Celebrity Bride

by Alison Kervin

  Henry drives off as I stand at the door, hoping that Jimmy won't come out and engage me in a conversation about lap-dance technique, G-string removal or chicken wings. I ring the bell again. Still no response. Shit, they're not in. What now? I suppose I could get a coffee in Starbucks round the corner and make a plan. Or I could go back to Richmond and see whether they're still at work, or in The Sun.

  It's 6 pm before I get into the flat. Happily, it's Mandy who opens the door. And, more happily still, she grins madly when she sees me. I take one look at her and burst into tears. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' I wail. 'I've been so horrible but I didn't mean to be, I couldn't get hold of you, and life's been so difficult and please, please, Mandy, please tell me we're still friends.'

  'Of course,' she says, hugging me and feeling how icy I am.

  'Where've you been for the past two hours?' I howl for no good reason. The sight of her has reduced me to a pathetic, needy wreck. 'I've been waiting for you since 4 pm.'

  'Come in, come in. Why didn't you call us? We'd have come back sooner.'

  'I tried. Like I always try. I ring you all the time on Sophie's mobile but I never get through.'

  'How weird. Are you ringing the new number?'

  'What new number?'

  'Sophie's got a new number,' says Mandy. 'I phoned a few weeks ago to tell you. Elody answered your phone, as she always does, and she said she'd pass on the message. Soph's with Tandem mobile now and she's saved a fortune.'

  'Oh good,' I say vaguely, but I wonder why Elody never passed the message on. She knew how eager I was to talk to the girls. She knew I was calling them, yet all the time she must have known that I was calling them on the wrong number. What a horrible thing to do.

  'You don't look very happy,' says Mandy, and I suddenly feel more lost and confused than I ever have in my life before. I look at Mandy's warm and tender face and break down into fits of tears all over again. 'Help me, help me,' I find myself sobbing into her large chest. 'I can't cope. I feel like I'm going mad. I don't know what's right and what's wrong and who's decent and who's not. And the bracelet and Elody and I never knew you'd changed your number and I never got any of the letters and I didn't know you'd been round to see me. I feel so scared and so alone.'

  'Calm down, calm down,' Mandy is saying, stroking my hair as I let the tears pour down my heavily made-up face and all over the front of her dress.

  'Come in the sitting room,' she instructs, and I follow her up the flight of stairs to our little flat on the first floor. I walk into the familiar room with its cheap and tatty furniture, and all the while I'm sobbing my heart out.

  'What on earth is the matter?' asks Sophie, jumping up from her cross-legged position on the floor where she's been examining bills and jotting figures onto Post-it notes. It's an activity I remember all too well. The money coming in is never enough to satisfy the demands, so we'd work out how we could shuffle money around and invariably work out that we had about £5 between us to pay the rent, the bills and all food. We'd sit a while and wonder whether there were any part-time jobs that we could get to ease the burden, contemplate the idea of getting jobs behind the bar at Jimmy's place then decide to worry about it some other time. Those times seem so long ago. The problems then seemed insurmountable, but they seem tiny compared the problems I'm facing now.

  'I can't cope,' I manage to mumble to Sophie, once she's coaxed me into a sitting position. 'I can't. I don't want to go on leading a life like this. I don't understand the rules; I don't know how to behave. It turns out I don't know anything at all. Nothing that's any use to me, in any case.'

  'Leave him and come back here then,' says Sophie in that incredibly down-to-earth, cut-to-the-chase way of hers. 'Just pack your things and come home. You don't have to wear all these posh clothes or have all these absurdly overdressed friends to be happy; they're certainly not making you happy, are they?'

  'No, I guess not.'

  'Are these new friends of yours making you happy?'

  'No.'

  'So leave.'

  'But I love Rufus.'

  'Well, then, carry on being the girl who Rufus fell in love with but from back here, in your own world. Everything will be OK then. Surely.'

  I'm staring at Sophie because what she's saying makes perfect sense, but I'd feel a failure if I moved out, and Rufus would hate it.

