She had allowed herself to be consumed by their love until she was nothing without him. She was trapped.
Hopelessly trapped, she thought again as she threw the pills into her mouth.
Juliet tipped the vodka bottle almost vertical, causing the liquid to stream down her chin as it filled her mouth.
Just as the pills began to slip down her throat an image of a morgue flashed in front of her face; her naked body lying on a cold metal slab; her parents standing over her.
Suddenly she couldn’t swallow. The tablets felt like acorns at the back of her mouth.
Panic hit like a hard blow to the head.
She bent forward, opening her mouth and letting the remaining liquid drip over her. But the tablets refused to budge as they clawed their way into her body.
In a flash she felt an overwhelming will to live. The sense so strong it cut through the alcohol running through her veins and drowned out the pain Guy had caused.
Without another thought to her despair, Juliet threw her body off from the bed, crashing hard against onto the floor.
The pills grated against the inside of her neck causing a gag reflex to push up from her stomach.
Seconds passed and nothing happened.
Then the retching began. Long heaving wretches as her stomach pumped the vodka and the pills out of her body.
For what felt like hours, she knelt on her hands and knees next to the bed she had shared with Guy, crying and vomiting until nothing remained inside her.
She lent exhausted against the bed. The tears and the music had stopped, causing a silent calm to consume her.
With slow deliberate movements she pushed her body from the floor and began to clear up the mess of her life, starting with the sick and finishing with five bin bags full of clothes and make-up she would never wear again.
Only the cheap white shirt and black skirt she’d worn to graduation hung in the wardrobe. It was all she needed. Tomorrow she would buy new things and move away. Start over and forget Guy had ever existed, just as he had done to her.
Twelve
THE DAILY
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY, 22ND
GUY’S GAL “DESTROYED ME”
In an exclusive Valentine’s interview, Gorgeous Guy Rawson revealed his love for ex Juliet Stewart (right). Now we can also reveal that the famous singer is not the only person to be heart-broken by his sexy ex.
Phillip Williams (32), a property manager from Nottingham, dated the star’s ex-girlfriend four years ago when the pair met at his father’s property business. “We hit it off straight away. We were both really ambitious. Jules had a real spark for business and it wasn’t long before the sparks were flying between us too.”
But their relationship took a turn for the worse when Phillip, then 28, wanted to get serious. “We’d invested in a property together and things were going really well. But the minute our flat was ready for sale something changed. One day she was warm and loving, the next she was a bitch…She just packed up and left.”
“I can appreciate Guy’s pain. Juliet broke my heart too. I now realise she was just using me to help her career. She destroyed my trust in woman,” claims Williams, still single.
Wherefore art thou Juliet? Heart-broken Phillip has no idea where Juliet is now, but maybe you do? Call Sara-Marie Francis on 0800 559 119 NOW!
Right: Juicy Jules, then 23, shows off more than her property assets in a miniscule bikini whilst holidaying in Spain with “Heart-broken” ex-boyfriend Phillip Williams, above.
‘Good morning dear,’ a voice called from behind her as Jules stepped into the dining room.
‘Morning Mrs Beckwith.’
‘Lovely and bright out there today. Was it a bit warmer on your run dear?’ Mrs Beckwith’s sing song voice asked as she shuffled out from the kitchen.
‘A little,’ Jules replied taking a seat at the single place set in the middle of the long dining room table.
‘Lovely,’ she sighed. ‘Spring will be here in no time.’
‘Let’s hope so.’
‘Righty ho, shall I pop your toast on? One slice or two?’
‘Two would be great. Thanks.’
Jules had no idea if it was any warmer outside. The bitterly cold wind had still felt like a brutal assault against her skin as she’d pushed her body up the valley, but she found it much easier to agree with her landlady’s opinion on the weather each morning than embark upon a lengthy discussion. Especially before she’d had a chance to digest a cup of Mrs Beckwith’s treacle thick coffee.
As her elderly landlady moved back to the kitchen, Jules shook a heap of cornflakes into the bowl, drowning the orange flakes in a large helping of cold milk and shoving a heaped spoonful into her mouth.
Every day that passed in Cottinghale, Jules found herself adding a little more to her breakfast portions. The long runs, country air, and full days working on her house not only put her to sleep the minute her head touched the pillow each night, but also left her stomach growling like a ferocious dog each morning.
As she stuffed another crunchy mouthful into her mouth, it took Jules a moment to register the kitchen door as it swung open and the man carrying the tray of coffee and toast towards her.
‘Hi Rich,’ Jules said, swallowing her mouthful so fast the cornflakes scratched her throat. ‘And Max,’ she added, bending down to fuss over the young Springer and allowing her a moment to hide the flush she felt spreading across her cheeks.
‘Morning Jules. Sorry for barging in on your breakfast.’
‘Oh it’s no problem. It’s great to see you. Nice weather today. Mrs Beckwith thinks spring might be on the way.’
‘It could be.’
‘Are you on your way out for a walk? I’d love to join you but I’ve got to get up to the house this morning. I’ve forced Terri and the boys to take a day off so I need to crack on.’ Jules clamped her mouth shut. She was babbling like an idiot.
