by Rhoda Baxter
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From: Marshall, To: Stevie
Why is everyone obsessed with Jane? The poor girl's only been here five minutes and everyone's trying to set her up already. By the way, I'll sort out the money you wanted this evening. Which reminds me, you didn't answer my question. What happened to your allowance? Marsh.
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From: Stevie, To: Marshall
I lent Buzz some money to pay for his trip. Don't worry; he's going to pay me back. I think you're being cagey. Sounds like you like this girl. Did Jim go out with you last night? Stevie.
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From: Marshall, To: Stevie
Buzz hasn't paid you back for the last lot of money he borrowed off you, has he? Marsh.
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From: Stevie, To: James
Were you out with Marsh and Co last night?? Is there any gossip I should know about? I asked Marsh, but he's being suspiciously cagey about it. How are Lou and the kids? I haven't seen Molly and the twins since I babysat last summer. They must have grown lots. Is Molly walking yet? Stevie. X
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From: James, To: Stevie
Hi Stevie, Jane – Northern, but not scarily so. Slim, tall, fantastic legs. Brown hair. Charming smile. She seemed to know Marsh from somewhere before. He says they just bumped into each other in the street. A likely story. From what I could see, he couldn't take his eyes off her. She kept looking at him too, but that might just be her trying to avoid looking at Keith. Molly's a toddler now. Photo attached – taken two weeks ago. Twins started big school a few months ago! Jim.
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From: Stevie, To: James
OMG Molly is ADORABLE! I'm definitely going to have to come and visit. I hope she remembers me. Thanks for the goss. I thought my brother was being cagey. I'll work on him. Stevie. XXX
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From: James, To: Stevie
Cheap babysitting is always welcome. And yes, do keep me posted about the Marsh situation. Lou often says it's a tragedy he's still single.
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From: Marshall, To: James
Stop emailing my sister nonsense. Haven't you got better things to do?
Chapter Four
CAUSE CELEB BLOG: The magazine that connects YOU to the stars! Desperately Seeking Jane
Ashby Thornton's ex, sexy Jane Porter has disappeared amidst rumours that she is still devastated about the Triphoppers’ star's betrayal. Ashby and Jane met when they were at university and, according to friends, Jane helped Ashby with his career.
‘Without Jane, he would never have made it to where he is now. It's shocking how badly he treated her. She's very upset,’ said a close friend.
So upset, in fact, that she's gone to ground completely. Rumour has it that she may even have left Manchester in order to get away from her painful memories of her time with Ashby.
‘It can't be easy,’ another friend said. ‘What with Ashby's new album being released and posters for his next tour going up all over town.’
We say, Jane, wherever you are, he's not worth it!
* * *
Jane joined Ruth in the social area for lunch the next day. The room was large and well lit, with round tables and a few well-placed plants making it look a little less corporate.
‘We used to have a toaster,’ said Ruth as she took her bowl of soup out of the microwave. ‘But it was deemed a health and safety risk. I miss making toasties.’
‘At least you have a microwave. We didn't even have that where I used to work.’ Jane looked around the room. ‘Where do you want to sit?’
‘I normally sit there.’ Ruth pointed. ‘With the other trainees.’
‘Right.’ Jane trailed after Ruth, wondering if even lunchtimes fed into the hierarchy. Ruth introduced everyone to Jane, who forgot their names a minute later. She noticed, as she looked around the room, that most people from Susan's team were there, including Keith. He was sitting with other associates and partners. He didn't seem to have noticed her.
She didn't see Marshall. ‘Does Marsh sit with them at lunchtimes?’ She couldn't see him and Keith choosing to spend time together.
‘He rarely comes out,’ Ruth blew on her hot soup. ‘He's a bit of a workaholic.’ She paused as if in thought. ‘He's been keeping to himself much more since the whole Dominique thing.’
One of the secretaries said, ‘Who's this? Marsh? Yeah. Dominique was an idiot. I mean, the other guy was nothing special was he? Marsh is way better looking.’
Everyone laughed. ‘Seriously,’ the girl continued in a low voice. ‘Have you seen him in his running shorts? There's no way I'd let that go.’
‘You'd have to catch him first,’ said another secretary. ‘We saw you trying to lure him under the mistletoe at the Christmas do.’
‘Oh yes,’ said the first girl with a grin. ‘And I'll try again this year. Only this time, I'll make sure we're both drunk.’ Everyone laughed again.
Jane wondered what Marshall would think. Ashby, she knew, would have thrived on the attention. The thought brought with it a stab of sadness. She sighed and bit into her sandwich.
The conversation turned to gossip about people she didn't know. She allowed her attention to wander, idly looking round the room. Over Ruth's shoulder she could see the table where Keith was sitting. A woman joined them just then. Out of a shopping bag, she pulled out a sandwich and a copy of Spotted!
Jane's mouth went dry. Patent attorneys were supposed to have a good eye for detail. Supposing one of them saw her photo and recognised her. She began fiddling with her newly brown hair, until she caught herself and lowered her hand.