  'I can't do that,' I say. 'None of this is Rufus's fault; I've just got myself into a total state since he's been away. I feel these astronomical pressures on me because of the lifestyle and the things people say and think. I don't want Rufus to be rich and famous. I want him to be a completely normal bloke from down The Sun so he's not surrounded by weird controlling women, and so we can pop out for a drink like normal people do, without the world's press coming too.'

  'Then you need to talk it all through with Rufus.'

  'But he can't stop being an actor because I'm insecure about it all.'

  'Well, he might be able to reassure you; perhaps in future he'll think about taking you with him when he goes away.'

  'I think it's deeper than that. I think I'm just not cut out for this,' I say. 'I need Rufus to stop being a film star and then the two of us can run away together and live in a forest or something where no one will bother us, the papers will leave us alone, and no one will care where I got my clothes from or which parties I want to go to. I love Rufus; I just can't handle all the crap that goes with being with him. It's horrible.'

  'What crap is this then?'

  Oh God, here we go. I know that if they're going to help me, I have to be honest with them, and tell them how horrible it all feels sometimes . . . so I do. I explain all about the terrible drinks parties where Elody makes me get all dressed up and everyone's bitchy about her. I try to explain the unbelievably obsessive need to be slim and how everyone seems to judge everyone else on the way they look and what they're wearing. I explain again about the paparazzi. 'I know it sounds like I'm being silly, but I promise you until you've been through it, you have no idea how absolutely terrifying it is to have the papers reporting on your every move, especially family and personal stuff from your ex-boyfriends and making digs at you, and writing about things they shouldn't know about, so you've no idea who's spoken to them and you're terrified about what will appear next and who you can talk to and trust and . . . I don't know – it ends up just completely undermining you. I have to be honest there were times when I wondered whether you would end up selling stories. It seemed like everyone else did.'

  'Not everyone,' says Sophie miserably. 'We'd never do that to you. You've got lots of friends, Kelly. You know, even Jimmy Lapdance came in here and handed me some photos he'd taken that night we were in there, pictures of us all hugging. He didn't want them to get into the wrong hands. Lots of people think the world of you and would never turn on you. Stop focusing on those that have.'

  'Sorry,' I say meekly. She's right, but it's hard to get a perspective on the world when you're bloody cooped up in a massive house looking at the outside world through the eyes of the press. 'It's just that I never go out now unless it's to a pre-arranged night with the people on the Hill,' I try to explain to her. 'I feel I can sort of trust them because they understand what it's like being in this little glass-walled world, but it is hard being at home all the time; it makes me more and more depressed. Especially with the diet pills. It's horrible.'

  Sophie and Mandy are staring at me with their eyes so wide open they look like a couple of frogs in the early stages of going through a lawn mower.

  'Diet pills?' Sophie eventually asks. 'What bloody diet pills?'

  I reach into my bag and pull out the small bottle of Vanitas.

  Sophie and Mandy both mutter the name as if it means something to them.

  'I've read about those,' says Sophie. 'They're bloody lethal. Bloody hell. There was a big thing in the Mail about people getting addicted to them and people have died taking them. You know they're illegal in this country because of the trouble they
cause, don't you?'

  'Are they?'

  'God, Kell, where did you get them from?' asks Mandy, full of concern.

  'Elody gave them to me.'

  'What a fucking witch,' says Sophie. 'Does she know how dangerous they are?'

  'I don't know, but they are helping me to lose weight.'

  'You don't need to lose weight,' they both say.

  'Kelly, you look worse now than before you started taking them; can't you see that? You look tired and pale and, yes, about a stone lighter and dressed in a load of fancy clothes. That green dress really suits you, but you're not the pretty, vibrant young thing that you were when you left this flat.'

  Sophie takes the diet pills and walks out of the room.

  'Where are you going?' I call after her. Then I hear the toilet flush and I know what she's done; she's flushed them down the loo.

  If I'm honest, I feel a pang of relief. I'm sure I would have just kept taking those pills yet I know this feeling of helplessness brought on by lack of sleep and the depressive qualities of the pills is bringing me down.

