by Paige Toon
‘I’ll take it,’ he says abruptly, looking around. ‘Where is it?’
‘Actually, it’s still in the car,’ I realise.
He rolls his eyes at me. ‘Trouble-causer. See you downstairs.’
‘Okey-dokey!’
‘And get a bleedin’ move on!’ he shouts on his way out.
We wander through the hotel’s thirty acres of private parkland with its moat, streams – and peacocks – all the way to an unspoiled beach. The walk should feel blissful, but my comment earlier has unsettled me and I can’t shift from my mind the idea of Johnny’s future partners. If his dad almost had a second child at the age of sixty-two, I’ve got years and years of worry ahead of me. Maybe I’ll get married myself and have more children; but I don’t like that thought, either. Lovely as it was being with Joseph, I haven’t had any desire to date again.
I know what’s happening, but I don’t want to fall for Johnny again. I don’t want to re-experience that level of hurt.
Only it’s too late. It’s always been too late.
Johnny is quieter than usual and I wonder if he knows what’s going through my mind.
We sit down on the pebble beach. Johnny lights himself a cigarette and throws stones into the water while Barney plays in a nearby rock pool. I stare ahead at the waves gently lapping against the shore. I wrap my arms around my knees and hug them to me for comfort. Johnny leans back on his elbows and glances across at me.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’
‘Cheapskate.’
We manage a small smile at each other.
‘I don’t want anyone else,’ he says as my heart begins to thump more prominently inside my chest.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask warily.
He hesitates. ‘I don’t want to end up with another woman, have more kids.’
I stare back at him, into his green, green eyes, but all I feel is pain.
He reaches over and takes my hand, but I snatch it away.
‘Nutmeg . . .’ he says.
‘No.’ I shake my head vehemently. ‘No. I can’t do this.’
‘I won’t hurt you again.’ His voice is almost a whisper.
‘You can’t promise me that.’
‘I can and I will. I do,’ he insists.
‘Stop it.’
Barney makes his way back over to us and our conversation is cut short. ‘Let’s talk later,’ he says.
‘No,’ I reply. ‘I don’t want to talk about it anymore.’
He doesn’t look at me as he gets to his feet.
We have an early dinner that night before heading to our rooms.
‘Can I help with bath time?’ he asks outside my room.
‘No, it’s okay.’
‘Come on, I don’t get to do it much. Go and chill out in my room or something.’
‘Okay,’ I agree. He heads into my room and I into his. I stand there for a minute, looking around. His ever-present guitar is lying on the bed – he must’ve been playing it earlier. I climb up onto the bed myself and gently run my fingers across the strings. The ache in my heart has been replaced with jittery nerves. I’ve been getting this sensation a lot lately. I remember it well.
What am I doing? What is he doing? He’s toyed with my feelings before and I couldn’t bear it if he were cruel enough to do it again.
Can I trust him? No. I don’t trust him. That’s the God’s honest truth.
I climb down from the bed and walk determinedly to my room.
‘I’ll take over from here,’ I say firmly.
His brow furrows. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
I don’t look at him as he steps away from the bath. ‘Out we get.’ I try to sound bright and breezy as I lift Barney out of the bath and wrap him in a fluffy white towel.
‘Meg . . .’ His tone is disappointed.
‘Night, Johnny.’
It’s a long moment before I hear the bedroom door close and then the pain returns tenfold. I try to swallow the lump in my throat as I read a bedtime story to Barney and then settle him in his cot. I just want to get him to sleep so I can shed a few tears in peace. I’m all set and ready to go when my phone beeps.
Come through. We need to talk.
Can’t leave Barney.
Yes you can. Bring monitor.
No.
Yes.
No! Bugger off!
Not taking no for an answer.
I don’t reply. He sends me another text a minute later:
I mean it.
Oh, for God’s sake. Then I remember something:
Can’t. Didn’t bring monitor with me.
My phone starts to ring. It’s him.
‘Leave your phone there,’ he says firmly. ‘I’ll put my phone on speaker so you’ll be able to hear him if he wakes up.’
