegant but, if I'm honest, it doesn't feel that different from the sort of thing that I'd pick up in Dorothy Perkins for £15. The only thing with this dress is that it has a price tag of £1500 on it.

  'Shit!!!' I exclaim on seeing the ludicrous cost of the thing.

  'I didn't pay; don't worry,' she says.

  'I know but, my God, who'd pay that for a plain black dress?'

  'Lots of people, my dear,' she says. 'Don't look so surprised. Rufus will want you to have the best. You're moving into a new world now. The better dressed you are and the more sophisticated and polished you look, the quicker you'll ease your way into it. Let's find the diva in you.'

  'Oh, OK,' I mumble unassertively. I fear I'm the most un-diva-ish person in the world but I really don't want to upset this important, sophisticated, glamorous but ever so slightly mad stylist. I'm loving having someone coming round at the drop of a hat. When I told her the photographs had prevented me from going to Mandy's party, she came straight over, she's really a sweet person. I am also truly grateful for all the new clothes she's adding into the wardrobe. I'm loving learning from her and developing myself . . . making myself a better person. Imagine what Mum and Dad will say when they see me?

  I slip into the black dress and Elody pulls a slight face as she runs her hands over my curves. 'Shame you're quite so curvy,' she says. 'Dresses just don't look good on lumps and bumps. Mmmm . . . I'll have to think about that. We need to disguise a little. Now, what else is in here?'

  The phone rings as she rummages through my wardrobe and I reach over to take it. 'Leave it,' says Elody, but it's too late, I've picked up the mobile and Jan James is chatting away into my ear.

  'Hi. I was just calling to see how you are. I know Rufus left today, didn't he? Are you all right?' she asks.

  'I'm fine,' I say, thrilled that she's taken the trouble to call. With all the stuff about Rock in the paper recently, anyone could have forgiven her for not even remembering that Rufus was going away.

  'Look – I won't keep you. I just wondered whether you fancied coming round tomorrow night for a few drinks: a girlie champagne evening.'

  'I'd love to,' I say. I feel a renewed confidence about these sorts of things now that I'm friends with Elody. A champagne evening with someone as famous as Rock James's wife would have terrified me just a week ago. I wouldn't have had a clue what to wear, but knowing that Elody will sort all that out for me has given me renewed hope. 'Thanks very much for inviting me.'

  Jan tells me to be at her place for around 9 pm. 'You'll meet Zadine at the drinks party,' she promises. 'She's just lovely. You'll adore her.'

  'Zadine? As in Joe Collins' girlfriend?'

  'Yes, do you know her?'

  'No,' I admit. But I feel as if I've known her intimately for years. She's the one who's on every reality TV show; she's the most unbelievable woman – a walking, talking Barbie doll. I feel myself overcome with desire to call Mandy and Sophie and tell them that I'm going to be meeting Zadine.

  'Who was that?' asks Elody with unnecessary aggression when I put down the phone.

  'Jan,' I say, feeling almost guilty for talking to another woman. Elody has a strangely possessive streak in her.

  'What did she want?'

  Oh Lord. Why do I feel like I'm in trouble?

  'Just to invite me for drinks at hers tomorrow.'

  'Oh,' says Elody. 'What time?'

  'She said around 9 pm.'

  'I'll come here for 9.30 pm, then we'll go,' says Elody. 'Best not to arrive on time, very unsophisticated.'

  I don't like to say that it sounded like a very informal get-together or that I'm not entirely sure whether Elody's invited. I'm sure she knows best. 'Good idea,' I say.

  'Let's work out what you should wear then, shall we?' says Elody taking my phone off me, switching it off and dropping it into her pocket. 'I'll book you some beauty treatments tomorrow so you're looking your best.'

  'It's only going to be women there,' I say. 'I think it's just a casual evening, no pressure.'

  'Exactly,' says Elody, her palms lifted to the ceiling imploringly. 'That's why looking good is so important. They're trying to catch you out, sartorially. It's a good job I'm here. Now, do you have any wine?'

  Rufus has more wine than the average off-licence. He has a cellar, no less, as well as a fabulous wine rack in the kitchen, made out of slate.

  'Sure,' I say, leaving the room to get her a drink. I wouldn't mind a glass myself, to be honest.

