Angel smiled at her new friends. It was time to take a chance and roll the dice.
“Thanks,” she said warmly. “I’d love to dine with you.”
Chapter 14
It was a good indication of how embarrassed Gemma was that even after three hours, one major food-shopping trip and a recce of the caravan her skin was still crawling with mortification. Another very significant pointer was that she couldn’t face eating a thing. As soon as she’d realised that she’d covered Callum South in cream buns and pastry, Gemma’s appetite had vanished. It was still AWOL now. Even her trip to Asda – usually an exercise in willpower that defeated her as soon as she saw the family packs of iced buns – hadn’t held any appeal. There had been nothing on the shelf that she’d remotely wanted to cram into her mouth.
Gemma had no desire to eat. It was most unusual. She supposed this was because she felt so sick with horror.
Actually, at the time it had been difficult to say who was more aghast, Gemma or Callum. At first she’d had to do a double take because although the guy wiping cream out of his hair and dusting flaky pastry from his trackie bottoms looked like Callum South, his features were blurred and puffy, as though somebody rubbish at Photoshop had been messing around with the smudge and liquefy tools. On the television, too, she was certain his eyes were brighter and his hair much thicker. Maybe it wasn’t him after all? Didn’t Angel say that television added ten pounds? Not at least twice that? But this guy was much larger than the reality star whose face was everywhere. Even the fat picture of him in Angel’s latest copy of Heat was slender in comparison.
“Jaysus, will you stop staring at me and help clear up this mess?” the man snapped, his lilting Irish accent instantly dashing any hope that she’d been mistaken. Oh God! It really was him! Gemma knew she’d been desperate to come to Rock and bump into Callum South, but she hadn’t meant literally! Why did these things always happen to her?
“Sorry, sorry!” She dropped to the floor like a paratrooper and started scooping up the remnants of his food. Quite what she thought she was going to do with it she had no idea, but at least she was making an effort. As she picked up pasties and sausage rolls, Gemma tried frantically to think of a way she could introduce herself, but her tongue felt as though it had turned into a pretzel and it was hopeless. If only she could be more like Angel. Her best friend would probably have batted her eyelids, laughed it all off and had Cal licking choux pastry and cream off her slim fingers by now.
Callum South made no attempt to help. Instead he was desperately pulling up the hood on his Quiksilver hoody and backing away from the shop window. When his phone shrilled he swore under his breath and switched it off.
“This is all I fecking need,” he muttered.
Gemma sneaked a quick look up at him from under her blonde fringe. The star was dressed for exercise in his expensive sports gear, comprising state-of-the-art trainers and a designer tracksuit – a look that was at odds with the bag of cakes and sausage rolls he’d been carrying. Or rather, it would have been at odds to most people’s way of thinking, but to Gemma it made perfect sense. Once you’d burned a few calories, rewarding yourself with a few thousand more only seemed fair. Callum didn’t need to look so awkward about it. Anyway, he was famous for his love of food. Surely it wasn’t a problem for him? Gemma would have bet that nobody had ever asked Callum to wear control pants and told him his career was over if he didn’t shed the pounds. Hadn’t he made a fortune from doing exactly that? Men in the media were allowed to gain weight and still have a career. It was unfair, but since when had that made a difference?
“I think that’s all I can save,” she said, apologetically offering him the salvaged food.
“Just leave it,” he snapped. “I don’t want it anyway.”
“But you’ve paid for it,” Gemma said. She felt terrible. Reaching into her rucksack she pulled out her purse. “Let me buy you some more. Please. It’s the least I can do.”
“I said, leave it.” Callum glared at her so angrily that Gemma shrank back. That glower could have frozen fire. Blimey. This wasn’t the easy-going guy she’d seen on the telly. TV Callum was always full of humour and happy to laugh at himself. This version was more like Heathcliff in sweatpants.
“But it’s your food. You must be hungry.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, well. I’m always hungry. Sure, you get used to it.”
“Really?” Gemma found this hard to believe. She never had.
