‘But that was different.’
‘No, it wasn’t. You didn’t want me to worry about you. I didn’t want you to worry about me. Same thing.’ Amy expected Jo to object, but she kept quiet, studying Amy with shadowed eyes until the silence in the room became unbearable.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Jo said eventually in a low, husky voice. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘So am I.’ Tears fell in earnest now as Amy launched herself towards Jo, who met her halfway. ‘I don’t want us to fight like this again.’
‘Neither do I. I hate it.’ Jo pulled Amy tightly against her. ‘I wanted you there at the ultrasound but I was too bloody stubborn. I’m so sorry. I told Stephen the other day and he – he was so happy. I wanted you there too, but I didn’t know how to call or what to say. I need you. Please don’t keep stuff like this from me again.’
‘I won’t, but I need you to trust me. I’m a big girl. I don’t need you trying to protect me any more. Yes?’ Amy pulled back far enough to look Jo straight in the eye.
‘Yeah.’ Jo inhaled shakily before continuing. ‘There’s something else we need to talk about before we settle this fully. I know you don’t want to, but it’s about this guy you’re going with.’
‘Ben?’ Amy abruptly pushed away from Jo’s grip. ‘I told you I didn’t want to talk about this.’
‘I know, but this is important. Please, please, check out what his ex-girlfriend’s written in the papers. I don’t want you hurt again.’ Jo’s voice was devoid of any of its earlier over-protective self-righteousness.
Amy felt herself soften. ‘Ben’s already told me all about it.I trust him.’
Jo grimaced. ‘Alright. At least I know I tried.’
‘You really shouldn’t have bothered.’ Amy shook her head. ‘Just leave it, okay?’
Jo bit her lip, obviously torn. ‘Alright. Still, I really wish you’d—’
‘No.’ Amy’s voice sliced through the air. ‘Leave it. And sniff your coffee.’
Jo’s mouth curved into a half-smile as she sat down. ‘Yeah, alright. I won’t bring it up again. Sorry, Ames.’
‘Apology accepted.’ Amy took her own seat, reaching across the table to put her hand over her sister’s. ‘Let’s change the topic to something much more important. Am I having a niece or a nephew?’
‘Dunno yet,’ Jo said with a genuine, tired grin. ‘I told the radiographer I didn’t want to know. Stephen wants a girl because he reckons it’d be hilarious since I’m such a tomboy, but I want a boy. What would I do with a girl?’
Amy squeezed her hand. ‘You’ll do just fine. Although . . . if the kid gets your temper, you’re in biiig trouble.’
‘You saying yours is any better?’
‘I don’t have a temper,’ Amy said primly, allowing herself to forget the previous forty-eight hours for a few seconds and simply enjoy her sister’s company. ‘Anyway, where are these ultrasound pictures you promised to show me? I want to see if my new niece is going to be as tall as her mama.’
‘I’VE BEEN FOLLOWING your column lately,’ Alex drawled. He’d called Ben from his dressing room post-show in New York.
‘Oh?’ Ben leaned back in his office chair, massaging his temples to dispel the lingering hangover from his ill-advised interlude with a bottle of scotch the night before.
‘Hmm, I couldn’t help but notice how unoriginal you are. Couldn’t find your own girl so you took mine?’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Ben protested.
‘The blonde from the bar, remember? Or “Babyface” as you refer to her. You know you’re a real asshole, don’t you?’
‘What do you mean, asshole?’
‘Has she read any of this?’
‘What’s this, Alex?’ Ben scowled and sat upright in his chair.
‘What you’ve written about her. It’s not exactly flattering. I would have called you on it earlier if I hadn’t been so goddamn busy this past month,’ Alex said distractedly, voice distinctly disapproving. ‘Some of the things you’ve said were just plain nasty.’
‘What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t been nasty at all. Quite the opposite. People love her. I love her.’ Ben said the words glibly, ignoring the sharp pang in his gut as they came out.
