Lovestruck (18 page)

Rosie sat in her chair at Melly & Lyne hairdressers on the Brompton Road, gaping in outrage at her copy of
You Go
. She couldn’t believe this bloody questionnaire. Jake had never smoked dope!

‘Oh sure, Mr Clinton, you just didn’t inhale,’ she muttered.

Give the money to charity, yeah, right – he’d once found a hundred pounds in the pocket of a coat he’d bought from a charity shop and they’d gone for a posh Chinese with it. Not that Rosie had complained; in fact, she’d encouraged him – something she felt bad about now, but then she wasn’t spouting away to a national newspaper colour supplement about how charitable she was.

He’d had affairs with loads of his co-stars. Oh, nice. Rosie knew this was long before they’d met but the readers of
You Go
wouldn’t.

But worst of all was this about going to America. If it came to the crunch, he’d go and she’d have to follow.

‘We’ll see about that,’ she hissed, scratching her head, which was oddly itchy.

‘Hello
there,’ said a bright voice behind her. ‘I’m Helen. I’m afraid Lori who you saw last time’s off sick. What can I do for you today?’

‘Oh, hello, Helen. I’m Rosie.’ Helen was about twenty and shockingly beautiful, with huge eyes, perfect (well, you’d hope so, wouldn’t you?) blonde hair brushing her bottom and an Angelina Jolie mouth. She fingered one of Rosie’s locks and eyed it dubiously. ‘So are we going somewhere special tonight?’

‘The Top TV Awards.’ Helen looked distinctly unimpresed by this. ‘I think I only need a couple of inches off,’ Rosie continued, with an ingratiating smile.

‘All riiight.’ Helen examined her hair again, like Emilia Fox inspecting a cadaver in
Silent Witness
. ‘You could go a bit shorter, you know. You have amazing bone structure.’

‘Really?’ Rosie flushed with pleasure. No one had ever told her that before.

‘Really. I reckon a good six inches could come off. And we could do some colour too.’

‘No time for colour. Got to pick my children up from nursery. But another time. Six inches?’ Rosie gulped. Are you sure?

‘No offence,’ said Helen. Rosie braced herself. This phrase was never expressed without the kick-in-the-behind ‘but’. ‘No offence, but at your age short hair is always more flattering unless you’re Elle Macpherson. I promise you, you’re going to be transformed.’

Rosie headed off to have her hair washed and made small talk about the junior’s boyfriend. Then back to
the chair, bracing herself for an in-depth discussion of Helen’s weekend plans. She’d avoid this by making no eye contact, she decided. She stayed engrossed in her copy of
OK!
as Helen pulled off her head towel and began yanking at her wet hair with a pink Tangle Teezer, then snipping at seemingly random strands. Oh, look, Brunhilde von Fournigan still looking as if she were smelling a dead cat attending the opening of her friend Countess Blixheim’s new toy shop. Rosie was enjoying this.

‘Oh!’ Helen exclaimed. Rosie looked up from the article about a soap star’s wedding.

‘Sorry,’ Helen said, looking as if Rosie had dangled one of George’s used nappies under her nose. ‘But this appointment can no longer continue.’

‘Excuse me?’

She bent down and whispered in Rosie’s ear. ‘You have nits!’

‘What?’ Rosie clawed at her scalp.

‘I’m so sorry. I don’t want to embarrass you. It’s not me, it’s health and safety. If we see any creatures in clients’ hair, the rule is we must ask them to leave immediately.’

‘But we’re halfway through the haircut!’ Rosie cried.

‘I’m sorry.’ She didn’t look it. She looked as if she couldn’t wait for Rosie to leave so she could have a bloody good laugh with her mates. ‘You have to leave, and we have to sterilize all the equipment. Of course when you return I’ll finish the haircut.’

‘Do
you think I’m going to return? You’re kicking me out on the street with half my hair missing?’

Heads were turning. Helen hissed: ‘Go to the chemist. Buy nit-killing shampoo. Go home and wash and then comb and comb and comb until the little fuckers are all dead. Then come back.’ Her tone resumed its normal level. ‘ I’m sorry. But it’s health and safety.’

‘You again, is it?’ smiled the lady in the chemist across the road. ‘Still infested, are we? Threadworms can be hard to treat. I hope your little boys are washing their hands.’

‘It’s not threadworms. There’s an outbreak of head lice at nursery, so better safe than sorry.’

‘Oh yes?’ A disbelieving look. ‘You’re not having much luck, are you?’

