Bad Girls (23 page)

‘At least he cares about you, honey,’ he said kindly. ‘That’s more than a lot of people I know in this town do. They just let their kids run wild.’

‘Oh, for
fuck’s sake
!’ Petal jumped up, grabbing her bag. ‘You don’t know
anything
about my life – you know
nothing
about me or Gold or what a shitty dad he’s been.’

She stormed off across the grass, seething with frustration. That was all she needed – some film star taking a moment out of perving at some blonde bimbo to lecture her about her dad.

Joe a sex addict? Bollocks. No one’s that relaxed in rehab, Petal thought furiously. He’s probably just here for some publicity bullshit. That’s how their world works. That’s why I’m here – with Gold’s new CD coming out, he’s dumped me in rehab ’cause he needs to look like he’s doing something about me.

Petal had reached the patio. The sight of the fountain – water pouring from the bamboo poles, filling the pool, flowing over the lip of the stone rim – was so mesmerizing that she stopped in her tracks, realizing that she had flounced off without any destination in mind. Her room wasn’t exactly a refuge, with its single bed and cheap sheets. There wasn’t even a tub in the bathroom – probably because the miserable inmates couldn’t be trusted not to drown themselves. She was frantic to get out of here, but her father’s threat to cut off her finances was huge; it kept her in Cascabel as securely as if there were iron bars on every door.

There’s nowhere to go, she thought desperately.

She stood, looking at the fountain, the water flowing down, so beautiful, so hypnotizing.

Maybe I should have a shower. I’m all jet-lagged and my head hurts. Or maybe
. . .

Petal threw her bag on the pine table, kicked off her trainers, unzipped her hoodie and tossed it on one of the chairs, and, hopping as she pulled off her socks, crossed the flagstones of the patio, climbed up on the stone lip of the fountain, and jumped into the pool. The water was wonderfully cool. She sat down, gasping at the shock of it, and put her head directly under the bamboo poles.

Water flooded over her face, her hair, in a constant stream. She was sitting among white and mauve water lilies, her T-shirt and jeans clinging to her skin, her arms floating on the surface, blinking to keep her eyes clear, sunshine dappling the surface of the pond.

It felt absolutely brilliant.

A
mber had barely any memory of anything that happened between her sinking what must have been almost a litre of vodka and God knew how many Vicodins and Percocets in her bedroom on Green Street, and waking up, dazed, in a narrow bed in a darkened room whose topography she could not recognize at all. Totally confused, head still heavy and feeling like it was stuffed with cotton wool, she managed to pull herself back and up till she was half sitting, propped on a pillow, and let her eyes adjust to the murky lighting.

This can’t be a hotel – not with a bed this small. Am I in someone’s house?

Next to her was a small side table, with a lamp on it, and a pile of magazines. Fumbling for the light switch, she ran her fingers up the base of the lamp to see if it was under the shade. When it didn’t seem to be there, she tried to locate the cord instead, in case the switch was on it; but she must have pulled the cord too hard, because as she tugged, there came a crash as the magazines thunked heavily to the floor in a cascade of solid glossy paper, slipping off each other in a series of thuds.

Oh, no
. . .

‘Hey!’ The door opened, and a shaft of light sliced into the darkened room as a girl put her head round it. ‘You’re awake! How are you?’

‘Where am I?’ Amber asked feebly.

‘You’re in rehab, honey,’ the girl said drily. ‘I’m going to get the nurse, OK? They said to call them when you woke up.’

She disappeared, leaving the door ajar.

In rehab?
Amber wriggled up a bit further till her back was fully against the headboard.
And that girl sounded American
. . .

Oh my God.

The American accent had triggered flashes of memory. She’d been on a plane, hadn’t she? With Slava? Slava hated to travel – hated, really, to leave the flat; if Amber remembered being on a plane with her mother, it must have been really recently, because it would be the only time it had ever happened. And the accent – she’d been pushed in a wheelchair, with someone talking over her shoulder, handing her passport to a man in a uniform sitting behind a glass screen, who had to crane over to look down at her . . . He’d asked her questions, but she didn’t understand, or couldn’t make her lips move to answer him, and the guy pushing her had had to ask her mother to respond to him instead . . .