‘Huh. That’s interesting, because if she read any of this, I doubt she’d love you,’ Alex retorted. ‘Where was I? What did you call her in that first one that featured me? Here it is. A comical facsimile of a nineteen-fifties pinup who would be much more attractive if she weren’t patently trying so hard.’ He impersonated Ben’s clipped accent, making the words sound cold and harsh.
Ben winced. ‘You’re taking that out of context.’
‘Yeah? How about what you said about your visit to her house: Slumming in a charmingly antiquated convict-built hovel. I’ll admit you said it was charming, but no one likes to have their house referred to as a hovel. And I haven’t even started on the one you wrote about the time you slept with her. Babyface shares the curse of all women in that they think far too much at the most inopportune moments, often resulting in disappointment for all parties present. Dude.’
‘I was thinking that it made great comedy if you bothered to read the rest of the piece.’ Ben did his best to ignore the memory of Amy’s hurt expression the last time he’d seen her. The words tin pot, working-class piece of shit had echoed over and over in his mind for the past twenty-four hours. He wished he could take them back. In fact, he intended to apologise the minute he no longer saw red when he thought about his car. If his current simmering fury was any indication, that wouldn’t be for some time.
Alex emitted a noise that conveyed the maximum amount of scepticism. ‘Yeah, the rest of the piece is funny if you don’t know it’s written about a real person with feelings. Remember those? I hope to hell she knows about your stage act or you’re toast, my good friend.’
Ben feigned disinterest to hide the fact Alex’s words were causing small tendrils of apprehension to worm their way through his veins. ‘You’re boring me.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Alex said sarcastically.
‘So you should be. I think this conversation would be better served if you shut up so I can tell you how my car got wrecked. Then feel free to shower me with all the sympathy I so rightly deserve.’
‘The DB9?’
‘What else?’ Ben said dryly before commencing his tale of woe.
‘Did they catch the guy who did it?’ Alex asked after sharing Ben’s opinion that the perpetrator should be shot, revived, shot again, drawn, quartered and then fed to starving dogs for good measure.
‘No. I doubt anyone will. Amy doesn’t live in a highly vigilant area. It’s more a nesting site for retired hippies and the hipster set. To make matters worse, she has a forest of trees for a front yard, which obscures the house and anything parked in the driveway from view of the street.’
‘You’re referring to the convict hovel, right?’
‘I’d really rather you didn’t repeat that out of context.’
‘So I take it this is serious?’
‘What’s serious?’
‘This thing you’ve got going with this girl, Amy, Babyface. Because you’ve featured her, or more to the point insulted her, for one . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five weeks out of the last three months. That’s got to be a record. From memory, you only wrote about Marcella—’
‘Never mention that name in my presence.’
‘—once.’
Ben frowned and opened his mouth to tell Alex to shove his pithy observations up his arse when his friend cut in, tone thoughtful.
‘Can you give me Amy’s details again? An email address would work.’
‘Email address? Why?’ Ben pushed himself out of his chair and prowled over to the window.
‘Because when she kicks your bitch ass out the door, I want her number. And seriously? If she reads any of this, you are history.’
Ben’s inventive and thoroughly disparaging
opinion of Alex’s request filled the room before he hung up, his friend’s laughter echoing in his ears.
Instead of putting his phone down, Ben kept it in his hand as he debated calling Amy. Something about the assuredness of Alex’s words left him feeling uncomfortable, even a little worried. It was still early in the day so she’d be at work . . .
No, best to leave it. It would be much better to call her later in the evening when she was alone. She’d have cooled down by then and he would have time to get his usual charming veneer back in place.
He would have to be a total prick not to realise he’d royally cocked things up in losing his temper earlier, but he also knew that it wouldn’t take much for Amy to forgive him. It was obvious she cared for him, probably even loved him, so it would just be a matter of apologising before things were back to normal. Ben snorted – whatever normal was in their context.
In the interim, he had a massive number of phone calls to make to atone for his recent absence from humanity. Once all that was finalised and out of the way, he’d be able to devote some serious time to getting down on his knees and looking properly repentant. He might even extend to another Disney film and he’d never, ever consider that for another woman. Amy should think herself lucky.
