I'll Be Home For Christmas

I didn’t see the point in going back to Patty’s lair, where I wouldn’t be able to hear myself think for all the baby-sacrificing, so instead I found myself a quiet corner in the little courtyard garden outside.

It’s not huge – not in this part of London – but big enough for a table and chairs, and a few boxes of flowers. The noise from the street is pretty minimal, and it’s an unexpectedly calm spot.

Usually it’s occupied by at least one builder on a fag break, but it was blessedly empty when I emerged into the sunlight, clutching my phone and sniffling.

Daniel answered on the first ring, which told me two things: that he’d finished his chores around the farm (collecting eggs from the chickens and feeding our Billy goat, who we’d named Gandalf because he looked so wise and intelligent); and that he hadn’t yet started work (finding new and funky samples to use on a track by Vella, one of the new artists he was working with).

‘Good morning, gorgeous,’ he said immediately, and I couldn’t help but smile. Honestly, the fact that he could make me smile even when I felt so awful was enough to warm my insides.

‘I love you,’ I replied. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

‘I do. Because you bought me that T-shirt that has it printed all over the front: Jessy Hearts Daniel. I’m wearing it today. Gandalf was very taken with it. You OK? You sound a bit . . . damp. Have you been crying?’

‘Erm. . .yeah.’ He knows me too well.

‘Did Patty throw a dart at your face?’

‘No! I confiscated her darts after the last time!’

‘OK. Have you been thinking about that scene in The Lion King where Simba realizes his dad isn’t going to wake up?’

‘No, but now I am, and it’s not helping. It’s Vogue, Daniel. She’s back with Jack. And she’s given him a bloody job – here! I just can’t believe it . . . and I’m so angry . . . and I’m not just angry, I’m worried . . . about her, and about us, and about everything!’

The words rushed out of my mouth so fast they sounded a bit blurry even to me, so I completely understood when Daniel didn’t respond immediately.

After a few seconds, he finally spoke. But all he said was one word: ‘Ah.’

It’s a short word, and possibly not even a word at all, more of a sound or an exclamation, but it told me a lot.

Because while Daniel knows me inside out, I also know him inside out – and an ‘ah’ like the one he’d just murmured isn’t a simple thing. For a start, he didn’t sound shocked. He didn’t freak out, or swear, or drop the phone in surprise. He just said one quiet little ‘ah’. This was not the reaction I would have expected from Daniel, who, while not the kind of bloke who has fights or causes scenes, despises Jack Duncan with a quiet passion. Partly for what he did to me, partly for the way he conducts himself in business.

That one little ‘ah’, and the silence that followed it, told me this: Daniel already knew. That the huge shock I’d just had wasn’t as much of a shock to him. That it wasn’t only Vogue who’d kept this revelation to herself.

‘You already knew,’ I said, feeling somehow betrayed. I didn’t make it a question – I didn’t need to – I made it a statement of fact.

‘I didn’t know she’d decided,’ he replied, using the calm tone of voice he uses when he thinks I’m about to go ballistic. ‘I’d heard she’d been in talks with him, but just gossip. Nothing concrete. They’d been seen together a few times having meetings, and I knew he was looking to leave Starmaker. This was all grapevine stuff – nothing certain – and you know most of the grapevine stuff turns out to be crap.’

‘We both know you made that up to fuel your sick fantasies, but why, Daniel? Why didn’t you tell me? I just bumped into him upstairs! I could have done with some . . . I don’t know, warning?’

‘Well,’ he replied, and I could hear the sounds of the garden around him. He’d walked outside – probably barefoot, probably holding a mug of coffee – and I could hear the animals making animal noises in the background. I could picture him there, and usually that would immediately reassure me – but now . . . well, I felt a bit thrown, to be honest.

‘Well. . .’ he repeated, and again I could picture him – he was sitting down on the sawn-off tree stump and looking out at the hills, ‘first of all, I’m really sorry you’re feeling so awful. If I’d known anything for sure, I’d have told you. But it was just gossip, so I didn’t want to upset you for no reason. I could have got you all freaked out for nothing. And part of me thought – still does – that it was Vogue’s story to tell, you know?’

I felt the tears coming back again, and squished them so hard with my eyelids they just squirted out a tiny bit at the sides. I was now frustrated as well as angry and scared, and it was a pretty toxic combination.

‘Well, she didn’t tell me the story. Not until I literally walked in on them, cuddling up on the couch together. . .’

‘Oh!’ Daniel said, now sounding genuinely shocked. ‘Really? She’s taken him back in that way? After everything that’s happened? You’ve got to be kidding!’

‘No, I’m not kidding. And I felt the same way. Look, I’ve got to go, all right? I can see a bevvy of builders heading in my direction with flasks and packets of Benson & Hedges. . .’

‘OK. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, Jessy. Maybe I should have. Probably I should have. And I’m really sorry you’re so upset. And I love you.’

I stood up, and looked around at the completely empty garden. There were no builders. No flasks. No Benson & Hedges. I just felt shaken up, a bit knocked for six as my dad would say, and needed an excuse to get off the phone.

The fact that I was finding excuses to end a conversation with Daniel – and that I was fibbing to him – wasn’t really helping me feel any more steady or in control. It was like the world had turned upside down.

‘Love you too,’ I said, quickly. ‘I’ll call you later.’

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.