But it was only on the outside that they were similar.
Having an alter ego was a ploy used by quite a few popular singers. Beyoncé channelled Sasha Fierce to get a sexier, sassier vibe when she performed. David Bowie had created Ziggy Stardust. Even Paul Hewson had decided that the name Bono sounded more rock god than his real name.
For Tom it was like having a superhero secret identity. Tommy King belonged to the fans, the press and the world but Tom Kingsley was protected. This way, he still could retain some privacy. He could still hang onto his sanity. But only just, it felt like these days.
They reached his dressing room and Tom sank down onto the sofa, exhausted. Normally he was flying high after a great gig, but after six long months on the road, he felt only a sense of relief that it was all over. He needed to relax, but that seemed harder and harder at the minute.
‘Well, that was a great end to a brilliant tour,’ said Sam Harris, his manager as he sat down next to him. ‘Did you see the VIP rows in the front? Everyone I can think of is here tonight.’
Tom yawned as he nodded in agreement. Each venue across Europe had been packed and the shows themselves had received rave reviews, admired for the strength of his song writing as well as his singing.
‘London’s always such a great crowd to finish a tour,’ carried on Sam, smiling. ‘So, how’s the next album going?’
Tom shot his manager a look. ‘Give us a chance,’ he replied. ‘I haven’t been home for months.’
Not that the thought of going back to his brand new apartment filled him with joy. It was a very expensive penthouse in North London which he had bought a year previously but it didn’t feel like home. It was just a place with walls where he had locked himself away before the tour, hoping for a peace that had never come.
‘Primrose Hill is lovely,’ said Sam, nodding his head in approval. ‘You should get to know the neighbourhood.’
Tom shook his head. ‘Since the fans found out where I live, it’s impossible to go out anywhere without getting hassled,’ he said, rubbing his forehead and wondering when he could finally sleep.
‘Are they still shoving Maltesers through your letter box?’ asked Sam, with a chuckle.
But Tom didn’t laugh. ‘I only mentioned them that one time.’
It had been one interview amongst so many that he had given. He couldn’t even recall which magazine it was for. This particular interview had been a quick-fire question and answer. All he had said was that Maltesers were his favourite chocolate fix of choice. From then onwards, he had been sent thousands upon thousands of the damn things. Some days he had been barely able to open his front door due to the sheer number of sweet packets piled up inside. He had tried eating them at first, but now it was highly likely that he would never be able to face a packet of Maltesers ever again.
‘Well, at least now that the tour’s over you can finish your next album,’ said Sam.
Finish it? He hadn’t even started writing his next album. Tom inwardly grimaced and stayed silent. The truth was that, for the first time ever, he had a total block. The new words and music just wouldn’t come. Three hit albums of songs that had almost written themselves. But now, there was only white noise where the words should have been.
The pressure from his record company and his fans was overwhelming. But if he didn’t carry on making music, what else did he have in his life these days?
As he stayed quiet, he could feel his friend studying him.
‘You’re just tired,’ said Sam eventually.
Tom didn’t know what he was these days. Everything felt strange and unfamiliar.
The dressing room was suddenly invaded by members of his backing band who had decided that they must have an end of tour party, despite Tom trying to tell them otherwise. But they wouldn’t take no for an answer and instead of finally going home, Tom found himself going with the large, noisy group to a nearby bar where they quickly took over the place.
Sam had one beer with them and then told Tom that he had a taxi booked to take him home.
‘This late?’ said Tom, glancing at his watch. It was nearly midnight and Sam lived far out in the countryside, away from the bright lights of London.
Sam grinned. ‘I need to see my girl.’
His manager had fallen head over heels for a woman named Annie and they had been apart for a couple of weeks, thanks to the tour. Tom had picked up on the vibes that it had been a struggle for them both not to see each other during that time.
‘Don’t party too hard,’ warned Sam, as he shrugged on his jacket. ‘Remember Paris.’
Tom sighed at the memory before taking a sip of his sparkling water. He had been at his lowest ebb six months ago, having just lost his beloved Gran. She was the only one that had ever cared about him throughout his tumultuous early years when his own parents had been too busy partying to bring up their only son. But even the strongest woman he had ever known couldn’t beat the wretched disease and he had delayed his world tour to sit with her through those hard, sad, final days at the hospice.
His first gig after the funeral had been in Paris and the whole night had been a disaster.
‘I know I drank too much,’ he said, with a shrug. ‘You know how upset I was. But it wasn’t my fault that the band threw me in the fountain, was it?’
Suddenly he was splashed, literally, all over the front pages, hundreds of column inches filled with how poisonous fame could be, how easy it was to hide away in drink and drugs.
Not wanting to deal with life with the aid of a whisky bottle like his father, Tom had not drunk any alcohol for six months.
‘Just watch out for the paparazzi,’ said Sam. ‘We don’t want any more bad publicity.’
Tom rolled his eyes. ‘Anyone with a phone these days is basically paparazzi, you know that. But yeah, I’ll watch out.’
