by Emma Grey
‘Jack Guthrie and I are not friends,’ Reuben points out swiftly.
‘Friends, acquaintances, whatever! I don’t care. The fact is only one person had a copy of that chapter other than me. And suddenly, the heir to the Guthrie publishing empire is leaving a message on my phone demanding I meet him for dinner to discuss the fact that he wants me as his next shining star.’
Reuben laughs bitterly.
‘You think this is funny?’ she shrieks.
Not in the slightest.
‘It wasn’t me, Tilly. I would never do this to you.’
She shakes her head. ‘He said the thumb drive has the band logo on it, Reuben. Stop lying to me!’
‘Right,’ a voice says from the archway near the rooftop entrance. ‘What’s going on here? Neighbours reported lights on. Owners away.’
Reuben’s heart plummets. Police. Great.
Could this date get any worse?
Chapter 37
How could five short minutes ruin everything so comprehensively? Tilly stares from Reuben to the two police officers who are approaching them, and back to Reuben in disbelief. She’d formed the impression he knew the owners, and yet he looks worried.
‘You are?’ the male police officer asks.
‘Reuben Vaughan,’ the female officer responds, a little too dreamily for Tilly’s liking. Not that she cares anymore, now he’s wrecked everything.
‘And you?’
‘She’s got nothing to do with this,’ Reuben says quickly.
The policeman is resolute. ‘She’s here, isn’t she? And we heard a female voice, yelling.’
Tilly fumes. Is it illegal to be furious now? Illegal to argue? Illegal to yell at a pop star when he lets you down as thoroughly as Reuben has?
‘And then there’s the matter of you being here,’ the officer went on. ‘On private property. Without permission from the owners. Breaking in. Trespassing . . .’
Oh, God. They really are in trouble.
‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you both to answer some questions . . .’
Tilly feels faint. Instantly. Stay calm. She reaches for the wall beside her, shuts her eyes and tries to breathe normally.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ the woman asks, directing the question at Reuben. ‘Has she taken anything?’
‘No!’ he says sharply. He approaches Tilly as if the other two aren’t there. ‘Five things you can hear,’ he whispers. ‘Name them.’
He knows this technique? When did he become an expert on anxiety management?
‘The sound of handcuffs clinking on the policeman’s belt . . .’ she begins, opening her eyes and glaring accusingly at Reuben.
‘Something else?’ He visibly swallows.
‘The sound of a crowd gathering outside? The sound of paparazzi swooping? The sound of two reputations going up in flames . . .?’
‘Okay, stop this. Five things you can feel,’ he says. ‘Tell me.’
‘Reuben, we’re not doing this, now. All I feel is outrage and disappointment and a hysterical fear that we’re about to be arrested! Talking about this isn’t helping!’
He tries to take her hand but she flicks him away.
‘I won’t let anything happen to you,’ he promises. She has precisely zero faith in him, right now. And she is going to throw up.
‘She has anxiety,’ she hears him explain. Oh, perfect! Now he’s divulging her mental health issues to strangers. What’s next? Press conference downstairs?
She watches as one of the police officers calls via radio for their ‘mental health clinician’.
Fabulous. All this attention is making her feel even worse. Her hands start to shake. Her throat is clamming up and it hurts. The female police officer approaches her, and her heart rate rises.
‘Can I get you some water?’ the woman asks.
‘I’ll get it,’ Reuben says.
‘You’ll just stand where you are, thank you.’
It’s not like he’s a dangerous criminal. Look at him, Tilly thinks. Imagine the mug shot! Her mind races at the sight of the blond hair she had messed up as they kissed on the day bed, and the top button of his shirt that she had undone. The mix of attraction and irritation isn’t helping her to calm down . . .
The police officer passes her a bottle of water, and she takes it, hands trembling. The liquid helps with her dry mouth, but she’s too scared to drink too much as the nausea is rising in her throat.
