Watching Willow Watts: One Country Girl Is About to Discover That Fame Can Cost a Fortune

by Talli Roland

  ‘My firm’s bidding to design the town’s new tourist centre.’ Alex leaned forward to shout in her ear and she caught a heady whiff of his musky cologne, the same one he used to wear when they were dating. ‘And I–’

  ‘Come on!’ the hefty woman beside Alex shouted at him, nearly knocking him over with her jumbo-sized arm. ‘Stop hogging Marilyn. Get your willie signed and move on!’

  Alex smiled, and Willow’s heart squeezed at the familiar grin. ‘Your fans await. But look, it would be great to catch up; to hear how all this’ – he waved his hands around –‘happened. And, you know, to see how you’ve been.’ His eyes met hers. ‘I’m in town until tomorrow afternoon. You free for dinner tonight?’

  Willow stared, trying to determine what to say. Despite the pull she felt toward him, meeting up again probably wasn’t a good idea. He’d moved on with his life and she was still stuck in Belcherton. They were even further apart than ever . . . not to mention Claire.

  ‘Okay.’ The word flew out before she could stop it. Shit! What could she say to get out of this one?

  ‘Great. I’ll meet you by the fountain beside the green at seven,’ Alex said.

  And before Willow had the chance to respond, the over-enthusiastic woman grabbed Willow’s wrist and hauled her away as Alex disappeared into the crowd.

  *

  Cissy limped up the high street, heart sinking as she spotted a mass of people ahead at the village green. The strains of I Wanna Be Loved By You drifted through the air, and she could just make out a blonde head bobbing above the crowd. What was this, some kind of concert?

  For the love of God, she really couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Last night, Cissy had finally given in to her curiosity and turned on one of those foul twenty-four-hour entertainment channels. She’d only watched for five minutes when the silly video of Willow Watts being Marilyn had come on. It was amateurism at its very worst, and that image floating above Willow was just that: an image, pure and simple. How unfair this girl could become an overnight sensation, while professionals like Cissy had struggled every day to make it big.

  Jabbing a cane at the ground with annoyance, Cissy shoved her fedora even further down onto snow-white hair and made sure to keep her head low as she threaded between the punters packing the street. Not that people usually noticed her anyway. One of the few perks of being old was the ability to fade into the background.

  A screech filled the air and the music thankfully came to an abrupt halt. The crowd cheered, waving Marilyn posters. In the midst of it all, Willow Watts – clad in a hideous get-up that would have Marilyn reaching for barbiturates if she’d lived today – was slowly making her way off the stage toward a well-built man in a tailored suit. Something about those broad shoulders and the way he puffed out his chest seemed familiar, but Cissy couldn’t quite see his face . . . squinting, she leaned forward and waited for him to turn.

  Oh, Lord. Cissy swung her head away from him as realisation hit. It was her former agent, that louse who’d gone bankrupt! Anger swept over her and she scuttled behind a woman with a platinum wig holding a ‘Marilyn, We Love You’ poster, then risked a glance in his direction. His face was just as she remembered, with those classic good looks, wavy hair and big puppy-dog eyes.

  What was he doing here? She watched as he grabbed Willow’s arm and hissed something to a man who looked like a bulldog, then motioned her to carry on.

  Ah. Now it made sense. He was here for the girl. Truth be told, Cissy wasn’t really that surprised. Any whiff of a make-money opportunity, and he’d crawl out from his slimy little hole, bankrupt or not. That Willow Watts probably didn’t even know what she’d let herself in for, but everyone had to pay some price for success. Lord knows Cissy certainly had.

  Well, if he thought he could just sign up the girl and weasel his way back into the entertainment industry again, he had another thing coming. She didn’t know what, but she’d conjure up something to make sure he wouldn’t have an easy time of it.

  Cissy’s lip curled. Finally, it was time to get her own back.

  CHAPTER TEN

  BETTS TOOK DICKIE’S ARM and smiled over at him as they watched Willow work the crowd, signing memorabilia and nodding graciously at her fans. Betts was pretty sure Willow hadn’t been the one crooning Marilyn’s iconic song up on stage, but Willow had managed to capture Marilyn’s essence perfectly.

