He's the One (27 page)

‘Come on, Brooke, you can make the salad dressing.’ Flynn came over to her, holding a bottle of olive oil.

‘I don’t know how to make dressing, I never have it,’ she protested.

‘Well, we all want one, so I’ll show you how.’

‘How come you’re so good at cooking?’ she asked, reluctantly getting up and waiting to be given her orders.

‘My mum’s a nurse and often works shifts, so I took over cooking in our house. My dad’s the worst cook in the world – if it was down to him we’d be eating burgers and chips every single night. I don’t mind it. It’s a good unwind.’

Ugh! He was such a goody-goody! The boys she liked in LA wouldn’t have been seen dead cooking; they would have been out with their friends, hanging out on the beach or going to gigs.

‘And it earned me massive brownie points with my mum, so I could stay out late.’ Flynn grinned. ‘What? Did you think I was some kind of domestic god who would rather stay in than go out on the lash?’

‘He’s so not,’ Harry put in. ‘His room is a total tip. Honestly, I don’t know how he finds anything in it. Such bad feng shui.’

‘A bit like Brooke’s until she tidied it,’ Liberty said. Then added, ‘Sorry, honey, that was bad of me. I’m going to call Em while you guys finish off in here.’

Harry waited until she was out of earshot before exclaiming, ‘Your mum is even better-looking in real life than she is in photographs! She’s got such amazing skin. Flawless. She probably doesn’t even need to be airbrushed, does she?’

That was exactly what Brooke didn’t need to hear. Her self-esteem was currently at rock bottom. Harry caught sight of her glum expression, and seemed to realise his mistake. ‘Oh, sweetie, don’t come over all jealous, you are beautiful too. And you’re younger, so you win!’

‘God, Harry, it’s not supposed to be a competition between me and my mom!’

‘At least your mum’s around,’ Mila put in. ‘I never even see my parents. They’re always working. And the only time I ever do see my mum, I can tell she’s really disappointed that I’m so fat. I mean, I know I am really fat. I just don’t need her criticism on top of everyone else’s. It’s not as if I look like this just to spite her.’

Brooke had been so caught up in her own problems that she hadn’t given any thought to Mila’s emotions – writing her off as the happy-go-lucky girl, who was perfectly happy being, well, there was no other word for it, fat … She thought of Mila making the effort to be friendly to her, sticking up for her when Flynn was having a go, even though Brooke hadn’t given her one scrap of appreciation in return.

She suddenly had an idea. ‘I’m thinking of joining a gym. Why don’t you join with me? It would be so great to have someone to go with.’

Mila was usually so easygoing, her reaction took Brooke by surprise.

‘No fucking way! I hate those places. Full of skinny bitches looking down at me as I flobber and flab around. And the last time I went to one and had an assessment with this trainer, I could see that he was wishing he’d got the fit girl that his friend had. He spent the entire time perving after her. I swear I could have dropped down dead on the treadmill and he wouldn’t even have noticed.’

Brooke was outraged on her behalf. ‘You should have complained! God, what a jerk!’ She would never,
ever
put up with that kind of treatment.

Mila shrugged. ‘I doubt I would have got anywhere. Haven’t you noticed how fat people get treated differently, as if we don’t have feelings or we’re invisible? Which is ironic when there’s so much of us to see …’

Brooke couldn’t answer honestly as she knew she was guilty of thinking exactly that. ‘Well, I’m serious about joining the gym, and I’ll make sure no one treats you badly.’

‘I don’t know. I’m not promising anything.’

‘Please think about it? For me? Pretty please?’

‘Okay,’ Mila replied, and Brooke felt a small sense of achievement that usually she only got when it was all about her … Shit! Was this her transformation into the better person that her mom was hoping for? Next off she’d be slobbing around in sweat pants and not caring what she looked like. No, that was
never
going to happen. Sweat pants were strictly for the house on days where she wasn’t going to see anybody.

Later, after dinner, as she cleared the table with Flynn, he commented on her gesture. ‘Did you really mean that about going to the gym with Mila?’

‘Of course, I wouldn’t have offered otherwise. Why? What’s wrong with that?’