What’s going to happen to them? It isn’t like they’ve done any damage, although no sooner has she had that thought than her eyes drift to what now appears to be an extremely obvious sign stuck to the wall above Reuben’s head. ‘Private property. Trespassers will be prosecuted.’
Prosecuted. As in, legal action. As in, court appearance. As in, what? Jail? Surely not, for something so minor? Surely just a warning and maybe some community service. She cannot go to prison! She really cannot!
She needs air and there doesn’t seem to be enough of it in the open space around her. She starts gulping it, and hyperventilating, just as some ambulance officers arrive and sit her down and start asking questions she can’t even give an answer to, while Reuben sits nearby and buries his face in his hands like this is totally out of control. Like she is out of control.
Chapter 38
What have I done? Reuben watches as a paramedic takes Tilly’s pulse and listens to her heartbeat. The further into the examination they get, the more blindingly clear it becomes to Reuben that he, and his celebrity lifestyle, are bad for her health. If she hadn’t had the panic attack at the movie premiere, he wouldn’t have brought her here. He shouldn’t have brought her here anyway, despite his producer saying he could use the place whenever he liked. Should never have talked himself into it being okay to involve her in his life at all.
Because it isn’t okay – even as things stand now. And the reality is a hundred times more complicated than she even realises. He thought she’d found out his family background. Thought that was what the shouting was about, at first. It had been a relief to know it was about a publishing deal, instead, until Jack Guthrie was mentioned. Of all people.
Reuben frowns. How did Jack get her work? He would never break her trust like that. He’d never make decisions for her, particularly not on professional matters like this. He knows exactly how valuable it is to have an opportunity to prove yourself. How stifling it could be to your creativity if who you knew mattered more than what you could do.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. He can’t answer it now. The paramedics are escorting them to a waiting ambulance and he doesn’t want to do anything that might further antagonise the old-school police officer who means business, and looks as though he likes to make an example out of young people. Particularly famous young people he’s never heard of . . .
‘Matilda!’ voices burst in the street as soon as they reach the doorway. Cameras click. Tilly and the paramedic look up in confusion, and the paparazzi gobble her dignity just when she needs privacy the most. As if in slow motion, she turns away from their lenses, holds her hands up across her face and looks for Reuben, terrified.
That’s it.
He snaps. Not in all the years the band’s been famous has he ever been more furious at the media intrusion. This is his fault. Before the police officers, or his personal judgement, can stop him, he finds himself lunging at the nearest offending cameraman. He reefs the camera out of his hands and throws it, hard, against the terracotta pavers. Its huge, mega-expensive lens shatters, showering glass everywhere.
‘Reuben!’ Tilly screams. ‘Stop!’
But he has stopped. Partly because he is shocked at his own anger, but mainly because the two police officers have physically restrained him and pulled his arms behind his back into handcuffs.
Tilly is ash white. Shaking. Crying. He wants to hold her. Comfort her. Apologise for losing his head. For bringing her here. For going along with the stupid muse idea or the fake relationship or whatever it was exactly that Henr
ietta had encouraged. Instead, he stands here, contrite. The miserable architect of this entire sorry situation.
‘You’ll both be coming with us to the station,’ the police officer says, completely out of patience. ‘You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence . . .’
Were they kidding? They were seriously reading him his rights?
Reuben needs to think clearly. Needs to call someone. Angie? Their lawyer?
‘What’s going to happen to Tilly?’ he asks.
‘Questioning,’ the officer responds. ‘We’ll need a statement.’
His heart aches. He can’t believe she’s being dragged through this. Can’t believe he lost his cool like that, although he knows he was provoked. All these years. All that attention and only now he chooses to react? Right in full view of cameras, a crowd, two cops and the one person in the world whom he wants to impress more than anyone else.
He must be mad.
He looks at Tilly.
Or in love.
