Dawn puts her hands up to stop me, again nodding. “I read about what happened. I know who you are, Billie, and I’m sorry. After everything else you’ve been through, that was a terrible thing to have happened.”
The policewoman who’d dealt with me earlier steps back into the kitchen. “All good. If you don’t need us for anything else, we’ll be off?”
“No, that’s fine, Michelle. Thanks for your assistance.”
“Not a problem,” the officer replies and leaves.
“Look, everything has checked out fine with Layla. She’s happy, she’s healthy, and she’s obviously well loved. Some, or maybe a couple of arseholes have apparently got it in for one or the other of you, so my advice would be to watch your backs.” She looks between Max and me. “Just so you know, we were also told that you were caught stealing alcohol from Mr Young's fridge on Friday night.”
My mouth drops open, and this time, Max does look my way.
“That little bitch,” I whisper-shout.
“So, yeah, you probably have half an idea as to where some of the concerns we were advised of came from.”
Max stares at the floor while shaking his head.
“I’ll be honest, I read the papers. I watch all the celebrity news shows, so I know what the speculation is regarding the situation here, and I’m pretty sure I know who’s playing games, but as you can understand, from our point of view, it’s always better to be safe than sorry. In saying all of that, next time, I won’t turn up mob-handed.”
She smiles at Max, a smile that might easily be mistaken for a swoon, especially when she bats her extended eyelashes.
Max nods. “Yeah, not turning up with the press and the police would be much appreciated.”
“The press has nothing to do with me, they were already here when we arrived.”
“I bet they were,” Max says as he shows Dawn and Ben out the front door.
“Oh, and, Billie, could you chase up your DBS? It’ll look better for everyone if you’ve got official paperwork to show you’ve been police-checked and cleared to work with kids,” Dawn turns to me and says.
I nod. “I’ll do it first thing tomorrow.”
I stand beside Max at the front door and watch as Aaron pulls up and moves straight towards Dawn as soon as he exits his car. Max leaves me standing in the doorway as he joins them on the driveway. The three of them start a conversation, and Aaron and Max both point and look in my direction several times as things appear to get a little heated. Feeling like I’m about to throw up, I go back to the kitchen and sit at the table. Then I remember what Dawn said about me stealing wine, and I stand to go and confront Deana before thinking better of it. Drawing in a deep breath, while fighting back tears of frustration and anger, I set about making Layla’s bottles for the day.
Max’s voice interrupts my focus. “I’m going over to yours to talk to Aaron. I’ll take Layla with me. Can you grab her some clean clothes before you head over too?”
Without turning around, I nod.
He leaves.
And that’s it. The sum of our communication. After everything we shared last night, that’s all I get.
I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m totally confused. But I get the bottles made and then head into the laundry where I’ve started keeping a pile of Layla’s clean vests, babygros, bibs, and blankets. When I turn to go back to the kitchen to collect the bottles, Whitney’s sitting in her wheelchair blocking my way.
“Oh, Billie . . . Dear-oh-dear sweet girl. What a terrible start to the day you’ve had.” She tuts and shakes her head. “The press can be brutal once they form a negative opinion of you.”
I’ve no clue what her game is, or what she hoped to achieve by this morning’s little stunt, and despite there being so much I could say, so much I want to say, I don’t. Max and the custody of his daughter might be at stake here, so instead of behaving like the little girl she assumes I am and losing my shit, I remain silent. I smile, squeeze past where she’s sitting in her wheelchair, and sway my hips as I make my way to the kitchen.
Max
“Something needs to be done! I don’t know what, but I will never, ever, have that girl put in that position because of that bitch again.” I pace. I’m so fucking angry, I feel like I’m coming out of my skin.
My phone’s blowing up in my back pocket, Layla’s screaming, and I’m barely reining in my need to go across the road, drag my crippled wife out into the street, and dump her arse there for the world's press to witness.
“You need to get this divorce sorted so I’m out of this marriage at the earliest fucking opportunity, and I need her fucking gone before I go over there and kick her arse out.”
Aaron crosses one leg over the other while typing something on his phone.
“Are you even fucking listening to me?” I’m about to punch him right in the face when he finally looks up.
“First of all,” he responds slowly, as his eyes track me while I continue to pace, “you need to calm down.”
I stop pacing, lace my fingers together, and press them into the top of my head in the hope that, by keeping them there, I won’t wrap them around his throat and squeeze very fucking tightly.
“And second of all . . . You. Need. To. Calm. The. Fuck. Down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm the fuck down. You didn’t see her face. They accused her of being a drunk and neglecting Layla. They examined Layla for signs of neglect . . . Billie’s fucking neglect! She looks after Layla better than her own mother ever has. You didn’t see the look on Billie’s face, and it’s my fault. They’ve gone after her because of me, and I can't have that happen again. I can’t and I fucking won’t. I want out of this marriage, and I want out now.”
I watch as he chews on his lip, pulls his head back, narrows his dark blue eyes, and studies me. “What am I missing here?”
“What are you talking about? What do you mean, what are you missing? I just told you everything.”
