by Jade West
“Of course you didn’t.”
“I feel one now.”
My heart kept on thumping, but this time it wasn’t nerves. It was dread. “You aren’t a moron, Gemma.” I ditched the stupid flowers on the draining board. “This really isn’t how I imagined things.”
“Are those for me?”
“I didn’t know if you liked flowers or not.”
“Nobody’s ever given me flowers. They don’t usually know where I live.”
I smiled. “Of course, Miss Anti-domesticity. I should’ve left them in the car.”
“In Steve’s car, you mean. Roses are nice. It was a nice thought.” She turned her back to make the coffee, then slammed her hands on the worktop. “Shit, I’m sorry. This is all coming out wrong.”
I closed the distance, put my hands on the hips I’d come to know so well, breathing in her hair. She tensed. Shoulders tight. “It’s ok, dirty girl. There isn’t a rulebook. We’re well off script here.”
She coughed and sidestepped, busying herself with sugar and milk. I took mine black. She took hers with three sugars and about a gallon of milk. So many little details to learn about the girl, it seemed a good place to start. I assigned it to memory.
She scooted past me to take a seat on the sofa. “I looked you up on the internet.”
“I bet that was enlightening.” I sat down, not too close.
“I saw your wife. I bought her single, you know, when I was younger.”
“Good for you, I bet she looked so fucking happy, didn’t she? Smiling away for the cameras?”
“You told me you couldn’t stand the sight of each other.”
I fought back a scowl. “I wasn’t lying. I haven’t lied, Gemma. Just omitted details. We both did, it was the game.”
“You don’t look like you can’t stand the sight of each other.”
“And there’s the beauty of the media for you. We smile. We go to dinner. We donate money to all the right charities. That’s the life. It doesn’t mean shit.”
“You weren’t joking about the house, were you?” She risked a smile. “It’s quite impressive.”
“Quite fucking expensive.”
“The rumours about the call girls, are they true?”
I took a sip of my coffee, then opted for honesty. “Some of them.”
“The Serena girl?”
“I took her dogging, invited her to hotel rooms to have sex with other men. I didn’t pay her, though. That was just sensationalism for a better pay cheque.”
“And April? She knows about all that?”
Hearing Gemma speak the bitch’s name was like a nail in my fucking side. “She knows enough. She doesn’t give a shit, so long as the press keep printing our happy pictures and telling her how fucking wonderful she is.”
“Does she know about me?” Her eyes looked to her knees, nervous. I could have reached out to touch her, but I didn’t.
“She suspects.”
“Are there others? More like me?” She played with the hem of her skirt, blessing me with the slightest glimpse of her gorgeous white thighs.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve got a chatline girl lined up in every city. Whenever there’s an away game I try and hook them up, ship up a busload of mates for a gangbang and then turn up with a bunch of shitty roses wanting to get to know them.” I sighed. “Of course there aren’t any others. Gemma, don’t do this. You know me.”
“I don’t, though, do I?”
I did touch her this time. My hand on hers as she gripped her knee, squeezing tight. “Yesterday, in the rain and the mud, you knew me. That was real, dirty girl.”
“This is real. You’re a footballer. You’re on TV every weekend. You’re married to a pop star and you live on an estate in Surrey.”
“It sounds like you’ve reached the end of the road before we’ve even started.”
Her beautiful green eyes were so sad when they finally met mine. “There is no road. You’re married. I’ve seen her face, seen the way she smiles at you.”
“All fake, like I said.”
“Even so. I pictured trucker Jason with some dowdy wife who didn’t care a shit for him. Figured she’d probably be having an affair herself, maybe a toy boy while he was out on the road.”
“April’s been screwing her stylist since before we got married. Don’t believe the hype.” I finished my coffee, ditched the mug on the floor. “So, it’s the wife? That’s the deal breaker?”
She struggled for words. “It’s all of it. I told you, I can’t be a footballer’s wife, or lover, or whatever the hell this is. I’m not that girl! I’m not a celebrity type, Jason, I’m just a girl. I don’t want my face in the papers, I don’t want people talking about me. Look at you, and look at me.”