  'You know you're going to have to talk to Rufus about all this, don't you?'

  'Mmm,' I say, without real conviction.

  'You are, Kelly. You can't bottle everything up.'

  'I don't bottle things up. I told Elody how I feel about things.'

  'Great, cos she's really going to help you . . . the crazy lady.'

  'She's OK,' I say, not entirely convincingly. 'Well, maybe a little mad, but I'm sure her heart's in the right place.'

  'Yeah, in her expensive Gucci wallet,' snorts Sophie.

  'To be honest, Kell, she does sounds pretty crazy when she answers the phone, and refuses to allow us to talk to you. She wouldn't let us into the house when we came to visit, you know,' Mandy chips in.

  'I didn't know about any of that until today,' I say. 'I didn't know you'd been sending letters or anything. I'm sorry, Mand. I thought the two of you were pissed off with me and weren't answering my calls.'

  'I told you she wouldn't know anything about it,' says Mandy, loyally, looking over at Sophie.

  'We've been calling non-stop,' says Sophie. 'But, like we said, Elody answers and says you're not available. We assumed you didn't want to talk to us. We thought you were too busy with your flash new friends.'

  'Why didn't you just ring the mobile?'

  'That's what we were ringing,' says Sophie. 'It's the only number we've got. You said you'd text us your home number but it never came through. We must have rung that mobile about 550 million times. When you missed our lunch then bumped into us in Richmond and we had that horrible argument, I was ringing you constantly the next day.'

  'I don't understand. Try it now.'

  Sophie dials my number and hands me her mobile. The phone rings and goes to Elody's answerphone. What?

  I look up at the girls. They are looking as confused as I feel.

  'Elody, it's Kelly here,' I say. 'Can you give me a call back straight away? I'm completely bloody confused about this . . . why are all my calls diverting to your phone? Why are you doing this? These are my friends. You've stopped them from calling me even though you knew I was desperate to talk to them. Fucking hell, Elody, this is just ridiculous. I'm really pissed off.' I hang up dramatically and look over at the girls. 'That'll show her,' I say.

  'I thought you were remarkably calm given the circumstances,' says Sophie. 'I'd have gone and found her and rammed the bloody mobile down her throat.'

  'No, I'm too scared of her for that,' I say.

  'Why, what's she done?'

  'She kicked me and pulled my hair and got really angry with me. We've completely fallen out. It's awful.' I look up at the girls and scream loudly, I feel so bloody fed up with everything.

  The doorbell rings in the distance, somewhere beyond the anger releasing itself from its pent-up position in every fibre of my body. Mandy opens the door and I hear galloping up the stairs as Henry comes flying up to see if I'm OK.

  Strangely, after that cathartic outburst I feel better than I have for ages.

  'Sorry,' I say. 'Henry, nice to see you. It was either scream blue murder or actually commit murder. In the end, I went for screaming. Less bloody.'

  'Ah, Elody on the phone was she?' he asks, shaking his head and giving me a sly smile. 'We really should be heading towards the airport in about fifteen minutes. I'll be waiting in the car for you.'

  'Thanks.'

  Henry walks downstairs and I sit back down on the sofa.

  'There's something else,' I say cautiously.

  'Oh God,' says Sophie, with prescience. 'What on earth's coming now?'

  'Well, I went through all of Rufus's drawers and cupboards and boxes and files and personal stuff to check if there were any signs he was having an affair. You know – doing due diligence.'

  'Doing what?'

  'Due diligence.'

  'Isn't that what you do if you're going to buy a company or something?'

  'Yes, but it's essential for a girl to do it if she's about to commit herself to a guy. The truth is that you have to be sure what you're getting yourself into.'

  'Fuck me, Kelly. What have you turned into?'

  'Elody said that it's . . .'

  'Elody? There's a surprise.'

  I accept that Elody's name does crop up a great deal in connection to everything bad that's been happening in my life. Too much of a coincidence?

  'Anyway, what did you find when you were doing this "due diligence"?'

  I pull out the beautiful bracelet.

  'Shit! That must have cost a fortune!'