Why am I in America, for God’s sake? What
happened
to me?

‘Amber! You’re awake!’ said a woman’s voice from the doorway, and the overhead light was turned on, flooding the room.

Amber blinked, raising a hand to shelter her eyes.

‘Where am I?’ she asked again.

‘You’re at the Cascabel rehab clinic. You came in this morning.’

Neatly pleating up her grey tailored trousers above her knees, the woman sat down on the bed next to Amber’s, leaning forward to scrutinize Amber’s face.

‘I’m Daniyel. How are you doing?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know!’ Amber shook her head in an attempt to clear it. ‘I don’t know where I am or how I got here!’

Daniyel nodded understandingly. She was slender, dressed in a grey jacket that matched her trousers, with taut, light brown skin and dark circles under her eyes.

‘You were still under some sort of sedation when you came in,’ she said. ‘We ran checks on you and you seemed in a stable condition, so the doctor decided you should be left to sleep it off. We’ve been monitoring you, of course, but your breathing’s been fine. I’m not surprised you don’t remember your arrival.’

‘But how did I even . . .?’ Amber could barely get the words out, there were so many questions to ask. ‘Where
is
Cascabel?’

‘We’re in California, just outside Los Angeles. Your boyfriend wanted you to come here when you had your overdose.’

‘My
boyfriend
?’

Amber’s voice had risen dangerously, and Daniyel was beginning to look worried.

‘You don’t remember a whole lot, do you, sweetie?’ she said, frowning.

‘Where’s my mother?’ Amber demanded. ‘She was on the plane with me, wasn’t she? And I remember her going through security – where is she? Is she here?’

‘She’s in LA, yes. She checked you in and then left. But the doctor will be coming in soon – he just needs to finish up a consultation and then he’ll be right here. He can answer all your questions in more detail.’

‘No, I want to talk to my mother!’ Amber was almost wailing now. ‘I need to find out what’s been going on! I thought I was going to
Dubai
,’ she added more feebly. ‘I thought, when I was on the plane . . .’ This was coming back to her now, panicked moments coming to consciousness on the airplane, when she’d believed she was heading to Dubai with Mara.

I freaked out, she remembered. I totally freaked out. I started crying and saying I didn’t want to go to Dubai – and then I saw
Matka
, and I thought she was coming with me to make sure I went to Dubai after all, and I panicked, and she got me to take some pills to calm me down. No wonder I was zonked when they checked me in here.
Matka
must have given me a whole handful . . .

‘Dubai?’ Daniyel was looking really worried now. ‘Look, I have a number for where your mom’s staying, OK? If you’d like to call her –’

Amber was nodding frantically now.

‘– I’ll bring a phone straight in.’ Daniyel was standing up, heading for the door. ‘But you have to stay calm, OK?’

She was back almost immediately with an old-fashioned phone, its handset connected by a cord. Bending down, she plugged it into a socket behind the side table.

‘I’m going to dial the number for you,’ she said to Amber. ‘And I have to stay here during your conversation, so I can make sure it’s not making you too agitated . . .’

Amber was barely listening. She practically snatched the receiver from Daniyel, panicking when the ring tone went on and on, gasping with relief when, finally, it was answered and Slava snapped abruptly: ‘Yes?’

‘
Matka
!’ Amber gulped in a deep breath. ‘
Matka
, what’s been happening? They said something about a
boyfriend
.
Matka
, why am I here? Why are we in
California
?’

Slava sighed. ‘You don’t remember,
láska
?’ she said heavily. ‘You were very sick. I was frightened for you. You would not wake up, even when I shook you and called your name. I ring Jared, he says to call the ambulance. They come to take you to the hospital, but first they put tube into you and empty your stomach.’

‘They had to
pump my stomach
?’

‘Then they drive you to the hospital. I go with you. The doctor says you will be OK, but they are not happy. They want to keep you there one day, but I say no, I will look after you, I am your mother.’

Amber bit her lip. She was remembering now, more bits and pieces – feeling the tube down her throat, thrashing around, being held down . . .

