Say You Love Me, Stevie C

by Michelle Gayle

  Lunch break. Now should I give cabbage soup one last try? Hmm.

  1.35 p.m.

  Stephen called to see if I’m all right. “Yer sure it was just a headache last night – nothing else?”

  Had he caught on at last that Angus is the most irritating man on earth? Just to be safe, I checked: “Nothing else like what?”

  Good thing I did because Stephen wasn’t talking about Angus after all.

  “Well, yer told me about your headache once I said we were watching boxing. Probably shouldn’t have. Should have put on something yer enjoy – like Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Would that have cheered you up?”

  If Malibu can be happy, despite being up to her neck in it, I can put up with Angus McMillan. So I channelled Zoe Westwick and answered, “Keeping Up with the Kardashians – pah! Can’t stand them. No–oo, I love boxing. One of my favourite things – ever.”

  OK. Probably overcooked it.

  “Naw way. Remy, you’re too perfect. How will yer surprise me next?”

  “Don’t worry. Still holding back the old walking-on-water trick,” I quipped.

  “And funny too,” he chuckled.

  On the other hand – he now thinks the sun shines out of my bum. Yes!

  9 p.m.

  Malibu is a human roller-coaster. She was proper calm this morning, but tonight she was an emotional wreck. She tried on three bridal dresses, and every time I told her she looked beautiful, she sobbed like a baby. Wailed so loud the third time that the sales assistant came knocking on the changing-room door.

  “Are you ladies all right in there?”

  “Yes, yes fine,” I called out.

  “Is it OK to come in?”

  Malibu took a deep breath and then nodded.

  “Don’t worry, dear,” she said when I called her back in. “Weddings are stressful and being pregnant must make it worse.” As she spoke, I noticed that she kept flitting her eyes from Malibu to the dress, probably making sure that the river of mascara running down Malibu’s cheeks hadn’t stained the cream chiffon (which happened to be my fave). “It does look beautiful on you though. Would you like me to reserve it?”

  Mal nodded.

  “Fantastic.”

  She explained that it could stay on hold until Friday and then Malibu would have to make a decision. Then she asked whether the baby was a boy or a girl – and that made Mal smile.

  “Haven’t got a clue.”

  “Oh, going for the surprise. Let me see.” She scanned Malibu’s bump. “Oh, you’re carrying high – it’ll be a boy.”

  “No way. I need a little niece to help run my empire,” I said.

  “I don’t care either way,” Malibu told us. “There’s only one important thing about this baby.”

  “Its health,” said the sales assistant.

  So Malibu replied, “Make that two then.”

  We helped her get out of the dress and then the lady handed over a Selfridges business card with her name and the store number on it.

  “Please let me know either way by Friday,” she said.

  10 p.m.

  Dozed off. Luckily, Stephen’s ringtone – a special Kings of Leon one – was loud enough to shake me out of unconsciousness. The good thing about talking to him on the phone rather than face-to-face is that I can Google the things “we” are supposed to love as we’re talking. So when he said he was in the middle of watching a DVD of Rumble in the Jungle I went, “Huh?”

  “You know. The Rumble in the Jungle fight.”

  “Oh yeah… Muhammad Ali beat … George Foreman. With the … rope-a-dope technique.”

  I could tell he was grinning with pride when he said, “That’s my girl.”

  10.30 p.m.

  “That is so–o wrong,” said James. (Finally got hold of him.)

  “Yeah but so–o right at the same time. Come on, if you knew you could pretend something and it would make Rupert be all over you, wouldn’t you do it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “SEE. Everyone needs Zoe Westwick in their lives.”

  James laughed.

  “How’s it going with Rupert, anyway?”

  “Oh, I’m slowly, but surely, grinding him down.”

  “Well, if he doesn’t want to go out with you – he’s an idiot,” I said. “And what have you done about your parents?”

  “Zilch. Been having panic attacks about them disowning me.”

  “Of course they won’t. They’ll probably be gutted for a couple of days – then they’ll get over it.”

  “I hope.”

  “They will, trust me. But don’t do it till you’re ready.”