Cal sighed. “No, not really. But you’ve probably done me a favour. I shouldn’t be eating all that shit anyway. My trainer would pop a blood vessel if she saw the calorie count in that lot. It’s probably a week’s worth; hell, more like two at the moment.”
Gemma paused in the middle of trying to cram some squashed éclairs back into the box. “But you’ve just been exercising. Surely you deserve a treat?”
Cal laughed bitterly. “What’s the point of running six miles if I just pig out again? Sure, I may as well have stayed indoors and saved myself the bother.”
“Poor you,” said Gemma with feeling.
He shrugged. “Yeah, well. It is what it is.”
“But dieting sucks!” Gemma cried. “People should be able to enjoy food. Life’s miserable otherwise.”
Cal was peering over her shoulder, down the street both ways, his head bobbing like the Churchill Insurance dog.
“Try telling that to my manager,” he grimaced. “And if my personal trainer had seen me in here my life wouldn’t be worth living. I’m here to get fit, otherwise I’m screwed. My manager says diet and I diet: that’s how it is.”
Gemma nodded sympathetically. If Chloe had had her way, Gemma knew she would have been booted off to fat camp years ago. How much worse would it have been to have had the nation watching her sweat off every pound?
“I’m always on a diet myself,” she told him. “People are always making digs about my weight.”
Cal sighed wearily. “Tell me about it.”
“In fact,” Gemma continued, as she scraped up pastry and cream as best she could, “I shouldn’t even be here now. I’ve practically been told that if I don’t lose a few stone I’ll lose my job.”
“Jaysus. That sounds familiar,” he said with feeling. A second or two passed by before he added hastily, “Anyway, you’re not overweight.”
Gemma said kindly, “That’s very sweet of you but I think we both know that’s blatantly untrue. Isn’t this the point where you should say that I have a pretty face?”
He stared down at her, his Galaxy Minstrel eyes holding hers. Gemma could see herself reflected in the dark depths, looking pale and distinctly chubby. God. What a state. What was she doing in a cake shop?
“Sure, and you do have a pretty face,” he agreed thoughtfully. “A very pretty face. And if—”
He paused, looking as though he was trying to put some profound point into words. Well, Gemma knew exactly what was coming next.
“And if I lost weight I could look really good?” Her shoulders slumped. “Don’t worry, you can say it. It’s nothing I haven’t already heard.”
But Cal was shaking his head. “That wasn’t what I was about to say. I was going to say that if people are genuine then they won’t care about what you weigh, so they won’t. The weight bollocks, it’s all superficial.”
Gemma stared at him. This was a bit hard to take, coming from a man who made his living from losing weight.
“But on your show you always say how much better you feel when you are slim,” she pointed out.
“I know, I know; I can talk.” Cal shrugged. “If I took my own advice I’d probably be a lot happier. Jaysus, I couldn’t be any more miserable. This fecking show is driving me mad.”
While Cal watched the street, presumably for a lurking pap or maybe a fan armed with a camera phone, Gemma toyed with the idea of talking to him about his show and the possibility of getting herself onto it. After all, wasn’t that why she was here? Perhaps this was her moment now?
The golden opportunity she’d been waiting for? She had to be brave, take her chance and put her brilliant plan into action.
Screwing up every drop of courage she possessed, Gemma said timidly, “Look I’ve seen your show and I really love it. Maybe if people knew how you really felt—”
Cal spun around from the window. “If I see so much as a word of what I’ve just said repeated in a newspaper anywhere, my lawyers will be onto you so fast you won’t know what’s hit you! We never had this conversation and you never saw me here. Got it?”
He glowered down at her and there was such fury in those dark eyes that Gemma quailed.
“Got it?” he repeated.
She couldn’t speak; instead she just nodded. What on earth had she done to make him so angry? Only seconds earlier he’d been pouring out his heart to her.
“Good.” Callum South tugged his hood down even lower over his face and shoved past her to the door. Then the shop bell tinkled and he was gone, running down the road and out of sight; her thudding heart and a trail of cream and pastry footsteps were the only evidence he’d ever been there at all.