When Keith said something, the woman with the magazine turned to listen to him, with one hand idly flicking through the pages. Suddenly she stopped and looked closely at something in the magazine.
Jane tried to look inconspicuous, focusing on her sandwich. A quick glance showed her that Keith and another man were now looking at the magazine over the woman's shoulder.
Jane wondered if she could sneak out, or whether doing so would only draw more attention to her. While she was debating with herself, the woman looked straight at her.
So much for anonymity. She would have liked to have had a few days to let people get to know her as herself, before her past came crashing in. Maybe even build up some loyalty so that they wouldn't tell the press where she was.
She stood up, gathered up her sandwich, which she no longer wanted, and left as quietly as she could. Behind her she heard someone say, ‘Yeah, I reckon that's her all right.’
Back in her office, it took Jane a few minutes to compose herself. At least Ruth wasn't back yet. She was surprised at how awful she felt. Even in this new setting, the idea of being photographed and talked about wrung her out. She tried to pull herself together, but her eyes filled with tears.
Right now, she needed a friend more than ever.
* * *
From: Jane Porter, To: Polly Hartwell
One of the patent attorneys was reading Spotted!There isn't a chance it's a new edition and doesn't have my photo in it, is there? Jane.
##
From: Polly, To: Jane
It's not time for another Spotted! magazineto print, so this one will have your photo in it. It's quite a nice photo of you, if it helps. For someone who appears in these celeb magazines on a regular-ish basis, you are remarkably clueless about them. Pol.
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From: Jane, To: Polly
I'm not a celebrity. I only went to these events because Ashby wanted a bit of moral support and some totty on his arm for his grand entrance. At least that's what he told me. He probably just wanted someone sober enough to get him home in one piece, really. I'm pretty sure they recognised me from the photo. So much for my plan to get on with my life. Bugger. Jane.
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From: Polly, To: Jane
Perhaps it won't make any difference. These people are professionals, after all. Maybe they'll just judge you on your ability to do the job and
not take any notice of who you used to go out with.
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From: Jane, To: Polly
That would be nice, but I doubt it. You should have seen the excitement when they spotted the photo. They were all crowded round it gawping. I left. I couldn't bear it. It's just horrible. I don't want to spend my life with people watching my every move again. What am I going to do?
##
From: Polly, To: Jane
Oh Jane. I don't think there's anything you CAN do. You're just going to have to tough it out. It might not be as bad as you think.
* * *
Ruth returned to the office before Jane could reply. She quickly closed down her email and blinked back residual tears.
Ruth sat down and started pounding on her keyboard. Her eyes were sparkling.
Jane braced herself for questions, but none came. Was Ruth staying silent out of politeness? As the minutes ticked by, Jane felt her nerves stretching more and more taut. Finally, unable to bear the suspense, she decided to face the questions. ‘What did it say?’
Ruth looked up. ‘Pardon?’
‘The magazine. What did it say?’
‘Oh.’ Ruth looked furtive. ‘Push the door to, will you?’
Jane felt a prickle of hope. She pushed the door closed, as requested.
‘There's this girl. Dominique …’ Ruth began.
Relief washed through Jane, making her body suddenly feel light. It wasn't her they'd seen in the magazine. It was someone else.
Oh thank God.
* * *
From: Stevie, To: Marshall
I see Dominique's made it into the gossip mags – or at least someone who looks very much like her has. She's going out with some footballer, apparently. Have you seen it? Are you Ok? Stevie.
##
From: Marshall, To: Stevie
One of the other attorneys has very kindly left the magazine on my desk for me. Although I'm not sure exactly why she thought I'd like to study a photo of my ex draped over some footballer! Dominique and I split up ages ago. Why should I care whoshe decides to snog? Marsh.
* * *
Jane had been working at Ramsdean and Tooze for a week and she still couldn't get over the fact that she lived in London now. Normally, she liked to ride on the top deck of the bus, well above the familiar shop displays, where the buildings revealed their true nature. While the shop facades were soulless and modern, the second floors of the buildings displayed styles and decorations that spoke of what they used to be. She found it fascinating.
She hadn't managed to catch a double decker bus that day, so she was at street level. At least she had a seat by the window, so she could watch the streams of people on the streets. What was it about London crowds that fascinated her so much?
It wasn't the diversity of races and colours. Manchester had that, although to a lesser degree. Nor was it the sheer number of people. Partly, she realised, it was what they were wearing. Classic, grunge, traditional garb from various countries and some outfits that were just plain wacky. In the North people tended to dress more uniformly, especially on a winter night.
Jane had tottered to clubs wearing open-toed high heels and a small dress under her huge coat. She had never been comfortable in the tiny scraps of clothing that most women went clubbing in. After Ashby became famous she had opted for slightly more expensive, longer dresses for media events, earning her the reputation of ‘classy bird’ among the other band members.
