Chapter Seventeen
I needed three coffees and three slices of jam on toast to give me the energy for work that day. I just hoped all the coffee wouldn’t give me a horrid migraine. Nutty dropped me off at work. He had to travel back home before heading north for a gig. I waved goodbye, waited until he was out of sight then crossed the road, walked a few yards to the newsagents, bought one copy of every national paper, and carried them to work.
I was scheduled to work all morning on the box office serving window.
I split the papers equally between Suki, Rose and myself, explaining about the photographers. We skimmed through the papers between attending to snappy Christmas shopping stressed customers, but the photo wasn’t in there. I’d spent twelve quid on bloody newspapers and the picture wasn’t even in there! To make it worse, the stressed customers seemed to get nastier and nastier as the morning went on. I really wanted to round them up, dig a big pit, push them all into it and then send a big truck along to fill it in with cement.
Suki and I couldn’t wait to get away for lunch together. At half-past twelve, we crossed the road to one of our favourite cafes - The Sesame Bap - a dark, atmospheric place with checked table cloths and wood effect walls.
We chose Christmas nut roast in a bun, plus a large gingerbread soya latte each. The café was so busy the food took ages. By the time we left, we were already ten minutes late back to work.
Then we spotted Dudley bouncing along in a Santa hat. Suki went to say hello, but he didn’t see her. He was too busy looking across the road, watching a young woman who was wearing skinny, pink, bottom-hugging trousers. He was so busy staring and smiling at her butt that Suki wasn’t the only thing he failed to see. He stepped out into the road in front of a white Audi estate and screamed as the horn sounded and the vehicle skidded to a halt, stopping about an inch from his leg.
The driver, an elderly sandy haired man, emerged from the car red-faced, shaking his fist. “Look where you’re going you bloody idiot!”
A shaken Dudley stared saucer-eyed at the man and asked, “Do you realise who I am?”
“Yes - you’re a stupid fool who doesn’t look where he’s going!”
Dudley smirked at the man. “I’m Dudley Mountain - the rock star.”
The man looked confused. “Dudley Mountain?” He squinted at Dudley. “Well, so you are! I didn’t recognise you - you’ve put on a fair bit of blubber since your popular days."
Dudley scowled at him, before stepping back onto the pavement, throwing down his Santa hat and stamping on it.
Embarrassed for Dudley, Suki and I disappeared down an alleyway for a short while so he wouldn’t be aware we’d witnessed the encounter.
The next day I awoke feeling as though I’d never slept. I wasn’t sure whether it was stress induced, or whether I was coming down with some dratted winter virus. I spent the morning lazing around in my night clothes.
Just before lunch, as I was downing an espresso, Suki phoned. “Hi Yazmin!” she said. “How are you?”
I could tell by the tone of her voice something was up.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
“Have you seen the Sunday papers?” she replied slowly.
“No.”
“Oh.”
I stayed silent as my heart skipped a beat, or two, or three.
“I’ve seen something in one of the papers. I’ll email a scan to you.” Then she hung up without saying goodbye.
I knocked back the remains of my espresso and choked on it. The coffee came splattering out of my mouth and spotted my white velour dressing gown. I stepped into some casual clothes - jogging bottoms and hoodie and threw the gown into the washing machine, my hands shaking the whole time as I waited for Suki’s email. It was obviously something bad - I could tell by the tone of her voice.
Five minutes later, I gasped as the email appeared in my inbox. Breathing heavily, I opened it up and froze in horror as I saw the headline Nutty Dumps Dudley’s Castoff for Miss Silky. I glared at the screen. Dudley’s castoff? I’d never been so insulted in my life! At the top was a large photo of me screaming at Nutty as he stared wide-eyed at me, looking scared as though I was about to do a wrestling move on him. Further down the page was the old photo of Dudley and me walking along by the theatre and, next to that, a sexy still from the Rub-A-Dub-Dub video. I couldn’t even read the piece. My brain had gone to mush. Shaking and blubbering, I dialled Nutty’s number. It went straight to answerphone - most likely because he’d been doing a gig in Sheffield the previous evening and had probably only had a couple of hours sleep.