‘No, Johnny.’
‘Meg, stop fucking around,’ he snaps. ‘Come through or I’ll drag you in here.’
‘Alright, then, you bully.’ But our feisty exchange lightens my mood. I place my phone in Barney’s cot and go out of the door. Johnny is waiting for me. He gives me a wry look and I smirk up at him as I pass under his arm, which is holding the door back. He closes the door behind me and I turn to face him.
‘What?’
‘What do you mean, what?’ he says.
‘What do you want to say?’
‘Jesus, babe, don’t make it easy for me.’
‘Don’t call me babe,’ I snipe.
‘Why not?’
‘You’ve probably called a hundred other girls “babe”, maybe more. I don’t want to be like them.’
‘You’re not,’ he says simply.
‘How do I know that?’ I ask pointedly and he stares at me for a long moment before sighing. I find it slightly unnerving. He sits down on the bed and looks up at me.
‘I think you do know it,’ he says quietly.
I look away from him. ‘No. No, I don’t.’ I glance back at him and he’s still staring at me. It’s not like he’s telling me he loves me, or anything like that.
Suddenly I feel exhausted. ‘I’m going to bed.’
‘Don’t go,’ he murmurs.
I hesitate, but still no declaration of love.
‘Argh!’ I snap, heading towards the door.
‘Meg, wait,’ he says, standing up. I pause with my hand on the doorknob. ‘You know,’ he says.
‘I know what?’ He’s going to have to spell it out. I’m sorry, but he owes me that.
‘You know you’re special to me.’
A feeling of déjà vu hits me. ‘You’ve said that to me before,’ I tell him flatly as the memory clearly hits him, too. He said it and afterwards hurt me so badly I thought I’d never recover. I shake my head and go back to my room, switching off the phone in Barney’s cot before he can say another word.
Chapter 49
The next day it’s Saturday and Johnny is driving at the Festival of Speed. The event takes place in the grounds of Goodwood House, a stunning country mansion owned by the Earl and Countess of March, and it’s effectively one very large garden party, populated with racing royalty, celebrities and members of the general public.
Johnny and I barely speak on the way there, aside from general forced chit-chat with Barney.
He’s taking part in a demonstration drive at eleven o’clock, so he goes off to get changed into his racing gear while I wander around the grounds with Barney. My mind is never far from our conversation last night, but it’s easy to get distracted by the sights. We stare with gaping mouths at the incredible soaring car-sculpture outside Goodwood House and then we go to check out Johnny’s new Bugatti Veyron convertible, which is on display in the supercar compound nearby.
A crowd has already gathered around it, and even though I’ve been in this situation a thousand times, it still freaks me out hearing people talk about ‘Johnny Jefferson’.
‘This one Daddy’s?’ Barney points happily.
‘Yes!’ I whisper, stifling a gi
ggle.
‘You know Johnny Jefferson is here this weekend,’ one man enthuses to his wife.
‘Isn’t he doing the hill-climb at eleven o’clock?’ she asks with a frown as she consults the programme. The hill-climb is the demonstration run of all the classic, historic and new high-powered sports and racing cars they have here this weekend.
‘Eleven o’clock?’ the man gasps. ‘Quick, we’re going to miss it!’ They rush away.
I realise that we’d better get a move on, too.
We’ve got special VIP enamel badges that allow us into the house so I decide to go to the balcony to have a glass of champagne and watch the action from there. I pause for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, wondering how I’m going to carry up the buggy, but a good-looking young man in racing overalls jogs down them and offers to give me a hand.
‘Thank you so much,’ I say when we reach the top, me huffing and puffing, him barely out of breath.
‘No problem,’ he replies in a foreign accent, before flashing me a pearly white grin and heading back down the stairs. I stare after him curiously, wondering who he is, because he looked kind of familiar with his olive skin and dark curly hair, but I’ve never really been a motorsport fan so I haven’t got the foggiest. Johnny was right about Barney, however: he loves the racing. I’ve never heard him say ‘car’ and ‘brum brum’ so much in my life. We watch on a big screen situated down on the grass below as a camera crew films Johnny getting into the second car he had flown over, a Ferrari 599 GTO. He looks pretty cool in his racing helmet and overalls, and despite everything I can’t help but feel proud, even if all we get to see is a blurry red car shooting past at one point.