I did look at her, I’d never get bored of looking at her. I watched her pink cheeks darken, highlighting her freckles and those gorgeous eyes. “I haven’t stopped looking at you, Gemma. I love looking at you. You have beautiful eyes.”
“I can’t believe this is happening. Me being the one to tell Jason fucking Redfern that this crazy fling can’t work.”
“Is that what you’re telling me?” Fuck, it stung. It stung bad.
“It’s the truth.”
I gritted my teeth, strangely hurt. “Do you want me to leave?”
She didn’t answer, which was answer enough on its own. “I wish you were a trucker, Jason. A nobody, like me.”
“You aren’t a nobody, dirty girl.” I got to my feet, hovering like a prick before getting myself together. “This really isn’t what I was hoping for.”
“Nor me. I can’t believe this is real, this stuff doesn’t happen to people like me.”
“This is really it? We walk away?”
She shrugged, chewing on her thumbnail. She wouldn’t look at me. “We carry on this thing and one of us is going to get hurt. You won’t leave your wife, and I couldn’t stand it if you did. The papers would tear the shit out of us, Jason, and that’s the best case scenario. The worst is that one day someone spots us, and then the media would really go to town. Slutty chatline girl seduces Premier League superstar. It would be hell for both of us.”
I couldn’t argue with her. She was right.
I watched her chewing her fingers, the most vulnerable I’d ever seen her, even spread and gaping and fucked raw she’d been happy, confident. The media would have a field day with this Gemma. They’d chew her up and spit her out for the sake of a decent print run. My dirty girl would be all broken up.
“I wish things were different,” I said. “You have no idea how much I wish things were different.”
“I do.” She flashed me a look for just a second, and there were tears brewing. It crushed my chest. “I wish they were different, too.”
“I’m sorry, Gemma.”
“Don’t apologise,” she said, swatting a tear away. “It was a crazy ride, Jason. I loved it. All of it.”
“Me, too.”
I choked back my own tears on the way down the stairs, and was really fucking grateful I had my shades in the Land Rover.
***
Gemma
I hadn’t even touched him. Hadn’t taken the chance to kiss him one last time, hadn’t even really looked at him. How I’d wanted to. Fuck, how I’d wanted to succumb to the recklessness and have him take me. My body was aching, battered from everything he’d given me, all the crazy fantasies he’d fulfilled, and still I’d wanted him. I’d never wanted anyone so badly as I wanted that man.
And now he was gone.
I gripped a cushion, fighting against tears that paid no attention whatsoever. Crying over a footballer, some famous married guy who drove an Aston Martin. So this was heartbreak? This was the horrible romantic anguish that sent people loopy? It sucked bad.
Not as bad as a public scandal would suck. Not as bad as losing someone like Jason Redfern when I was in well deep over my head. Worse than this. Properly entangled
with all the lovey dovey stuff. I could feel it brewing. It wouldn’t have taken much.
He’d have made a sap out of me, and it would’ve hurt like a motherfucker when it all went wrong.
This was for the best. The sensible option. End on a high, right?
But this was no high. This was the fucking pits.
I scrolled to his name on my phone, desperate to hear his voice one last time.
No. That would be crazy.
I pressed delete instead. Temptation removed. Forever.
***
Jason
“Come on, Redfern! He strolled straight fucking past you!” Trevor shook his head, shot me one of his looks. “Keep your eye on the fucking ball, lad.”
The weather befitted my mood. Grey as fuck. Cold and pissing drizzly. I couldn’t even pretend to care about this training shit. We’d been here since bastard dawn, practicing for the next shitty game against Newcastle. Two days without my dirty girl and life was fucking sour. I’d tried to forget about her, struggling to lose the itch with an overdose of porn and chatline girls. None of it had worked. The itch ran way too fucking deep for that. She’d squirmed all the way inside and left a bitter fucking ache in my gut.