‘So tell me about Ben.’ Jo turned her head from side to side and inspected the new, edgier pixie cut Amy had just styled for her. She was keeping Amy company while the painters finished the front of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and Babyface. Earlier, they’d picked up drive-through KFC for lunch and were now digesting huge quantities of lardy, chickeny goodness. Well, Amy was. Jo had just managed to stomach a few fries.
‘I thought we’d agreed not to go there, m’love.’ Amy tucked her scissors away in her apron pocket and reached for a hair dryer.
‘No, I just want you to tell me about him. Normal stuff.’ Jo shrugged, looking abashed. ‘It just occurred to me I haven’t asked you anything about him, just got pissed off and made a bunch of assumptions.’
‘Yeah, you have,’ Amy said softly. ‘And it’s not worth believing the stuff you read on the net. No.’ She held up a hand before Jo could speak. ‘Keep it to yourself, sweetie. Ben and I had a fight the other day and I’m really upset about it, but otherwise he’s been lovely. He cares for me and he makes me laugh. He’s a lot nicer than any other boyfriend I’ve had and I think—’ Her voice caught. ‘I think I’m in love with him.’
‘Serious? So why do you look like you’re going to cry?’ Jo asked in exasperation.
‘We had a fight—’
‘Yeah, you said. So are you gonna tell me about it or just stand there looking like a soggy chipmunk?’
‘You won’t try and make him into the bad guy?’
‘Out with it, woman!’
Much to Amy’s surprise, Jo listened quietly while she shared what had happened, only pursing her lips to whistle when Amy described Liam’s radical makeover of Ben’s car. Amy felt better for sharing it all. Ben’s words and actions didn’t seem so extreme or intended to hurt her feelings on the retelling, they just seemed like the way any man would react if his valuable property had been damaged.
She wasn’t sure what to make of his friend’s comments on the phone from earlier that morning, though. She wanted to believe they had nothing to do with Ben; she hoped they had nothing to do with Ben. Her chest tightened a little as she glanced at her handbag, wondering if she should check her phone. Maybe he’d already called and she’d missed it.
‘I hate to say it, because what he said was harsh, but he had pretty good reason to blow his top. I know I probably would’ve reacted just as badly if someone had trashed my car like that. It was probably just a vent and he most likely didn’t mean any of it.’ Jo interrupted Amy’s runaway thoughts.
‘I know.’ Amy’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘I’d be really angry, and I am, especially after what he said about my house, but I know how much he loves that car. Plus I’m feeling really guilty since it was Liam . . .’
‘Yeah, I get that,’ Jo said curtly. ‘Okay. So tell me more about this guy. I’ll pretend I know nothing about him.’ She leaned back in her chair, cocking a brow at Amy in the mirror, waiting for her to begin.
Feeling lighter than she had for a while, Amy did.
Later that night, bolstered by Jo’s new supportive attitude, Amy decided that, for once, she was going to be the one to take the initiative in a relationship. She’d had enough time to think now and realised that she owed Ben an apology just as much as he owed her one. His words had been awful, yes, but if she’d stood up to Liam earlier, none of the drama would have happened.
Determined to speak to him and talk things through, she braced herself and called Ben’s number, only to reach his answering service. She debated trying again but then thought better of it. All he had to do was check his messages and call her back. She’d made the first move.
She spent the next few hours whisking through her house, manically cleaning every surface in sight before giving a very long-suffering and rather smelly Gerald a bath, all the while listening out for her phone. That done, she tried watching a movie, then attempted to read her favourite Zadie Smith novel. In the end, restless and tetchy, she picked up her phone and called Scott. He’d been out of the country for nearly a month now and she’d missed him.
He answered on the second ring, voice unexpectedly sharp. ‘Amy?’
‘Hey, stranger. Where are you?’ she asked, enjoying the warm feeling she always got at hearing her friend’s deep voice.
‘London at the moment, but I’ll be home in a couple of days.’ He sounded tired and agitated. ‘I’ve been trying to call you for two days. I was just emailing you now. Why haven’t you returned any of my calls?’
Amy frowned. ‘I haven’t received any, m’love. Not that I’ve seen at least. Are you okay?’