She stopped what she was doing and looked at him, arms folded, all set to defend herself against whatever criticism he was going to level at her. Maybe he had a problem with gyms – Brooke wouldn’t put it past him.

But Flynn just smiled. ‘Great. I’m sure she’ll really appreciate it. She had a rough time at our secondary school, being bullied by a gang of girls. It’s really good to see her making friends with you.’

‘See,’ she challenged him, ‘I’m not so spoiled as you think. I’m not such a terrible airhead person, who only lives to shop and spend money and never lifts a finger to help anyone.’

‘No? Then I guess you won’t mind finishing the clearing up, I’ve got to go.’

‘Oh, right, hot date with someone?’

She’d meant it as a joke, but what was this? Cool, self-assured Flynn actually looked awkward and didn’t meet her eye.

‘Sort of. With my ex. So I’ll see you in college tomorrow. Say thanks to your mum for me.’

Brooke was surprised to find that later on, when she was lying in bed and listening to Emeli Sandé singing ‘Clown’, she wondered how Flynn’s meeting with his ex had gone. Were they going to stay just friends? Or were they going to get back together? And, more to the point, why did Brooke even care? Except …
except
… he was very good-looking, and she sort of minded what he thought about her. It was only because there was absolutely no one else on the horizon, she told herself.

Flynn definitely wasn’t her type. He couldn’t be. He didn’t like LA, her spiritual home.

Chapter 29

Liberty

Liberty walked slowly through the Pavilion gardens. She had decided to listen to her mum and Em and was going to see Cory’s exhibition. She thought it was unlikely that he would be there, but it felt like a first step in getting back in touch with him. It felt like she was taking control at long last.

They’d been having something of an Indian summer lately, with days of sunshine and bold blue skies. Students, office workers, mothers and toddlers, were sitting out on the grass having picnics. It was an idyllic scene, if you could ignore the seagulls ever on the look-out for food. She smiled as she saw a young woman frantically waving her arms at a gull who had just tried to raid her son’s packet of crisps, and then froze as she saw that the blond man sitting beside them looked like Cory. Oh, my God, it really was him, and he looked just as good as he had five years ago. Getting older suited him; he was astonishingly handsome, and looked tanned, healthy and happy. So tanned and healthy-looking and so happy. And was that young
woman with him his wife? She seemed incredibly young, barely in her twenties, and very pretty in shorts and a t-shirt. Her long honey-blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and it didn’t seem like she was wearing any make up. The little boy between them, who was probably around three, looked like a mini Cory, with thick blond hair and a cheeky expression. This should be Liberty’s moment to go over and see him. But she just couldn’t barge in on a family scene like that; it felt all wrong.

She carried on walking, her head down, intent on getting away before she was seen. But she found herself stopping at the café that overlooked the gardens, drawn to watch Cory a little longer, even if it was painful to see him with his wife. For the next half-hour she sat at a table, ostensibly reading her magazine and sipping a latte but all her attention fixed on Cory. He played football with his son and chatted to his wife. Later, another couple with a baby joined them and they seemed to be good friends. He clearly led a happy life. She wondered if he even thought of her any more.

Liberty got up and headed out of the gardens. She’d seen enough. As she reached the end of the path she hesitated – left was her way home, right was in the direction of Kensington Gardens where Cory’s exhibition was on. She could just walk past the gallery and have a look. It seemed as if he was going to be in the gardens a while longer.

A painting of a black female singer dominated the gallery window. Bold, contemporary and powerful, it captured the intensity of the woman’s expression and the energy of her performance. It reminded Liberty of the painting she had seen when she’d first met Cory, but she could tell that this one was executed with far
greater skill. What a talent he possessed. He had clearly fulfilled his potential as an artist.

There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the gallery, except for the young woman working at her laptop. Liberty could just have a quick look inside. The paintings made her feel close to Cory, and even if that was an illusion, it was one she needed to have. For a moment when she walked through the door she just stood there, taking in everything: the vivid colours, the scenes from urban life, the portraits.

The young woman looked up from her laptop.

‘Hi there. Is there anything I can help you with?’ She had dyed bright red hair, a nose ring, and an intricate tattoo of a pink lily on her shoulder. Typical Brighton look which Liberty had missed over in LA, where so many of the actors she knew looked exactly the same.