The ball headed in my direction and I booted it wide, sailing it past Winstanley’s head to bounce off the side rail.
“Pissing hell, Redfern. Did you wake up on the wrong side of April this morning, you clumsy shit?”
Lunch couldn’t come soon enough. I checked my phone, heart stuttering to see a load of missed calls. Numbers I didn’t recognise.
I checked my answerphone, hoping to hell it would be my dirty girl’s voice waiting for me.
It wasn’t. It was so much worse.
It was Caroline Vaughan from Gables PR.
Jason, please call me. I’ve had the Daily Times on the phone seeking comment on an article that went to press this morning. About a chatline girl? Call me, urgently.
Another one. April.
Oh my fucking God, Jason, you fucking asshole! You absolute cunt! It’s all over the fucking news. I’m a fucking laughing stock. Don’t even bother coming home, you worthless piece of shit.
My blood turned to ice as I checked the third voicemail.
Mr Redfern, it’s Gareth here at the Daily Times. We’d really like to know your side of the story about your relationship with Gemma Taylor. Please call, the number is...
I hung up. Pulse loud in my ears. Not as loud as the baying laughter from the canteen. I turned the corner to find the whole squad crushed around a table. A mass of faces grinned at me as I made my way over, until Fernandez picked up a paper and held it open for me.
My Gemma’s beautiful green eyes looked out at me, an old photo most likely. Her hair was wild and messy, her freckles dark against her skin. Another one behind it, an unflattering snap of her bending over to blow out birthday candles.
Chatline chubster in Premier League scandal.
Winstanley waved another tabloid piece of shit, showing just the front page. Redfern scores... BIG!
My dirty girl on the cover, another shot of her from a bad angle, and me. Walking through her yard, oblivious to the camera, a bunch of fucking roses in my hand.
I already knew what was coming when they held up the third paper. That blonde bitch, Chelsea, looking all fucking sad in her Singers scarf. I thought he wanted me, but he was after my fat friend the whole time.
My blood fucking boiled. I’d been watched. Of course I’d been watched. How could I have been so fucking stupid?
“Didn’t know you were a chubby chaser, Redfern.” Fernandez had a stupid grin on his face. “I bet she oinked like a fucking piggy. Do my fat pussy and call me lardy, oh yeah, baby, fuck me. My chubby cunt’s all hungry for you, baby.”
There was a roar of laughter until I tore him from his feet. He was flat to the wall in a heartbeat, eyes big and wild as he flailed around.
“Don’t you ever, ever fucking speak about her like that again. Understand? I’ll tear your fucking spleen out.”
Hands pulled me away. Lots of hands.
Calm down, Jase, it’s only a bit of banter.
Chill the fuck out, mate.
Leave it, Redfern, calm the fuck down, man.
He’s only joking. It’s just a fucking laugh.
I shrugged them off, muscles wired and ready to fight. That fucking bitch. That nasty, devious, spiteful fucking bitch. I thought of my poor Gemma. Did she know? Was she hiding under the covers as chaos broke all around her?
I daren’t call. Who knows who she’d be with, she’d probably hate the sound of my name, hate that she’d ever met me. The ache in my stomach got worse, so much worse.
Fuck knows how I got through the afternoon, but the gates were teeming with press as I left the ground. They followed me all the way home, pulling up at the bottom of the drive and aiming their fucking lenses at the house.
April was waiting. She threw a vase at my head the moment I stepped over the threshold, screaming blue murder as it smashed in the doorframe. She was going for another as I reached her, pinning her arms at her sides as she hissed obscenities in my face.
“You stupid prick, Jason, you stupid, selfish fucking prick!”
“You knew,” I snapped. “You knew I’d met someone.”
“Not some fat fucking slag! Some hideous fucking troll straight out of a fucking fat-o-gram catalogue!”
“She’s not a fat slag and she’s no fucking troll, either. She’s beautiful, funny, real. Everything you’re not. Everything I’ve never fucking had.”
Her eyes flew wide. “You stupid wanker! She’s laughing at you, laughing at us! I bet she can’t believe her fucking luck.”
