The One That I Want

by Lynne Shelby

  THE ONE THAT I WANT

  Lynne Shelby

  Published by Accent Press Ltd 2018

  eISBN 9781682995983

  Copyright © Lynne Shelby 2018

  The right of Lynne Shelby to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd

  Octavo House

  West Bute Street

  Cardiff

  CF10 5LJ

  CHAPTER 1

  The front doorbell rang, and went on ringing. I sighed. My brother must have forgotten his key again. Still clutching the spoon with which I’d been stirring the bolognaise sauce, I went out of the kitchen and along the narrow hallway. A glance at my reflection in the hall mirror showed me that my face looked much as it always did, if a little pale. Reassured that none of my family would suspect I’d been crying, I opened the front door.

  A fairy-tale princess, wearing a long white dress embroidered with a scattering of green leaves, was standing on the doorstep. I started in surprise, and then, for the first time that day, I smiled.

  ‘Lucy?’ The princess was staring at me.

  ‘Hi, Cassie,’ I said.

  ‘Lucy! Oh, it’s so lovely to see you.’ The star of The Adventures of Princess Snowdrop flung her arms around me. It was only with difficulty that I managed to avoid smearing bolognaise sauce all over her voluminous white skirts.

  ‘It’s great to see you again too,’ I said. ‘It must be – what? At least twelve years. Of course, I’ve seen you on TV since then.’

  Cassie laughed, and reached up to straighten the crown of white flowers that perched somewhat precariously on top of her blonde curls. She’d grown up extraordinarily beautiful. It was no wonder that Prince Oak and Prince Ash obeyed her every whim.

  ‘I’ve been doing a Snowdrop publicity gig just a few miles from here,’ she said, ‘and I decided to take a detour on my way back to London and pay you all a visit. May I come in? If it’s convenient.’

  ‘Oh… That’s what you always used to say…’ For a moment, it was as though we were children again, Cassie walking home from school with me and my stepfather, taking a turn at pushing my brother in his buggy, and when we reached our gate, asking very politely if she might come in, if it was convenient… Back then, it had never occurred to me to wonder why she spent so little time in her own family home, across the road from ours. Suddenly, my throat felt a little tight.

  ‘Come in Cassie,’ I said. ‘Everyone except me is at work right now, but they’ll be home very soon, and I know they’d love to see you.’

  ‘I’ll just speak to my driver.’

  ‘You have a driver?’ For the first time, I noticed the white limo with the blacked-out windows parked in the road outside. Cassie darted along our garden path and spoke to someone inside the car, which then drove off.

  ‘I’ve told him to amuse himself for a couple of hours,’ she said. ‘I’ll phone him when I want picking up.’

  Cassie Clarke is a TV star now, I thought. Of course she has a limo and a driver. I stood aside to let her into the hall, and she headed straight for the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, it’s just the same.’ Her gaze travelled delightedly around the room. ‘I so used to love coming here and playing with you and your brother.’ She sat down at the kitchen table and ran her hands over its wooden surface. ‘I remember sitting right here in this chair and helping Dylan do a jigsaw. He was such a cute little boy. How old is he now?’

  ‘He’s nineteen. And six foot tall. He’s still considered cute though.’

  ‘He used to draw me such lovely pictures. Does he still paint and draw?’

  ‘Yes, he does,’ I said. ‘He’s off to art college next year. He takes after his father.’

  ‘And what about you, Lucy? Do you have a job?’

  ‘Not yet.’ At this reminder of the pointlessness of my existence, my face began to grow hot. ‘I-I only left uni a month ago.’

  Cassie’s green eyes widened. ‘You went to university? But that’s wonderful. I’d have loved to go to university. What did you study?’

  ‘I have a degree in English Literature.’

  ‘You’ve done so well.’

  The famous actress thought I’d done well. ‘You’ve not done so badly yourself.’

  Cassie smiled. ‘Things have turned out pretty good for me.’ She glanced down at her dress. ‘Even if I do have to open shopping malls in a puff-sleeved frock with flowers in my hair.’

