Читать книгу I'll Be Home For Christmas - Abbey Clancy - Страница 10

Chapter 3

I made my way back inside the building, just in time to see Patty disappearing out of it. There was, surprisingly, no cloud of sulphur surrounding her, just a faint whiff of Dior Poison. I hung back so I could avoid bumping into her, and then went back to our office. I have no idea how Patty would react to me crying – possibly, she’d be unexpectedly kind; possibly, she’d eat me like a praying mantis on a wildlife documentary. It wasn’t worth the risk so I hid.

It was now blessedly quiet in there, and I was able to sit and think for a moment. To try to stop blubbing. To sort through my thoughts. Vogue had lied to me – or at the very least deliberately kept something huge a secret. And Daniel had known . . . kind of. Being fair, I understood why he hadn’t mentioned it – he didn’t know for sure and didn’t want to upset me. But being unfair, it added to the sense of betrayal I was feeling – like the big kids had been ganging up on me. Not very mature, I know, but that’s feelings for you.

I needed to talk to someone outside this world, and be reminded that there were bigger things in life than me and my petty problems. Well, maybe I actually needed to talk to someone about my petty problems – and, as ever, I made like E.T. and phoned home.

My parents are brilliant people. They’re hard-working and solid and they love the bones of me. I know they’re always 100 per cent on Team Jessy – even if they’re telling me things I don’t want to hear. The fact that we came close to having a serious falling-out at the end of last year has made me even more aware of how much I owe them, and how much I need them. It’s easy to lose your sense of gravity in this business – and they’re like those big clumpy space boots that astronauts use to keep themselves grounded.

I used the landline to call them, and was greeted by a fake Italian accent: ‘Welcome to Luigi’s House of Pancakes and Pain! What may I do you for?’

‘Luke, why aren’t you in college?’ I asked, immediately. He wants to be a sports physio, and is doing his A-levels at the moment. Loosely speaking.

‘Study morning,’ he replied.

‘So you’re sitting in your room playing “Call of Duty”?’

‘Yup! Do you want Dad? Mum’s round at Becky’s, looking after Ollie. And can you get me tickets to the Dua Lipa tour? And can you arrange for me to meet her as well?’

‘Yes, I want to speak to Dad, and no, I can’t get you a date with Dua Lipa. Or maybe I can. I don’t know. Leave it with me.’

‘Cool. I’ll get Dad. He’s watching the Formula 1 highlights and cutting his toenails.’

He left me with that charming and achingly familiar image and, within a few seconds, Dad picked up the phone. He’s a big man, my father, tall and bulky, all of it topped off with a shiny bare head and a face that is usually smiling. He’s known – mainly by himself – as the Bald Eagle, but is actually called Phil. He’s a taxi driver, and has an endless supply of stories, which all start with the same words: ‘I had this bloke/girl/alpaca in the back of my cab the other night. . .’

‘All right, love?’ he said immediately, the roaring sound of cars pointlessly driving round a track floating over the line from the telly in the background. I was struck by an urge to just get on the train and go home. To sit with my dad, and listen to his stories, and feel like everything was right with the world. I’m lucky to have that kind of refuge, that kind of security – and to know that if I wanted to, I could give all of this up, get a job in the local McDonald’s, and go back to being their Jessy. They’d love me just as much.

‘Yeah, all good, Dad. Just wanted to hear your voice.’

‘Oh! Well, that usually means you’re trying to find your way out of a shit storm – what’s wrong? If it’s girl stuff and you want your mum, she’s round at our Becky’s, adoring Prince Ollie.’

‘How’s he doing?’ I asked, smiling at the thought of my chubby nephew.

‘Brilliant. I swear to God he’s put on about a stone in the last week. He’ll be nicking my tins of Guinness before I know it. How’s the world of show business treating you? Saw a picture of you in a copy of Hello! magazine that got left in the back of the cab the other night. Your mother was worried you weren’t wearing enough clothes to keep your circulation going.’

‘Ha! I never wore much more on nights out clubbing in Liverpool either, Dad – it’s just that you never saw a picture of it in Hello! magazine. I’m fine, honest. It’s. . .well, just work stuff. Busy, you know? And. . .well, I’ve had an offer to go and work in the States with someone and I’m not sure what to do about it.’

