Could It Be I'm Falling in Love? (18 page)

‘So?’ Roxy demanded, interrupting Cressida mid-flow.

‘Sorted,’ Woody replied lightly. He shrugged off his coat and dropped it on to the back of Simon’s chair.

‘You got him?’

‘Mmm hmm.’

There was a moment of silence and then …

‘Fuck!’ Roxy screamed. And before she could think the words
professional distance
, she launched herself across Simon’s living room. Suddenly her arms were around Woody’s shoulders and her face was next to his cheek. And that wasn’t all. She could feel the warmth of his body. Woody was hugging her – sort of. Well, he was letting her hug him, anyway. She quickly inhaled the smell of soap and manliness at the base of his neck before professionalism demanded withdrawal. Damn; this Not Fancying Woody lark sucked.

‘Steady on, Roxy!’ Terence called from the couch. ‘There are laws against that kind of thing. Is that ABH, or actual sexual harassment?’

‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, backing away. ‘But, are you serious? Did Austin Jones really say yes?’

‘Yep.’

‘Bingo!’ someone said quietly.

Then there was a gasp from Sue. ‘Goodness, Woody, that’s
fantastic!’

And suddenly the whole room was on its feet.

‘Yes, good work.’ Terence slapped Woody’s back in congratulation. ‘Got to take my hat off to you – didn’t think you’d be able to pull this one off.’

‘Austin Jones is a career-changer,’ cried Roxy. ‘Pack your bags, everybody – we’re about to take a fame road trip.’

Woody frowned at the euphoria. ‘He’s coming to next week’s meeting,’ he said quietly.

Sue froze. ‘But next week’s meeting’s at my house!’

‘Shame he couldn’t have made it here today, eh, Si?’ Terence smirked. ‘Check out how life might have looked if Hollywood hadn’t come calling. He’s probably forgotten what IKEA looks like.’

‘Heal’s,’
Simon corrected reflexively. He was the only one to have remained in his armchair.

‘Oh, this is such brilliant news!’ Holly clapped her hands in glee. ‘Poor Austin, just imagine how terrible it must be having your Hollywood career just
end
. Think how we’ll be able to help him.’

‘His career didn’t just end,’ Simon corrected her flatly. ‘He ended it.’

‘Yes, well, I know that’s what they
say
– but what if there’s
more to it than that? We know you can’t believe what you read in the papers. Austin Jones coming to Lavender Heath is a cry for help and, thanks to Woody, we’re ready to pick up the pieces.’ Holly’s face shone evangelically above her buttermilk cardie.

‘I can’t bloody believe it!’ Roxy danced on the spot in celebration.

‘Let’s just start behaving like rational adults, shall we?’ Cressida called the room to order. ‘Mr Jones is just an actor. It’s not the second coming of Christ.’

‘It’s
way
better than that!’ Roxy laughed and caught Holly’s eye. Holly was laughing too. It felt nice. It was the first time Roxy had felt a connection with Holly – and they both knew what a rocking big deal this was. She made a mental note to text Hol about a girls’-night piss-up.

‘Dad!’
a voice suddenly shouted.

Everyone turned to look at the angry-faced teen who’d mysteriously appeared by the door. The happy vibe instantly vanished.

‘Couldn’t you hear the door? It only rang a gazillion times!’

‘Sorry, Euan.’ Simon looked limp next to the ire of his son.

Euan eyed the empty wine bottles disdainfully.

‘I had to answer it myself!’

‘I’m sorry, son.’

‘Yeah, well …’ Euan begrudgingly accepted the apology. ‘It’s for the window cleaner.’

‘Right, great, thanks. I’ll take it from here.’

Euan scowled and turned, before firing a last missive. ‘And keep the noise down – I can’t hear the TV over you drunks.’

He tutted, and slunk off.

And in his space, a pair of six-inch, ruby-jewelled stilettos appeared. And the stilettos were attached to a pair of long, orange legs that walked into the centre of the room.

‘Oh!’ Roxy’s excitement fizzled like a raspberrying balloon.

‘Oh!’ said the legs in identical deflation.

‘Hey!’ Woody hurried over to their owner. ‘Glad you could make it.’ He warmly shook the woman’s hand. ‘Everybody, this is Chelle. Chelle, this is everybody.’

Beneath wave after wave of more tonged hair than Roxy had ever seen on a single human being, Chelle chewed her gum and blinked. ‘Oh!’ she repeated, not hiding her disappointment. ‘Is this
it?’