Rosie smiled serenely, as a voice behind her said: ‘Hello!’

‘Hey, Patrizia!’

‘Are you OK? What are you buying?’

‘Nothing,’ Rosie said hastily, as the chemist said: ‘Lice shampoo.’

Patrizia’s hands flew to her sleek helmet of hair. ‘Oh my God, not another epidemic!’

‘I gathered there was one at Wendy’s. Better safe than sorry. Ha ha.’

‘Indeed,’ Patrizia sniffed. ‘Well, it won’t have come from our house. Everyone, even the adults, is combed every day with an
electric comb. You should buy one. They don’t sell them here. I’ll send you the link.’ She eyed Rosie warily. ‘So, I’m organizing a baby shower for Bella.’

‘Oh, how lovely.’

‘I’ve sent you the email. I do hope you can come. Bring a gift. I found her the cutest cashmere blanket at that lovely little shop on the corner.’

‘Right.’
But I’ve only known Bella two minutes
, Rosie wanted to protest, but she knew better. Her gift had better be something pretty darn fine, if her name wasn’t to be Wendy’s mum mud.

The door pinged as she shut it behind her.

‘So two bottles of Hedrin and another comb, that’ll be thirty-two pounds forty-five,’ exulted the chemist. ‘I hope it works. Nits can be an absolute nightmare to get rid of. They say they prefer clean hair but in my experience that’s nonsense.’ She stared hard at Rosie’s hair, which was chin-length on one side and shoulder-length on the other. By the way, hope you don’t mind me saying, but that’s a rather unusual haircut you have. Only being honest.’

Rosie had expected Jake to die laughing when she explained her short and amateur new haircut. But instead he looked worried.

‘There are going to be all these important people there tonight. And you’re going to look weird.’

‘Thanks for bloody nothing!’ Rosie exploded. ‘I’ve spent all afternoon with this foul stinking gel on my head and then combing for hours and then I had to do a DIY job with the kitchen scissors. I’ll never
dare go to that hairdressers again and all you care about is whether I’m going to let you down in front of the important people. Sod you.’ She turned to the mirror. ‘Oh, this is awful! I’m going to have to wrap a scarf round it.’

‘No, you’ll look like you have leukaemia.’ Jake stood behind her. ‘Sorry, Bean, it’s just …’ He saw her glare and thankfully changed tack. So have you chopped off the boys’ hair too?’

‘No, just spent two hours combing it through while they screamed the house down. There were creepy-crawlies all over the place. Actually, killing them was quite satisfying.’ Could you admit to that? Was that what families did for fun in the olden days, crushing lice between their thumbs and forefingers, instead of staring hypnotized at the X-Box?

Jake’s hand flew to his hair. ‘Shit. Do you think I’m OK?’

‘Probably not,’ Rosie said unkindly.

‘Look.’ He bent down. Rosie peered at his scalp.

‘Oh yes, my God! It’s enormous.’

‘What? Help!’ Jake shrieked.

‘There’s nothing,’ she said crossly, though she’d hardly looked. ‘What about me? What can I do? So as not to let you down,’ she added with even more venom.

‘Can you pin it up or something?’

‘I think I’m going to have to.’

Jake tugged at his collar. ‘What do you think of the shirt? I ordered it from Mr Porter.’

‘It’s
great,’ Rosie said, staring distractedly into the mirror and jabbing in hair pins. ‘I look like I’m an extra from
Prisoner Cell Block H
. A prisoner with a head full of creepy-crawlies.’

‘Whatever. We need to get going.’ Jake looked at his phone. ‘The car’s been waiting fifteen minutes.’

‘So there’ll be this complete knobhead from Disney there tonight called Sean,’ said Jake, as the car inched towards London. He’s the producer of this kids’ franchise. He’s sniffing around me, working out if I’m marketable enough.’

‘What, so they can sell mugs with your face on?’

‘In the Disney Store this Christmas,’ he said, pulling a stupid face that normally would have made her laugh. But Rosie didn’t react and after a second he continued: ‘Anyway, just warning you. He’s an idiot.’

‘Right. Warning taken.’

‘So what’s the latest on Nanna?’ he asked. About time too.

‘She’s chipper. She’s had the scan. She said it went fine. She’ll get the results –’ Rosie gulped – ‘today or tomorrow. She wants to hear all about the awards, what everyone was wearing, that sort of thing. She was cross with me for wearing the gold dress again, said I should have tried something different, I—’

‘Yeah, you’re not really meant to wear the same dress twice.’