  ‘So, are you a proud papa then?’ she asked Dickie as they made their way down the high street toward home. Funny, Betts had only been in town a few days, but the cramped house felt more homely than the bungalow she’d shared with Gord for years.

  Dickie stroked his beard. ‘You know, I’m just glad Willow’s doing something for her. She’s had it tough the past couple years.’

  Betts nodded sympathetically.

  ‘My health took a turn after my wife passed away, and she dropped everything to come here and be with me. Once I was up on my feet, I tried to convince her to go back to the city, but she was having none of it.’ They both said hello to Janey, a woman from Canada who was their best customer, spending at least twenty pounds each day on Marilyn paraphernalia.

  ‘Of course I’m happy to have her with me,’ Dickie continued. ‘But I wish she’d go on and get back to her own life. So, yes, I’m happy it looks like she’s finally doing something. Even if it’s something I’d never have expected in a million years!’

  Betts tilted her head, thoughts turning to her own children. When Gord had left, they’d been so busy with their own lives, they’d barely even seemed to notice. She couldn’t imagine them dropping everything to come support her. For all their initial worry, neither had even responded when she’d emailed to let them know she was here safely, giving Dickie’s contact information since her cell phone didn’t work. Even in Georgia, the only time they did get in touch was when they wanted something: their cupboards were empty, or they had too much laundry to contemplate handling on their own. For two grown children who were nearly thirty, sometimes they acted like spoiled toddlers.

  ‘What do you want for dinner tonight?’ Betts asked. ‘For once, there’s nothing going on at the campsite. Everyone went up to Willow’s concert and planned to hit the pub after. I hope Lordy has enough beer on tap.’

  Dickie smiled at her. ‘You’re meant to be a guest in my house, not my own personal chef. Tonight I’m going to take you out.’

  ‘That would be fantastic!’ Was this a date? Gosh, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to dinner with a man – not since Gord, of course. And even with Gord, they’d rarely eaten out. He’d always said he didn’t like wasting money on something that was going to be digested and exiting his body the next day.

  ‘Lovely,’ Dickie said, his cheeks slightly rosy. ‘Eight okay?’

  Betts nodded, her mind flipping through what to wear. Floral blouse number one or floral blouse number two? And did she have time to get her hair done? Maybe she could nip up to that hair salon . . . Don’t be stupid, she told herself sternly. The poor man’s wife has just passed, and he’s hardly going to want to start up with some chubby divorcée. Her heart squeezed as she remembered Gord’s words that the only good thing about a fat wife was looking thin when he stood beside her.

  ‘Terrific,’ Betts said, keeping her voice even. Goodness, wasn’t she pathetic, getting all worked up because a nice old widower had asked her out for a bite. Silly Betts had probably got the wrong end of the stick, as usual.

  *

  ‘That was a fab concert earlier,’ Paula commented as she blew-dry Mrs Blenkhorn’s hair into its weekly squirrel’s nest. ‘I wasn’t sure I could get away to see it, but everyone here left to watch. You were great!’

  ‘Once I got up on the platform, it was all right,’ Willow said, shuddering as she remembered all the expectant faces just staring. ‘But God, I was shaking with nerves beforehand. Guess I’ll need to get used to it.’ She’d better – going through that every time she was forced to perform in public was u
nthinkable. ‘But you’ll never believe this.’

  Paula switched off the blow-dryer, raising her eyebrows at the serious tone. ‘What?’

  ‘Guess who was there?’

  Paula shrugged. ‘I dunno. Bon Jovi?’

  ‘Alex!’ Willow couldn’t quite believe it herself, still.

  ‘Alex! Your Alex?’ Paula held up a finger, then gave Mrs Blenkhorn’s hair a quick brush. ‘Right, all finished here,’ she said with a big smile to the woman, even though Mrs Blenkhorn’s hair was only half-dry and nowhere near its usual volume. After bustling the woman out of the chair and onto the street, Paula plonked down next to Willow.

  ‘Tell me everything.’