Chapter 39
‘Can I make a phone call?’ Tilly hears Reuben ask as they are led into the police station under heavy guard. The police presence has little to do with Reuben’s behaviour or the fact that they’ve created a disturbance or trespassed, and everything to do with word getting out on social media about his whereabouts and the resultant insane mob of crazed fangirls chasing emergency vehicles through the city’s streets and converging on the police station like bees swarming to a honey pot.
His request for a phone call is granted. She hopes he is phoning a high-powered legal team and is thankful, for once, for his celebrity standing and wealth. Someone with legitimate legal know-how could help get them out of this mess. Surely!
He has his back to her as he dials, and casually places his hand in his trouser pocket as he holds the phone to his ear. Last night’s clothes. Black suit pants. Expensive white shirt. And all the body language of a person who has regained control of the situation. Good.
‘Angus,’ he says. ‘I’m in trouble.’
Angus Marsden? ONE PHONE CALL. And he is calling his bandmate?
He glances at Tilly and keeps his voice low, but in the cramped space she can still hear him. ‘I’ve wrecked things with her . . .’
Hello? Reuben! This is not a casual chat! This is not the time to seek girlfriend advice. This is the one, solitary phone call you are granted under your rights of arrest to organise professional help to get us out of here!
‘Jack Guthrie has offered her a book deal —’
She reels and slaps her forehead. He’s talking about this? When is he getting onto the bit about them having been taken into police custody for questioning?
‘I don’t know anything about it. Yeah, of course I wouldn’t . . . But he’s implicated me for some reason . . . How do you think she took it? . . . Yes! It’s why we’re here!’
It occurs to Tilly that of course Angus would know where they were. The entire world would know. Her mum would know! She can feel herself beginning to freak out again . . .
‘Anyway, I did something I shouldn’t have. They’re likely to interview her and let her go, but may hold me. The pap is ropable, and rightly so, I guess. Can you come?’
What? What is he suggesting? That she be collected from the station by Angus Marsden? Obviously she needs to go somewhere, and she knows hardly anyone in London. Except Henrietta, and she can imagine her response. And Angie . . . where is Angie?
‘It’s her sister’s wedding, remember?’ she hears Reuben say, presumably answering the same question from Angus.
Tilly’s stomach falls. She really doesn’t want to inconvenience a second pop star. Not in one week.
‘Is Kat with you?’ Reuben asks.
Make that three pop stars . . .
‘Angus. I regret it. I do. But he wouldn’t let up taking photos of her . . .’
That’s when it makes sense. He’d smashed the camera and risked his flawless public reputation to preserve hers.
There is silence. Angus is presumably talking at the other end. Presumably counselling Reuben to steer clear of a person who, from the outside at least, appears to have thrown him into the centre of two viral media scandals and landed him in potential legal trouble. Not a bad few days’ work for an intern.
She watches as Reuben’s bravado physically crumbles before her eyes in response to whatever Angus is saying.
‘Yes,’ he says, defeated. He glances at her. ‘Of course I am.’
Of course he is what?
Chapter 40
Angus’s arrival at the police station is heralded by the sound of hysterical screaming outside, and Reuben relaxes. Good. He’s here. Of all the boys in the band, Angus is most like a brother. Reuben’s rock, in many ways – a friend he’d never be without, given the difficult path ahead.
A police officer shows Angus into the waiting area where Tilly and Reuben are being held. Angus looks much the way he always does – effortlessly cool in a black jacket and jeans, sunglasses and needing a haircut. Normally, Reuben would rib him about it: the endless upholding of his ‘demigod’ status and OTT magnetism, even during a fellow band member’s arrest. Not today, though. He has completely lost his sense of humour.
He steps forward and gives Reuben the kind of slapon-the-back hug that says everything that needs to be said. Behind him trail two of their lawyers. Reuben knew Angus would have the presence of mind to organise that without even having to ask. The lawyers start unpacking briefcases, allowing them a private moment.