‘Oh, no, thanks. I just wanted to have a look.’

‘Go right ahead, you can see that quite a few paintings have been sold already. Cory Richardson is a very popular artist.’

Liberty walked round the room, considering each painting in turn. She finished up standing in front of a painting of a couple sitting outside a bar, which looked as if it might be in Brighton. A small part of her had wondered if there might be any pictures of her. But there were none. Had Cory even kept the ones he had done of her? She was deep in thought when the gallery door swung open. She glanced over. It was Cory. He strode in, smiling broadly at the woman behind the desk, and then seemed to do a double take as he realised it was Liberty standing in the gallery.

Countless times she had rehearsed this meeting in her head. In her fantasy version they would gaze at
each other and she would know that he loved her still. The years that they had spent apart would fall away and she would be that same twenty-one-year-old girl who had fallen in love with that nineteen-year-old boy. But now she was confronted with the stark reality. For an instant she saw hurt flare up in his eyes, then he seemed to shut down and she was locked out. Those blue eyes that had once looked at her with such passion were ice cold.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I’m sorry. I was in the area, and I saw your painting in the window, and I—’

He cut across her explanation. ‘What? You want to buy one of my pictures? Because I can’t imagine why else you’d be in here. It can’t have been to see me. Or did you come to gloat? To see if I was the same stupid fool I was five years ago?’

It was like a wave of anger coming at her.

The young woman behind the desk coughed quietly. ‘Cory, shall I go and get some coffee? Give you two some space.’

‘There’s no need. Mrs Keller, or Ms Evans, or whatever the fuck she’s called, is leaving.’

Liberty couldn’t leave like this, though, she had to tell him about the letter. ‘Cory, I need to talk to you about what happened then—’

Again he stopped her. ‘Don’t bother. You think I’d believe anything you ever told me again? You really must think I’m dumb. Or now your husband’s dumped you, are you looking for your next dupe? Well, let me tell you, it won’t be me.’

And to underline the point he flung open the door, leaving Liberty with no choice but to leave.

Outside she walked away swiftly, almost breaking into a run, trying to hold it together, trying so hard
not to cry. But as soon as she’d turned the corner, she reached for her mobile. Her friend answered almost immediately.

‘Em, can I come over? I need to see you.’

Chapter 30

Brooke

The following day when Brooke arrived at college, Flynn was standing by the entrance with a beautiful auburn-haired girl. They seemed to be locked in an intense conversation, with eyes only for each other. They didn’t see her so she knew that what happened next was not an act, or Flynn getting his own back for the stunt she and Harry had pulled. The beautiful girl put her arms round his neck and kissed him. And he kissed her back. So the ex was not so ex after all … Just perfect. She got to fake passion with Harry, while Flynn got the real thing. Brooke was slinking past them when they stopped their snogfest (another new word courtesy of Harry) and Flynn noticed her.

‘Hey, Brooke.’

‘Hi,’ she replied, aware of the girlfriend sizing her up. God, she really was something, with big blue eyes and gorgeous skin – okay,
way
too pale for Brooke’s own taste, but she could see it was perfect, plus she had a gorgeous mouth and her hair was stunning. And natural by the look of it.

‘This is Eve,’ Flynn continued.

‘Hello, Brooke. Even if Flynn hadn’t told me, I would have guessed you come from LA, you have that look about you.’

She had a cut-glass English accent that Brooke reckoned her mom would describe as ‘posh’, and Nina would describe as sounding as if she was ‘up herself’. Eve didn’t exactly sound as if she thought ‘
that look’
was a good one. Well, screw her.

‘Yeah, well, I always want
that look
, because LA’s my home, it’s where I belong.’ She made a point of looking at her arms. ‘In fact, I’m going to have to start faking the tan – I’m nearly as pale as you. I mean, no offence, but you are so white you look as if you’ve got a part in the
Twilight
movies.’ She meant it as a joke but Eve didn’t look too pleased.

‘Just be careful you don’t overdo it. It’s a thin line between being brown and being a kind of toxic orange. No offence.’