Aa–aaaaaaargh!
Sunday 22 March – 2.30 p.m.
Thirteen long hours. Tons of inhaled gas and air (and that’s just by me). A TENS machine chucked across the room for not providing enough pain relief. Or, to quote Malibu, it was “doing fuck all!” (Contractions were ten minutes apart at that point.) I sprayed her face with water, held her hand, did my best to talk her through the breathing; but it was painful to watch, let alone go through. Malibu says it’s the hardest thing she’s ever done by a long shot, but so–oo blooming worth it because all eight pounds, three ounces of my little nephew are absolutely beautiful.
It was an honour to be the second person to hold him, but it was just as satisfying to pass him to Mum and then watch her pass him to Dad. Yes, they were actually in the same room as each other!
“Look at the little munchkin,” Dad said.
“Isn’t he beautiful,” Mum agreed, and they stood there cooing at him – all wrongs forgiven (maybe) but most definitely forgotten. Dad even took us home.
Phoned Stephen to tell him the good news just as we were leaving the hospital. He was getting ready for his game this afternoon.
“That’s fantastic. We’ll have to get the wee fella a football kit,” he said.
“Nah. With all due respect, I think he’s gonna be prime minister.”
Now about to send out some texts. Well, actually two. A group one saying: Am now a proud auntie to a little nephew. Woo-hoo! And a second, much more sensitive one, to Gary. The little munchkin has tightly curled black hair and big brown eyes – the opposite of Malibu and Lance – so even a thicko at Science like me could work it out.
I wrote: Think it’s only right 4 u 2 know that u have a son. Born this morning. He’s beautiful. Remy x
Then I decided to add something that Malibu said as she held the baby in her arms: He looks just like u.
Exhausted. Going to sleep.
6 p.m.
Wow. Got three hours’ kip and I’m full of beans, maybe because I can’t stop smiling about being an auntie. And I know exactly what kind of auntie I’m going to be too. A cool one that my nephew can come and talk to about cigarettes, girls, sex, etc.
Yay! The doorbell has just rung. That will be Dad. We’re going to bring Mal and my baby nephew home from hospital.
8 p.m.
“Can I come too?” Mum called out to Dad as I got into his car.
“Yeah… Course you can,” Dad replied. And that was all Mum needed to hear to say goodbye to Alan and jump in with us.
We were so excited about seeing the baby again that we got all the way to the maternity ward before realizing we’d forgotten to bring the baby’s seat in from the car.
“The baby’s not allowed to leave the hospital without one,” the nurse on duty told us.
Doh! “It’s OK, I’ll go,” I volunteered. Going back to the car was a good opportunity for me to check my texts one last time, because I’d had tons of replies from my friends but received nothing from the person who mattered the most: Gary. And it has stayed that way.
Mal and the baby have gone to her room to sleep, and Dad has offered to drop me at Stephen’s. Been in such a baby bubble that I have no idea how his match turned out, but I’m assuming he scored because I have a text from Kellie that says: Your man’s gangsta!
10 p.m.
When we pulled up outside Stephen’s, I told Dad, “You’re the best. And we’re so lucky to have you.” Was feeling proper sorry for him because on the way I’d asked how it was going with Elizabeth and he’d sighed, then said, “She’s a good woman, Remy. But she’s not your mum.”
Stephen opened the front door, sporting his latest accessory: a big black eye!
“What happened?” I gasped.
“Aw, nothing. Just a little disagreement with Robbie.”
“What?!”
Stephen was v. sheepish about it, so Angus did most of the filling in. Robbie got upset when Stephen took a free kick, which unfortunately he missed. Robbie then said, “That’s why you’re only fit for my leftovers.” Stephen shrugged it off until half-time, when he socked Robbie one as they were making their way into the tunnel.
“And Remy, Stevie’s eye is nothing compared with the little prick’s,” said Angus, making his Scottish accent even thicker. “We’re from Glasgee, man.”
The manager substituted the pair of them. That meant they couldn’t start the second half and he’s called them both in for a meeting tomorrow.
“Oh no,” I groaned.
“It’s OK. I’ll probably just get a fine,” Stephen told me.
“Hmm. Well, I’ll have to give that eye some special medicine.”
“Oh yeah – what’s that?”
“Something called ‘Kiss it better’.”
“Aw, that sounds good,” he replied. So I intend to spoil him for the rest of the night.
Monday 23 March – 8.55 a.m.
Stephen and Robbie’s fight made the papers! It was Stephen’s agent that told us. He phoned at early o’clock and woke us up.
“Who’s that?” I asked Stephen sleepily.
“Och, God knows.”
He mustered up enough energy to stretch his arm out to his BlackBerry, sitting on the bedside table, and answered it.
“Hello Harry… Yeah, yeah, I know.” He sounded remorseful at first and then got angry. “What?” He leapt out of bed, stormed over to his laptop on top of the drawers, typed furiously and then said, “Oh–hhh shit.”
Harry started to bark instructions down the phone.
“Yeah, yeah OK,” Stephen said. “I’ll show it to her now and call you back.” He ended the call. “Remy, yer need to see this.”
I walked over and that’s when I saw it splashed across the Sun: MY GIRL. With a pic of Robbie and Stephen, mid punch-up, underneath. Will never believe something I read in a paper again after seeing this article. It was spouting crap about a girl who had “allegedly” had a secret affair with Stephen, and caused a rift that might break up the team. To make it worse, the footnote said: If you know the identity of the mystery girl, please call.
“Shit in hell.”
“I’ll sort it, I promise,” Stephen told me. “I’ll even do a quick interview if I need to. Set the record straight.”