‘Hello,’ Angus says warmly, walking straight over to Tilly and extending his hand. She looks more starstruck than Reuben expected her to, given her apparent lack of interest in their music. ‘I wish we were meeting in slightly more relaxed circumstances.’
She smiles, and he sits in the empty chair beside her. ‘Kat’s looking forward to meeting you.’
That lights her up. ‘Oh, I’m a huge fan,’ she gushes. ‘Of Kat’s. Not that I’m not . . . I mean . . .’
Angus laughs. ‘She’ll be thrilled!’
Reuben knows if anyone can win Tilly over to the idea of staying with them until this madness blows over, it will be Angus.
‘I know you’re angry with Reuben right now,’ he goes on. ‘And you’ve got no reason to trust me yet, either. But would you think about hanging out with me and Kat for a few days? We’ve already got all the best security in place, and bodyguards, and ways of getting around town more easily. It’s hard to get used to at first – all this chaos – and easier when you’re with someone else. I think Kat would love having you around, too. She misses home.’
Reuben has to hand it to Angus. He knows what to say.
‘I don’t want to get in your way,’ Tilly argues. ‘I . . . Reuben probably hasn’t mentioned this, but . . .’
‘There’s no need to explain,’ Reuben says, cutting her off with a meaningful glance. She doesn’t have to excuse her anxiety in advance. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. He doesn’t want her cutting off her options, just in case she suffers an attack in front of them. Not when Angus and Kat are the way they are: completely chilled and accepting.
‘Fine. Then how about you explain. What’s your issue with Jack Guthrie?’ she asks Reuben pointedly.
It’s an unwelcome change of topic. After all, Jack has indirectly caused a lot of this with his absurd publishing offer and the unfair implication that Reuben was involved in it. It isn’t that Tilly doesn’t deserve the book deal, or that her writing isn’t good enough for it – but this arrangement just smacks of the latest in a long line of Jack’s unwanted acts of interference in his life that he can trace right back to their school days.
‘Jack and I went to school together,’ he begins reluctantly. ‘At the brother school of Belle and Angie —’ Maybe it wasn’t the greatest idea leading with mention of Belle, he thinks, as Tilly bristles at the mere sound of her
name.
‘He was always jealous . . .’
‘I thought you said there’s never been a “you and Belle”?’
‘There hasn’t, but everyone assumed it. You’ve read the articles.’
Angus gives him a sympathetic look.
‘You told me not to believe them,’ she says.
‘Belle and I at school – we were friends. Jack always had a thing for her. Less to do with her and more about seeing himself as a member of the royal family, probably. Thought I stood in his way, somehow. He’s been trying to mow me down ever since, one way or another. Might have succeeded, this time —’
She frowns. ‘How did he get my work?’
The million-dollar question. And then . . . Reuben thinks back. He’d been completely diverted that morning in his room in the country house, when Tilly had snuck in to take her laptop back and they’d ended up nearly . . . God. Don’t think about that now . . .
He’d saved a copy of her chapter then on a USB overnight. He’d been paranoid something would happen to it. But in his distraction that morning, did he pack it? He can’t remember.
She is staring at him, waiting for an answer.
‘I took a copy of it,’ he begins.
‘Reuben Vaughan, come this way,’ an investigator says firmly.
No, he thinks. ‘Wait!’
‘Come this way. Now.’
Reuben looks in dismay from the investigator, to Angus, to Tilly, and reads the unambiguous sense of betrayal on her face. Whatever last thread of trust she might have had in him snaps in that moment. Whatever happens next doesn’t matter. Nothing does.
Chapter 41
Angus and Tilly are shepherded into a dilapidated conference room and, as she watches Reuben disappear through a door into an interview room with an investigator, her heart actually breaks. How could she have been so wrong? He’d seemed like one of the good guys. Everyone around him had seemed to agree. And in all the time she’s been struggling with anxiety, she’s never met anyone who seems to understand exactly what to do or say the way he does, to help her through it.