There was a pause and the sound of the racing cars died down as he used the remote control. I hadn’t intended to talk to him about the America thing – to be honest, I hadn’t had a clue what I wanted to talk to him about, but that was the first thing that came out of my mouth. It was better than whingeing on about Jack and Vogue and Daniel. Mum and Dad had a vague idea that something had gone wrong with Jack, but as they’d never known we were a couple – Jack insisted on keeping it a secret, for reasons that later became obvious – they’d also never known the full story.

That was fine by me. The last thing I needed was my dad turning up in his Army & Navy Stores camo trousers and trying to knock Jack’s block off – much as the idea felt appealing right now.

‘How long would you be gone for, then, love? It wouldn’t be permanent, would it?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know at this stage, I’ve only just been asked. Could be a weekend, could be a month. It’s a great opportunity, but, you know. . .’

‘I know. You’d have to leave Daniel, and us, and that’s scary.’

As ever, he’d hit the nail right on the head. He might not have any university degrees to his name, but the Bald Eagle is as sharp as they come.

It was scary – on all kinds of levels. But right then, feeling the way I was about people I’d trusted, it was sounding a bit less scary, and a bit more like an escape hatch.

‘Yeah. Scary. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong, does it?’

‘No,’ he replied, quickly. ‘Sometimes it means it’s right. I was bloody terrified when your mother told me she was pregnant with Becky – and now I’m a doting grandad! I suppose you just have to trust your instincts, love. They’ve never let you down yet.’

He was, of course, wrong on that front. My instincts about Jack had definitely let me down. And, maybe, my instincts about Vogue. I couldn’t quite put Daniel in that category, but I couldn’t deny I was having a bit of a wobble about him either.

‘What does Daniel think about it all?’ he asked, when I didn’t answer him – I was too distracted pondering how crap my instincts were.

‘Well . . . I haven’t told him yet.’

‘That’s where you start, then, isn’t it? He knows you. He knows the business. He’s a sensible lad, and he’ll be honest with you.’

I knew my dad meant well, but it was possibly the worst thing to say right then. Because that was exactly the problem – this whole thing with Jack, with Daniel having his suspicions about it and keeping them to himself, was making me question exactly how honest our relationship was. Plus, on my side, I’d been hiding the Cooper Black thing from him.

I mean, what would our Billy goat Gandalf say about all of that? I think he’d have been disappointed in me for keeping secrets.

‘You’re right, Dad. I’ll speak to him, talk it over.’

‘Good girl. You do that. And whatever you decide, love, you know we’re 100 per cent on your side, don’t you? Always.’

‘Always – I know. Love you, Dad!’

‘Love you too, Jessy. And put more clothes on, all right? You’ll catch your death.’

Obviously, I felt better after that. But not better enough to talk to Daniel, not just yet. Instead, I went down to the basement to find Neale, my stylist and friend. Neale also knows me, and he knows the business, and more to the point, I knew he’d have a secret stash of chocolate, which I desperately needed. Nothing cheers a girl up quite like a KitKat.

I walked into his domain to find him plastered in make-up, listening to R. Kelly being played extremely loud through his speakers.

Now, Neale is gay, but he’s never tried this before – at least not so far as I know. I stared at his multicoloured cheeks and brightly painted eyelids and glitter-coated lips and was lost for words. It all looked very weird – especially as Neale is a short, slender man with close-cropped dark hair and trendy glasses. He looked like he was about to march in the Nerd Pride Parade.

‘Just trying out some new samples!’ he said quickly, turning the music lower and gesturing to all the cosmetics spread out on the dressing table. ‘They all get sent to me for free – honestly, Jess, it’s like a real-life fairy tale!’

OK, I thought, we all have our different versions of happiness, and this was clearly his. I flumped down onto one of the beanbags he had scattered around the still-not-renovated room, and looked at him imploringly.

‘I need chocolate,’ I said.

‘Oh! It’s one of those days, is it? Feeling a little delicate, are we?’

He rooted around in one of the drawers, and handed me a snack-sized Twix.

‘This is rubbish,’ I said, tearing the wrapper off and stuffing half of it into my mouth. ‘There’s only one finger – it goes against all the laws of Twix!’

‘You’d hate me in the morning when you woke up with a zit on your nose. Anyway, wassup? It’s not even lunch-time and you look like someone just decapitated an Andrex puppy in front of you. They didn’t, did they?’

