by JC Harroway
‘Oh? I’m glad one of us is benefiting from this …’ I searched for the right word, fearing ‘relationship’ sounded far to intimate, ‘… association.’
His smile dropped to a pained grimace and I winced. ‘I wasn’t trivialising your predicament. Martin is my agent. I’ve just had an offer I’ve wanted for a long time. It seems meeting you has been good for me, and I’m sorry you can’t say the same. My offer for the charity still stands though.’
He handed the iPad back to Jake. ‘Tell Martin to set it up and can you e-mail a list of my charities to Dr King, please?’
‘Sure.’
‘Don’t bother,’ I said, halting the assistant’s retreat. I met Nathan’s questioning stare. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’
He was correct. I hadn’t benefited from our chance meeting. Quite the opposite. But even more damaging were the glimpses of the real Nathan. They called to me, flashing brilliantly for a few seconds before he tucked them back behind his persona.
‘Thanks, Jake.’ Nathan removed the top photograph from the pile and picked up his pen.
A bewildered Jake glanced between us and then scooped up the remaining photos before retreating.
‘Even if it helps to take the heat from your family?’ Nathan asked, his head down and pen working.
‘We don’t need you to fix us with some flashy publicity stunt. I’ll take care of my family. I’ve been doing it since I was fourteen.’
The smile he bestowed on me was enigmatic, but with just enough heat to make my toes curl. ‘I’m not trying to fix you, Sophia. Quite the opposite, in fact.’
What did that mean? The tingly heat spread through me, extinguishing the sparks of anger and replacing them with the same glowing embers of desire I’d experienced when I’d been pinned to the wall with his lips on mine. Of their own accord, my eyes sought his mouth before once again connecting with the heat of his stare.
Retreat. Protect yourself.
I jerked to a standing position, stepping out into the aisle only to have my escape blocked by him. When I raised my glare to him, defiance squaring my shoulders, I was shocked at the absence of his cocky grin. A slight frown pinched his eyebrows and his eyes held a twinge of vulnerability as he held out the photo to me.
I glanced down. His signature covered the bottom of the headshot and next to it was a tiny stick woman brandishing a sword at a crude fire-breathing dragon.
The curve of his brow and the curl of his lip mocked me. He bent forward until his mouth hovered close to my ear, his warm breath grazing my skin. ‘Think about it. You might enjoy yourself.’ He withdrew scant inches, the tip of his tongue peeking out to moisten his top lip.
I felt my body sway towards him, or it might have been the movement of the plane. I’d never know if I planned on kissing him, because the next minute all the reasons me kissing Nathan was a bad idea filled my sensible mind and I pulled back. Ignoring both his offer and his photo, I collected my belongings and moved to a seat far away from his for the duration of the journey.
Chapter Seven
THE six hours I’d been back at my parents’ house in Hertfordshire had been an obstacle course of eggshell walking, faking encouraging smiles and dodging windows. I’d arrived home to a barrage of photographs and questions from the paparazzi camped out at the bottom of the driveway. The threat of the telephoto lens had turned my family home into a gloomy and stifling prison cell.
Things were much worse than I’d anticipated. After the initial pleasure of seeing me, Dad had retreated to his office where he’d tried to keep himself distracted with the crossword. He couldn’t hide the deepened lines around his eyes nor the fact he was using twice as much of his angina spray as he had when I’d left for New Zealand.
Mum did her best to maintain a brave face, brewing steady supplies of tea, but she’d called in sick to her job as the local school receptionist, something she never did, and she watched my father like a hawk, worry etched into her face.
Matty was home to welcome me, my parents deciding it was better to bring him to their house than to risk the paparazzi following us to his supported living flat.
As soon as he’d seen me, Matty wanted us to take our usual walk through the woods. The afternoon was perfect for it, the summer having been exceptional so far. Instead we were relegated indoors with the curtains closed, watching old movie favourites. My brother’s joy at the predictability of the lines known by heart was contagious and I laughed along with him, reciting the best bits.
‘How’s your job, Matty?’