“Is there something going on between you and Billie?”
“Yes,” I snap. With my hands on each of my hips, I face him. “Yes. Aaron. Yes, there fucking is. I’m bang in love with that girl, and she’s been through enough. I won’t add to that. It stops now. It fucking stops now. I won’t have those bitches publicly attack her in that way because of me. You didn’t see her face, Aaron, you didn’t see her face.”
I slide my arse down to the floor and sit with my back against the wall, knees raised, elbows resting on them, and press my thumbs into my temples as my fingertips massage my forehead. “I knew they’d come for us,” I tell him, using a much calmer tone. “We’ve discussed it, but not like this, not accusing her of something like this. We expected a character assassination, but not this. This is worse, don't ask me why, but this just feels so much worse.”
“How long? How long has this been going on, you and Billie, I mean?”
“Since she stepped out of Mel’s car and I laid eyes on her last Sunday.”
“A week? That was last Sunday, right? A week ago?”
I look up so my eyes can meet his. “Yep. One fucking week, Al. One week ago, Billie walked up my drive and straight into my fucking heart, deal with it.”
“Are you fucking mad? Please tell me this is a joke. Straight into your fucking heart? Can you hear yourself? This isn’t a song or one of your mum’s cheesy insta-love romance novels—”
“Fuck you!” I stand up and shout. “How can it be insta-love when I’ve known her for her entire fucking life?”
“You’ve known her for her entire life because she’s your best friend’s little sister, the sister he raised, the sister who’s only twenty years old.” Aaron stands and gets right in my face as he shouts.
“Twenty-two. She’s twenty-fucking-two, and I don’t care. I don’t care whose sister she is, or how old or young. I don’t fucking care. I love her.”
We’re both breathing heavy as we stare at each other.
“Callum is going to kill you. Mel will feed you your
own balls, and don’t even get me started on what Lennon and the rest of management at the label are gonna say. Leaving your wheelchair-bound wife is gonna be a publicist nightmare, but leaving your wheelchair-bound wife for your twenty-two-year-old nanny is career suicide.”
I bury my fingers into my hair and dig my nails into my scalp just so I can focus on that pain instead of the one in my chest.
Aaron lets out a long breath, flops back onto the sofa, and states calmly, “Right, if you’re sure, if you’re absolutely positive this is what you want, then we need to think about how we’re gonna handle this.”
I move to Billie’s kitchen, pull a glass from the cupboard, and fill it with water from the tap. Once I’ve drunk it, I turn back to Aaron. “What are you thinking?”
“Aside from the fact this is going to be one big clusterfuck, I’m thinking we keep your relationship with Billie under wraps for as long as possible. I think we should get her and Layla out of here—wait . . . does Whitney know? About you and Billie?”
“Not as far as I’m aware. I think she’s gone after her just to show me that she can. Whitney’s jealous by nature and has filled Billie’s head with a load of shit about what I’ve supposedly said about her in the past. Then Deana told Billie some crap about Whitney and I flirting and spending time together and told me that Billie had a hot date the other night.”
“Whitney’s far from stupid, as we’re finding out. She’s onto you, or at least has her suspicions. We need to get Billie out of here send her to Jay’s early, like today.”
“If she leaves, Layla leaves with her.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? Billie’s just been accused of neglecting Layla, you can’t pack her off and send them away together. Whitney could fucking ruin you with this in a custody battle.”
“I don’t want Layla here without Billie. What’s stopping me from just kicking Whitney’s arse out?”
“Nothing, technically. We might need to go to court to make it happen though. She’s still your wife, this is her home.”
“Look into it.”
“Really? That’s the path you want to go down?”
“Yep, I’m done. I don’t care how it looks, I want her gone.”
“They’ll crucify you, you know that right?”
“Right now, I don’t fucking care.”
“Fair enough, I’ll get onto it tomorrow. In the meantime, I suggest Billie gets out of London, and maybe send Layla to stay with your mum for a few days.”
“Fuck,” is all I can say. This is too much. I can handle the shit I’ve got coming my way, but if this is just a taste of the way Billie’s gonna get ripped apart, then I don’t know if I can deal.
“Are you absolutely sure about all of this. I don’t mean kicking Whitney out, you should never have let her back here in the first place. I’m talking about Billie. You do realise what’s at stake by starting something up with her, not just from a PR perspective, but what it might mean for you and Cal, the band?”
“We didn’t just start something up. It happened, there was no choice.”
“There’s always a choice, Max.”
“Fuck off, Al. It was you who said to stop doing what I thought was right and to do what makes me happy, and that’s her, Billie, she makes me so fucking happy.”
Aaron’s blue eyes shine as they take me in.
“When no one else is around, when it’s just her, Layla, and me? It’s so fucking easy.”
He nods slowly. “I get that, Max. I understand, believe me. The problem is your lifestyle doesn’t allow for that.”
I rub at my face with my palms and press my fingertips into my eyes.
“Let’s get Billie and the baby out of London. You can stay over here for a couple of days, lie low, get your head on straight, then you can leave. You just need to be seen to be distancing yourself from Billie right now, let her disappear first, you can go in a few days.”