  The girls start ahhing and cooing over the chunky chain and dazzling diamond stars.

  'Amazing!' they are saying, while stroking it as if it were a fluffy newborn kitten.

  'He probably bought it for you,' says Mandy. 'He probably hid it away and was planning to give it to you when he gets back tonight.'

  'But it matches a necklace that Elody wears all the time. I can't help it – I'm convinced he's bought it for her.'

  'No way!' they both howl. 'Why would he be interested in that harridan?'

  'Look,' says Sophie, taking my hands, 'there's one thing I'm absolutely sure of: he loves you. I'm convinced of that.'

  'So why's he being so secretive about the fact that he's starring in a new film alongside his glamorous exgirlfriend? When I ask him on the phone he says that she's not his ex.'

  'Who? Elody?'

  'No Cindy Kearney, the girl he's starring alongside in the film.'

  'She's not his ex-girlfriend. We Googled her straight away, didn't we, Mand? We wanted to know all about her.'

  'Yes, she was. They were madly in love and they just kept it from the press because they didn't want the press to intrude on their love story.'

  'Who said this?'

  'Elod . . .'

  'Fucking hell, Kelly. Elody is a nightmare. Why couldn't you see that? I think she wanted you to feel horrible and vulnerable. She tried to weaken you as much as possible so you'd rely on her, and you could be the friend she wanted, needed.'

  'Yep, so I'm starting to realise,' I say, and I am. I kind of wondered about Elody's intentions from the start; instinctively it didn't feel right the way she took me under her wing and insisted on coming everywhere with me, but I overrode those instincts because I thought I could learn from her (because she told me I could) and because I was lonely (she had made sure that I was isolated from all my friends) and because I thought it would please Rufus. Shit. She thought I'd be a tailor-made friend who'd just slot into her life and be there for her, regardless of my needs.

  The rain pounds away at the window as my two friends dispense sharp splinters of wit to burst the bubble of gloom and depression settling around me. I know it's time to go to the airport and I know that Henry is too polite to keep knocking, so he'll be sitting downstairs, getting all worried about whether we'll be on time. I reach over for my bag and hug the girls goodbye, promising them that I'll call my phone operat
or and get my mobile calls and texts sent to the right phone. I take Sophie's new number and promise I'll text to say that Rufus is safely home.

  'Can I leave you some money to help out for a while?' I ask. 'Pleeeaassse. I remember how tough it always was, and I've got loads of money now. Please let me help.'

  'No, Kell. We're fine,' says Sophie, but I look down at the Post-it notes, then up into her face. 'This is me you're talking to.'

  I leave them £100 plus an extra £20 and ask them whether they'll go out and buy me the beautiful dove-grey dress that they bought me as a leaving present with the £20. I really loved that dress but Elody threw it away. It's time for me to start doing and wearing what I want to instead of pandering to the increasingly bizarre wishes of a mad French fashion stylist with trouble seeping out of every perfect pore.

  It's lovely and warm and snug in the car, and Henry's his usual doting self, checking whether the temperature's right, whether I want the radio on or whether I'd prefer a CD. 'Can we talk instead?' I ask him, and I can see the raise of his eyebrows. It might be the most peculiar request ever made of him.

  'Do you know Elody very well?' I venture, and I see the eyebrows rise again. I haven't known Henry long, but I think I have the answer to any question I might ever ask about Elody, wrapped up right there in those eyebrows, lifting up towards his hairline.

  'I wouldn't say I know her well,' he says.

  'Would you say that Rufus knows her well?' I try.

  'No,' he says, without hesitation. 'I wouldn't think so.'

  Henry's too bloody discreet for words. Perfect quality in a member of staff, of course, but makes him utterly useless for gossiping with. Instead of grilling the old man any further, I suggest some music, and call the phone company to find out how on earth I rejig the phone setup so that my phone calls come to me instead of drifting off to a phone manned by a crazy fashionista. Turns out it's remarkably easy to do, which is alarming. You just press a series of buttons on someone's phone and all their calls come to you. Bloody hell. Who knew?