I held my fingers up to tell him to wait for a while – I was too busy eating, drooling, and generally making a chocolatey mess of myself to speak. He started removing some of the slap from his face while he waited for me to finish, and didn’t even look disgusted as I chewed – true friendship.

‘Well,’ I said, eventually, wiping my face with a tissue I swiped out of his hand, ‘no Andrex puppies have been harmed in the making of this morning, as far as I know. But I kind of feel like one myself. There are a few things to mention, so I’ll make a list. First, Vogue has gone and offered Jack Duncan a job here.’

Neale paused, his hand frozen mid-wipe, his face now half rainbow and half clear.

‘No way! Doing what?’

‘Scouting. Managing. Shagging. Whatever it is he does. I know it’s her business, and her call, but still. . .’

‘It makes you feel a bit sick in your mouth?’

‘Yes! Or maybe that’s the Twix, I don’t know. Secondly – and this has to stay between us until I know how she’s playing it – she’s also taken him back.’

‘Back back?’

‘Back back. I practically found them bonking in her office. . .’

This, of course, is a very big overstatement – it’s also distracted Neale, who is now gazing off into the distance, probably imagining Jack Duncan naked. As I’ve said, he’s drop-dead gorgeous – to look at, at least.

‘OK. Well, that’s up to her, I suppose. But I can see why you’re worried. This is all new, and the whole point of In Vogue was to get away from people like Jack, wasn’t it? Even if he is fit enough to win Best in Show at Crufts.’

‘Exactly! And on top of all that, it turns out that Daniel knew about it. Well, kind of knew about it. . .’

Neale pulled another beanbag over and sat by my side. He gave me a quick hug, and then a quick talking-to: ‘What do you mean by “kind of”? You mean he’d heard some gossip?’

‘That’s what he said. He said he didn’t want to repeat it in case it came to nothing, and he didn’t want to upset me.’

‘Well, I can see why you needed chocolate, honey. Daniel loves you to pieces, and there’s no way he’d do anything to hurt you – he was trying to protect you, even if it doesn’t feel like that right now. You know he’s your happy-ever-after, don’t you? I can tell you’re annoyed with him, but you should probably take it down a notch and not do a full-on diva about it. Just because you’re in a couple doesn’t mean you have to tell each other every thought that enters your head, does it?’

He was right, of course. And it wasn’t like I’d been entirely honest either.

‘No, it doesn’t. And while we’re on that subject, what do you know about Cooper Black?’

‘The Cooper Black?’

‘No, the knock-off Cooper Black I got from the market the day I got that Prada handbag for twenty quid. Of course the Cooper Black!’

‘OK, OK, no need to snap your bra hook at me. . .Well, obviously, he’s a mega-babe from another planet. Super-hot right now. And – well, I do know one of his friends, actually, since you asked so nicely.’

‘One of his friends? One of his real friends?’

‘No – one of his knock-off friends I got from the market! Yes, a real friend – JB. He used to be in the band with him. JB’s lovely – can’t sing for shit, mind, but he looks great and he can dance. That’s how I met him.’

‘Out dancing?’

‘Yeah. At that club I took you to once. You remember?’

It was hard to forget – or at least hard to remember, which is the sign of a good night out. It had been the night after my first single launch, when I’d performed with Vogue to a packed crowd of writers, movers, shakers, and my entire family. It had been an incredibly stressful time, not helped by the fact that I had a row with my parents afterwards. I’d needed two things in life that evening: a Big Mac and a carefree night out, and Neale and his pals had kindly provided me with both.

It had been a great night, but it had also left me with one of the worst hangovers in the entire history of hangovers. Tequila, you swine.

It was also, and this I did remember, a gay club – a place Neale told me was discreet, where lots of famous people went when they wanted to be safe from getting papped. JB being there didn’t mean he was gay – I wasn’t – but I could tell from the slightly dreamy expression on Neale’s face that my friend at least hoped he was.

I tried to dredge up an image of JB from his days in the boy band, and finally matched it: he was the bad boy. Cooper Black was all blond handsomeness – the kind of boy you’d take home to meet your parents, sexy but wholesome – and JB was the wild child. Shaggy dark hair, a body to kill for, blue eyes and a wicked grin. In his own way, he’d been just as much of a heart-throb as Cooper.

‘Is he . . . ?’

‘A big flaming queen with sugar and sprinkles on top?’ supplied Neale, laughing at me. ‘Yes, he is – he doesn’t lie about it, but he doesn’t broadcast it either. So be very, very careful to keep your lovely Liverpool mouth shut about it, all right?’