  ‘There’s not really much to tell,’ Willow responded. ‘I was signing people’s stuff, and there he was. He said it would be nice to catch up, and then we agreed to meet at seven by the fountain for dinner.’

  ‘Wills, are you sure that’s a good idea? It’s just, it took you so long to get over him.’ Paula’s usually strident tone was soft.

  Willow bit her lip, remembering that horrible night she’d last seen Alex. She and her father had settled in front of the television, since Dad hadn’t wanted to go to the lighting ceremony. Willow was only too happy to stay in – she was missing Mum ferociously, too, and seeing everything proceed as usual was unimaginable. Within seconds, her father was snoring, and after an hour he’d gone up to bed. Willow had sat there alone. It was only seven-thirty, and the rest of the night yawned in front of her. If she’d known her father was just going off to bed, she might have considered heading to the party. But at least she’d been here, in case he’d needed her.

  Wait – maybe she could still make the party! If she got the eight o’clock bus to London, she could be there by ten. Bit late, yes, but she reckoned the festivities would still be in full swing. She’d slip into that soft pink satin dress Alex loved . . . maybe put on the sexy red lingerie he’d bought for her birthday . . . Full of excitement now, she crept up the stairs, grabbed the garment bag the dress was in, lingerie and her high-heeled shoes, and rushed to the far end of the high street where the National Express bus passed by. The air was so cold her breath formed clouds and snowflakes twinkled against the black of the country sky, but Willow was warm with the thought of seeing Alex.

  Finally the lights of London came into sight. Willow jumped into a cab from the coach station to the Landmark Hotel, slipping in the main entrance and glancing around the plush lobby to locate the ladies’ powder room, where she could begin her transformation. But before she could find it, she spotted the back of Alex’s dark head. Oh, good. At least she wouldn’t have to hunt him down in the crowd.

  Grinning, Willow tiptoed over to tap him on the shoulder. He’d be so happy—oh! She froze as she spotted a woman’s hand on his arm and heard a tinkling laugh float up.

  ‘How come you didn’t bring your girlfriend to this thing?’ the woman asked, tossing long blonde hair over a bare shoulder. Her slender form was poured into a metallic gold strapless dress that looked straight off the pages of Vogue, and Willow’s gut clenched as the perfect face came into view. They’d only met once, but Willow knew instantly who she was: Alex’s colleague, Claire. Suddenly, Willow was all too conscious of her jeans and tee.

  Alex shrugged. ‘Willow’s busy back at home in the Cotswolds.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ Claire stepped closer. ‘Cotswolds, huh? I thought she lived in London.’

  ‘Well, she did. But her mother passed away and Willow moved home to be with her father.’ His shoulders lifted in a sigh.

  ‘So is she staying there for good?’ Willow could see by the hopeful look on Claire’s face she wouldn’t mind that one bit.

  ‘God, I hope not. It’s a bit of a tough go, you know? This long distance thing.’ Alex shook his head, and Willow’s heart dropped. ‘And it’s not even that long of a distance.’

  Claire reached out and took his arm. ‘Oh, I know. Long distance is the worst. I have a policy never to do it. It never ends well, in my experience. But I’m sure things will be different for you and . . . what’s her name again? Blossom?’

  Willow gritted her teeth.

  ‘Willow,’ Alex responded. ‘And I’d like to think so. But the way things are going, I’m not so sure. It’s just, we don’t seem to be on the same wavelength any more. At least, not like we used to be.’

  Willow tried to catch her breath as pain stabbed her heart. What? Yes, there’d been a lot of distance between them lately, in more ways than one. And she’d been so consumed with trying to make sure her father was okay that she felt sort of numb, with not a lot left over to even deal with her own grief. But she’d never thought about them not making it. She’d just been so busy trying to get from day to day.

  Claire nodded. ‘I understand completely. Sometimes people drift apart, Alex. And once you recognise you’re in two different places, the best thing you can do is to finish things while you’re still on good terms.’

  ‘You might be right.’ Alex jerked a glass to his lips. ‘I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this. Must have had too much scotch.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Claire said in a soft voice. ‘You can talk to me any time. Come on, let’s go get another drink.’ The two of them walked away.