Hope so. Because every time someone looked at me on my way in to the salon this morning, I felt like shouting: I’M INNOCENT.
1.20 p.m.
OMG. Went out to get a sandwich for lunch and on my way back, a man jumped out of a Ford Focus parked outside the salon. He had a huge camera in his hand, and began to snap photos of me!
I think this means I’ve been paparazzied!
7.30 p.m.
Spoke to Stephen all the way home. Grumbled about being papped but was too embarrassed to admit that it also felt quite exciting. Me – Remy Louise Bennet – being treated like a superstar. That’s cra–aazy! Was actually slightly gutted when Paparazzi Man wasn’t outside when I left – he must have found a real celebrity to photograph.
“It probably won’t appear anywhere, OK? So try not to fret about it.”
“OK. I’ll try.”
“And Harry’s set up an interview for me tomorrow. I’ll nip it in the bud, geezer,” he said, putting on his agent’s Cockney voice.
Right, time to get on with the reason I’ve decided to come home instead of going to Stephen’s: my baby nephew is due a big hug.
8 p.m.
Yes! Yes! Yes! Gary came over.
I was in Mal’s room at the time, singing “Three Blind Mice” to the bubba, when the doorbell rang.
“Who’s that?” Malibu wondered.
“I dunno,” I said with a shrug.
When Mum knocked on her door and told her it was Gary, her eyes nearly jumped out of her skull. I, on the other hand, looked double, triple guilty.
“Did you tell him about the baby?” she hissed at me.
I didn’t want her to go mad again – we’d made progress since my last episode of Big-mouth Syndrome �
�� so for a split second I thought about denying it; but this was something I was proud of.
“Yes,” I admitted, and was ready to explain but didn’t need to because Mal threw her arms around me and said, “Thanks, sis.” Felt warm tears on my cheek just before she pulled away. “Right, I look like shit. Um… One minute,” she called out. Off came the scrunchie, down came the hair, and she rubbed off the spot of baby vomit on her shoulder. “You can come in now.”
Twenty seconds later, in walked Gary. I will never forget the look on his face when he saw his baby boy. My little nephew has brought pure joy to this house, and I can’t wait to tell him that one day.
Methinks I may have to buy that chief bridesmaid dress after all.
Tuesday 24 March – 8.55 a.m.
Almost nine o’clock and I’m still at home. Have no choice.
I had seven missed calls from Dad when I came out of the shower. Dad wouldn’t chase me like that unless it was pretty urgent, so I called him.
“Dad. Are you OK?” I asked.
“Yes… Er… No… Well, sort of. Are you home?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m outside. Can I come in?”
Outside? Wow. Thought it must be something proper bad for him to turn up so early in the morning.
He was standing at the door by the time I opened it, with a rolled-up newspaper in his hand. Dad, the calmest man on earth, was in a right old panic. I glanced at the newspaper he was holding. “Oh, has Stephen done the story?” I said, relieved. “It’s nothing to worry about, Dad. He said it was best to clear things up.”
“Um… Well… I think something must have gone wrong.”
I frowned. “Why?”
Dad unrolled the paper and showed me its front page:
The Girl Who’s Divided a Team!
And there I was, walking into the salon. That pap from yesterday!
Haven’t fully read the story yet, because my phone keeps ringing. First with a v. sorry Stephen saying that Harry Burton, his agent, will call me to try and sort things out.Then Harry himself.
“I say we gotta make the most of this, doll.”
“Huh?”
“You’re a pretty girl. You just bin seen by about six million people. We could make ya the new Coleen Rooney.”
Oh Lawd.
Acknowledgements
With thanks to:
KT Forster
Helen McAleer
Gill Evans
Emma Lidbury
Annalie Grainger
Claire Sandeman
Jo Humphreys-Davies and the marketing team
Kate Beal
Sean Moss
Maria Soler Canton
Jas Chana and everyone at Mobcast
Mark Hodgson and BlackBerry
Ruth Harrison and The Reading Agency
Caroline Odland
Tim Holloway
Dont’t Lie To Me, Robbie Wilkins
OMG! My bum
looks huge in this LBD!
Minutes away from a date with Robbie Wilkins. Him: The buffest Premiership footballer around. Me: Now officially an elephant.
I can’t believe I snogged him on my 17th-and-a-half birthday! (He’s a proper catch.)
Kellie says I should tell him my salon business plans: not just BEAUTIFUL but ambitious too.
This is gonna be an amaaaaaazing year…
Say You
Love Me,
Stevie C.
MICHELLE GAYLE’S career has spanned TV, theatre, film and music. She was first known for her TV appearances, which began in the 1980s with children’s drama Grange Hill, followed by EastEnders, before she moved over to a glittering pop career that saw her achieve six top twenty hits and sell a million records, most successfully her 1994 single “Sweetness”. Michelle has since appeared on TV shows such as Doctors, Holby City and Family Affairs, and she starred opposite Ed Stoppard in the 2006 film Joy Division. In recent years Michelle has presented on Loose Women and also taken part in reality TV shows Come Dine with Me and Dancing on Wheels. Michelle lives with her husband and two sons in west London.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information and material of any other kind contained herein are included for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for accuracy or replicated, as they may result in injury.
First published 2013 by Walker Books Ltd
87 Vauxhall Walk, London SE11 5HJ
Text © 2013 Michelle Gayle
Cover and inside illustrations © 2013 Paula Castro
Cover design by Walker Books Ltd
The right of Michelle Gayle to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data:
a catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-1-4063-4124-9 (ePub)
www.walker.co.uk
Say You Love Me, Stevie C Page 14