Every time Gemma replayed this episode she felt more and more embarrassed. Not only had she trashed his cake-shop haul and plastered him in cream and crumbs, but she’d also behaved like some star-struck fan. Which she supposed she was. It was true that Gemma had adored Callum South for years. Even now her mum still bought Gemma his calendar at Christmas. She sighed. Even carrying the extra weight and with all the social graces of a bout of diarrhoea, he was still Callum South, once the toast of the Premier League and owner of a six pack that would have made Peter Andre weep. Beneath the layers of fat those once-sharp cheek bones were still lurking; his tall frame still had an athletic grace, and as for those big brown chocolate-button eyes... Gemma reckoned they had the power to make her melt – when they weren’t glaring at her, that was. And, when he wasn’t shouting, that Irish accent was very sexy too.
What a shame he’d turned out to be such a knob. She really shouldn’t be surprised. Most celebrities Gemma had come across were so up themselves they were practically inside out. She’d just thought that Callum was different. On his show he always seemed so self-effacing and so genuine. Gemma guessed this was just an act for the cameras. It was all very disappointing. So much for getting herself onto his show as one of the weight-loss victims. Cal had looked as though he’d like to have stabbed her with the cheese straws. She was going to have to rethink. Once she got over the embarrassment, obviously.
Luckily Gemma had been very busy shopping and sorting out the caravan, which helped to take her mind off the incident a little. Their new home was a rather elderly static, considered far too tatty for a campsite that a farmer friend of her parents had bought for a nominal sum with the intention of making a bit of extra cash letting it to tourists. Unfortunately for him the type of visitor who came to Rock didn’t want to slum it in a caravan that had shared its heyday with Joan Collins. The wealthy Rock crowd, whose Mecca consisted of the water-sports facilities, beaches and restaurants, had their pick of interior-designed holiday cottages and luxury hotels with spas and sweeping coastal views. For those who wanted to attempt to “rough it” Rock style, there was always glamping, complete with fire pits, organic produce and snug yurts. The caravan at Trendaway Farm had stood unloved and uncared for since the day it had arrived. No wonder Gemma had been able to rent it so easily and so cheaply.
After several hours spent cleaning the caravan, Gemma reckoned the smell of damp was slightly less overpowering. She’d evicted countless spiders, scrubbed off the black mould and generally given the place a good airing. With some flowers on the table in the living area, a few generous squirts of Febreze onto the mattresses and seats, and a lamp switched on, it was looking much more homely. The bathroom left a lot to be desired, but at least they had a hot shower and a loo that worked. Peeling lino and a window that didn’t shut weren’t ideal – but compared to her initial fear that they might not have running water connected, this was the height of luxury.
There were only two minuscule bedrooms, more like cupboards really and with built-in beds topped with cheap mattresses. Gemma claimed the double bed for herself. Andi and Angel were sisters and could share the room with two singles, Gemma reasoned as she crammed her clothes into the tiny wardrobe space. Since she was paying all the rent until the other two found work, it only seemed fair. She opened the window and instantly the sweet evening air, heavy with honeysuckle and salt, drifted in and filled her with happiness. So she was tired and still stinging from the afternoon, but who cared? She was back in Cornwall. She was home!
Gemma had done the lion’s share of the work but to be honest she didn’t mind because it gave her something to think about rather than dwelling on how spectacularly she had mucked things up with Cal. She even thought about doing some baking because that was always good therapy. Hey! Maybe she could bake Cal a cake as an apology? At this thought Gemma brightened. She knew exactly what she would make for him: one of her famous sponges, light as air and cushioned by cream and fresh strawberry jam. The farmer sold both in his shop, alongside free-range eggs with the yellowest yolks imaginable. They would make the sponge the most amazing colour. Maybe she could even buy some real strawberries to decorate it with?
Fired up by this brilliant plan to put things right with Cal, so that she could make a new start and persuade him that he really did want her on his show, Gemma abandoned the bedroom for the tiny galley kitchen. There were pots, pans and a small cooker which, once cleaned, she knew would be more than up to the job. All she had to do was stock up on baking equipment and, even more importantly, find out exactly where Cal was staying. Once he’d seen and tasted what she could bake he was bound to forgive her and sign her for his show.