‘Don’t worry, I learned my lesson the hard way!’ I replied, patting him on the thigh to reassure him. I really had, as well – last year, I accidentally ‘outed’ Neale in the press. It had been a masterclass in when to stay silent.

‘Now, I have to ask you why you want to know all this stuff. What’s with you and Cooper Black? Are you crushing on him, you little minx?’

‘No! Yes! Maybe – I mean, I’m only human! But . . . well . . . he’s actually been in touch and asked me to feature on his new single. And maybe do more work with him. And I just don’t know what to do about it – it’s a brilliant idea, but it might mean leaving Daniel. And Vogue. And this place. You know?’

Neale nodded emphatically, making his glasses bobble on the edge of his nose.

‘I can understand that – but, well, wow! If you take all the personal shit out of it, it’s fantastic, isn’t it? The next stop on the Jessika world domination tour! And a huge compliment. . .So, what are you going to do?’

‘Well, this morning, I was thinking no. Then all this crap happened, and I’m thinking maybe yes. But, before I decide, I suppose I’d like to know a bit more about him – what kind of person he is. Whether he’s likely to screw me over. Whether he’s a. . .’

‘Showbiz twat?’

‘Exactly! Because with Jack Duncan back on the scene, I have enough showbiz twattery to handle already. Do you think maybe you could ask JB for me, kind of on the QT?’

‘Darling, I can do better than that – it must be your lucky day! You know I’m your fairy godbrother, right? Funnily enough, JB is in town. Let’s all go out, and you can ask him yourself.’

*

Let’s just say that the night got messy. It started with tequila, Big Macs and dancing. And after a riotous journey around London’s bars and nightspots it was ending, it seemed, with a very competitive game of strip darts.

JB was a larger-than-life character, all hair and piercings and tattoos and muscles. Now the band was history, any constraints he’d previously felt were well and truly gone, and he was living it up in London.

Only ten minutes into the game, he’d already stripped down to just his Calvin Klein boxers and one sock. Neale was doing better, and was merely topless, his sinewy torso pale above his skinny jeans. JB flopped down next to me as Neale prepared to take his turn, his bulky chest glistening with sweat from an earlier dance session dominated by old classics like ‘Ride on Time’, ‘Pump Up the Jam’ and ‘No Limits’. He gave me a sideways grin as we watched Neale nail the double twelve he needed to win. JB stood up, saluted him, and very slowly stripped off his last sock, like he was doing some kind of teasing burlesque routine.

Neale fanned his face in a mock sincerity that I suspected was very much real. It was obviously the sexiest foot he’d ever seen in his entire life.

‘So,’ said JB, taking a big gulp of his Jack Daniel’s and Coke, ‘the thing to remember about Cooper Black is that he’s solid. He’s got this whole all-American jock thing going on, with the perfect hair and the shiny teeth and the wholesome boy-next-door smile, but underneath all that, he’s a solid guy. That’s an act – like my wild boy sex machine was an act.’

I glanced at him – sitting there in his knickers, tendrils of rough black hair curling onto broad shoulders – and suspected that was no act. He was a wild boy sex machine, just not in quite the way most of his fans thought he was.

‘So . . . he’s nice?’ I asked, incapable of forming a more incisive question due to the fact that most of the blood in my veins had been turned into tequila.

‘Yeah, he’s nice, but he’s funny too. Real funny, the guy has a wicked sense of humour. And he’s talented. I can’t sing – I can dance a little and I look good – but Cooper? He’s the whole package. He always wanted to write his own songs, get into better material, but the way the band was marketed held him back. Now he’s going solo, he’ll fly – and his new stuff is awesome. I’ve heard some of it, and you can believe the hype. If he’s asking you to get involved, I’d say go for it. It’s a hell of a chance. Plus, I can tell you two would hit it off.’

Neale sat down on the other side of me, squashing me between the two of them. His legs were vibrating like somebody had wound him up – a clockwork stylist.

‘Plus, you know, think of the nights out!’ Neale said. ‘And the parties! And the outfits!’

If you’d asked me that morning, none of that would have sounded attractive. That morning, I was distressed at the thought of spending even one night away from Daniel and our life together. That morning, the idea of jetting off to the States was a worry, not an opportunity.