As Sam left, Tom briefly wished that he had someone to go home to. A pair of warm arms to wrap around him and hold him tight all night long.
He was surprised to find himself thinking that way. Having been rejected by most people when he was growing up, he normally didn’t rely on anyone else. But the loss of his gran had knocked his whole steady world off its axis. He missed her so much, he ached inside.
With the wave of grief threatening to overcome him once more, he felt a sudden need to blot out the rest of the world. He reached out and grabbed a shot of tequila from the tray of glasses that one of his backing singers had just brought over.
He would deal with real life when he woke up in the morning.
He briefly thought of Sam’s warning before downing his first shot.
What harm could a couple of drinks do?
Chapter 3
After a sleepless night of tossing and turning, Eleanor had finally fallen asleep at dawn. When she woke up, it was late in the morning. Her boyfriend Lucas had left for his high-flying city job many hours earlier.
She got up out of the huge bed and staggered over to the window. Flinging open the curtains, it took her eyes a moment or two to adjust to the bright sunlight. But when the city view finally came into focus, she sighed. London. That big, beautiful, brash, bonkers capital city. Her city, or at least it had been for the past eight years after leaving university.
It had been such a contrast to the tiny village of Cranley where she had grown up. It had taken a while to get used to the busy streets and the constant noise. But she had battled through her fears and had finally conquered the metropolis.
Most of all, it had been a city to escape to, away from the pain of her teenage years and her parent’s broken relationship.
And now? She still couldn’t believe that she had been made redundant. What on earth was she going to do?
Glancing at her emails gave her some idea. She had been called into the Human Resources department that afternoon to receive her redundancy package and to hand back her office pass card.
She scratched absent-mindedly at her neck. She could feel yet another eczema patch appearing.
She dragged her hand away, not wanting to make it any worse and went to check in the mirror.
She sighed at her reflection. There it was. An even bigger patch of scaly skin than the last time. She glared at herself in the mirror, her green eyes scowling. She hated her eczema. It showed through every make-up and disguise that she had tried. And she had learnt a long time ago that looking anything less than perfect meant an unhappy ending for everyone.
She knew the eczema was a sign of stress. But Lucas’s fancy bathroom soap that he insisted on using didn’t help either. The stuff her boyfriend used was hideously expensive, which was ridiculous given the number of chemicals it had in it. Although it did smell very nice, she privately thought.
She glanced down to see the red patches forming at the base of her fingers as well. She smeared a layer of E45 cream over the various patches but knew that it would be weeks before they went away again.
If she had the time, she could make up her own cream as she had done many years ago, but there was never any time these days. Every day she was rushing to some book or album launch, a party, some kind of movie premiere. Besides, the eczema always appeared when she was worried and, right now, she was on a high level of anxiety.
The trouble was that she was just so used to being in control of her own destiny. She had wanted good grades and had achieved them at college. She had wanted a career and she had made it happen. Okay, so it hadn’t exactly been the high-flying journalism job that she had craved but she had gone along with it for as long as she could.
Except her career had just crashed to a halt. The floor had been taken away from her and she could feel herself tumbling downwards with no safety net.
Feeling her pulse begin to race with the stress once more, she turned away from the window and decided on a plan for the rest of the day. She just had to take control again. That was all. She could handle it. She was strong enough.
She quickly got dressed and paced across the polished floorboards into the lounge, glancing at the designer sofa. Expensive but not exactly comfortable. Not that she wanted to relax anyway. She was too uptight.
She briefly thought with longing about her own studio flat where she had lived for two blissful years. After years of flat-sharing, she had found a tiny place to rent by herself. The rent had been extortionate and had eaten up most of her meagre salary, but it had been worth it to have her own space, without worrying about her flatmates ‘borrowing’ from her designer wardrobe. Best of all, there was a tiny Juliet balcony where she had been able to plant up some window boxes full of flowers and herbs which she had used for various oils to help her skin.
But then her precious little flat had been declared unsafe due to subsidence so she had temporarily moved in with Lucas whilst deciding where to go next. Her landlord had promised to find her another apartment but it had never happened. So after seeing Lucas for two years she had moved in three months ago. It had been a reluctant joint decision. Neither of them had been quite ready for the next step in their relationship. And it was the longest she had ever lived with anyone apart from her mother. But after a few nervy first days, they seemed to be getting along, even if his choice of bathroom soap was causing her skin problems to flare up.
She stared around the huge space of the lounge, wondering what to do next. As usual, she decided not to hang around the flat on her own. It was too empty. Too cold, despite the sunny day outside. And she didn’t like the way every noise echoed around the place.
So she decided to head across the capital to pick up her redundancy package.
Back at the office, Eleanor was grateful not to bump into Theresa or Kourtney in the corridors or the lift. That would have been particularly awkward. Thankfully the meeting with the Human Resources manager was brief and she was able to quickly get out of there. On the way home on the bus, she flicked through the paperwork, at least assured that the magazine had given her the three months’ pay-off that she had been promised. That would last her the summer, but then what?
The trouble was, the newspaper and magazine worlds were in sharp decline due to online competition and jobs for experienced journalists were thin on the ground.