  ‘Is that what you’ve been doing today?’ I said. ‘Opening a shopping mall?’

  ‘No, today was a book signing. I quite like book signings. I get to sit down. I do have to be careful to remember to sign my books ‘Snowdrop’ though. One time, I signed a book ‘Cassie’ and nearly traumatised a six year old girl.’

  I laughed. ‘I’m sure if Princess Snowdrop had been around when I was six, I’d have read her books – and played with Snowdrop dolls.’

  ‘The hours we spent playing with your dolls house,’ Cassie said. ‘Do you still have it?’

  ‘I think it’s somewhere up in the loft.’

  The slam of the front door and heavy footsteps in the hall told me that Dylan was back – and for once he did have his key.

  ‘Dyl,’ I called. ‘Come in here. We have a visitor.’

  The expression on my brother’s face when he saw Cassie Clarke sitting in her old place at the kitchen table was a joy to behold. To be fair, he recovered very quickly.

  ‘Hey, Cassie,’ he said. ‘Long time no see.’

  ‘You remember me then?’ Cassie said.

  ‘Of course I do,’ Dylan said, lowering his lanky frame into a chair.

  ‘Do you really? You were so little when I moved…’ Cassie’s voice trailed off, as the front door slammed again. The sound of voices reached us from the hall. An instant later, my mother came into the kitchen, back from the garage where she spent her days telling burly mechanics how to mend cars. She was followed by my stepfather, Stephen, his amiable face suntanned from an afternoon sketching in the park. Their reaction to Cassie’s unexpected presence was to gape at her, in much the same way as Dylan had done.

  Her voice scarcely above a whisper, my mother said, ‘Cassie?’

  ‘Hello, Laura,’ Cassie said, rising from her chair. ‘Stephen.’

  ‘It’s been such a long time…’ My mother shook her head as though to clear it. ‘I can hardly believe that you’re here, standing in front of me. Oh, I’m so glad to see you…’

  ‘So am I,’ Stephen said, smiling broadly. ‘So very glad to see you here again in this house.’

  Cassie looked from one of my parents to the other. ‘It’s wonderful to be back. I know I should have phoned, rather than just turn up on your doorstep, but -’

  ‘No need for phone calls,’ my mother said.

  ‘You’re always welcome here,’ Stephen added.

  And then, as she had done so often before, my mother said, ‘It’s time we ate. Would you like to have dinner with us, Cassie?’

  ‘I’d like that very much,’ Cassie said, just as she always had in the past.

  Fifteen minutes later, we were all sitting around the kitchen table eating spaghetti bolognaise, while Cassie, wearing a borrowed sweatshirt over her w
hite dress, her floral headdress tossed aside, told us anecdotes about the filming of her TV show. My mother asked lots of questions about who did what on a film set, wondering what exactly is a Best Boy and is there a Best Girl? Dylan remarked that the flame-haired actress who played Snowdrop’s friend, Princess Poppy, reminded him of a pre-Raphaelite model, and that he’d like to paint her. Stephen told some truly appalling jokes. I remembered how much I’d missed Cassie that first summer after her family had moved out of the area – until I’d found myself a new best friend, as children do.

  We’d reached the coffee stage, when my mother said, ‘Cassie, I have to ask, how are your parents? Are they well?’

  Cassie shrugged. ‘I don’t have any contact with either of them now.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry –’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be,’ Cassie said. ‘It’s for the best.’

  There was a long silence, broken by mother saying, ‘In all honesty, Cassie, I have to agree with you. Given the way things were...’

  ‘Nothing ever changed,’ Cassie said. ‘As soon as I could – once I’d turned sixteen and left school – I struck out on my own.’

  ‘That can’t have been easy,’ Stephen said. ‘Not at such a young age.’

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t so bad,’ Cassie said. ‘I always managed to find work of some sort and keep a roof over my head.’