Matty worked at a bakery as a part-time apprentice baker. He smiled, his eyes never leaving the screen. ‘I made Eccles cakes.’
‘Mmm, I love those.’
‘I brought some for you. In the kitchen.’ He kept his eyes glued to the screen but leaned over to hug me.
My eyes tingled. Matty was rarely demonstrative. ‘You brought cakes for me? Thanks.’
‘Yes. And Nathan Banks.’
I stilled, swallowing hard to keep my voice steady when I spoke. ‘Nathan Banks?’
‘Yes, he’s your boyfriend. He likes Eccles cakes.’
‘Does he?’ My mind whirred. Matty had a laptop and access to the internet. He’d obviously been keeping abreast of the situation.
‘That’s really kind of you. But Nathan Banks is not my boyfriend.’ My mind flashed to the headshot of him with the stick figure drawing. I’d found it tucked into the pocket of my carry-on earlier, and he’d added what I assumed was his private number to the back. A surge of heat warmed me that had nothing to do with the sun outside or the stuffiness of my parents’ darkened lounge. Was that how he saw me? A warrior woman battling the odds? If only.
Matty interrupted my imaginings. ‘Just a friend?’
Not really. It’s complicated. ‘Yes. Just a friend.’ He’d said he didn’t want to fix me.
‘My girlfriend likes Eccles cakes.’
‘You have a girlfriend? What’s her name?’ My chest tightened. My little brother had a girlfriend.
‘Claire Thomas, born September fifth, 1994.’
‘Is she pretty?’ I swallowed down the burn in my throat.
‘Yes. Shall we walk in the woods?’
‘Not today, Matty.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m tired from the long flight.’
‘Is it the men?’ Matty turned from the TV screen, pinning me with a clear gaze that defied me to lie, even if it was to protect him.
I cleared my throat, buying time. How much was he aware of and what had he already deduced? ‘Which men?’
‘The ones at the gate. Photographers. Do they want Dad?’
Matty had an excellent memory, and it didn’t surprise me that he remembered the years of our childhoods spent dodging journalists, even though our father’s political career was long over.
‘No, not really. They want me. Because Nathan Banks is … famous.’
‘You can tell them “no photos”.’ He resumed his movie watching. If only it was that simple.
Mum was in the kitchen arranging the Eccles cakes on a plate. ‘Is he upset about the walk?’
I pulled out a chair at the table and took a seat. ‘A little. I told him I was too tired but he doesn’t miss a trick. He knows about the photos of Nathan and I, and he hasn’t missed the paps at the gate.’
‘He spends hours online so I’m not surprised. What did he say?’
I raised an eyebrow at her question. Matty was a man of few words. ‘He said I should tell them “no photos”.’ This was exactly what I most feared. That my brother would once again become mixed up in a media frenzy.
At twelve, Matty had been taller than my fourteen-year-old self. At the height of the scandal that ended my father’s political career, we’d been ambushed outside school one day by two particularly aggressive paparazzi. I’d tried to fend them off, positioning my body between them and my brother as a human shield. But they’d stretched their arms around me, extending the range of their c
ameras, and I’d lost my footing. A jostling mess ensued, in which Matty, who could barely tolerate being touched by family let alone strangers, was bumped with flailing arms and bulky lenses, and bombarded by a barrage of yelled questions.
In complete sensory overload, he’d reacted, screaming and lashing out at the men who’d followed us to the bus stop. A crowd had gathered, passersby and other children from our school heading home, the spectacle worth missing the bus for. Eventually the police had been called and I, unable to calm my brother down, had to watch as two policemen grappled a distraught Matty to the ground. My screams about his disability fell on deaf ears, but I hadn’t given up, even when I’d yelled myself hoarse.
My parents had tried to resolve the drama—the paparazzi had apologised, the police had received training on managing people with Autism Spectrum Disorders, and I’d never taken the bus to school again. But I’d never forgiven myself for not protecting my brother that day and shortly after, my parents had split and Matty had been transferred to a different school.