Rosie gulped. ‘Are
you for real? When did you start caring about things like that?’ She turned to the window and folded her arms over her chest, knowing she was being a drama queen, but unable to stop herself.

‘Bean! Don’t be like this.’

‘I’m not being like anything,’ she snapped, even though she clearly was. What was happening to her? What was happening to Jake? Had he always been so selfish? Well, yes, he had actually. Think of that time when she’d had food poisoning and had been puking her guts out and he’d just lain on the bed beside her banging on and on about whether he should take a part in a fringe comedy in Swindon. But she’d been so besotted she’d overlooked his behaviour, or excused it.

Only now that she was well and truly linked to him forever was she beginning to understand exactly who her husband truly was. Not a bad person, but undoubtedly a different steelier, far more self-obsessed person from the man she’d fallen in love with. Why hadn’t she noticed when there was still a get-out clause? The chemistry between them had blinded her to the details. She glanced at him fearfully, as if he could read her thoughts, but he was looking at something on his phone and chortling.

‘You won’t abandon me tonight, will you?’ she asked, hating the neediness in her voice. ‘Because I feel such a lemon standing there on my own.’

‘Don’t be daft, Bean. Of course I won’t.’

The Top TV Awards were taking place in Park Lane in the Grosvenor House Hotel’s Great Room. Before the ceremony there was a drinks reception on the mezzanine overlooking the huge space below, round filled with dining tables.

‘It used to be an ice rink down there,’ said Christy, appearing out of a group where a moment ago she’d been laughing uproariously. She was wearing a sleek black dress with a zip down the front that Rosie had a dim idea she’d spotted in one of the hairdresser’s magazines. ‘The queen used to have skating lessons there. The machinery that kept the ice cool is still under the floorboards.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Rosie knew she should respond with more enthusiasm, but she was feeling distinctly uneasy. Despite his promise to stick by her side, Jake was surrounded by sycophants and she felt utterly surplus to requirements. She’d tried to cheer herself up by celeb-spotting but so far had managed only a couple of people from
Made in Chelsea
. A night at home in front of old
West Wing
s had never seemed more appealing. She shouldn’t have come.

‘Hey.’ Christy squeezed her arm. ‘You OK?’ She wasn’t looking at Rosie, though, her eyes were darting
about, no doubt trying to work out who the most important person in the room was.

Not so long ago, she would have been able to tell Christy exactly how she felt, but now it was like her best friend was behind a wall. ‘Fine,’ she lied.

‘And how’s your nanna?’

Well, this was something they could still talk about. Rosie told her. Christy listened, looking very serious.

‘You just have to keep checking up on everything that’s happening to her. Pay for second opinions on everything.’

‘It’s not only about the medical stuff. It’s about being there for her. I’ve been thinking maybe we should move back to Bristol, to be closer to her.’

Christy’s expression changed, only slightly, but enough for Rosie to notice. ‘That’d be tricky, wouldn’t it? When would you see Jake? Even if he doesn’t go to LA, and the negotiations are all in place, he’ll be working in London. Do you want him commuting every day?’

‘No, but I also don’t want my grandmother getting frailer and frailer and being all on her own. And she won’t move to London before you ask.’

Christy looked her straight in the eye. Rosie stared back.

‘Look, I know you don’t consider me a relationship expert, and you’re probably right, but you need to be
careful here. Jake’s world is being turned upside down and he really needs you there for him. He needs to know that whatever shit’s thrown at him on the Internet you’ll support him. That if he gets a major role, you’ll be cheering on the sidelines. He needs to know if he gets home late from filming, you’ll wake up for him. He—’

‘I can’t believe you’re telling me this,’ Rosie interrupted furiously. ‘You know I look out for Jake. But this is the twenty-first century, you know. Women have lives too.’

‘Ladies and gentleman,’ said a fruity voice through the loudspeaker. ‘Please take your seats for tonight’s fabulous event.’

Christy squeezed Rosie’s arm. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to give you a Stepford lecture. Just, I know how much Jake needs you. Listen, I’m sitting over there. I’ll see you later.’

Rosie headed straight to her allocated table, but everyone seemed to take forever to sit down. She randomly chose a seat and removed the glossy goody bag from it. As she sat down, she surreptitiously examined its contents. A paperback tie-in to a reality soap about a stage school. A key ring. A miniature bottle of wine. She switched her attention to reading and re-reading the laminated order of ceremonies, while everyone else milled around greeting each other flamboyantly. Rosie fiddled with the straw in her cocktail glass. Occasionally she’d catch Jake’s eye but he’d look right through her.

