The taxi rattled its way from Trevay to Pendruggan and Jess, swaying in the back seat, smiled at her reflection. So Ollie lied about his age too? How hilarious. And how she had enjoyed his gentle flirting. She thought about him as a potential lover and just as quickly stopped. She couldn’t imagine taking her clothes off in front of anyone other than Ryan now. She was slim but she had touches of sag and droop that she’d prefer to keep to herself, and Ollie was used to Red, who was only twenty-four. Red’s body was fresh out of the cellophane and still made of lycra. Bone-hugging, soft and wrinkle free. Jess’s was losing its elasticity and as for the pencil-under-the-boob test, well she could get a whole branch of Ryman’s under hers. She stuck her tongue out at her reflection in the window and giggled. God, she was pissed. Supposing she’d stayed at the Starfish tonight; would Ollie have made a move? She closed her eyes to imagine him kissing her. It was a nice thought. How would his muscled arms feel through his shirt? She snapped her eyes open again. Jess Tate, you are as good as married, she told herself. But it’s rather nice to think someone as young and nice and gorgeous as Ollie could … Stop it, Jess! she scolded herself. He’s in bed now, laughing at how he made a fool of you. Forget it. He’s a friend. That’s all.
‘’Ere you go, my love.’ The taxi driver pulled up outside Granny’s Nook. ‘Seven pounds twenty, please.’
She paid the cabbie and lurched her way up the garden path as quietly as she could. As she turned to shut the front door, she spotted on the other side of the green a familiar dark Range Rover. Louis was still here then. She flicked on the sitting-room light to illuminate her path across the floor to the stairs. Hutch was on the sofa in his sleeping bag. She’d woken him up.
‘Hey, Jess. What time is it?’ he asked, rubbing his eyes.
She looked at her watch. ‘One thirty. Sorry, I forgot you’d be here. I wasn’t supposed to come back.’
‘That’s all right.’
‘Hi,’ said another voice from the rug in front of the hearth.
Jess saw a man with his head on an armchair cushion and his body covered in the old throw that usually covered the sofa.
‘Oh, that’s Chris. Chris, this is Jess – Brooke’s flatmate. Jess, this is Chris, my new partner. Since the last brouhaha, Louis needs two of us.’
‘Is security that high for him?’ Jess asked, trying to sound totally sober.
‘Something like that.’ Hutch looked at her carefully, ‘Are you pissed, miss?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Oh good. I like your shoes.’
‘Thank you.’ She looked down at them. They were on the wrong feet. No wonder she’d had trouble getting up the path.
‘Just as long as you’re OK then,’ said Hutch, turning over to face the back of the sofa. ‘Turn the light out on your way up.’
Upstairs on the landing she crept past the closed door of Brooke’s bedroom. There was no light coming from under it and no sounds either.
When she was finally curled up in her own bed she wondered whether she ought to phone Ryan to check how the party had gone. It occurred to her that she hadn’t heard from him in twenty-four hours. ‘No news is good news,’ she told herself, and immediately fell into a deep sleep.
*
‘Jess! Jess!’ A man’s voice, close to her ear. It was him. She was sure of it. He mustn’t come into her bedroom.
‘Go away, Ollie,’ she told him sternly, keeping her eyes tight shut. If she didn’t look at him he’d go away.
‘Jess, it’s Chris. It’s important.’
Chris? Who the hell was Chris and what was he doing in her room? My God, she was a man magnet!
‘Chris, you’re very sweet,’ she mumbled into her pillow, ‘but I’m engaged to Ryan.’
‘Jess, wake up. Now.’ He was shaking her awake.
She opened her eyes and slowly focused on the face of Louis’ new detective. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘We’ve got a bit of trouble.’
Jess pulled herself to wakefulness. Hutch was on the landing talking on the phone.
‘What’s happened?’
Hutch, finishing his call, came into her room pocketing the phone. ‘We should have got Louis out of here before dawn, but …’ He looked sheepish. ‘We all overslept. Our friends from Fleet Street have been tipped off and they’re starting to gather outside. Only two or three at the moment, but I’ve had to tell my bosses and four types of shit is about to land on my head. Would you do me a favour and go outside and tell them he’s not here? It’ll give me a chance to think of something.’