Now, though, I was beginning to see things slightly differently. Even setting aside everything that had happened with Jack and Vogue, which had really unsettled me, I’d also had a brilliant night out with these two. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a complete drink-yourself-daft, get-home-with-the-milkman blow out like this.

When I had to, I attended showbiz parties and events – it was part of my job, and I did enjoy it a lot of the time. But it was work – there was pressure to look a certain way, behave a certain way, to not flash my gusset or vomit in a gutter. And behind it all, there was always part of me that just wanted to bin it all off and go home to Daniel, and my other life.

Tonight, though, hadn’t been like that. It had just been fun, pure and simple. Being out with Neale, who I could trust with my life, and JB, who was all kinds of hilarious, was different. It was even, I had to admit to myself, more fun than being with Daniel.

I love my Daniel to bits, don’t get me wrong, but he’s not a party animal. He’s a stay-at-home creature. That’s the way he’s always been, and he isn’t going to change. I wouldn’t want him to change – but maybe, if I’m entirely honest, I did also kind of miss this sort of thing. The daftness of it all. The spontaneity of it. The sheer unadulterated pleasure of a crazy night out with real friends – especially ones who weren’t, at any stage, ever, going to try to stick their hand up my top.

Usually, on my nights away from Daniel, I’m sad. I sit in my flat, after whatever event I’ve been to, and I miss him like crazy. We spend hours talking on the phone or on Skype, and I never feel totally happy until we’re together again. Tonight hadn’t been like that – in fact I’d barely thought about him, or even looked at my phone.

Partly because I was just having so much fun, and partly because when I did think about him, there was a tiny little ‘ick’ feeling making itself present. I wasn’t used to that – we barely even argued, me and Daniel, we were usually so happy and settled together. But no matter how many times I told myself he hadn’t done anything wrong by not mentioning the Jack thing to me, the tiny little ‘ick’ was still there, tinging my thought processes.

The only thing to do in a situation like that, I’ve found, is to get so drunk you don’t have any thought processes at all – and this had been the perfect way of doing that. Plus, you know, I had managed to get the scoop on Cooper Black, and his levels of showbiz twattery – which were, it seemed, superbly low for a man who’d essentially grown up in the spotlight of the music industry, adored and moulded since he was fifteen.

Still, even acknowledging the ‘ick’ had made me feel a bit uncomfortable – and also reminded me that it was almost 5 a.m., and that I hadn’t called Daniel like I’d said I would. That was bad. He didn’t deserve the silent treatment. I needed to get back to my flat and grab a few hours’ sleep before I phoned him and tried to set this right.

I drained the last of my tequila, and turned to Neale. ‘I’m going to get off now,’ I said.

‘Oh Lord, me too! He’s only got his knickers left!’

I followed his gaze to the darts board, and saw JB fail to score yet again as his dart thudded to the ground. He turned towards us, and gave Neale the kind of lazy grin that promised every sin known to man, and then some. I couldn’t help but laugh, and gave my friend a quick cuddle. I had no idea what was going to happen with those two, but I was definitely the spare wheel tonight.

I gathered my belongings – bag, phone, the inflatable hammer we’d somehow acquired during our evening’s adventures – and stood up to leave.

Despite his distracted state, Neale still managed to grab my hand, and issued a strict warning about making sure I got straight into a cab, and didn’t talk to strangers on the way home.

‘Thanks,’ I said, leaning down to kiss the velveteen fuzz of his cropped hair. ‘See you tomorrow.’

By the time I got back to my flat, I was about 50 per cent sober. The cabbie had been chatty, and reminded me so much of my dad I almost had a drunk-girl weep as we bounced over London potholes and braked to avoid hen parties crossing the road in zigzags. I signed his receipt pad for his daughter, and posed for the obligatory selfie, aware that I had now become the star in one of those familiar ‘back of my cab. . .’ stories that I’d grown up hearing. I was just glad I hadn’t puked out of the window, or tripped over the kerb as I got out in front of my building.

When I was signed to Starmaker, I had a big place with views over the city, all paid for by the record label. It was plush and luxurious but completely lacking in soul or anything that made it feel like home. These days, I rented a much smaller but also much nicer place in West London. There was still a doorman – I needed the security, and my dad had insisted – but it’s all a lot less fake and grand.

