A Step In Time (5 page)

‘So we’ll call in on the folks in Connecticut and then we’ll get on a train,’ he continued.

‘A train,’ I said. ‘That’s good. I like trains.’

‘We’ll go all the way cross country. We’ll go to Chicago – I love Chicago. And to Las Vegas – take in a few shows.’

I was getting impatient.

‘And where then?’ I said.

‘And then we’ll go to Hollywood,’ said Donnie, propping himself up on his elbow and looking down at me. ‘And you’ll be snapped up by some big movie producer and you’ll dance in films and become the superstar you were born to be.’

I reached up and rubbed his buzz cut with the palm of my hand.

‘What will you do?’ I asked, looking deep into his blue eyes.

‘I’ll devote my life to making you happy,’ he said, bending his neck to kiss me. ‘That’s all I care about.’

Chapter Seven

‘This is a very bad idea,’ I said to Phil as we went up the stairs to the theatre.

‘Oh, get over yourself,’ he said, giving me a delicate nudge. ‘You can’t shut yourself away for ever.’

‘It’s hardly for ever,’ I said. ‘It’s only been a week.’

‘One week and two days,’ Phil said. ‘And one royal pregnancy announcement, one pop star falling off the stage at an awards ceremony, and one fabulous dress worn by Beyoncé. The gossip mags have moved on. Everyone’s moved on. It’s time you did, too.’

‘I’m moving on,’ I said, sulkily. ‘But unfortunately, I’m moving on to a bloody dance show when I’ve got two left feet and I’m going to be a laughing stock.’

‘You’re not that bad. I’ve seen you throwing some magnificent shapes on the dance floor after a few drinks.’

‘Yes, but I can’t get hammered before every rehearsal, can I?’ I said, wondering if, in fact, I could.

‘Relax,’ Phil said, taking my hand. ‘You’ll love this show and I guarantee it’ll give you the dancing bug.’

We were at a West End theatre to watch the opening night of a revival of a classic Broadway musical. Phil had promised me old-school Hollywood glamour and lots of dancing to get me in the mood. I wasn’t convinced, but he was right that I needed a night out. A week rattling round in my empty flat had made me stir crazy.

‘You look fabulous, by the way,’ Phil said as we found our seats.

I bobbed a curtsey to him.

‘Well, thank you, sir,’ I said. ‘I had to go shopping because sodding Matty virtually gave away all my clothes and this dress just fell into my basket.’

Phil raised an eyebrow.

‘Sure it did,’ he said, looking at the Gatsby-style beaded shift dress appraisingly. ‘Don’t forget you’re not earning at the moment.’

‘Shh,’ I said, not wanting to hear his words of wisdom right at that second. ‘It’s starting.’

Phil was right. It was a gorgeous, gorgeous show and it did make me want to get up and dance. Though I wasn’t sure I could pull it off with quite as much style as the leading lady. It was glitzy and sparkly and wonderful and as the curtain went down I clapped until my hands stung.

‘Sooooo,’ Phil said, hopefully. ‘Did you love it?’

I nodded.

‘Yes, I loved it.’

‘And is Phil always right?’

I made a face.

‘About this,’ I admitted. ‘But I wouldn’t say always.’

‘What about this?’ Phil said. He produced two tickets to the opening night party and I groaned.

‘A party?’ I said. ‘Really?’

‘Really,’ he said, grabbing my hand. ‘It’s fine. You need to get back out there and this is a good place to start. It’s going to be quiet, classy, and there’s absolutely no chance Matty will be there.’

‘Okay,’ I said, letting him lead me up the stairs to the bar at the very top of the theatre where the party was. ‘Let’s go and party.’

Phil was right. It was indeed a quiet party. But it was kind of nice, and knowing it was Matty’s idea of a nightmare made it easier for me to relax. There was a barbershop quartet in the corner, singing songs from musicals, and groups of people stood together chatting and drinking glasses of champagne.

‘It’s very sophisticated,’ I said to Phil. ‘Not sure I belong here.’ Phil took two glasses from a passing waiter and stuck his tongue out at me.

‘Of course you do,’ he said. ‘We both do.’

I shook my head at the glass he offered and swapped it for an orange juice when the waiter passed us again.

‘I’m off booze,’ I said. ‘It just gets me into trouble.’

We stayed for a while, chatting about mutual friends and eating as many canapés as we could get our hands on. But it wasn’t the most exciting party in the world and, eventually, Phil looked at his phone.