‘Rosie!’

She turned. There was Ellie, looking more like Grace Kelly than ever. Golden locks, bare feet in golden strappy sandals and a green silk dress with an enormous flared skirt. Bodyguard behind her.

Rosie jumped up, stumbling on her stilettos. Ellie held out her arms.

‘Rosie. Great to see you again!’ A puzzled expression crossed her face. ‘I like your hair. It’s … different.’

‘Thanks!’ Rosie said breezily.

‘Right.’ Ellie was silent for a second, clearly horrified at the damage Rosie had inflicted on herself. ‘So, like I said, great to see you, I wanted to get in touch before now but I’ve been working every day and at night I’m just so tired … Still, now we can catch up.’ A man tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Oh, Sam, hi. Excuse me a minute …’ Ellie turned and was immediately surrounded by sycophants.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ cried the disembodied voice of the DJ from the seventies, ‘please take your seats.’

There was no seating plan at the table itself, so there was an undignified scramble for places, with everyone trying to sit beside someone important. Rosie ended up with Jake on her left and a disappointed-looking man in a pinstripe suit – very un-awards ceremony – on her right.

‘Hi, I’m Rosie.’

‘I’m Sean,’ he said with a bone-crunching handshake, immediately returning his gaze to the BlackBerry in his other hand.

‘Oh.
Right.’ Jake was chatting away animatedly to Ellie. Rosie had thought he hated her. ‘Um, so what brings you here, Sean?’

‘I’m from Disney,’ he barked. ‘No!’ he screamed at a hovering waiter trying to fill his glass. ‘No wine.’

‘Red, please,’ Rosie said with gratitude. Sean from Disney. The guy who was checking Jake out? Was she meant to charm him? Was he meant to charm her? She turned instead to her smoked salmon salad. Everyone at the table was chatting merrily. Her face burned.

‘So what do you do, Rosie?’ Sean asked eventually, pushing the salad around his plate.

‘I … er … well, I’m Jake’s wife. I used to work in IT. Right now, I’m not working. I have two small boys, you see, and …’

‘Ah.’ Instantly, he turned away from Rosie to the woman on his other side, a woman a million times more glamorous and sophisticated than Rosie.

Rosie ate the rest of her starter slowly, trying to look as if it were the most fascinating salad in the world. Snatches of conversation floated across the table.

‘So after the opening weekend it totally bombed …’

‘She quoted one hundred and ninety k but we quickly got her down. So greedy.’

‘Of course, it’s wonderful, but there’ll never be another Freddie.’

She was grateful when – after the starters – the awards bit finally started, but they turned out to be
just as dull. Prize after prize: best reality show, best newcomer, best supporting actress in a drama, best supporting actor in a comedy. They were all awarded to people Rosie had never heard of – that was what came of watching so many box sets – and they were all preceded by endless speeches and clips, and followed by gushy acceptance speeches.

She could see Christy two tables away, blatantly reading her iPhone, and most people seemed to be talking loudly, and increasingly drunkenly, to their neighbour, paying little attention to what was happening on stage unless the award concerned their table.

Finally, the time came for Jake to make his presentation. He bounded, grinning, up on to the stage, exuding Perry charm. The room went wild at the sight of him.
If only they could see him tucked up in bed with zit cream dabbed all over his chin
, thought Rosie, glancing at her watch.

‘Wondering how long you have to go, before you can head home and catch an episode of
Homeland
before bed?’ asked Ellie, slipping suddenly into his empty seat.

Rosie turned and smiled. ‘Something like that.’

‘I’m so glad to grab this chance to talk. So glad to see you again. I felt so terrible making you and your sister-in-law leave my suite that night, but … someone was on the phone and then I was just so zonked I couldn’t stay awake a second longer. I felt terrible.’

‘Not to worry,’ said Rosie. ‘How’s your dad?’

A strange, pained look crossed Ellie’s face. ‘It’s so
sweet of you to ask. Thank you for remembering. He’s OK. I mean, not perfect, but OK for now. I speak to his carers every day.

‘That’s good,’ Rosie said, a bit embarrassed. She added: ‘Um, I know a bit what it’s like. My nanna – I mean, my grandmother – isn’t that well either.’

‘Oh, honey.’ Ellie took her hand. ‘I’m so sorry. Tell me about it.’