I fumbled with the key a bit as I let myself in – I was still about 50 per cent drunk after all – and also struggled to get my inflatable hammer through the door. It took a while for the logistical part of my brain, which is never to the forefront to be honest, to realize I had to turn it lengthways rather than widthways, to squash it through.

The first thing that hit me when I closed the door behind me was the smell. It smelled of toast, which immediately made my mouth water. Then I noticed the fact that the lights were off in the living room, and I always leave them on – some kind of hangover from the days when I lived in a much less desirable part of a city, and always wanted to give the impression there was someone home.

I dropped my bag, and hefted my inflatable hammer, taking up a street fighter pose. Or as much of a street fighter pose as you can manage in six-inch heels after eight hours of drinking. I kind of knew the hammer wasn’t actually much help – it wasn’t Thor’s, after all – but it did make me feel a bit better as I tiptoed through the darkened living room, and into the kitchen.

Yep, I was right – someone had been making toast in here. That calmed me down – it seemed very unlikely that a burglar had crept in and popped a couple of slices of wholemeal under the grill while he cased the joint. What calmed me down even more was the fact that the butter was still out – which meant it was probably Daniel.

Much as he is nigh on perfect, he does still suffer from some male traits – like leaving everything scattered over the kitchen counter whenever he’s used it.

I popped the pack back in the fridge – I was my mother’s daughter after all – and crept back through to the living room to check my phone. Sure enough, there were seven missed calls, from both his landline at the farmhouse, and from his mobile.

I was instantly flooded with guilt and regret. I’d been a mean girl, retreating into my shell just because things hadn’t been perfect. It was silly and immature and not the way I wanted to behave. I was suddenly so glad he was here, and slipped off my stupidly high sandals and walked into the bedroom.

He was just a lump under the duvet, but as soon as I entered the room, he shuffled around and sat up. His chest was bare and his blond hair was sticking out at all kinds of strange angles, and he looked totally edible. I froze for a second, feeling ashamed of myself, and also wondering if he was properly awake, because he was looking very confused.

‘Nice hammer,’ he said, squinting at me and wiping his blue eyes clear of sleep.

‘Oh!’ I said, throwing it to the floor. ‘I’d forgotten I had it. . .’

He pulled the covers back, and patted the other side of the bed in invitation. I didn’t need asking more than once, and immediately climbed in and snuggled up against him. We were both quiet for a few moments, settling into the familiar shape of each other’s body, my head laid against his chest, his lips kissing the top of my hair. It felt so good – so natural, and safe, and right, to be back home in more ways than one.

‘Good night?’ he asked, his hands stroking my shoulder reassuringly. I realized that I needed the reassurance – that I had been worried about seeing him again. About whether we’d done any permanent damage, intentionally or not.

‘Great night. I was out with Neale and . . . a friend of his. We played strip darts. Well, they did. I retained my dignity.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. I’ve seen you play darts, I think that pub down the road from our college still has holes in the wall to prove it. You OK? I got worried when I didn’t hear back from you, so I headed here. I needed to tell you in person how sorry I am, about the Jack thing. I know—’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said, interrupting him, squeezing him tight. ‘None of it matters. I’m just glad you’re here. I didn’t feel right without you.’

‘It does matter, and I need to say it. You know I’d never intend to hurt you, but on top of you seeing Jack like you did, which must have been a shock, you were left feeling like I’d somehow let you down. And I had – even if I did what I thought at the time was the right thing. We shouldn’t have secrets from each other. It’s like keeping secrets from yourself, isn’t it?’

I nodded, and held on to him even harder. He was right – and he hadn’t been the only one keeping secrets, had he? I hadn’t planned on raising the Cooper Black issue tonight – or possibly ever, depending on what I decided to do – but suddenly I felt like I should. I realized that keeping it from him had been eating away at me, and definitely contributing more to the ‘ick’ feeling than I’d given it credit for.

Daniel and I have something special, and hiding things was disrespectful to that. My mum and dad had survived decades, three kids, and a lifetime of hard work – and they’d done it together. If I wanted the same kind of relationship they had, I couldn’t just ignore the difficult stuff and bury my head in the sand. Or even a bottle of tequila.

‘You’re right,’ I said, ‘and there’s something else I need to tell you.’

I felt him tense slightly next to me, and realized how worrying that might sound to a boyfriend whose girl had gone AWOL for the night after an almost-fight.

‘No, nothing like that, I’d never! It’s a work thing, I suppose. I’ve had a proposal from Cooper Black.’