  ‘You were an independent young woman earning your own living,’ my mother said proudly. She was big on financial independence. Only that morning she’d told me in no uncertain terms that I needed to find myself gainful employment. (‘It’s not that I don’t appreciate your help with the household chores, Lucy, but I do think you could be doing something a little more challenging and remunerative with your time than cleaning my kitchen floor.’) She was right, of course.

  ‘I did all sorts of jobs back then,’ Cassie said. ‘Retail, waitressing, selling popcorn in my local cinema...’

  ‘And now you’re every little girl’s favourite TV character,’ I said.

  Cassie laughed. ‘I so am.’

  The conversation moved on. My mother suggested that as it was growing late, Cassie might like to stay the night. Cassie phoned her driver and sent him back to London with instructions to pick her up the next day. We talked and laughed, and it struck me that despite the years that had passed, and everything that had happened since we’d last sat together at my mother’s table, it was as though Cassie had never gone away.

  It must have been after midnight when my mother and Dylan remembered that they both had to get up early for work in the morning. With many exhortations to Cassie to stay in touch and to visit us again very soon, they took themselves off to bed. Stephen stayed up a little longer, talking to Cassie about the artwork in The Adventures of Princess Snowdrop picture books, but then he too said goodnight.

  ‘This has been such a fantastic evening,’ Cassie said to me when Stephen had gone and we were having one last cup of coffee.

  ‘Almost as good as all those showbiz parties that you get to go to.’

  ‘I do get to go to some fabulous parties,’ Cassie said. ‘But it’s not like I’m out every night, knocking back the mojitos. I get a whole lot of invites, but I have to be a bit picky about which events I attend, and who I hang out with. Princess Snowdrop is a role model for young girls. The tabloids would love it if she was caught on camera falling drunk out of a taxi and flashing her knickers at the paparazzi. As for relationships… I’m not seeing anyone right now, but I have to be very sure that any man I date knows how to be discreet.’

  ‘Such is the price of fame.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not complaining,’ Cassie said. ‘Without Snowdrop, I’d still be pulling pints or selling ice-cream and popcorn. I much prefer what I do now.’

  ‘I read in a magazine that the show’s casting director discovered you when you sold him some popcorn. Did the press make that up?’

  ‘No, it’s true,’ Cassie said. ‘More or less. At the time, I thought he was asking me to star in a porn movie. I nearly threw the popcorn over his head. Fortunately, he was very persistent. I had to do an audition, of course.’

  ‘That must have been nerve-wracking,’ I said.

  ‘It wasn’t, strangely enough.’ Cassie smiled. ‘Remember how you and I used to sing and dance around in your bedroom?’

  ‘Ooh, yes.’

  ‘That’s what I did at the audition. I just pranced about in front of the camera. I had fun. I still do.’

  After a moment of silence while we both sipped our coffee, Cassie said, ‘I’ve done nothing but talk about myself all night. I want to hear about you.’

  ‘There’s not much to tell.’

  ‘I’m sure there is. Have you decided what you’re going to do now you’ve left university?’

  ‘Not really. I – I –’ For the first time since I’d opened the front door to Cassie in her long white dress, the events of my final weeks at university crowded into my head. ‘I need to get my act together and find a job.’ And forget what happened. Forget Lawrence. Without thinking, I added, ‘I’m not going to let that man ruin my life.’

  ‘What man?’ Cassie asked.

  A leaden weight of misery settled in my chest. ‘I’d rather not talk about it...him.’

  ‘Princess Snowdrop is a very good listener.’ Cassie leant forward, elbows on the table, and rested her chin on her steepled fingers. Her eyes met mine, and held my gaze.

  As if from a distance, I heard myself say, ‘I was… in a relationship. I ended it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s complicated… he’s… unavailable.’

  ‘You mean he’s married?’ Cassie said.

  ‘He’s very married.’ I realised I’d just told Princess Snowdrop that I’d had an affair with a married man. ‘Please don’t judge me, Cassie. I honestly didn’t know that he was married when I started sleeping with him. He let me think he was single. When I found out he had a wife, I fell apart.’ To my shame and embarrassment, my eyes brimmed with tears. I dashed them away with the back of my hand. I was not going to cry. I’d done enough crying that day over Lawrence. ‘I know I had to finish with him – but it still hurts.’