‘Do you mind if we call it a night?’ he said. ‘Bertie’s round the corner with his parents and I said I’d go and meet them. Do you want to come?’

I shuddered.

‘God no,’ I said. ‘I’ll head home.’

‘Do you want me to find you a cab?’ Phil said.

‘Nah,’ I said, picking up my bag. ‘I’ll pop to the loo first and then head out. Call me tomorrow?’

Phil gave me a quick squeeze.

‘Will do,’ he said. ‘Stay safe.’

I blew him a kiss as he headed for the stairs, then I went to find the loo.

I was still in the cubicle when I heard two women come in, chatting in that slightly too loud way that told me they’d had rather a lot of champagne.

‘I just hope this is it,’ one was saying. ‘I’ve fucking had enough of being in the chorus line. If this isn’t my big break, then I don’t know what else I can do.’

‘You could get your boobs done,’ the other one said. ‘Everyone does it.’

‘How would that help?’

‘Dunno,’ the second one said, giggling. ‘I have no idea.’

I went to flush the toilet, then stopped as I heard them say my name.

‘… like Amy Lavender,’ the first one said. ‘She was here earlier, did you see her?’

Great. I couldn’t burst out of the cubicle now, could I? Surprise! Quietly I put the seat down and sat on it.

‘Do you know what I heard about Amy Lavender?’ the other one said, lowering her voice to a quiet shriek.

Oh, this would be good.

‘Her name’s not even Amy Lavender. It’s Amy Brown.’

‘Nooooo,’ said the first one.

Sitting on the loo, I rolled my eyes. That was hardly a state secret. My real name was, in fact, Amy Lavender Brown, so I’d simply dropped the boring Brown when I started acting. It had been my mum’s idea, actually – in fact, it was the reason behind my unusual middle name. She’d hoped I’d be a star one day, even before I could talk. Pressure, much?

‘I feel a bit sorry for her, you know?’ one girl said. ‘Everyone knew her fella was cheating on her, for months and months before she found out.’

Oh, really? I thought. People were always so wise after the event.

‘True,’ the other one said. ‘He slept with Casey. And he was all over Felicity at that album party.’

My mind raced. What album party? Not the one Matty went to when I’d been doing that week of night shoots? Surely not …

‘He tried it on with me once,’ the first one said. ‘He was quite persistent. I had to get Greg to have a word with him in the end.’

‘What a sleaze,’ said the other girl. Then she giggled. ‘You had a lucky escape, though. That Amy Lavender could have whacked you instead.’

Laughing, they both left the toilets and I heard the double doors back into the bar bang shut.

I sat there for a while, trying to process what I’d heard. Matty had cheated on me before? It just didn’t make sense. I had to speak to him, to find out if it was true. I pulled my phone out of my bag and scrolled to his number, then paused. No, I was giving too much weight to silly gossip. It wasn’t true.

Feeling more settled, I flushed the loo, washed my hands and made for the stairs. Then I changed my mind and headed to the bar instead. I needed something to calm my nerves.

‘Champagne, please,’ I said to the barmaid, all my intentions of staying teetotal abandoned. ‘Quick as you like.’

Chapter Eight

‘Celebrating?’ said the man next to me at the bar. He was sitting on a bar stool, slumped over his own glass of bubbles.

I downed my glass in one mouthful and turned to look at him.

‘Well, I just found out my ex-boyfriend was actually cheating on me for a lot longer than I thought, with more women than I thought, and that just about everyone else in London knew about it and was laughing at me behind my back. Do you think that sounds like a reason to celebrate?’

The man laughed.

‘Sure it does,’ he said. He had a soft American drawl that I liked. ‘Sit down.’

I perched on a stool next to him and he topped up my glass and then his own.

‘What are you celebrating?’ I asked. He didn’t look particularly joyful, gazing into the bottom of his champagne flute like the answers to all the world’s problems were there.

‘Oh, nothing much,’ he said. ‘I got offered the job of my dreams this afternoon.’

‘Well, that’s good,’ I said, encouragingly.

‘Yeah, it is,’ he said. ‘But when I called home to tell my parents, my dad wasn’t interested because I’m not in his line of work.’

‘What’s that?’ I said, draining my glass again.

‘He sells cars,’ the man said. He ran his fingers through his blond hair. ‘And my mom was more interested in telling me my high-school girlfriend just got married.’