  Willow had stood still for a second, unsure what to do. Should she run after Alex, say she loved him as much as ever, despite the distance of the past few months? But how could he tell someone else – another woman, no less, who clearly fancied him – how he felt, and not even talk to her! They really had drifted apart. With leaden limbs, Willow plodded out onto the pavement, the cold night air like a slap in the face. The rest of the journey back to Belcherton had passed in a haze.

  ‘Look, Wills,’ Paula had said in her no-nonsense manner once Willow finished choking out what had happened. ‘It’s not as if he said he wants it to be over. If you really love him, do something about it!’

  Willow had shaken her head, too drained to argue. Whether he’d said he wanted it to be finished or not wasn’t the point. The reality was, their lives were going in two completely separate directions, and she didn’t see that changing any time soon. Maybe when her father was well again . . . maybe they could try to make it work then. But for now, it might be better to finish things when they were still on good terms, like Claire had said.

  So when Alex had rung the next day to ask if her dad got through the night okay, Willow had pushed down all her emotion and said that perhaps, they should give their relationship a rest for a while. Part of her hoped he’d protest. Instead, he’d just sighed and agreed it was getting harder and harder to find time for each other – and he’d always believed actions spoke louder than words. If they couldn’t make time anymore, it might be for the best they split. Willow had hung up the phone, feeling so tired she wanted to curl up and sleep for a week.

  As the months went by and photos of Claire and Alex at various functions appeared during Willow’s Google searches, it became clear that for Alex, it had been for the best. Claire was ambitious, elegant, confident – and in London. But had it been the best move for Willow? Whenever she thought of Alex, an ache so strong it was almost physical filled her heart.

  ‘We’re just going out for a catch-up,’ she said, as much to herself as to Paula. ‘I’m sure it will be fine.’

  Paula shot her a doubtful look but didn’t question the words. ‘What’s he doing in town, anyway?’

  ‘His firm’s bidding to build the new tourist centre,’ Willow said, fussing with her curls in the mirror. ‘And if he does win the bid, he’s going to be around town regularly. It’ll be good to clear the air.’ She tried to act nonchalant, but inside her heart was pounding at the thought of facing him again.

  ‘What about Jay?’ Paula asked, taking a brush and stroking Willow’s platinum hair back into its wavy bob. ‘Will he mind if you go out with your ex?’

  Oh God, Jay. Willow hadn’t even thought about him. Well, there was nothing for Jay to be jealous a
bout – not that he would be.

  ‘I’m sure he won’t care. Can you redo my face?’ Willow asked. ‘I want to look my Marilyn best.’ The further she could get from the past, the better.

  It was almost seven, and Willow’s whole body shook with nerves as she trudged the short distance to the fountain by the green. Why oh why had she agreed to this?

  At least she could hide behind her Marilyn gear. Paula had re-plastered her face until it was smooth and poreless. Her lids glistened with shiny eye shadow and her fake lashes were coated with so much mascara, she could barely keep them open. With needle and thread Paula uncovered from God knows where, she’d pulled the fabric of Willow’s dress even tighter. It might look ‘rad’, as Paula had remarked, but it certainly wasn’t practical for walking. Willow could barely shuffle now and even without the arse-cushion she’d decided to leave behind tonight, the short walk was taking forever.

  There he was! Her stomach shifted as she spotted Alex pacing back and forth in front of the fountain, wearing the same dark suit he’d had on earlier and talking into his BlackBerry. Willow couldn’t help smiling – he was a habitual pacer. Back in London, she used to jokingly throw herself at him, knocking him onto the sofa to see if he could actually talk on the phone while staying still.

  Alex lifted a hand as he spotted her. ‘Oh, hello. I thought I’d be dining tonight with Willow, not Marilyn.’ His tone was joking, but his eyes looked serious.

  ‘Sorry.’ Don’t apologise! ‘My agent Jay said it’s important to build my brand,’ she added quickly, pasting on a big confident smile.

  ‘Your agent!’ Alex looked impressed. ‘Well, I can’t wait to hear all about it. I’ve booked us in for dinner at the White Hart Inn in Stow-on-the-Wold. Ever been?’