  I said we should meet up Friday night – me, him and Kellie – like the old days.

  And James said, “Can I bring Rupert too?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sure, bring Rupert.”

  Now going to down a cup of cabbage soup, then bed.

  Wednesday 4 March – 8.15 a.m.

  Hand: Holding Malibu and Gary’s wedding invitation: Cream card, gold writing. V. classy:

  Mr Gary Johnson

  and

  Miss Malibu Bennet

  invite you to join them

  at their wedding at The Savoy Hotel

  on Saturday 21 March…

  Head: Totally on a dress.

  I saw it when I went to meet Malibu in Selfridges, in the Miss Sixty concession downstairs. It’s knee-length, denim, and perfect for parties or date nights. And, seeing as I weighed myself this morning and discovered I’ve already lost four pounds, I have frickin’ earned it!!

  8.25 a.m.

  OMG. Let one go in the kitchen and had to evacuate straight away. Mum walked in five minutes later and said, “Jesus H. Christ, your insides need cleaning!”

  Can you imagine if I’d done that when I was on my own with Stephen? So, as much as it pains me to do this, I’m finding another diet. Cabbage soup: you’re binned!

  Off to work in a minute. The Tanarama booth’s been smashing it this week – spring’s coming and it looks like everyone wants to be brown. #Kerching

  Going to shoot up to Selfridges at lunchtime to get that denim dress. It’s going to be close but I should just get back in time for my two-fifteen manicure client. Yippee!

  4 p.m.

  On a much-needed break between clients. Been non-stop since lunch.

  I made it to Selfridges, got the dress and then bumped into Paris outside!

  Didn’t realize it was her at first. All I’d noticed was a woman with to-die-for legs – they were as perfect as her perfect little waist, in her perfect little designer dress. I thought her walk looked familiar – hips swinging le–eeft to ri–iight. She arrived at her car – a baby-pink Mini – and raised the boot. Then, der-der-derrr!, I checked the number plate: P4RIS.

  Why, oh why did I have to see Paris so soon after Bitchfest at Netherfield Park?

  She began stuffing the masses of shopping bags she was carrying into the boot. I kept walking, turning my head away, hoping she wouldn’t spot me. But…

  “Remy,” she called.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. What should I do?

  Keep walking. Just play deaf and keep walking.

  “Remy!” She shouted it this time. And it was so loud, and so obviously directed at me, that a man nearby tapped my shoulder.

  “Excuse me, I think someone’s calling you,” he said.

  Gr–rreat.

  There were two options: one was to be a mega bitch and give Paris the snub of her life; the other was to turn round with a fake surprised smile and be nice.

  “Wow, Paris, hello–ooo. Fancy seeing you here.”

  “Hey Miss ‘Beauty Mogul’, congratulations,” she replied, then flung the rest of the shopping bags into the Mini, closed the boot and sashayed over to me. Her spray tan, make-up, hair – everything was flawless. She was a living, breathing Barbie doll. “I remember you going on about that salon. It’s good to know you pulled it off.”

  Was I hearing correctly? Was Paris talki
ng to me as if Saturday didn’t happen? Did she think I was an idiot or something? But rather than have it out with her, I just said, “Thanks,” like a wuss.

  “What did you buy?” she asked, pointing at my solo shopping bag.

  “Oh, nothing much. Just a dress, from Miss Sixty.”

  “D’you wanna lift?”

  “Nah. I’m sure I’ll be—”

  “Where you going?”

  “Back to the salon,” I told her.

  “Go on, let me take you there. I’d love to see it.”

  She seemed genuine. And a pink Mini sure beat travelling back on the bus, so I agreed.

  “I’ve been meaning to call you actually,” Paris said in the car.

  And that was as much BS that I could take.

  “Come off it, Paris,” I replied, “We both know that isn’t true.”

  “Yeah, OK, you’re right.” She sighed. “It isn’t. But only because of Terry.”

  Paris confessed that Terry banned her from speaking to me as soon as I dumped Robbie. And she clearly obeyed – just like that – as if he were her dad.