I phoned Suki again.
“Hi,” she said slowly.
“I can’t read it!” I screamed.
“Won’t the attachment open?” asked a puzzled Suki.
“Yes - the attachment will bloody open - my eyes just can’t read the words. I’m so upset, Suki! I don’t know what to do.”
“That’s the trouble with being with someone famous - I guess famous is the word for him now. Your private life gets plastered all over the papers and shit.”
“What the fuck are they saying?”
“I’m sure it’s all lies.”
“I know, but what does it say?”
“It basically says he begged Miss Silky …”
“Shut up! I don’t want to hear it!”
“But you just asked …”
“OK, he basically begged Miss Silky to what?”
“ To leave her fiancé and that you were a domineering bitch who he’s glad to get rid of. It’s all lies - I shouldn’t take too much notice.”
“Shouldn’t take too much notice?” I bellowed. “I’ve been called a bitch all over the national newspapers!”
“It doesn’t actually say the word bitch.”
“You just said bitch!”
“Well, I …”
“I’ve been made a fool of. Tracy and Eyebrow Bitch and everyone will be laughing at me!”
“But it isn’t true. Just make sure you’re seen around with him smiling instead of scowling, so the next article will claim you’re getting married or something stupid.”
“What’s so stupid about that?”
“Nothing - I mean they can make up another lie.”
Then Mum came home from work. “Oh my goodness sweetie,” she said, dropping her handbag as well as a bag of shopping. “Have you seen the newspaper?”
“Y - yes!” I cried. I cut Suki off.
“I’ve been shaking at work all morning,” Mum said. “I didn’t know how to tell you. It isn’t true, is it?”
“I hope not!” I said through chattering teeth. By now, I was shivering and cuddling myself and gasping for breath.
Mum put her arms around me. “What has Nutty said about all this?” she asked, stroking my hair.
“He hasn’t!” I replied, still crying.
“He’s denying it?”
“His phone is turned off. He did the Sheffield rave last night.”
“Then let’s go and see him,” Mum said. “Get dressed!”
“I don’t feel well,” I replied, shivering. “And he might still be in Sheffield or somewhere.”
“OK baby. How about taking a nice hot bath and then seeing how you feel?”
I ran a deep, steamy bubble bath and sank into it. As I lay there, I began to calm down and put things into perspective. Nutty was right - those men were trying to wind me up and get a good photo and now they were saying the fury on my face was about him leaving me for Miss Silky Knickers and that I was abusive and argumentative. It was all lies. After the bath, Mum showed me a copy of the paper she’d brought from work. There weren’t many words. It basically just said we’d had a series of arguments and that I’d been domineering and that he’d described Miss Silky as the love of his life. It also claimed she’d taken some persuading to leave Jamie after Nutty begged her to be with him. It did seem more than a little over the top.
After a soothing rosehip tea, I managed a light lunch and stalked both Nutty’s and
Miss Silky’s twitter at short intervals, but they were both staying silent. I waited another three and a half hours before Nutty finally called.
“Hi,” I said nervously.
“Hiya!” Nutty said. “How are you?”
“I’ve seen the paper,” I said.
“I’m flabbergasted!” he replied. “Just woken up when my brother brought a copy round, then I looked at my phone and found about a hundred texts from friends and family. I hope you don’t believe that bollocks.”
I let out one of my embarrassingly loud sighs of relief. “It did seem stupidly over the top,” I answered.
“Have you looked at Miss Silky’s Twitter?”
“Yes,” I said. “She seems to be staying silent.”
“Have you looked in the last fifteen minutes?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“You can’t have done,” he said brightly. “Take another look and phone me back.” He hung up.
I went into the Twitter app with trembling hands. Then I went onto Miss Silky’s page and saw the good news: ‘Jamie and I are expecting a baby!’
I grinned in delight. She didn’t even say anything about the newspaper. Good for her not to give them the satisfaction of even being mentioned. She’d just ignored the slimy bastards and announced her pregnancy.
Then a text came through from Nutty asking me to look at his own Twitter.
Nervously, I went onto his page and there was a zany picture of him and me laughing together beneath the words ‘I love my beautiful Yazmin.’ He’d followed it up with a heart emoji.