‘Well we are, but that’s not why I’m here,’ he replied, sliding the tray of coffee onto the table and pouring two cups from a steaming cafetiere.
The memories from the last time she’d seen him had yet to fade. Her drunken behaviour, her pathetic attempts to seduce him, and waking up in his bed. The embarrassment never failed to unleash a red heat into her body whenever she thought about it.
She had managed to avoid him in the four days since that horrifying episode. Refusing Terri’s offers of a drink after work, and going out for a run at the crack of dawn. In a small place like Cottinghale, she’d known they would bump into each other eventually, she just hadn’t thought it would be over breakfast in Mrs Beckwith’s dining room on the day she’d agreed to have dinner with him; a tiny fact she’d hidden in the back of her mind until that moment.
Only as he sat down in the chair across from her did she see the all too familiar blue logo of the newspaper sticking out from under Rich’s arm.
‘Is that what I think it is?’ she asked. The embarrassment she’d felt moments earlier now insignificant as her mood plummeted into the pit of her stomach.
‘Err yes. It’s why I’m here,’ he nodded, passing the newspaper to her. ‘Stan grabbed me as we were heading out. I thought you’d prefer to see it sooner rather than later.’
‘Thanks,’ she replied. How could this be happening again?
‘Page seventeen.’
It took a few seconds for Jules’ shaking hands to find the right page, and several more seconds to believe what she was reading.
‘I...I can’t believe this,’ she cried out, slumping her body back into the nearest chair. ‘This is total bollocks. How can they print this stuff about me? It’s all lies.’
‘So you don’t know this guy?’ Rich asked in reply, taking a seat opposite Jules.
‘Not exactly. His dad gave me my first job out of Uni.’
‘But you didn’t actually date him then?’
‘We never invested in a property together. It was his dad’s company who fronted me. And we definitely never
went on holiday together. This photo,’ Jules stabbed at the page, ‘was taken on Brighton Beach.’
‘Right.’ Rich nodded taking a long sip from his cup.
She lifted her gaze towards him, battling the conflicting urges to explain everything and run away.
She remembered Phillip. How could she forget? She had forced herself to accept his offers of a drink after work; then dinner, and everything else that followed. But it had nothing to do with her career or with him for that matter. She’d done it to prove she was normal, and being in a relationship with someone, anyone, proved she had moved on from Guy.
Phillip had been right about one thing. Their relationship had ended rather abruptly when she’d found a new job away from Nottingham, but there was no way he’d been heartbroken.
‘I just can’t believe this,’ she said again, her mind unable to comprehend the millions of people that would be reading about her, let alone ogling at the picture. ‘Why would he do this? They make it sound like I’m an evil slapper.’
‘Juicy Jules,’ she read aloud, shaking her head as the words sunk in.
She pulled the newspaper up to her face for closer inspection. She was sure she’d destroyed that photo. Phillip had taken the shot before she’d been able to protest. Her body looked scrawny, almost malnourished. Her hands were up in protest, her unsmiling face turned away from the camera.
‘You know I meant what I said the other day,’ Rich began. ‘You should seek legal advice on this. I’m sure you could get an injunction to stop them printing any more stories. There are laws to protect people from this kind of invasion of privacy.’
‘What about freedom of speech? If I tried to stop them it would only make things worse.’
‘What about speaking to them directly then? If you gave your side of the story then they’d probably-’
‘No,’ she cut him off. ‘I can’t...I won’t. It’s what he wants. I won’t give him the satisfaction.’ Jules grabbed her coffee, taking two quick gulps. The buzz of caffeine felt instant as it mixed with the anger pulsing through her.
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘Nothing,’ she replied, lifting her eyes to meet his.
He looked different. His hair, still damp and smelling of limes, had yet to be battered by the wind. And his blonde stubble had been replaced with smooth skin, still shiny with moisturiser.
‘This will all go away,’ she added.
Rich said nothing as the silence grew between them.
Jules could stand it no longer; she had to say something, ‘Look, about tonight. Would you mind if we postponed it? What with the long days at the house and now this, I just don’t think I’d be very good company.’
‘I figured as much,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘When I didn’t see you this week, I thought you might be avoiding me?’
‘What? No of course not,’ she lied, feeling the guilt glow on her cheeks. ‘I’ve just been busy.’
‘No problem.’
‘Thanks. Another time definitely.’
‘Okay,’ he nodded. ‘But can I ask you something then?’
‘Sure.’
‘Isn’t it letting them win? I mean, I understand if you want to hide from all this,’ he began, nodding his head towards the newspaper. ‘But you’ve been in Cottinghale how long? A week? And you go from here to your house and back again. It’s not much of a new start is it?’
Jules felt the breath leave her lungs as a fiery rage engulfed her. ‘And what would you know about it? Has anything like this ever happened to you?’ she snapped.
‘No, but-’
‘Well then, stay out of it, okay? You’re right, I’ve been here a week, so don’t pretend you know me.’
She pushed the chair back and sprang to her feet, almost dragging the lace table cloth and the bowl of soggy cornflakes with her.