‘Yeah, I’m okay. That old Nokia you have is crap, Ames. I’ve been telling you that for years. It never tells you when you’ve got messages. Anyway. Ah shit . . . I didn’t want to be the one to have to do this, but I’m going to email you something. You’re not going to thank me, but someone had to tell you,’ Scott said, his voice heavy.
‘Tell me what?’ The worried feeling she’d been fighting all day coalesced into a tight knot of tension in her chest.
‘I looked up Ben Martindale’s column in the Enquirer out of curiosity last night. You’ve got to read it.’
‘Is this the same stuff Jo wanted to show me? Because we made up. I told her I’m not reading anything about Ben off the internet.I promised myself. He said he’s had some bad press and I know none of it is true.’
‘Yeah. Well. I don’t think Jo knows about this stuff or I would have seen the explosion from here. She just read up on his ex-girlfriend bagging him out. This is different, Ames. This is me telling you that you really need to look at this. It’s not press. It’s stuff he’s written himself. There’s no other way to say this, but it looks like he’s been using you from the start. He’s been writing about you nearly every week in a column he does, and it could be grounds for defamation. He doesn’t exactly use your name . . . he calls you Babyface, but anyone who knows you can tell who it is.’
‘Defamation?’ Amy sat down heavily on her couch as the air whooshed out of her lungs. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Just read it? Then call me back. I’m seriously sorry about this.’
‘Why? Scott?’ She was talking to herself. She stared at her phone, stunned.
Ben writing about her? Her? Why? And defamation? Amy’s first impulse was to call him. She was put straight through to his answering service again. Instead of hanging up this time, she left him a short message.
‘Ben? I, ah. It’s Amy. I’ve just learned you wrote some stuff about me. I’d really rather hear about it from you, but Scott’s forwarding it to me and I’m reading it now. Okay? Call me back if you get this soon.’
Amy waited another hour, hoping Ben would call her back and explain, but he didn’t. Her mind
was left replaying Scott’s words over and over again. Using her? Defamation? No. No, Ben wouldn’t do anything like that. He cared about her. He’d shown it in so many small ways. Surely he couldn’t have faked it. Surely . . .
She might have left it, might have still waited for Ben’s call, but the phone call she’d accidentally intercepted began playing through her mind.
The way the man, Ross, had called her the ‘little blonde barber’ sounded like something flippant Ben would say. The man had referred to Ben doing some writing for him and had sounded like someone Ben worked for, or with. Surely Ben wouldn’t have written about her without telling her about it. She’d been too busy the past couple of months and admittedly a little wary about doing a search online for fear she’d see something she didn’t want to in relation to his ex-girlfriend, but . . . No, he would have told her if he’d written about her, wouldn’t he? The question played over and over in her mind as she paced through her house. Gerald watched on without interest from his beanbag in the living room.
Eventually, when there was nothing else to do and still no call from Ben, Amy gave in, sat down with a cup of tea and followed Scott’s link to a newspaper called the London Enquirer. The page was titled ‘Hello, Sailor’ and featured a photo of Ben at the top sporting his familiar feline grin.
She began to read. It didn’t take long for the mocking tone behind the words to register. It was Ben’s recounting of the night they’d met. She read about how he’d thought her clothes were contrived and her apology to his friend was awkward. The name ‘Babyface’ jumped out at her, laughing at her from the screen. He’d portrayed her as a ditsy idiot, some sort of bimbo who was two brain cells short of a single-figure IQ.
Feeling as if she’d been publicly stripped naked, Amy read on to the third column, which was about Ben’s first visit to her house. While this one wasn’t quite as awful, Ben still referred to her as Babyface, a clownishly naive female who lived in a hovel and impersonated a fifties housewife. It wasn’t until she got to his fourth entry, a comedic description of the first time they had slept together where he said he’d been disappointed, that she spun away from her laptop, clutching her chest, gasping for air. She felt sick. Gut roiling, she made it to the kitchen sink just in time, heaving until the contents of her stomach were long gone and the reality of the last few months sank in.
The Barbershop Girl Page 25