I hadn’t fared so well. The girl with the ‘criminal’ father and the ‘freak’ brother had endured another four years at the same school, increasingly isolated, distrustful and determined to erect strong walls to protect both my family and myself in the future.
‘Did you know he has a girlfriend?’ I winced, my chest tightening. I’d been so preoccupied with work and so far away in New Zealand, I’d lost track of my brother’s life. I helped myself to an Eccles cake from the plate, ignoring my mother’s tutting at the crumbs that fell when I bit into the buttery pastry.
She handed me a plate. ‘Yes, I did.’ She poured three mugs of tea and placed one before me. ‘She works with him. They’ve been on a date to the cinema, with a carer, of course.’ The lines etched around my mother’s eyes and mouth told the story of her hard-won battles to provide my brother with a fulfilling life. It wasn’t always easy.
Somehow, while I’d been away my brother had turned into a man. Or perhaps he had been before and I hadn’t noticed. Whilst he was still vulnerable, he was living his life to the fullest. And I? Was I simply charging around trying to save everyone else, ignoring my own needs?
My mother clutched a hand to her mouth and turned away, presumably to hide the glisten of tears in her eyes. ‘He’s been doing so well, and now this all starts up again. What if they follow him? I’ve notified the supported living crew, but their budget doesn’t stretch to security.’
If Matty lashed out again, he might end up in jail this time. I rounded the table to hug her, any words of comfort I might have offered turning to dust on my tongue. I had no answers. If I did, there wouldn’t be thirty paparazzi at the bottom of the drive.
‘I’m sorry. You’ve only just arrived home. I promised myself I was going to be strong.’ She sniffed, holding in the tears.
I called upon my bedside manner, injecting my tone with reassurance. ‘It’s okay. They’ll get bored. There’s no story here anymore, Mum.’
She couldn’t hide the worried pinch to her mouth or redness of her eyes, which had been there even before she began crying. ‘Dad’s become very withdrawn and his angina has worsened. Do you think he should go to the hospital to see the cardiologist?’
‘I’ll have a look at him. I could go to the GP with him if you want.’ I had plenty of time on my hands. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault, love.’ Her words were heartfelt, but the burden stayed weighted to my shoulders, pressing my feet to the dated linoleum on the kitchen floor. She stepped away, with a sad smile. ‘I’ll just take this tea to your dad.’
I collapsed back into a kitchen chair, my elbows hitting the wooden table and my shoulders dropped to a slump. My options were limited. My family was under siege and I was all out of weaponry. Looked like I might be using my bare hands to slay those dragons.
***
My childhood bedroom had changed little in the six years since I’d lived at home. I lay on my single bed and stared at the lilac walls I’d chosen when I was fourteen, fighting the images of Nathan that appeared before my eyes. My laptop was open on the bed next to me, and my restless fingers itched to type his name into Google. I groaned, burying my face in my pillow.
The dial tone of the video call saved me from temptation and I connected the call, smiling at Jess’s face filling my screen.
We swapped pleasantries for a few moments—I was thrilled to hear the press had lost interest in Jess and the clinic once she’d informed them I’d left the country. At least I’d taken my drama with me when I’d fled New Zealand.
‘How was the flight?’ Jess waggled an eyebrow.
I rolled my eyes, ignoring her innuendo. ‘Long, but luxurious. Wow, how the other half travel.’
Her blue eyes widened. ‘Really? You lucky cow. I’ll have to come back in economy.’
‘I won’t tell you about the marble shower room then?’
Her face fell. ‘No. Don’t you dare.’ She waggled a finger at me, a comical scowl on her face. ‘How did you leave things with Nathan?’
I sighed. If I’d phoned her, she wouldn’t have been able to see me lie. Face to face I could never pull the wool over Jess’s eyes. She knew me too well. ‘I don’t know where to start.’
‘Duh. Always start at the juicy bits—you know they’re my favourite.’
Juicy bits? Part of me wished I had something juicy to tell her. Apart from the almost kiss that didn’t happen on the plane, I’d received a very chaste cheek version from Nathan when we’d parted on the tarmac. ‘He thinks we should give the paps something to talk about other than my family history.’