“I doubt that, April. I’ve ruined her fucking life.” I let go of April’s arms. Pacing. Hands in my hair. Thinking. Thinking.
“You’ll tell those reporters out there that it’s a load of shit. You’ll laugh and tell them she’s a joke. You’ll tell them you’d never consider fucking a fat girl like that, and you’ll make them believe you. PR will take care of the rest. We’ll make the world believe us. I mean, it’s impossible. As if you’d ever cheat on me with a woman like that.”
“I’ll never say those things, April, never. The few weeks I spent with Gemma were better than a whole fucking lifetime with a nasty bitch like you.”
“You will say those things, Jason. You’ll say them or it’s over. I’ll throw you to the fucking wolves, and you can say goodbye to your sponsorships, and your big career comeback at thirty fucking three. You can say goodbye to the house as well, you’ll be fucked. Dragging my name through the mud like this, any fool’s going to award me what’s mine.”
I went through to the dining room, poured myself a big old shot of whisky as she trailed behind. “Gemma’s done nothing wrong. This is that bitch friend of hers again, Chelsea.”
“Who gives a fuck whose fault this is?! It needs sorting out. Us or them!”
I fixed her in the darkest stare. “I’m not going to say a word against Gemma, not for the sponsorship deals, not for the sake of my career, and certainly not for you.”
I think her stare was even darker than mine.
“Then it’s war, Jason Redfern, you dumb fucking shit. I’ll take you for everything you’ve fucking got, I fucking promise you that.”
***
Gemma
I kept away from the windows, counting my breaths. In for seven out for eleven. Don’t fucking lose it, Gemma Taylor, keep your fucking nerve.
I’d already switched the intercom off, turned my phone to silent and disabled my social media profiles. I’d amassed hundreds of messages, reams of venom in mere hours. A nightmare brought to life. My frantic parents on the phone, full of questions I could hardly bear to answer.
Yes, it’s true. Yes, I met Jason Redfern. And I liked him, I really liked him. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all this.
And they’d sighed, and cursed Chelsea and said she’d always been the same. And then they’d told th
e journalists outside to get the fuck away from their house in no uncertain terms.
I’d fired off just one text before abandoning my phone. Chelsea.
Why? How could you??? I have no words!
I wondered if she felt guilty. Sobbing into her fucking cash, maybe. Lining up the topless shoots, no doubt.
Tessa was white as a sheet by the time she made it inside at the end of college. She stood with her mouth open, gathering her breath before grabbing me for a hug.
“Fucking hell, Gem. I didn’t think she’d stoop so low. Are you ok? It’s like a circus out there.”
And I cried, fuck how I cried, blowing out snot bubbles and past even caring. “How could she? Why?”
“Thirty grand is why. She graced me with a text. Only the one, though. I’m so sorry, Gemma. I didn’t know. She said she was going home to get some space, said she’d be ok on her own. I didn’t even think.”
“It’s not your fault. How could you know?”
“She’s Chelsea Rawlings. Jealousy makes her insane.” Tessa pulled me onto the sofa and stroked my hair. “Remember when you won that summer dance competition? I thought she was actually going to stab you with her twirly stick. If she could have sold you out then for thirty grand it would have happened a lot sooner.”
I snort-laughed through the tears. “She didn’t speak to me for three weeks straight.”
“She’ll come crawling for forgiveness this time, too.”
“She won’t get any. I’m fucking done with her.” My eyes streamed. “The world hates me, Tessa. The whole fucking world.”
“Not the whole world, Gem, just a load of idiots with nothing better to do. It will blow over. I doubt he’ll fuel the fire, he won’t want this to get any worse than it is already. Chelsea’s blabbed what she can, but it’s all her word besides that one cruddy photo, and let’s face it, her word doesn’t count for much.”
“I sent him away, because of this. I let him leave because I was scared, because I didn’t want this, because I didn’t want the world to know my name.”
“I know. I know.” She held me tight but it was no use, nothing could make it stop.