The door to Brooke’s bedroom opened and she came out with Louis. They were both fully dressed and Louis was on his phone.
‘Ma, listen to me … I’ll get out of here … I know what I promised … there aren’t many of them outside yet … I’m sorry … we’ll talk about it when I get home … gotta go, Hutch is here … OK, Ma, see you soon. Bye. Bye.’
Jess’s head was fuzzy from lack of sleep and excess booze, but she knew enough to realise that the royal boyf had just had a dressing down from his royal mama. What the hell had happened to her peaceful life?
She turned her attention to Chris and Hutch, who were looking very uncomfortable.
‘So,’ she said. ‘You have all fucked up. Royally, if I may say so.’ She laughed at her own joke but as no one else did she continued as soberly as she could manage: ‘You want good old me to go out there, lie through my teeth and let you slip out the back way again. Am I right?’
Hutch shuffled a bit. ‘In a nutshell.’
Jess swung her feet out of bed. ‘OK, I’ll do it. But this is the last time. They probably won’t believe me anyway. I have done this before, remember?’
Brooke took Jess’s dressing gown off the back of a chair and helped her into it. ‘Thank you,’ Jess breathed.
‘Phwoar! You stink of booze.’ Brooke wafted her hand in front of her face.
Jess gave her a withering look as she did up her robe. ‘Do you want me to save your skin or not?’
‘I do, I do. I’m sorry.’
Louis stepped forward and embraced Jess. ‘Thank you, Jess. I promise this will never happen again.’
Jess ran a hand through her hair and set off down the stairs.
By the time she opened the front door she had her speech, all irate but dignified, prepared. She wasn’t given a chance to use it. A grim-faced reporter shoved a photo in front of her as the usual flashbulbs popped. She frowned and pulled the photo closer. It came into focus. It was a picture of Ryan and Serena at a party.
Ryan and Serena kissing.
Ryan with his hand up Serena’s skirt, caressing her be-thonged arse.
She dropped the picture and gave a little cry. She tried to slam the door in the face of the wretched reporter but he held it open with the palm of his hand.
‘Sorry to have to break the news to you this way, Miss Tate, but Ryan has been a bit of a naughty boy. He and Serena Metcalfe are engaged. What’s your reaction?’
Jess felt nauseous. Last night’s brandy was making its way up her throat. ‘I …’
‘Let me read you the statement Miss Metcalfe’s publicist released early this morning.’ He reached into his pocket for another piece of paper. ‘It says, “Serena Metcalfe is thrilled to let the world know of her love for Venini star Ryan Hearst. Love has bowled them both over and last night at a star-studded party Mr Hearst proposed to her and she accepted.”’
Jess felt nothing as she hit the floor.
*
The shock was so great that when Jess came to, as she was being carried to the sofa, she didn’t know what had happened. Brooke was being kind to her and stroking her hand, Hutch was brewing some strong coffee and Louis was apologising over and over.
‘What do you keep saying sorry for, Louis?’ she asked. ‘Have you hurt me? I don’t feel hurt. It must have been an accident.’
Brooke looked anxiously at Jess’s pale face and placed a hand on her forehead to test her temperature. ‘Darling, you’ve had a nasty fall. I think you may have bumped your head.’
‘It does ache a bit, but I think that’s because Ollie and I had a bit too much to drink last night. He flirted with me. Bless him.’
‘Did he? He’s coming over soon.’
‘Why?’
‘He heard about …’ Brooke checked herself and came up with an alternative ending: ‘He heard you had a fall.’
‘Oh.’ Jess still didn’t understand. ‘What’s happened to me? Why are you all looking so worried? If there’s something serious, Ryan had better know. He’s in LA at the moment.’
‘Yes, we know,’ said Brooke, kissing Jess’s fingers as a mother might a child’s.
A thought crossed Jess’s mind. ‘Is Ryan all right? Has something happened to him?’
Hutch brought the tray of coffee in and put it on the low table by the sofa. ‘Here you are, Jess. Sit up a bit and get this down you.’
The coffee was very strong, hot and sweet. Jess took a sip and pulled a face. ‘That’s horrible. What are you giving me this for?’
Hutch sat down next to her and very gently told her why.