Jess raised her brows. ‘Oh? What’s he suggesting?’
‘Well, he offered to work with me on a charitable project of my choosing, but I think what he’d really like is for us to be seen together.’ The words filled me with shards of dread and ripples of excitement until both swirled inside me in a tangle that flipped my stomach. It was neither pleasurable nor dreadful and left me floundering in No Man’s Land.
‘Would that be so bad? Things can’t get any worse for your family if there are paps camped in the garden. And you’ve already snogged him.’ As always, Jess was quick to get right to the crux of the matter in her blunt way.
‘No, I guess not.’ The thought of seeing Nathan again left me breathless. My last image of him was from the rear window of the car he’d arranged to drive me from Heathrow to my parents’ house yesterday. He’d stood next to his own ride, watching me until I was out of sight.
But even if I consented to his diversionary tactics, would I really be good for his image? And what about Claudia? He’d said they weren’t a couple, but I didn’t want to cramp his style. ‘He said I’d landed him a chance at a role he’s been chasing for months. It seems he’s sick of rom-coms.’
‘So, he gets a gorgeous, intelligent woman on his arm, and you get a wodge of cash for your favourite charity or at the very least the press interest will follow you and Nathan, leaving your family alone. It’s sounds like a win-win to me, Soph. He’s not exactly grotesque and you may even have some fun?’ She made an obscene gesture with her hand and mouth and we both cracked up.
When the laughter died, I said, ‘That’s exactly what he said, arrogant shit.’ But the arrogance wasn’t real, was it? I sighed. I just wanted this to all be over—to have my dull, predictable, responsible life back.
‘The way I see it, you’ve got nothing to lose. Once you leave your parents’ house the press will probably leave too, especially if you’re seen in public with Nathan. And his people will be there to protect you.’
Was she thinking about the night in Queenstown and the massive bodyguard who’d made her feel safe?
The twinkle returned to her eyes. ‘So, you go to a few parties with him, buy diamonds, drink champagne …’
‘Jess, this isn’t Pretty Woman.’
‘I know. Nathan is way hotter than Richard Gere. Then in a week, you dump him or he dumps you and life goes back to
normal, hum-drum—no more celebrity snogging.’
I bit the inside of my cheek to stem the disappointment that thought conjured. ‘I don’t know. There’s a lot going on here. Matty knows something’s up and Mum’s terrified the photographers will approach him—playing a role just seems so … trivial.’
‘It’ll be worth it if it works though. Besides, what else are you going to do for three weeks? Sit around with the curtains drawn playing board games?’
She painted a grim picture—I was on the verge of insanity after one day. From downstairs, I heard a screech.
‘Jess, I’ve gotta go.’ I jumped off the bed without disconnecting the call and hared downstairs to the kitchen, where my mother clutched her chest.
‘Oh, he gave me such a fright. I was just hanging some tea towels out to dry.’
I joined my dad at the French windows, peaking through a slit in the curtains. A paparazzo had managed to gain access to the fields behind our house and was currently halfway up the oak tree at the bottom of our garden, his camera glinting in the sun.
‘Cheeky bugger. Heather, call the police.’
It took me an hour to defuse the situation. I left Dad in his office with today’s newspaper and Mum having a lie-down with a couple of headache pills.
Back in my room, I pulled my carry-on from under the bed and retrieved the photograph Nathan had put there. I stared at the number on the back for half an hour before I could make the call. He answered on the first ring.
‘Yes?’
My throat closed. ‘It’s Sophia King.’ I sucked in a breath, Jess’s words ringing in my ears. How bad could it be? I might even have fun.
The silence stretched. Was he smiling? That sexy half-smile the fans missed out on?
‘I see your family have visitors?’ he said.
I expelled the air in my lungs on a prolonged sigh. ‘Scumbags have started climbing the trees, now. Mum’s frantic they’ll follow my brother, and not even his delicious Eccles cakes could make me forget it’s the hottest month of the year and we’re inside with the curtains drawn.’