‘Daddy!’ Barney says when the cameras film Johnny climbing out of the car in the pits afterwards. A couple of people turn to look at us and I shift on my feet and manage an embarrassed smile.
This could be my life . . .
Could it? Could things ever work out between Johnny and me? Could we be a family? A tiny ray of hope sparks life into my insides.
At that moment, my gaze falls on a beautiful brunette standing behind a group of strangers. She’s staring straight at me, I realise with surprise, but then she ducks back into the house and I’m left feeling lost and confused. I know her. Then it hits me: Paola. Johnny’s PA before me.
He had an affair with her, too. She was a nice girl, Christian once told me, and he treated her like dirt, just like he did me.
He’ll never change. It’s not in his blood – just look at his old man.
‘Come on, Nutmeg,’ Johnny chides on the drive back to Goodwood later that night. We’ve been to the hotel to get changed because we’ve been invited to a ball at seven p.m. at the house. There will be dinner, dancing, fireworks and even a rock concert. Of all the musicians and rock bands in the world, Contour Lines happen to be playing tonight. It’s just as well Christian has finished his book, otherwise his poor girlfriend might’ve had to forgo her holiday to Tuscany.
Barney has been left with a babysitter. Surprisingly, I’m not nervous about leaving him, possibly because I still feel unsettled about seeing Paola.
‘Cheer up.’ Johnny has been pretty jolly today, full of buzz from the racing. It’s like our conversation last night didn’t even occur.
I’ve asked him before about Paola and he refused to answer me.
That’s it! Consider this a test.
‘Did you know Paola’s at Goodwood?’ I ask him, out of the blue.
He glances across at me sharply. ‘My PA, Paola?’
I nod.
‘Is she?’ The look on his face tells me that he had no idea.
‘Yes.’
He meets my eyes for a moment before returning his attention to the road. ‘Are you okay with that?’ he asks and I’m taken aback that he actually sounds sympathetic.
‘Not really,’ I admit, jolting slightly at my own candour. He stares ahead at the road.
‘What the hell is she doing here?’ he murmurs under his breath.
‘When was the last time you saw her?’ I press.
‘Years ago. That time at the Skybar when you were there.’
I feel like he’s being truthful with me and the uneasy feeling begins to settle.
‘It’s okay, Nutmeg,’ he says, placing his hand on my knee.
This wasn’t how I expected him to react. Not at all. He knows the thought of her hurts me – has hurt me in the past – and he’s trying to help. This isn’t the Johnny I thought I knew.
He returns his hand to the wheel. I stare ahead in contemplation.
‘You look beautiful, by the way,’ he says when we get out of the car. I’m wearing a long, black, designer evening gown that skims the floor, even in heels. I’ve curled my blonde hair slightly so it’s got that tousled look and have partly tied it back with diamanté clips.
‘Thanks.’ I look away awkwardly. ‘You don’t scrub up half bad yourself.’ He’s wearing a slim-fitting tux. He grins at me as he closes the door behind me and then he runs his fingers down my bare arm and squeezes my hand briefly before letting me go. A shiver goes through me.
We don’t speak much during dinner because the other guests at our table in the beautiful Tapestry Marquee are quite taken with Johnny and he’s consequently the centre of attention. Later, though, we wander outside to the lawn to watch the fireworks before the concert starts. I notice the man who helped me up the stairs earlier.
I lean into Johnny’s ear. ‘Who’s that?’ I ask curiously. ‘Don’t make it obvious!’ I urge.
He glances to his right and then looks back at me with a grin. ‘Luis Castro,’ he explains.
‘Should I know who that is?’ My brow furrows.
‘F1 driver. Leading the championship.’