‘Oh. That’s a bit sudden. I can’t blame him for loving you, Jessy, but have you ever even met the guy?’

‘Not that kind of proposal, stupid!’ I replied, poking him in the ribs. He knew that, obviously – he was just trying to lighten the mood. Make things easier for me. One of the many reasons I loved him so very much.

‘He contacted me, and said he wants me to work with him. Do a feature slot on his new single. What do you think?’

Daniel was silent for a few moments – he’s not the kind of person to respond without thinking, unlike me. He’s far more measured and, I suspect, basically intelligent. I sometimes feel like I’m just a set of emotions on legs.

‘Well, I think it’s a great idea,’ he said eventually. I looked up from my nest on his chest, and saw that he was staring off into the distance, chewing his lip, and looking serious. He was thinking through the implications, so I jumped right in – I’d been thinking about them for a lot longer than he had, after all, so I had a head start.

‘I was worried about leaving you. And leaving Vogue. And leaving my family.’

He pondered it for a few more seconds, then said: ‘Well, why would you need to leave us? If it’s just a featuring, then you wouldn’t even need to do it with him, in the States. He could just send over the track and we could record your part at In Vogue, or at home. You’re finishing off your album anyway, so we’ll be practically living in the studio for the next few weeks. It’d be easy. You could do it in your pyjamas.’

‘You really think so?’ I asked, hopefully, propping myself up on one arm so I could see his face properly. Daniel is a terrible liar, which is very much to his credit, and I knew I’d be able to tell if he was bluffing. Happily, he just had his ‘figuring out the solution’ face on, not his ‘covering up bullshit’ face.

‘Yeah, of course. From what I’ve heard, he’s going to be massive. I know the people he’s been working with, and they’re quality. This could be the biggest single of the year, and if you have the chance to be part of it, you should.’

‘But what if it’s more?’ I asked, hearing all the tensions and underlying anxieties pour out in my voice. ‘What if I have to go there to do promo, or launches, or a tour? What if it all grows and grows and turns into a giant octopus that eats all my free time and takes me away from you? It only feels like we’ve been together for five minutes, and we’re just settling into life, and I don’t want to leave you all alone with Gandalf!’

He stared at me, at my frowning expression and hurried words, and did what any sensible person would – burst out laughing.

He sat up, and took my face between his hands, stroking my skin in a way that wasn’t just reassuring, but was starting to be quite distracting. Because, you know, my Daniel is also super-fit – and lying naked in my bed.

‘Jessy,’ he said, firmly, ‘I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I have enough belief in this relationship that I’m not even remotely scared by Cooper Black, or you spending time away, or by a giant octopus. Besides, I have a lot of stuff coming up as well. Vella’s asked me to do her whole album with her. She wants to come and stay at the studio, and get some musicians in, and lay the whole thing down live. That’s another thing I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.’

I had, I realized, been acting like a total knob. I’d been worrying myself sick about something that might never even happen, and even if it did happen, not having the faith in me and Daniel to feel OK about it. And I’d been so caught up in my own worries that it never even occurred to me that this was a challenge for him as well – he had his own career to think about, a brilliant career. The whole world didn’t revolve around me.

I’d been tearing myself up about a single I didn’t even have to leave the house to record, and he’d been worried that I’d mind about Vella – one of those funky soul diva types – effectively moving into my territory.

‘Will she stay in the barn with Gandalf?’ I asked, smiling at the thought.

‘I thought about that, but I think she’d be happier in the guest block, don’t you? And she’s cool. You’ll like her. Maybe we can invite Cooper Black over for dinner, and set them up with each other. . .’

I pondered that for a moment. It would possibly be the most showbizzy blind date known to man, assuming they could both cope with a few days in the English countryside. Cooper was from New York, and Vella, as far as I remembered, was from Berlin, so they might be a bit thrown off by the mud and the chickens. Still. It was an amusing idea.

‘Maybe,’ I replied, letting my hand drift from his bare chest to another bare place, beneath the sheets. He responded in an immediate and very flattering manner. ‘And maybe we should just stop thinking about Vella, and Cooper Black, and singles, and albums, and definitely Gandalf, and start thinking about ourselves.’

In one quick move, he had me lying flat on my back, and was undoing the buttons on my top.

‘Or maybe we should just stop thinking altogether. . .’ he whispered, kissing my neck in a way that had exactly that effect.