Gemma could hardly wait to get started.
Chapter 15
“Are you sure it’s all right to speak to your brother-in-law right now?”
As she strolled with Jonty through the town and out towards the coastal path, Andi was starting to worry about turning up unannounced on Simon. “He’s on holiday, after all, and he must be really busy with his family.”
Jonty gave her a sideways look. “Is this a genuine worry, or are you having second thoughts?”
“It’s a genuine worry. I’d hate to interrupt a family supper.”
He grinned at her. “There speaks a girl who’s never met my family. Their idea of a family supper is a race for who can get to the microwave first or a dash to the chippy. There’s no way Mel’s going to cook when she’s on a break. Anyway, I told you, Si’s really keen to meet you. It was his idea we came up straight away. Like I said, you are the only one who can save his marriage!”
Andi relaxed a bit. She was shocked to find herself on the way to meet the chairman of Mermaid Media. That certainly wasn’t what she’d expected to be doing this evening. Still, it was hard not to be swept up by Jonty’s enthusiasm. She’d only known him for a couple of hours but already Andi realised he wasn’t the kind of man to let opportunities slip away. Once Jonty had an idea in his head, that was it: he ran with it. Take this idea of her working for his brother-in-law, for example; no sooner had Andi agreed than he was on his mobile and had arranged for her to meet Simon. Now they were on their way to Simon’s house and Andi felt a ripple of excitement spread through her entire body. Could her luck be about to change at last? Could she really be fortunate enough to have found a job this quickly?
As they walked through Rock, Jonty gallantly positioned himself at the kerbside. It made a lovely change; Tom would have willingly shoved Andi under a juggernaut to save his own skin, she now realised. On the way, she and Jonty chatted easily about the town: he liked to spend most of his time at the boatyard or out on the water, whereas Andi had always headed for the beach or spent her time reading in the garden. They both agreed that the town had changed hugely over the past few years, though.
“Take this house here,” Andi said, pausing to point up at Ocean Vi
ew. The house lay before them, reclining on manicured lawns like a sultana on her cushioned throne and turning golden in the sunset. It had certainly been smartened up since those long-gone days of her seaside memories. “That’s the one that we always used to rent for the summer. Back then it was a piece of faded splendour. The paint was peeling, the floorboards creaked and the garden was a wilderness, but we absolutely loved it.” She paused, shading her eyes against the bright light. “It looks like it’s been spruced up and extended too, which is a bit of a shame. It’s like something out of a magazine now, whereas before it was real. I expect it’s probably had the designer seaside makeover inside too, for some rich city boy who sees it for a week a year.”
Jonty cleared his throat. “Uh, Andi? I think I ought to tell you now – that’s Simon’s place.”
Andi blushed to roots of her hair. Why hadn’t she had her tongue removed at birth?
“Oh,” was all she could say.
“Oh,” agreed Jonty, but his eyes were crinkled and full of mirth. “So, will I tell Mel to reconsider the decor? Or shall I leave that to you?”
Andi swatted him on the arm. It was strong and muscular and she drew her hand back quickly.
“I think the less I say the better,” she told him.
The old wrought-iron gate that Andi remembered had been hanging on one hinge and always opened with a creak and a thud. As she recalled those noises, a flood of nostalgic memories came back to her, as striking and diverse as an Instagram page. That gate was long gone now, replaced by a smart pair of high wooden ones, which swung open easily. The old path that snaked its way through a maze of tangled rhododendrons and elderly azaleas crunched underfoot with freshly raked gravel and had been widened to allow cars to pass. The view, though, was unchanged; it was still a vast living picture of scudding clouds, white-tipped waves and fields of golden wheat beyond the river that rippled in imitation of the Atlantic below. It was so achingly familiar that Andi could almost believe that at any moment her mother would shout for her to come in for supper. Even after all this time the knowledge she would never hear that voice again still felt like a punch to the guts.
[Escape 01.0] Escape for the Summer Page 12