  'Sancerre OK?' I ask, returning with two glasses that Pamela suggested would be just right. I know nothing about wine at all.

  'Lovely,' Elody says, taking one of them and enjoying a large gulp. 'Now . . . clothes for tomorrow,' she says, before rooting through my wardrobe again, though she must know exactly what's in there by now. She pulls out a few items then pushes them back in again.

  'I'll bring something for you to wear,' she says. 'There's nothing in there that's suitable.'

  We walk down to the sitting room and sit opposite one another on the beautiful cream sofas.

  'Tell me a bit about Jon,' I say.

  'He was perfect. We were perfect,' she says. 'When he died, everything died. I died. I felt guilty. I hated life. I felt it was all my fault.'

  'I don't see how it could be your fault. You didn't make him take drugs.'

  'No, but I didn't stop him either.'

  With that, she throws her wine down her throat and stands up dramatically. 'Elody is going,' she says in a way that could easily sound pompous, but I now recognise as being a persona that she uses to wrap around the pain.

  'Ooooo . . . Do you have my phone?' I ask, running after her. 'You took it off me earlier.'

  'Yes,' she says, handing me the phone from her bag with a big smile. 'Here it is.' I notice that the phone is back on again, but I was sure she switched it off.

  Chapter 10

  I am ready for the drinks party; resplendent in the finest red dress that money can buy. The long scarlet gown falls to the floor making me look statuesque and regal. My face glows so much with all the lotions, potions and oils that have been rubbed into it and plastered onto it that I fear I might spontaneously combust. Blimey. I never knew so many beauty treatments existed and all delivered to me in the comfort of my own home. I called Rufus from one treatment and was explaining what they were doing to me. He was in hysterics and told me to make sure I enjoyed myself and that he missed me desperately and couldn't wait to see me again. It's funny, but when I speak to him I feel totally relaxed and happy; it's only when Elody talks about what he might be up to that I start to panic. I even asked him why he needed so many assistants with him.

  'Because this is Hollywood, babes,' he said with resignation. 'And they seem to think that your talent is somehow reflected in the size of your entourage. It's nonsense. I miss you, Kelly. I miss you more than I've ever missed anyone or anything in my life before.' He's employing that deep, resonant voice that he normally reserves for the screen and bedtime. I tell him all about my day and he's delighted that I'm getting on so well with Elody. 'I'm glad,' he says, 'but do be careful, she can be quite the dragon sometimes.'

  'But her heart's in the right place,' I insist, because I genuinely do believe that. 'I think she's a good person underneath it all, and she's spent a lot of time with me.'

  'I've always liked Elody. You should get to k
now Isabella as well though,' he says. 'She's wonderful.'

  It's 9.45 pm by the time Elody makes her appearance, and I'm starting to feel a bit awkward about this 'turn up there late' theory of hers. If someone invites you to drinks at 9 pm, surely you turn up at 9 pm.

  'You are delightful,' says Elody, when I express my concerns. 'But so naïve.'

  Elody has arrived with her huge bag of tricks. 'But I don't need it today,' I say confidently. 'Look, I'm wearing the dress you brought round.' I twirl so she can see the full extent of the transformation. It's pathetic how desperate I am for her approval.

  'You know,' she says with a smile. 'You're right. You've learnt well. You look beautiful. Let's go.'

  As we sit in the car, I can't help but think about how weird all this is. My real friends haven't called at all, and Elody is being so friendly that it's verging on overbearing. I wish I could have got hold of the girls today.

  'Elody, I feel so bad about not talking to Mandy and Sophie, but every time I call, I just go through to an answerphone. I don't seem to be able to actually speak to them,' I say.

  'Have they not called you?' she asks, incredulous. 'You'd think they'd be worried after you didn't turn up for the birthday drinks. I think they should call you. It's not up to you to call them; don't they know how busy you are?'

  I know Elody can be a bit prickly but there's a considerable amount of truth in what she says. If it had been me, and Mandy hadn't turned up for my thirtieth birthday drinks, I like to think I'd have been worried enough to call and check she was OK. I glance at my phone but there are definitely no missed calls. No one since Jan rang to invite me to the party yesterday. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess.