The Reluctant Celebrity

by Ellingham, Laurie

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous Lovey.’ Terri smiled, steering Jules away from the broken glass and into the hallway. ‘I’ve seen my share of lovers quarrels in my time, I can tell you, and that was nothing.’

  ‘Guy and I are not lovers,’ she corrected. ‘Nothing could be further from the truth.’

  ‘Well, whatever it was, the important thing is that you are okay. Now how’s about letting us take you to the pub for a drink after work today? I dare say you’ll be needing it, and meeting a few more locals will make you feel right at home. Rich does a great Curry on a Tuesday.’

  ‘Rich?’

  ‘The landlord Lovey, but don’t you worry, you’ll meet everyone soon enough.’

  Seven

  Squeezed between Terri and her boys in the front of Terri’s van, Jules felt the words of protest form in her mouth as they trundled, without stopping, past Mrs Beckwith’s guesthouse.

  She had tried three times throughout the day to postpone her drink with Terri, Dan and Jason, but each excuse she’d given had been overruled by Terri.

  Seeing Guy again had drained her confidence. She’d replayed their conversation over and over in her head, scraping away the wallpaper in her hall with such fury she’d damaged the plaster underneath more than once.

  At 5 o’clock, she’d changed her overalls for the spare jeans; jumper and pumps she always kept in her car for the times she needed to go out straight from working on a property and didn’t want to wear her overalls. She may not feel like socialising, but for once she didn’t feel like being alone either.

  Alone gave her mind a chance to wander. Alone meant thinking about Guy and the emotions he’d unleashed inside her.

  ‘Here we are then Lovey,’ Terri grinned, cutting into Jules’ thoughts. ‘We’ll have a drink in you in no time.’

  Jules nodded as she slipped her body from the van, pushing thoughts of Guy back to the deepest depths of her mind as she breathed in the sweet smell of burning embers drifting from the chimney of The Nag. Sitting in a cosy pub with a large glass of wine suddenly seemed a lot easier than spending another evening shivering in the tiny single bed at the guesthouse.

  Stooping her head, Jules stepped through the low doorway, finding the inside even more welcoming. A large brick fireplace dominated the interior, complete with a roaring fire which cast a dancing orange blaze onto the cream walls and dark beams.

  As if completing the picture, Max lay with his body stretched out as close to the fires heath as he could get. His ears twitched as they closed the latch on the heavy pub door, but he made no other signs of giving up his space by the heat.

  Dark wood tables and matching chairs had been dotted throughout the pub without any apparent pattern to their positioning, but it was clear from the scattering of people that the main activity focused around the long bar, covering the entire width of the back wall.

  Standing behind the bar stood Rich, in a chequered red shirt that stretched tight across his large frame. He slung a bar towel over one broad shoulder as he laughed with two men sat to one side.

  His height, which had seemed large against the elements the first time Jules had seen him, now appeared giant next to the old pub’s beams, hanging low from the ceiling and almost scraping the waves of his blonde hair.

  ‘Rich, my favourite landlord,’ Terri called as they weaved their way through the tables. ‘Get this lovely girl one of your cocktails – she needs it.’

  ‘No,’ Jules protested as her eyes met his. ‘Um, I mean a glass of wine would be fine thanks.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Terri replied, ‘All new residents must try a cocktail. You’ll thank me for it. And three ales for me and the boys of course.’

  Rich turned his body towards Jules as if waiting for further protest; instead she lifted her shoulders into a shrug. ‘I’ve learnt not to argue with Terri,’ she explained.

  ‘A cocktail it is then,’ Rich nodded, reaching for a glass. ‘It’s nice to see you again Jules.’

  She smiled and tried to ignore the feeling of unsettlement which danced in her stomach whenever he looked at her.

  ‘How is it going up at the house?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine thanks.’

  She knew she should say more. She wanted to elaborate; to share Rich’s easy smile and laugh along with Terri’s good humoured conversation, but the words wouldn’t come out. Guy’s reappearance had left her feeling raw and vulnerable.

  ‘Poor Jules,’ Terri began, hopping onto an empty bar stool and taking a long sip of the pint Rich placed in front of her. ‘She’s just had a terrible run in with-’

  ‘The kitchen window’ Jules cut in quickly. ‘The glass shattered.’

  She stepped forward and slipped her body onto the stool next to Terri’s at the end of the bar.

  ‘Well that, but it was your ex-’

  ‘Yes’ Jules interrupted for a second time as she caught Terri’s eye, ‘and the ceiling as well. Things haven’t been going my way.’ She shook her head, hoping Terri would understand her silent plea. The thought of talking about Guy right now left her wanting to cry.

  To her relief, Terri scrunched her face into a slow wink and brushed her fingers across her mouth as if closing a zip.

  ‘Here you go,’ Rich said, placing a tall tulip glass complete with a bright green umbrella, in front of Jules. ‘Although I feel it’s only fair to warn you that this is my most lethal cocktail. Grown men have been stripped to blubbering idiots after drinking this.’

  She looked at the glass in front of her. It looked innocent enough. It looked just like orange juice.

  As she picked up the glass Jules felt every set of eyes in the place on her. Rich lent on the bar across from her, the smile never leaving his face. Terri, Dan and Jason, held their glasses up towards her, and the handful of men at the other end of the bar had stopped their conversation to watch.

  How bad could it be? She wondered, putting the glass to her lips and taking a small sip. It tasted just like orange juice too, with a slight tangy fizz she couldn’t put her finger on. It didn’t even taste alcoholic. Obviously, Cottinghale’s idea of lethal was a lot tamer than she was used to, she decided, brushing Rich’s warning aside.

  ‘Very nice, thanks’

  It took Jules another two gulps of cocktail before she felt the relaxing hit of whatever alcohol lay hidden beneath the zesty tang. The feeling causing a trickle of peace to worm through the mess of thoughts in her head.

  Before long, Jules found herself leaning against the wall, allowing the gentle hum of conversation to reverberate through her. As far as she could tell, the main theme of conversation centred on the weather: what the continued cold spell was doing to the fields, what the next week would bring, and what it might mean for the spring ahead.

  Everyone seemed to have an opinion to share. She would need to start paying attention to the local weather reports if she was going to spend more time in The Nag, something Jules suddenly liked the idea of.

  As more people entered the bar they greeted Jules as if she was a long lost relative. Rich, never far from her side, introduced the array of locals; their names vanishing from her memory within seconds.

  ‘Another one?’ Rich asked after returning from a trip to the kitchen.

  Jules dropped her gaze to her glass preparing to shake her head, but to her surprise it was empty.

  Thanks.’ She felt a warm glow coarse through her, and before she could do anything to stop it, a loud hiccup escaped her mouth.

  Jules darted her eye towards Terri, still lost in conversation about the weather, and Rich, who had turned his back to the bar as he fixed her drink. Nobody had heard her embarrassing outburst.

  ‘Err Rich?’

  ‘Yep,’ he answered, keeping his back to Jules as he prepared her drink.

  ‘What exactly is in your concoction?’

  He spun around with a grin. ‘My cocktail you mean. I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you.’

  She felt a smile cross her face as she swallowed dow
n another hiccup.

  ‘Terri, Dan, Jason,’ Jules nodded to their glasses, ‘another one?’

  ‘We won’t say no, will we boys?’

  ‘Nope,’ they chorused.

  Jules reached into her jacket pocket for her purse. She felt the scrap of paper brush against her fingers, but the cocktail had clouded her mind and for the briefest of moments she forgot the danger lurking at her touch as she pulled out her purse.

  It was too late. Before she could do anything to stop it, the balled up piece of newspaper fluttered to the floor, the movement destroying her warm glow with a sobering jolt.

  ‘Did you drop this Lovey?’ Terri asked unravelling the newspaper article Guy had showed her that morning.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she spluttered.

  ‘Holy Moly, is that you?’

  ‘Unfortunately yes,’ she mumbled, dropping her face into her hands.

  ‘You look...so-’

  ‘I know, my fashion sense was a little questionable,’ Jules replied with a weak laugh, hoping in vain that an attempt at humour would distract Terri from going further.

  ‘No, I mean yes, but it’s your face, you look so...so... oh I can’t explain it.’

  ‘This is very cool’ Dan chipped in from over Terri’s shoulder.

  Jules shrugged, hiding her discomfort in a long sip of the fresh cocktail Rich had placed in front of her.

  Rich lent over the pumps, his blue eyes moving first over the photograph and then back at Jules. ‘You do look different.’

  ‘Yeah well, it was a long time ago,’ she replied a lot louder than she’d intended and avoiding his gaze.

  A voice inside her shouted at her to leave. To run back to the bed and breakfast and hide away, but she couldn’t leave. Her aching legs felt like jelly.

  ‘This is unbelievable’ Terri laughed, reading the article and turning her attention back to Jules. ‘I mean, it’s really unbelievable. I...I just can’t believe it. How exciting.’

  ‘Exciting?’ Jules responded in disbelief.

  ‘Well yes, I mean, Guy Rawson, he’s really famous.’

  ‘So? He’s also a total bastard, launching this...this ridiculous thing.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Terri paused for a minute, looking back at the article. ‘But it says here he loves you.’

  ‘The only thing Guy loves is himself,’ she replied, wishing her voice would stop echoing around the pub.

  ‘You know,’ Rich began, sliding the scrap of newspaper back to Jules, ‘If you hate it so much I’m pretty sure you could get an injunction or something and stop them printing anything else.’

  ‘No,’ Jules replied, shaking her head. ‘Anything I do will be playing straight into his hands.’

  She took another gulp from her glass. The sticky taste of the orange was beginning to churn in her empty stomach.

  ‘Let’s forget it, okay? It’s nothing really.’ Her eyes darted between Rich, Terri, Dan and Jason. From the expressions on their faces it seemed the only person convinced by her comment was her. ‘Seriously guys, no one is going to remember this story tomorrow. It’s over.’

  ‘Sure,’ Rich nodded.

  ‘Oh, of course Lovey,’ Terri chirped.

  ‘Thanks. Now, Terri,’ she began in a final bid to change the subject. ‘You haven’t told me how you got into the building trade?’

  ‘Well, that would be all down to my ex-husband you see. He was the builder really, not me. But like I said he ran off with Dawn from the post office, leaving me with a business in depth and two boys barely out of nappies. So when someone called in search of a decorator, I thought why not, I can do that.’

  ‘I put myself through a few trade courses and haven’t said no to a job yet. Of course, if my boys –‘

  Jules let Terri’s voice wash over her as she slipped the scrap of newspaper back into her pocket and finished off the contents of her glass.

  ‘You okay?’ Rich whispered as he lent towards her. His body so close she found herself breathing in the scent of his aftershave.

  She nodded, unable to disguise another hiccup from escaping.

  ‘I’ll get you some water.’

  Leaning her head back against the wall, Jules took a long intake of air, feeling the dizzying effect of the alcohol she’d consumed. It felt good. Her thoughts merged into a single blur. She didn’t care about Guy. She didn’t care about The Daily. All she cared about was maintaining this feeling for a little while longer.

  ‘And a glass of dry white please,’ she called out to Rich.

  Maybe all she needed was a distraction, she thought. Something that would keep Guy out of her thoughts, something fun. Jules let her gaze follow Rich’s body as he moved easily around the bar, biting back another hiccup as he stepped back towards her.

  Eight

  Who, who knows you baby?

  Who, who sees you baby?

  How long had he been sitting there, watching the people and their cars go by? The scorching tea he’d purchased now sat tepid and untouched in its wallowing cardboard cup.

  The sticky icing of the untouched Danish Swirl had begun to congeal. Although Guy had a hunch that stale food and dishwater tea were compulsory components of all roadside services.

  Expectation, a dangerous connotation

  He reached into the grey Armani jacket Giorgio had given him on the shoot in Japan less than a year ago, a night he’d prefer to forget. His fingers fumbling for the tattered notebook and pencil, as he hurried to scribble down the lyrics before they evaporated from his consciousness.

  What the hell had he been doing for the past couple of days? Guy wondered. What had possessed him to drive across the country and track down someone he hadn’t seen or spoken to for five years?

  He heard Debbie’s voice in his head: ‘You’re Selfish’

  But look what happened the minute he did something selfless, he argued back to himself. Juliet hadn’t even been grateful for his advice, let alone pleased to see him. He could hardly be blamed for the paper’s decision to make a story out of one offhand comment.

  An image of Debbie shaking her head floated before him. The scraping led of his blunt pencil blotted her out.

  What, what happened to the girl?

  What, what happened to you baby?

  For a single second she had looked happy. For a single second the same girl, who had loved him with every bit of her heart, and told him so every day, had stood before him. The same girl he’d promised never to leave, and the one he’d been thinking about every day since.

  More than just thinking about, a voice echoed from somewhere deep inside his mind. In that first moment the time between them had disappeared. The feelings he’d shared with the journalist had reared out of nowhere, crashing in his head like two brass symbols.

  Then the moment had vanished and reality had hit him. The pixie blonde with a smile that reached to the edges of her face, and the craziest clothes he’d ever seen had changed. That first split second had been a terrible trick of the mind, disappearing at the same rate as his resolve.

  After that first second had past, Guy had looked at the woman in front of him. Her slim frame hidden behind dark overalls; her long brown hair tied back. Even the set of her face seemed different somehow.

  If it hadn’t been for the startling green of the doe-eyed stare he remembered so well, he might have believed that an imposter had taken over her body.

  The Juliet he had known would never have laughed at him with a sound so hollow it chilled him to the bone.

  She had changed almost beyond recognition, but why?

  The question surprised him. He had a feeling he knew the answer, but before he allowed his thoughts to travel further towards it; the pencil in his hand began moving again.

  Where, where did you go?

  Where, where are you now?

  If I could win back the years, I would stop the tears

  ‘Years too late.’ She had thrown the words at him like a dagger.

  Guy felt a stab of guilt t
wist in his gut. He had made so many mistakes. Had he really thought seeing her again could undo anything? Juliet had moved on, she couldn’t have made that clearer to him. She had done more than just put the past behind her; she had buried it twelve feet under. So why did he feel so hell bent on digging it up again?

  It’s not like he didn’t have his own life to lead. A successful life at that. His first single at number one; an album ready to be released; a sell out UK tour lined up for the summer; not to mention a string of endorsement offers from people who finally wanted more than just his face on a magazine cover.

  As if in agreement, his mobile vibrated from the passenger seat next to him. The name of his publicist flashing up at him.

  ‘Hey Sonja.’

  ‘Guy, where have you been?’ Sonja’s shrill voice jumped from the phone.

  He moved his hand, widening the gap between his ear and his mobile.

  I’ve been looking for you for ages.’

  ‘Really? Why?’ he asked

  ‘I’m outside your flat ringing the doorbell.’ As if to prove it, Guy heard the familiar buzzer of his North London flat. ‘We scheduled a meeting last week, remember?’

  ‘Shit, sorry Sonja I totally forgot. I had some personal stuff to sort out; I’ll be back in an hour. Can you hang on?’

  ‘Personal stuff? Guy, are you keeping something from me?’ she quizzed in a soft purr.

  ‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ Guy replied, cursing himself for saying too much.

  Sonja had the uncanny knack of dragging every last piece of information out about someone and finding a way to twist it into sales figures. An amazing talent, but not one he needed at that particular moment in time.

  ‘I won’t be long,’ he added. ‘There’s a good pub on the corner called The Engine. Get a drink and I’ll join you soon.’

  ‘I hope you’re not trying to sweet talk me into dinner Guy,’ she said, her tone conveying the opposite of her words.

  ‘Dinner?’ Guy’s stomach growled its agreement. Had he mentioned dinner?

  ‘I have a surprise for you,’ she continued, ignoring him. ‘We can discuss it tonight, but let me just whisper the words Radio One’s Live Lounge to you.’