‘I bring you back home, but you are not well,’ Slava was saying. ‘I think I will telephone to the doctor you go to when you get the pills. But then someone comes. This nice man! He rings Jared to see you, and Jared says you are sick, so he comes with flowers. Tony. I take him to you and he is very –’ she searched for a word – ‘sad,’ she finished finally. ‘He says he wants to help you. A man he knows has come to the hospital where you are, in America, and he is very well now. Not sick any more. So Tony says you must come here. He pays for
everything
,’ she said triumphantly. ‘I come with you, he pays for that. Business class, very nice. He has house – his company has house – here in Los Angeles. I stay here while you get well.’

Amber was finding it almost impossible to take in the sheer stream of information pouring out of her mother.

‘
Tony
. . .?’ she repeated blankly, bewildered by this completely unexpected turn of events.

‘He’s good man,
láska
!’ her mother said happily. ‘And the house here, it’s very nice too! Don’t worry for me, I do very good here.’

A picture of Tony swam into Amber’s mind: big, brawny, perpetually smiling Tony, with his tan and his perfect white teeth. Tony, with his childish love of the
Sports Illustrated
video of her, his excitement at seeing her all dressed up. ‘My fantasy girl’, he’d called her.

Never in a million years would she have thought that Tony would go to this trouble to look after her. But Amber didn’t know the first thing about what went on in men’s minds. She really only had experience with their bodies.

‘Amber?’ said a male voice.

Disconcerted, utterly confused by everything her mother was telling her, Amber looked over, past Daniyel sitting on the bed, to the man in the doorway.

And as soon as she laid eyes on him, she fell in love.

It was ridiculous: you couldn’t really fall in love at first sight. It was just that she was so stressed and confused and anxious, and her head was pounding, and her body felt sore and heavy whenever she moved, and there was something about the man in the doorway that was so calm and centred and real that looking at him made Amber feel calm and centred and real too, three qualities she had never, ever possessed in her life before.

She took a long breath, just staring at him, as if he were the human version of a relaxing DVD. A burning fire, logs crackling in the golden flames. Or waves lapping gently up and down a white sandy beach. His eyes were so dark and warm; she was completely hypnotized by him.

In the receiver, Slava was prattling away, her voice high and urgent.

‘I have to go now,
Matka
,’ Amber said absently, and put the phone down, fumbling to place it on its base. Nothing could have made her look away from the man in the doorway, his elegant bone structure, his lean body, his black hair with its unexpected curls, an almost feminine contrast with his strong nose and jawline.

She was so caught up in her intense awareness of him that she had no sense of how long they had been looking at each other.

She had no realization of why Daniyel was twisting now to stare at the man, her brows drawing together as she prompted: ‘Dr Raf?’ jolting him out of the trance into which he and Amber had fallen.

‘Oh!’ His pale olive cheekbones flushed with a little colour. ‘Yes, thank you, Daniyel.’

He stepped into the room, and all Amber could think was: He’s coming closer. Maybe he’ll touch me.

Her whole body heated up at the idea. Quickly, she looked down at her hands; her manicure was still in place, thank goodness.

Well, I’ve practically been in a coma for the last day or so, she thought with humour that was unusually bitter for her. I didn’t exactly get the chance to chip them, did I?

‘Amber was just talking to her mother,’ Daniyel was telling Dr Raf, as she unplugged the phone again. ‘She was disoriented and wanted to hear what had happened and why she was here.’

‘Very good,’ Dr Raf said, nodding approvingly at Daniyel. ‘Amber, how are you feeling now? Did it help to speak to your mother?’

Not trusting her voice to work properly if she spoke to him directly, Amber nodded, her eyes wide and fixed on his face.

‘I’m sorry, I should introduce myself,’ he said, sitting down in the place on the other bed where Daniyel had been. ‘I’m Dr Rafael Green, one of the consultants here at Cascabel. Call me Dr Raf, everyone does.’

He smiled at her, a sweet, open smile that softened the austerely handsome lines of his face and made him look, momentarily, much younger.

‘Well, Amber, you came in late last night, as your mother probably told you. And you slept through without any sedation, which is a very good start.’

‘What time is it?’ Amber managed to ask.

Wow, she thought, again with that bitter humour that was entirely new. Nice, Amber.You’ve got a crush on this guy the size of Antarctica and the first words you say to him are: ‘What time is it?’