  “No wonder they’re best friends,” I said. “Robbie used to tell me to stop hanging out with you all the time. Said you were trouble.” I could have added, “And I took no notice,” but we both already knew that.

  She looked embarrassed. “They’re both arseholes. And I shouldn’t have listened. It wasn’t even worth it – cos yesterday I found out he’s been cheating on me again.”

  It struck me that if Terry couldn’t be faithful to a girl as gorgeous as Paris, then he’d never be faithful to anyone.

  “Did you dump him?” I asked.

  “I thought about it this time. I really did. But I love him. Besides, they’ve all been at it. You have no idea what they get up to on away games.”

  I got a bit defensive. “Yes, I do. Stephen plays poker.”

  “Good luck with that because Terry most definitely does not.”

  “Well, maybe you should dump him then.”

  “Why would I let some cow walk in and get all the perks? With all the crap I’ve put up with, I’m the one who’s earned them.”

  “No offence, Paris, but you look miserable about it.”

  “Going out with a footballer’s a full-time job, Remy. Who isn’t miserable in their job?”

  Me, I thought. Really starting to realize how lucky I am.

  “There it is, on the right,” I told her as we approached the salon. She pulled into the vacant parking space one shop down, switched off the engine and stepped out.

  “You stuck with the name. I’m glad you did – I really like it.”

  While she stood outside, admiring the neon Tah-dah! sign, every man that passed nearly broke their necks looking back at her. How can someone who has that effect on men be with a plonker like Terry? Perks or no perks, I probably would have chopped off his balls by now.

  I invited her in for a look around and she was really nice about everything.

  Lara’s just come into the kitchenette to say my eyebrow wax has arrived. No rest for the wicked.

  8.30 p.m.

  At Stephen’s and we three are about to have a Chinese takeaway. Yay!

  Then watch a documentary on the Kings of Leon. Boo!

  10.30 p.m.

  Well, that’s two hours of my life I’ll never get back!

  On the positive side, at least now I actually know things about the band. Here goes…

  The Kings of Leon: Three brothers (Caleb, Nathan, Jared), one cousin (Matthew). American. Brought up in Oklahoma in the South. Dad was a preacher. They grew up dirt poor. Their music sucks. The end.

  Oh yeah, there was one interesting fact. Caleb and another cousin/best friend Nacho made a pact: whoever made it first would look after the other one. Angus looked at Stephen when he heard that, and they high-fived each other.

  Thursday 5 March – 1.10 p.m.

  One minute into my lunch break, Lara said she wanted a quick meeting.

  “A couple of my regulars have complained about the new prices,” she told me.

  “Have you explained that they were paying promotional rates before?”

  “Yes, but they still weren’t happy. Did you really think it through?”

  Typical. “Of course I did.”

  “OK. Well, I had to ask.”

  Grrr.

  On the up side – last night Angus asked how Courtney was doing. She looked proper chuffed when I told her this. Now thinking… If Angus is here to stay (and it bloody well seems like he is), it will be much easier for me if he has to spend time with a girlfriend. Hmm. Watch This Space!

  Oh, and Kellie is up for a besties’ reunion tomorrow. Yay! Will text James and let him know.

  1.30 p.m.

  Oh Lawd. I’ve just overheard Isabel tell her client, “Deeze boots you are wearing. In Barcelona we say dey are uglee not Uggs.”

  Really need to speak to her about social skills.

  7 p.m.

  Going to lock up and then I’m off to Stephen’s. Will pick up a Nando’s takeaway as a nice surprise.

  10 p.m.

  When Stephen let me in I instantly smelt chicken. Walked to the kitchen in a trance (was blooming starving) to find Angus, chef’s hat and apron on, cooking up a storm. Grilled chicken with boiled new potatoes and steamed broccoli with garlic, to be precise.

  “What’s all this?” I asked.

  “Stevie boy can’t keep eating that shite,” he said, pointing at the Nando’s bags in my hand. “He’s got a big match this weekend. He needs to have proper food.”

  Friday 6 March – 8.50 a.m.