‘Do you care that she got married?’ I asked.

‘Nope,’ he said. ‘Not really. I’ve not seen her for years. But then I came here to support my flatmate – he’s the lead. And he’s abandoned me to go off with some girl.’

He looked into his glass again.

‘I just felt a bit lonely.’

I grinned at him.

‘It sucks, doesn’t it?’

He nodded.

‘So why don’t we get drunk and drown those sorrows?

He smiled back at me, showing straight white teeth in what was, I now realised, rather a handsome face.

See, I told Philip in my head, I am moving on.

While my companion ordered another bottle from the barmaid, I studied him. He was about as different from Matty as it was possible to be. Matty was swarthy with finely styled dark hair and – at the moment, at least – a beard. This guy was clean-cut with messy blond hair and a sprinkling of freckles across his nose. He looked like an overgrown and – I cast a sneaky glance at his arms – very buff teenage surfer.

‘Do you surf?’ I asked him suddenly.

He smiled wistfully.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I grew up in California. Everyone surfs.’

‘Really?’

‘Nah, not really. But I do. I miss it when I’m here.’

‘You should go to Cornwall,’ I said. ‘There’s brilliant surfing down there. I used to go on holiday there with my best friend’s family when we were kids. Maybe I’ll take you one day.’

‘I’d like that.’

Our eyes met for a fraction of a second too long, and I felt slight butterflies in my stomach. Moving on could be fun, I thought.

It didn’t seem nearly as much fun when I woke up the next day.

My head was banging, and there was sun pouring through the window, which seemed to be in the wrong place.

Cautiously, and without lifting my painful skull, I opened one eye. Yes, that window definitely hadn’t been there yesterday. I opened the other eye. Man, that sunshine was bright – it had to be late morning, possibly even lunchtime. I felt on the bedside table for my phone to check the time – but the table wasn’t there. Hold on. What was happening? I sat up, trying to ignore the hammering in my head and looked round me.

I was in a smallish attic room, with a fitted wardrobe and white walls. It had one large window – the one the sun was streaming through – and two smaller ones on the opposite wall. My Gatsby dress was draped over a chair but I couldn’t see my underwear. I had a quick check under the duvet. Nope. No undies there. I squinted in the sunshine and saw my knickers poking out from under the bed. Next to me, snoring loudly, was the blond surfer.

‘Shit,’ I whispered. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’ This was not staying under the radar. I was so desperate to get off the endless treadmill of courting the showbiz media one minute, then having to avoid the inevitable press interest when things went wrong – and this was not the way to go about it. I tried to remember leaving the party and if there were any photographers there. I couldn’t recall being papped, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. Judging by the horrendous hangover I was developing, there were bound to be bits of the evening I didn’t remember exactly.

I did remember telling Surfer Dude how Matty had cheated on me over and over and I’d lost the upper hand by whacking poor Kayleigh. I also recalled him telling me that Matty was an idiot and that he didn’t deserve someone as nice as me. Which I’d thought was just the most lovely thing anyone had ever said to me, so I’d rewarded him with a kiss. And then another one. And we’d carried on kissing all the way to Surfer Dude’s flat. Which must be near the theatre because we’d definitely walked there, but I had no idea where I was exactly.

And then we’d kissed all the way to his bedroom. And it had been really very nice. My head may have been banging but I had no trouble remembering that part of the evening. Carefully, I peeked under the duvet again. Surfer Dude was starkers as well. And rather magnificent he looked, too.

Focus, Amy.

So we’d had sex. That was fine. Perhaps not my classiest moment, but a completely understandable reaction to being cheated on. Best way to get over one man was to get under another, Phil always said. But now I had to get out of there without being spotted by anyone – I couldn’t risk more pics on the
PostOnline
’s Sidebar of Shame; I’d never work again. And I definitely had to leave before the whole awkward ‘I’ll call you’ thing happened. I felt a small pang of regret. He was really nice, Surfer Dude. If I’d met him at a better time, who knew what could have happened? But right now, I had to focus on saving my career. Sleeping with someone new wasn’t the best start.

Carefully I slid out of bed, picked up my dress and pulled it over my head. Then I went in search of my bag and shoes. They were in the lounge. I sat on the sofa – where I remembered sitting last night – and pulled on my heels, wishing I had my stolen Converse to put on instead. I was just checking I had my phone, my door keys and my purse when Surfer Dude appeared at the bottom of the stairs wearing a pair of shorts.