I cried tears of joy as I showed both pages to Mum before texting him: Hi too choked up to speak at the mo. I love you! xxx
Love you too! He replied, following it up with a sweet smiley face and half a dozen coloured hearts.
Back in the land of the happy again, I went around for the rest of the day with a grin plastered all over my face and enjoyed one of my happiest weeks ever.
Two days before Christmas, I awoke in my flat next to a snoring Nutty Bonkers. Due to the spooky goings on, he’d abandoned his flat in Skindlesworth and it was now being decorated ready for the single mum and her baby to move in early in the New Year, pending the exorcism.
As I drifted across the hallway, making for the bathroom, Mum jumped out of the kitchen, beaming. “Have you seen the snow?”
“Snow?” I answered, still half asleep.
I looked out the kitchen window to see soft, swirling snowflakes and a decent layer of snow on the ground. All the fir trees in the grounds were glistening white.
“Looks like we’re gonna have a white Christmas!” Mum grinned.
“Hope so!” I smiled.
Then Nutty shouted from the bedroom, “Snow? I need to get back to London!”
My heart sank. Suddenly that white Christmas didn’t seem so appealing.
“You can stay here if you like!” I offered.
“No!” he replied. “I can’t let my aunt and uncle down - I haven’t seen them since I was seven!”
“I thought your uncle was dead …”
“That’s my dad’s brother. It’s my mum’s bro who’s coming for Christmas.”
In my half-asleep state, I’d forgotten his proud relatives were coming from Jamaica to spend Christmas with him and his family. They were both big fans and very proud of him. He had promised to spend Christmas evening with Mum and me, but the snow was coming down thick and fast and there was now a real danger I wouldn’t get to spend Christmas night with my bloke. There’d been travel warnings already in numerous parts of the country that week.
I returned to the bedroom to find Nutty peering out through the curtain. “I’d better grab a coffee and go soon.”
“You sound like you’re in a rush,” I said, concerned. “You can’t drive on snowy roads in a rush - you might crash!”
“I know Yaz - that’s why I need to get going.”
“OK,” I said wearily.
I made him a coffee and a couple of slices of toast. He bolted them down then kissed me goodbye. I watched sadly as he left. The snow continued to fall thick and fast for most of the morning. Mum and I travelled through the blizzard and joined a virtual stampede of panic buying shoppers before coming home and putting our feet up with frangipane topped mince pies and coffee to watch Bad Santa.
Two days later, Mum and I looked out of the window to see the most beautiful Christmas day ever. A bright and beautiful sun shone down upon the thick, brilliant carpet of snow and the fir trees glistened and sparkled like magic. The beautiful sight couldn’t ease my disappointment though - Nutty wouldn’t be able to come and see us, but it was still the best Christmas ever as he was my boyfriend and he’d promised to FaceTime me anyway.
Mum and I began the day with festive looking cranberry scones washed down with coffee before exchanging presents. There were no less than eight parcels under the tree - seven of which were mine. I ripped them open in delight finding, amongst other things, a pair of gold star earrings, bubble bath, fancy hair ties, snowman pyjamas and a fifty quid iTunes voucher. I handed Mum her single present - the lovely red laptop she’d been talking about getting since July.
“Thank you so much!” she beamed, hugging me.
We had a different but pleasant Christmas day snowed in together enjoying films, eating a lovely filling Christmas dinner of nut roast, veggie sausages, roast spuds, sliced carrots, sprouts,sage and onion stuffing balls, and onion gravy. Then, as promised, Nutty FaceTimed me together with his mum, dad, aunt and uncle. They were lovely, and they all seemed to like us too, which was a bonus. Then Mum had a couple of glasses of sparkling wine and started skanking around the flat to Dudley’s dreadful Plastic Automaton album, pretending to be a malfunctioning robot until elderly neighbours came banging on the door.
“We don’t want to make war on Christmas day,” they said. “But would you mind turning that awful mechanical din down before we report you for noise pollution?” I was in fits of giggles, but the music gave me nightmares on Christmas night. I hated that failed eighties synth pop revival disaster album with a passion.
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