‘Jules wait; I was only trying to help,’ he explained, his tone remaining even.
She stared down at him fighting the anger throbbing in her head. ‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘I’m sorry for having a go at you. I guess that’s why they say that you shouldn’t shoot the messenger. Thanks for bringing this over.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
She could tell by his tone that Rich was still annoyed about her outburst, or about cancelling dinner, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘I’d better go,’ she said, grabbing the paper and striding from the room without waiting for a response.
As soon as she unlocked her car and slipped behind the steering wheel she felt better. Her house sat less that a ten minute walk further up the road, but something about driving soothed her.
What had just happened? She knew Rich was the last person she should be angry at, but for some reason the more he tried to help her, the harder she pushed him away.
The vibration of her mobile saved Jules from thinking any deeper about the reasons for her strange behaviour towards Rich. She dug her fingers into her pocket and snapped her phone open.
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Hello Juliet this it’s your mum here, just calling to see how your new property is coming along, give us a call-’
‘Mum, I’m here,’ Jules interrupted, balancing the phone in the crook of her right shoulder, freeing her hands to start the car. She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Rich again now.
‘Oh hi darling, I thought it had gone straight to voicemail.’
Even with her mind clouded in anger, Jules felt the familiar churn of guilt. She hadn’t spoken to her parents in months; preferring instead to exchange voicemails every couple of weeks when she knew they would be out at their book club. Their cheerful answer phone message never asked awkward questions she didn’t have the answers too.
‘How are you? Did Guy manage to find you? It was only after he left that I realised our road map might be a little out of date.’
Jules slipped the gear stick into reverse and guided the car out of Mrs Beckwith’s driveway. It took her a moment to register her mother’s comment.
‘Mum, why did you tell him where I was?’
‘Why? Shouldn’t we have done? He told us all about the newspaper story and sounded so apologetic, not that your father and I could figure what exactly was going on, but it was lovely to see him again. I don’t know why it never worked out between the two of you.’
Jules heard the deep sound of her father’s voice bellow in the background as she moved the gear stick into drive and sped up the road.
‘Oh, yes yes that’s right, you were too young.’
Another thrust of frustration reared inside her. Her mother’s ability to make everything seem so simple never failed to drive her crazy.
Her parents, Nora and Bernie Stewart still lived in the same 1950’s semi-detached house on the outskirts of Bath where she’d grown up. For over thirty years they had run a tiny museum, bookshop and local tour dedicated to Jane Austin.
It always surprised Jules how two people who lived with their heads in books could manage to organise themselves enough to get out of bed, let alone run a successful tourist spot in the heart of the city.
With no brothers or sisters the three of them had always been close. When she’d introduced her parents to Guy on one of their regular visits to see her at Loughborough University, they had accepted him like a son; showering him with presents and encouraging him to pursue his music.
Neither of her parents had once questioned their love, and at the time Jules had loved them even more for it.
Things had changed when Guy had left. Like every other aspect of her life, he’d ruined her relationship with her parents too. They’d never said anything, but Jules had seen the sadness and disappointment in their faces when she’d told them he’d gone. She’d let them down.
Since then, with the exception of a flying visit at Christmas and sporadic phone calls, she kept her distance. It just seemed easier that way.
‘Hello? Juliet are you still there? Bernie I think she’s gone. I told you
these portable phones weren’t as good-’
‘Mum....mum, I’m here.’
‘Oh jolly good. Well as I was saying, we weren’t sure if the directions we gave him-’
‘Look mum, if anyone else asks you for my address, please don’t give it to them, or tell them anything ok?’
‘You’re not in trouble are you sweetheart. I hope you’re not worrying about that good for nothing so-called paper.’ Nora paused for a moment, her tone turning serious. ’We brought you up to laugh at nonsense like that Juliet. Guy was so worried about you, bless him, but I told him you wouldn’t mind.’
Jules released a long breath pushing her foot harder against the accelerator and revving the cold engine.
‘No mum,’ she sighed, ‘I’m not in trouble. I’d just prefer it if you didn’t give out any personal details about me, okay?’
‘Oh we wouldn’t speak to anyone who didn’t know you of course. It’s funny actually because just yesterday we had a nice friend of yours pop into the shop for a quick chat.’
‘Who?’
‘Oh I can’t remember her name now, something unusual. The kind you wouldn’t find in an Austin.’
‘What did she want?’ Jules racked her brains. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d mentioned her parents to anyone.
‘Just to see how you were getting on’
‘Did she say where she knew me from?’
‘Reading I think, but I could be wrong. Or maybe it was school, she was very interested in the photos, you know the ones we have pinned to the corkboard by the counter?’
‘I don’t have any friends in Reading.’
‘Oh well somewhere else then.’
She didn’t have any friends anywhere else either, but she couldn’t admit that to her mum.
Jules spun the wheel towards the narrow entrance of her overgrown driveway without reducing her speed, narrowly missing the skip as she slammed her foot against the brake pedal, bringing the car to a jolting stop.
The Reluctant Celebrity Page 8