  Cassie regarded me silently for a moment, and then she said, ‘I could tell you that you did the right thing, that you’re better off without him, blah, blah, blah... but I’m guessing that wouldn’t make you feel any less unhappy.’

  ‘Probably not.’ A thought occurred to me. ‘Please don’t mention any of this to my mum or Stephen. Or Dylan.’

  ‘You haven’t told them?’ Cassie said.

  ‘I haven’t told anybody – except you.’ Telling my family that the reason I’d abandoned my post-grad studies and my promising academic career was because breaking off a sordid liaison with a married man had left me devastated and with my life in ruins, had never been an option. ‘I’ve been so stupid.’

  Cassie put her hand on my arm. ‘Don’t beat yourself up. You’re not the first girl to fall for a smooth-talking, lying, cheating bastard. And however much you’re hurting right now, you will get over him.’

  ‘That’s what I keep telling myself, but I can’t seem to get him out of my head.’

  ‘A change of scene might help,’ Cassie said. ‘You said you needed to get a job –’

  I nodded.

  ‘Why don’t you look for work in London?’ Cassie said. ‘You can stay at my place while you get yourself sorted.’

  What? My mouth actually fell open. ‘Do you mean that?’

  ‘Pack a case and travel back with me tomorrow.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘I practically lived in your house when I was a child,’ Cassie said. ‘Come and live in mine for a while – as my guest. Stay as long as you like.’

  ‘But… do you have space for me to come and stay?’

  A smile flickered across Cassie’s face. ‘My house has five bedrooms. I have one, and my PA, Nadia, has one, but that still leaves three for you to choose from. Erin, my housekeeper, doesn’
t live in.’

  I reminded myself that for a celebrity like Cassie, a five-bedroom house, a PA and a housekeeper were simply part of the package.

  ‘I’m very tempted,’ I said, ‘but I can’t just take off for London.’

  Why not? It’s only forty miles down the motorway. It’s not like you’d be moving to Outer Mongolia.’

  ‘Well, I –’ I could think of absolutely no reason why I couldn’t go to London and stay with Cassie Clarke until I found myself a job and a place of my own. A memory came to me, Cassie and I swapping friendship bracelets, I’d been six, so she must been about eight…

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ I asked. You might regret it in the morning.’

  Cassie laughed. ‘I’ve done a few things at night that I’ve regretted in the morning, but I’m sure that inviting you to stay with me in London isn’t going to be one of them.’

  CHAPTER 2

  I came up out of the crowded tube station into Piccadilly Circus. Edging my way through the throng of tourists taking photos of the statue of Eros and the illuminated advertising screen, I crossed the road, and headed up Shaftesbury Avenue, passing the theatres and bars that lined this famous thoroughfare in the heart of London’s Theatreland, and turning into a narrow, cobbled side-street. I walked quickly along the pavement, until I came to the tall, red-brick building that was my new workplace. On the wall in front of me was a brass name-plate that read: Reardon Haye – Theatrical Agents.

  From today, I thought, if anyone asks me what I do, I can say I’m a theatrical agent. I smiled, delightedly.

  It had turned out to be much harder to find myself work in London than I’d anticipated. Since coming to live in Cassie’s house, I’d set up my lap top on the dining table each morning, scrutinised the on-line recruitment sites and emailed my CV to likely employers, applying for anything from Advertising Executive to Zoo Administrator (well, I did once own a goldfish). I didn’t get one interview. I’d used my enforced leisure to explore the city, and had discovered that I could happily while away an afternoon watching performance artists in Covent Garden or visiting an art gallery. What I couldn’t do was rid myself of the feeling that until I started working, my life was on hold. Then, six weeks after I’d moved to London, Cassie had come back from a meeting with her agent, and told me that she might have found me a job…