The bus crawled along in the slow traffic and drew up at a bus stop. There was a large advert on the side of the bus shelter. Jane found herself staring straight at Ashby. It was a nice photo, airbrushed slightly to get rid of the acne scars on his cheeks. He stood in the foreground, looking moodily at the camera, with the band fanned out behind him. His light brown hair had been highlighted to make it shine and the camera had caught the lucent blue of his eyes perfectly. He looked younger than he was. And very sexy.
Jane instinctively ducked, hiding her face, until she remembered that she was in London where it was very unlikely anyone would recognise her. As the bus moved on, she risked a glance around. No one paid her any attention. She relaxed and turned back to the window.
When people had first started noticing Ashby and his friends, it had been exciting. They would be doing something fairly normal when giggling schoolgirls would ask Ashby for his autograph. They would ask him what it was like being on TV. Ashby's brooding good looks and the dry wit of the drummer had made them local celebrities.
After a few appearances on TV, they had been offered a recording contract and had acquired PR agents. Through carefully orchestrated exposure, the band had risen to fame. Their first album had been nominated for several awards.
Jane, by virtue of being Ashby's girlfriend, found herself going to parties, chatting with minor celebrities and, usually, making sure her very drunk boyfriend got home safely at night.
She had found glamour difficult. She had always worried about her make-up smudging, her hair not staying in place or her dress being tucked in her knickers. Sensible suited her much better.
She looked down at her sensible work clothes. Her fingers tightened round her bag. What was it about her that made her more comfortable thinking about science and talking to scientists or lawyers rather than socialising with pop stars?
Perhaps, she reflected, it was because she didn't really care about the problems of the famous. When they complained about the intrusion of the press, they were always secretly hoping they'd be quoted. She, on the other hand, found the intrusion genuinely unsettling. She had once thought anonymity was the curse of a mundane life. Now, she felt it was a blessing.
The door of Polly's flat opened straight into an open plan living room. Polly had tried to divide the space up by placing the sofa with its back to the door. The TV was on so Polly was in. ‘Hello,’ Jane called as she turned to hang up her coat.
There was a muffled curse and Polly's head appeared above the back of the sofa. ‘Hi. I didn't expect you home so soon.’ She sounded slightly breathless. Her hair had escaped from its ponytail and her face was flushed.
Jane heard rustling and a few grunts and suddenly realised Polly was not alone on the couch. She felt her face heat. ‘I … er … I'll just be in my room for a few minutes.’ Grabbing her bag, she fled, careful not to look at the sofa.
In the safety of her room, she sank down onto the bed. Feeling a terrible urge to listen to what Polly and Andy – at least, she assumed it was Andy – were saying, she dug her iPod out of her bag. Unsure about whether it was safe to go out, she changed into jeans and a jumper and sat on her bed.
The bed was really a sofa bed and, open, it took up most of the room. Polly's nursing books were still stacked in a corner, further crowding the room. Jane lay down and thought about the flat she and Ashby had shared. They had moved in together straight after graduating from university. She had got a job working for a pharmaceutical firm as a trainee patent agent. Ashby had drifted from job to job until he and the band were selected to appear on a TV talent show. After that, he stopped pretending to look for work.
They had been really lucky to find a pleasant one bedroom flat they could afford. At first they'd had very basic furniture and mismatched cutlery. Jane remembered the day she'd bought new curtains for the flat, her first purchase towards making the place a home.
After Ashby's rise to fame, Jane had found the flat a huge source of comfort. It was home. Whatever act Ashby had to put on when they were outside, once they were home, he was the same haphazard, clever man she'd fallen for when she was eighteen. She loved the predictability of it all. The fact that she knew that while she was cooking dinner or cleaning the bathroom, he would be lying on his stomach on the living room floor jotting down song lyrics and tapping out rhythms with the end of his pen.
The flat had been her sanctuary until the day she'd come home with a migraine and found Ashby in bed with a wannabe actress from Hollyoaks. She could still see the girl's red, red nai
ls gripping the familiar lines of Ashby's back, still remember her irrational thought that those sheets were clean on that morning. She would never forget the shock in the girl's eyes when she saw Jane.
Ashby had followed her out of the bedroom, pulling on his dressing gown – which she had bought him – and making excuses, as though there was anything he could say to make him less despicable. Jane had left immediately, not waiting to pick up anything other than her handbag. She had travelled, dry-eyed, for nearly two hours, until she'd arrived at her parents' house near Oldham. The minute her mum opened the front door, her composure had broken, taking with it her heart. She had cried for days.
At the time she'd thought life couldn't get any worse. Later, when her mother persuaded her to go back and talk to Ashby, she had found that his betrayal of her was the talk of Manchester. People whispered behind her back at work. Photographers kept popping up to take photos of her ‘looking distraught’. After one particularly bad afternoon, when she'd been trapped in the house because a photographer and a journalist were camped outside, she'd given up.
She took what she could and went into hiding in London, which was two hundred miles away and big enough to get lost in.
A month later, she was offered a job. Living with Polly was only ever meant to be temporary. As soon as she got her deposit for the flat back from Ashby she would move out.