Sighing, she glanced out of the window and just caught sight of the Shard, glinting in the afternoon sun. She smiled as she recalled meeting Lucas for the first time up on one of the top floors, the city glittering far beneath them. It had been a fancy party, full of celebrities and high-flying bankers, one of which was her future boyfriend. He had been handsome, witty and, she had quickly realised, a like-minded spirit, somebody who was anxious to move quickly up the corporate ladder. Except his career had headed higher and higher whereas hers had stagnated.
She shook her head and brought her phone out of her handbag. She was a victim of bad timing, but that didn’t mean she had to think like one.
She set about working her way through all the contacts she had made in the media. But after spending the rest of the afternoon searching, she felt exhausted by the lack of work out there. Her worst fears were confirmed. Things were tight across the whole industry. There were no spare jobs to be found anywhere.
Feeling overwhelmed, she decided she needed a drink. She took one of Lucas’s crystal wine glasses from the display cabinet and poured herself a large chilled Prosecco.
She continued to idly flick down the list of contact names but knew it was a fruitless search. She bit back the tears, feeling more frightened that she had done in a long time. What on earth was she going to do now?
She was halfway through her third glass of wine when Lucas finally returned from work later that evening. She automatically checked her hair, smoothing down a rogue wave that had kinked out of place. She’d just slicked on some more lip gloss so that was already in place. Finally, she switched on a smile. ‘Hi.’
‘What a day,’ said Lucas, by way of greeting. ‘Bloody markets had millions wiped off them.’
Eleanor watched her boyfriend as he continued his rant. Some might have said that he was a little too obsessed with money, with an excessive amount of one-upmanship over his colleagues at the stock exchange where he worked. But she found that competition healthy, exciting even. It showed drive and initiative.
Lucas’s eyes suddenly frowned as he stared down at the wine glass on the coffee table. ‘Is that the Villeroy and Boch?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replied, suddenly on edge. He could be a bit precious about his belongings, most of which appeared to come with a high price tag.
‘Jesus, Eleanor!’ He picked up the glass and glared at her. ‘You know I only use them on special occasions. You’ve already broken one. Do you know how much they cost?’
She rolled her eyes. She didn’t need another bout of nagging about how accident-prone she was. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t think it was that important considering I lost my job.’
Lucas was holding up the wine glass to the light, checking for damage, when her words appeared to register with him. ‘You lost your job?’
She nodded miserably. ‘Yup.’
He looked shocked. ‘What happened?’
‘The magazine’s downsizing.’ They locked eyes. ‘I found out last night but you were asleep when I came home and then you left early. I wanted to tell you face to face.’
‘You should have text me.’ Lucas ran a hand through his short black hair. ‘I don’t understand. Why you? I thought that new girl had less experience.’
Eleanor ground her teeth. ‘Yes, but Kourtney’s Dad owns a grand prix team. She’s going to have better access to celebrities than I ever will. These things make a difference apparently. Compared to, I dunno, real actual experience.’
‘Wait a minute.’ Lucas frowned. ‘Does this mean that those Silverstone tickets are gone as well?’
‘Well, yes,’ she told him. ‘I would think so, seeing as I won’t be going there to cover all the parties anymore.’
Eleanor stood up to receive a hug, whilst waiting for words of comfort regarding her own predicament.
> But the only thing Lucas said was, ‘I’d better call my boss. Damn. I’d promised them to him. There goes my massive bonus. What a godawful day this has turned out to be.’
Eleanor blanched at his brutal words but tried to remain calm as she sank back onto the sofa. They were two peas in a pod, her and Lucas. They lived and died with their careers.
After a short phone conversation, Lucas wandered back into the lounge. ‘It appears I’m unscathed, thank goodness.’
‘Oh, goody,’ said Eleanor sarcastically, her calm posture suddenly snapping. ‘Any kind of sympathy would be great, you know, when you get over your own personal loss.’
Lucas looked sheepish. ‘Sorry. It really sucks. You know I’m upset for you. It’s just things are tight at the bank at the minute as well and I could have done with your connections. Look, I’m sure it’ll turn out okay.’
He had just stepped forward as if to take her into his arms when her phone rang.
Eleanor snatched at her mobile eagerly, hope surging inside that it was about a job. But it was only her mother.
‘Hi, Mum,’ she said, picking up and automatically fixing on her smile. ‘How are you?’
Expecting to bluff her way through the rest of the call as normal, she was horrified when her mum began to cry down the line.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Eleanor, feeling frantic with worry. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Oh, Ellie. I’ve done the most stupid of things,’ she said in a shaky voice. ‘I’ve broken my foot.’
‘Oh my god! How?’
‘Tripped over one of the kittens,’ said her mum.
Eleanor rolled her eyes down the line but didn’t say anything. There was no point trying to nag her mum about the number of animals she had in her house at any one time. That battle had been lost many years ago unfortunately.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m back home now,’ said her mum. ‘I’ve spent all day in A&E getting X-rays and then having the plaster put on.’
Escape to the Country Page 2