  Gave Stephen an extra-long kiss this morning because he’s off to Sunderland later for tomorrow’s game.

  “Will you be playing poker tonight?” I found myself asking. (What Paris said yesterday had been playing on my mind.)

  He grinned. “Is the sky blue?” he answered.

  Anyhoo, solved salon price-hike crisis on the Tube ride in. Will make a Tah-dah! loyalty card (like the ones they have in coffee shops). Tick off each manicure, and once the customer has had nine, they’ll get 50% off the tenth one.

  I also texted Malibu to see whether or not she’d made a decision about her wedding dress.

  Malibu: Yes. Going 2 get the one in Selfridges.

  Me: Good choice. It looked so beautiful on u. xxx

  Malibu: Thanks sis. 4 everything. xxx

  Me: Pleasure.

  Malibu: You OK?

  Me: Couldn’t be better.

  I love my life!!

  1.30 p.m.

  Had quick lunch meeting to tell the girls about the loyalty cards. Courtney was first to say it was a great idea but I expected that (seeing as she thinks I can do no wrong). But Isabel and Lara seemed to like it too. Intend to speak to a print company and get a quote for making one up.

  Then I texted James to say that I didn’t want to meet in Shoreditch. I knew it was a possible deal-breaker but I’ve had enough of that place. Anyhow, he has just sent back: Sure. Are you OK? x

  I felt like writing: I’m fine. Just hate Shoreditch. But he’s having a hard enough time as it is, so wrote: Yep. Brand new xx

  I am so on a roll.

  7.45 p.m.

  There was a v. funny atmosphere in the salon this afternoon. Whenever I came down from the waxing room, all the chat at the nail bars seemed to stop. Maybe I sounded too bossy when I told the girls about the loyalty card? Dear God, please don’t let me turn into the Feminazi!

  Mum and Alan have just left for the cinema.

  “What’re you going to watch?” I asked.

  “No One Can Hear You,” Alan replied. Judging by the trailer, No One Can Hear You is the scariest film on the planet.

  “But Mum, you hate horrors.”

  “Yes, and I don’t intend to watch this one. If you know what I mean,” Mum replied and gave me a big wink. Ewww!

  “Are you all right?” she asked, looking concerned.

  “Yep, perfect,” I said to cov
er up how grossed out I was.

  8.10 p.m.

  Debuting my Miss Sixty denim dress tonight. Now just waiting for Kellie. We’re sharing a cab to Liberation – the bar in Soho that James has picked.

  8.15 p.m.

  Kellie just texted: Will be 10 mins. Ru OK?

  Everyone keeps asking me that today. Will send: I’m FINE.

  8.20 p.m.

  Kellie’s reply: Good. Wasn’t sure how u were gonna take it.

  So I replied: Take what??

  And that’s when she mentioned the Metro article about the scandal at Netherfield Park.

  Me: What scandal?!

  So she called.

  “Apparently,” she began, “a Netherfield Park player has asked for a transfer. His wife made him do it because she found out a bunch of players were bringing girls into their hotel rooms when they have away games. Hopefully Stephen isn’t one of them.”

  Hopefully?!

  “Stephen’s definitely not involved,” I told her. “He plays poker.”

  “Oh… Good. No worries then.”

  8.40 p.m.

  I Googled the story.

  Headline: Netherfield Boys Play Away!

  Story: Netherfield Park Rangers have been thrown into turmoil following reports that some of the players, many of them married, have been inviting girls back to their hotel rooms during away fixtures. An insider said, “It’s been going on for yonks but one of the WAGs got wind of it and all hell has broken loose.”

  The press officer for Netherfield Park said in a statement: “We’ve had a few security issues at certain hotels, but the matter has been dealt with and we are now moving forward.”

  Unfortunately, the situation has been resolved too late for one of their players. The scandal is believed to be behind defender Tommy Roberts’s transfer request yesterday. Pressure to move came from Roberts’s wife. The insider said, “She told him if he didn’t leave the club, she’d leave him. Unfortunately, Tommy’s quite easily led but it’s a disaster for the team because he’s one of our best players.”