‘Oh, right. He helped me up the—’
My voice cuts off. Paola has just joined him.
‘What?’ Johnny turns around and freezes. At that same moment, Paola and Luis spot us, too.
‘Hey!’ Johnny exclaims. Paola glances uneasily at Luis and then they come over.
‘Hello,’ she says, her eyes flitting between the two of us. I try not to take the deep breath my lungs need.
‘It’s been a long time,’ Johnny says warmly. ‘Hi.’ He reaches over and shakes Luis’s hand. ‘I’m a big fan of yours.’
‘Thanks,’ Luis replies with a grin. ‘Saw your hill-climb earlier. Nice work.’
‘I’m Meg,’ I say to Paola as Johnny and Luis talk cars.
‘Hello,’ she replies, shaking my hand. ‘I know that, of course.’
‘And of course I know who you are.’ We smile at each other and something passes between us. An understanding.
‘I helped you on the stairs!’ Luis interrupts with sudden realisation.
‘You did.’ I laugh.
‘Where’s your little boy?’ he asks loudly as fireworks start to explode over our heads.
‘At the hotel, with a babysitter.’
Johnny folds his arms. ‘My son,’ he shouts at Paola.
‘I know,’ she shouts back with a raised eyebrow.
Johnny reaches out and rubs the small of my back. I notice Luis does the same thing to Paola. Both of our men comforting us under strange circumstances.
‘We should go back and join the others,’ Luis says to Paola. ‘I don’t think we’ll be having a late one,’ he tells us.
‘British Grand Prix next week.’ Paola nods at Luis: ‘Needs his R&R.’
‘Good luck, mate,’ Johnny says as they shake hands again.
‘Thanks. Looking forward to hearing the new album.’
‘Bye,’ I say to Paola.
‘Bye.’ She smiles at me and they turn away. I watch them for a few seconds until Luis kisses her temple and then I turn back to Johnny.
‘She’s happy,’ he notes. ‘I’m glad for her.’
Maybe I should feel jealous, but I don’t.
‘Are you alright?’ he asks in my ear as glittering explosions light up the sky over our heads.<
br />
‘Yes. I’m fine.’ We stare at each other for a long moment. He reaches across and strokes my cheek with his thumb.
‘People will talk,’ I say as the pyrotechnics come to an end.
‘So?’
I shake my head and look away. ‘I don’t think I can go there again.’
‘Why not?’ He looks hurt.
‘How long is it going to be before you get bored and need to . . . I don’t know, add another notch to your belt?’ I glance up at him unhappily.
He gives me a hard look. ‘Without wanting to sound crass, I’ve been there and done that. I don’t need to do it again.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I know. I don’t need anyone else. I was too fucked-up to admit that to myself, but it’s true.’
I smile a small smile. ‘You’ve really got to stop swearing.’
‘Fuck off,’ he says with a grin and kisses me right on the lips. I start with surprise. He pulls away and stares straight at me. ‘You know I’m far from perfect. And I know that, too. But all that shit . . . all that stuff . . . It’s in the past. I don’t want to be that person anymore.’
‘Hey, Johnny!’
We both turn to see Scott, the lead singer from Contour Lines, walking towards us.
‘Alright, mate, how’s it going?’ Johnny says, shaking his hand and patting his back. ‘Aren’t you guys on stage soon?’
‘Yeah, man, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,’ Scott replies, glancing at me.
‘This is Meg.’ Johnny puts his arm around my shoulders.
‘Hi,’ I say, feeling awkward. Maybe Christian never mentioned me, but they spent so much time together . . . Scott won’t think much of me if he knows. ‘I’m going to nip to the ladies’,’ I say, hurrying away.
I stand in front of one of the basins and look in the mirror. My face is flushed and I run my hands under the cold-water tap and then press them to my cheeks. I can hear the band has started to play in the marquee. I walk back out into the throng, but Johnny is nowhere to be seen.
‘Excuse me, Meg?’ A female roadie appears in front of me. She’s dressed all in black and is wearing an earpiece.