So Rosie told her. She hadn’t had a chance to talk to anyone properly about it yet, and it was such a relief to get it all off her chest. Ellie really listened. She asked questions. Rosie felt close to tears. ‘Thank you for being so nice,’ she said as she finished.

‘Hey, you’ve been so nice to me. It’s not easy finding friends when you’re me. Girls are kind of freaked out – I know that makes me sound crazy and vain, but it’s true. They think I’m going to be some kind of snotty princess.’

‘Oh, I’m sure they don’t,’ Rosie said guiltily. She smiled. ‘The funny thing is my nanna would be so chuffed if she knew I was talking to you. You’re her idol. She’s nuts about
O’Rourke’s
and she thinks you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. If we’d had more time with you at Cliveden, I was actually going to get a photo of us together for her.’

‘Well, bless your … nanna, is it?’ Ellie looked delighted by this exotic English word. ‘Will I meet her at the first night?’

‘I hope so.’

A
small woman tapped Ellie on the shoulder. ‘Your presentation is next, Ellie.’

‘Oh. OK. Thank you!’ Ellie stroked Rosie’s arm. ‘Wait for me. I’ll be back!’ She sat up straighter and smiled at the room. Her name was called and, with an even broader smile, she stood and began wiggling towards the stage to huge applause.

‘All right?’ Christy said, slipping into her place as if by magic. ‘What’s that airhead saying to you?’

‘She’s really sweet,’ Rosie protested.

Christy shook her head firmly. ‘She’s so mad, she’d eat your bedroom.’

‘If you say so,’ Rosie said indifferently.

‘Why are you sounding so sniffy? I’m warning you, Rosie. She’s a fruitcake. Be careful.’

‘Hi, gang.’ It was Jake, just returned from backstage. ‘What’s up?’

‘I’d better get back to my table,’ Christy replied. ‘One of my people’s awards is coming up.’

Jake grinned and plonked himself down in the empty chair. Immediately he turned to Sean and said something quickly. Sean’s head tilted back, laughing uproariously. Oh, so this was how her husband talked to the man he called an idiot. Hypocrite. Not knowing what to do again, Rosie delved into the goody bag and pulled out a huge tub of some skin cream she’d never heard of. Well, that was something at least; she could maybe give it to Dizzy for her birthday.

‘Hey, it’s me again!’ Ellie had returned. The room
was applauding the best animal, squealing with delight as Pretty the Cat was led on stage on a lead by her owner, who two years previously had won
Big Brother
. ‘So sorry. I just had to do my duty. So where were we?’

A small woman’s head appeared between the two of theirs. ‘Time to go. We’ve done a sweep. The car’s waiting.’

‘Oh, Sharon, do I have to?’

‘But the ceremony’s just ending,’ said Rosie, looking around and realizing dinner – guinea fowl with mashed potato – was being served by teams of silver-service waiters. ‘You’re not going to eat?’

‘Shit, no!’ Ellie laughed. ‘We … I mean people like me never stick around for the food part. I just came to have my picture taken at the start and to present the award. I’ll eat back at my apartment. My chef will have prepared something … healthy. Then lights out by nine.’

‘Oh. I see.’

‘We have to go,’ insisted Sharon. ‘The sweep’s been done. We can’t keep the car waiting.’

‘Oh my God, Rosie, I’m so sorry. I’m so boring. I’ve loved talking to you. You’re even more incredible than Jake said.’

‘
Jake
said?’ Rosie looked dubiously at her husband.

‘He’s always talking about you and your little girls. Listen, Rosie, we won’t stop here. Sharon, find Rosie’s number and we’ll do lunch.’ She bent down and Rosie found her nose pressed in Ellie’s bony cleavage, her
nostrils assaulted with a sharp citrussy scent. She leaned forward to kiss, but then realized Ellie was doing the American hug thing and ending up banging cheeks with her. Still, she thought wryly, there was no doubt Ellie was being a better friend to her right now than anyone else.

‘Jake, see you tomorrow,’ Ellie said.

‘See you, Ellie.’ Jake didn’t even bother making eye contact.

Two other bodyguards appeared from nowhere and Ellie was hustled away.

From: [email protected]

Heading: Baybee Shower

So, girls, don’t forget Wednesday night is Bella’s baby-shower night. Everyone dress either for team ‘pink’ or team ‘blue’, and don’t forget to bring pink or blue (preferably silk) ribbons for ‘measure the bump’. And BRING A GIFT. 7.30 p.m., my place.

Patrizia

xxxx