I nod, feeling defeated. I know getting Billie and Layla away from this shitshow is for the best, but I already feel like we’re losing the battle for our us before it’s even begun.
My phone vibrates from my back pocket, and this time I pull it out. Cal’s name is displayed on the screen.
Fucking great.
“Do not even start with me,” I tell him as soon as I pick up.
“I’m gonna do more than fucking start when I get there. I’m just coming up your road. Is she okay? She’s not answering her phone. Kenzie reckons there are pictures online of the police arriving.”
“Just come straight to the flat.” I end the call without another word at the same moment Billie appears at the top of the stairs.
My phone skids across the worktop with the force I use to sling it down. Not waiting to see if it crashes to the floor, I move towards her, but she puts her hand up to stop me.
“You let them examine her in front of Whitney? Why, Max? Why weren’t you with her?” Her voice is high, almost shrill in disbelief.
“What? Because I didn’t wanna leave you.”
Her eyes widen, her shoulders slump, and I’m not sure if it’s in relief or defeat.
“I knew about the accusations, they’d already told me. I couldn’t leave you while they threw all of that shit your way. Layla was fine, the doctor bloke had introduced himself, and I knew she’d be fine. Whitney wasn’t gonna pull anything in front of him, but who was gonna be there for you, Bamm? I wanted to be the one to tell you what was going on, not the social worker or the police.”
Her lips tremble as her blue eyes fill with tears. “You couldn’t even look at me.” Her chest heaves as she fights not to cry as she speaks.
“No, I couldn’t. This is my fault. That pair of bitches have come after you because of me, this is all my fucking fault.” I move towards her again, and this time she doesn’t stop me, she couldn’t even if she tried. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and kiss the top of her head.
“Aaron’s sitting on my sofa,” she mumbles into my chest.
“He knows about us, I’ve told him everything.”
She pulls her head back so she can look up me, and her tear-stained face breaks my fucking heart, but I smile when she asks with wide eyes, “Everything?”
I shake my head. “Not . . . that. Just . . .” I’m not sure what words to use. “What’s going on between us, what we're feeling for each other. I’ve told him about the crackle, Bamm, but that’s it.” I slide my hand to the back of her neck, pull her in tight, and say against her ear, “I’ve told him about the crackle, not about the fireworks.”
“Your brother’s just pulled up on the driveway, Billie. I suggest if you want Max to keep the parts of him that cause those fireworks, you go into your bathroom, wash your face, and do not mention a single word about fizzles, sizzles, pops, or fucking crackles,” Aaron suggests.
I smile against her cheek. “You okay?” I ask.
“No. I want to tip Whitney out of her wheelchair, smack Deana around the head with it, cunt punt Whitney as she lays on the floor, and then set them both on fire.”
“Okay. But can we deal with your brother first? Because before you go busting bitches’ heads with that wheelchair, I might need it by the time he’s done with me.”
She lets out a long shuddering breath before looking back up at me. “Please tell me we’re not discussing crackles with my brother? I really don’t think I can handle any more drama today.”
I squeeze the back of her neck, lay a quick kiss on her salty lips, and tell her, “No, we’re not saying a word to anyone about the crackle. He’s still gonna go off his head though. Go wash your face while I calm him down.”
Aaron moves to stand behind Billie’s kitchen worktop with me as footsteps pound up the stairs.
“You got this,” he says with a squeeze of my shoulder.
“Not even a little bit,” I admit.
“It wasn’t a question, I was telling you that you have.”
Cal appears at the top of the stairs, followed by Mel, then
Kenzie. Fantastic, the entire Wild tribe.
“Start talking, Young—”
“Where is she?” Kenzie asks.
“Bathroom.” I gesture with my head.
“Before you kick-off”—Aaron holds out his hand, palm side up in an attempt to supplicate the situation—“just know this isn’t Billie or Max’s fault.”
Kenzie and Mel head into Billie’s bedroom.
“Who’s done this then? Whitney?”
“Looks like it, and her sister.”
“Still your fault because you invited her back.” Cal jabs a finger in my direction. “Now you need to get her the fuck out otherwise Billie comes home with me. I won’t leave her here for that pair of devious bitches to attack again.”
Billie walks out of her bedroom and straight into her brother’s arms. “I’m fine. I’m angry and pissed off and ready to cut a bitch, but fuck them, I’m okay, Cal, honestly.”
A pang of jealousy hits me in the chest, and I have to swallow it. I want to be the one to hold her.
My phone vibrates again. Rather than watch the exchange between Billie and her brother, I answer the call. “Mum?”
“Is she okay?”
“Pissed off, but okay.”
“Whitney do this?”
“Looks like it.”
“Max—“
“I know, Mum, I know. I just thought I was doing the right thing.”
“You need to stop worrying about what other people think and do what’s right for you. Do what makes you happy.”
My eyes slide to Aaron, who’s still standing next to me but now talking on his own phone.
All the Forbidden Things Page 30