It all came flooding back. Jess had never known pain like it. She almost couldn’t breathe for it. She clung to Hutch like a drowning woman to a piece a driftwood and sobbed.
At the peak of her exhaustion, Louis and Brooke helped her to bed.
The minute they left her alone, she found her bag and her mobile phone in it. She dialled Ryan’s number. She left the worst kind of message on it. Vitriolic, disbelieving and teary. She redialled and repeated a similar message every few minutes until Brooke looked in on her and confiscated the phone. ‘He’s not going to pick up,’ Brooke told her gently.
‘Have you tried?’ sniffed Jess.
‘Yes. Several times. And I’ve emailed – but nothing.’
Jess, clutching at straws, checked the time. ‘It’s the time difference. He’s asleep. He always turns the phone off when he’s asleep. Or … maybe he’s on the plane. That’s it. He’s flying home to tell me it’s not true. I must check the flights.’ She tried to get out of bed, but Brooke held her and wouldn’t let her go.
‘Darling, it’s over. There’s no mistake.’
Jess looked at Brooke with hatred and almost spat in her face. ‘How dare you say that! You haven’t a clue what Ryan and I feel for each other. It’s that witch Serena who’s putting out these lies.’
Brooke let go of Jess. ‘OK. I think you’d better come downstairs and watch Sky News. They’re running the story every fifteen minutes. Come on.’ Angrily she grabbed Jess’s hand and pulled her out of bed.
The television was on and it only took a few minutes before they ran the story of Ryan and Serena’s engagement. The happy couple had been filmed emerging from the Beverly Hills Hotel for a press conference. Serena said little but stood next to Ryan, leaning on his shoulder and looking up at him adoringly. It was Ryan who spoke: ‘I am genuinely amazed that this beautiful woman could love me as I love her. I can’t wait to make her my wife and have lots of little girls who look just like her.’
‘What about Jess Tate. Does she know?’
‘Jess is a wonderful woman, but we’ve grown apart and moved in opposite directions. I wish her nothing but happiness.’
Jess lost consciousness for the second time that day.
*
The doctor, when she came, was very kind and suggested that Jess take a few days off work and do relaxing things like walk the dogs and snuggle on the sofa in front of some old films. She wrote a prescription for a few days’ supply of Diazepam before leaving.
When Brooke returned from seeing the doctor to her car she found Jess ripping the prescription up and chucking it in the grate.
Hutch, Michael and Louis had to go. Parking the Range Rover on the opposite side of the village had been a simple ruse that had worked. Brooke was glad to see them leave. In situations like this, men weren’t always the best help. Hutch and Michael left first in order to bring the car round so that Louis could jump in quickly without drawing attention. The grim-faced hack and his mates, having delivered their devastating news and got their pictures, had gone.
As Louis held Brooke and kissed her, he apologised again for bringing so much disruption to her and Jess’s lives.
‘It’s been fun,’ said Brooke, somehow knowing that this was the last time she would see him.
He kissed her lips gently. ‘It has been fun. You are a very special girl, Brooke. I won’t forget you.’
The Range Rover was at the gate. He gave her one more lingering kiss then walked away. He didn’t look back.
*
Brooke watched as his car moved off and out of sight. She leaned her forehead on the door jamb and allowed a couple of tears to slide down her cheeks and splash on the flagstones.
Jess called to her from upstairs. ‘Have you got any decent scissors?’
‘Yes, in my dressing-table drawer.’ Brooke called up.
‘Can I borrow them?’
‘Of course.’ Then a cold fear gripped Brooke. ‘Oh my God, what are you going to do?’ She raced upstairs, fully expecting to have to grapple the scissors from a blood-soaked Jess, but instead she found her on the landing with a long cream dress bag in her hand.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ shrieked Brooke.
‘I’m having a moment’s liberation.’ Jess unzipped the bag and pulled out the most beautiful wedding dress. ‘I bought this for my wedding to that bastard Ryan. Now I am going to cut it up into tiny pieces.’
‘No! It’s lovely – someone else would love to have it. Give it to charity. Auction it on eBay, but please don’t destroy it,’ begged Brooke.
She was too late. Jess had the scissors in her hand and Brooke could only watch as the swathes of satin and silk were snipped, ripped and chopped into nothing but rags.