‘What do you mean?’ Woody asked.

The whole room stared dumbly at the woman’s tiny sequined dress, endless creosote limbs and enormous, pumped-to-burst breasts.

Slowly Chelle pursed her glossy lips.

‘You know … Is anyone
else
coming?’

Woody rubbed his head. ‘No, this is it. All of us. Well, for now.’

‘Oh! I just thought …’

Everyone paused, waiting.

‘Yes, yes – you thought what?’ Cressida prompted her tersely.

Chelle blinked.

‘… Like, you’d all be famous.’

There was a whoosh as everyone sucked in their breath. It was as though the room had been collectively slapped. Roxy was the first to recover.

‘We
are
famous,’ she snapped.
The bloody cheek! How dare she? This … this
 … Roxy eyed the walking make-up counter before her …
this civilian!

Chelle twisted her hair around her finger and pouted at Woody.

‘There’s obviously been a mistake.’

‘You don’t say,’ Roxy snarled.

‘Word is you’re a secret society of celeb… what-d’ya-call’ems … recklooses.’

Roxy scowled. Chelle looked at her and then touched Woody’s arm.

‘Maybe I should go,’ she said, sounding injured. Her eyes had gone big and vulnerable.

‘No!’ Woody insisted. ‘Come on; you tried so hard to meet us – why don’t you just stop and say hi. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.’ He took her by the elbow and steered her around the room. ‘So, Chelle, this is Cressida Cunningham, the former MP and cabinet minister.’

Chelle blinked, and looked away.

‘Charmed,’ Cressida muttered acidly. Roxy felt a surge of fondness for the thorny old bird. Woody propelled Chelle along.

‘And Holly Childs, the writer …’

‘A journo?’ Chelle suddenly perked up.

‘God, no! I’m a novelist!’

‘Sorry.’ Chelle’s blank expression resumed. ‘I don’t do books.’

‘OK, so …’ Woody ushered her along. ‘This is Sue Bunce, the …’ Sue paled.
‘Model and actress,’
he finished gently. ‘And this is Simon Drennan, the television star.’

Everyone waited for Chelle to recognise Simon; she seemed a cert for the soaps. But she just chewed blankly.

‘Sick Nick?’ Simon offered lamely.

Chelle shrugged and gave him a tiny consolation smile. Woody steered her away.

‘Right, well, this is leading meteorologist, Teren—’

‘Oh. My. God.’ Chelle stopped dead.
‘I know you!’
She jabbed a hot pink fingernail towards Terence, as he puffed up in pride. ‘Yeah, you’re Terry Tornado – that weatherman who got everything wrong.’ Terence visibly deflated. ‘Dwayne, my ex, totally loves you, you crack ‘im up! He couldn’t believe all those muppets lost their ‘ouses!’ Chelle rummaged in her It-bag. ‘I’ve gotta text ‘im. He’ll be well jell!’

Woody quickly moved Chelle along. ‘And this,’ he grinned, ‘is TV presenter and all-round force of nature, Roxy Squires.’

Chelle glanced over her iPhone at Roxy.

‘Yeah, well, I’ve seen
you
before.’

Roxy felt a small twinge of relief. As irritating as Chelle was, she
was
part of her late-night TV demographic. Hell, she was probably even a fan. Maybe they’d got off on the wrong foot, Roxy decided. After all, Chelle must have spent years watching her on the box. She’d probably copied her outfits and wanted her hair. She did her best to crack her a grin.

‘Yeah, you’re always hanging out at Golddiggaz,’ Chelle pouted.

Roxy’s grin froze. She turned to Woody in panic. ‘It’s a nightclub! The name’s ironic!’

‘No it ain’t! The blokes have to show their credit cards to get in. No platinum, no entry.’

‘But it’s work!’ Roxy protested, suddenly wishing Simon’s floorboards would swallow her whole. ‘The paparazzi …’

But it was too late. The damage had been done. Roxy looked at Chelle in dismay. Why the hell was she here? She wasn’t famous. Roxy’s brain was an encyclopaedia of celebrity faces, and Chelle’s wasn’t in it. So why had Woody invited her? She suddenly noticed how close he and Chelle were standing; how Chelle’s long, orange legs were even longer and orangier than her own; how her dress was shorter, her lips glossier, her lashes lusher … and suddenly Roxy felt under-done. She knew she should have made more of an effort tonight. Standing before Chelle, Roxy knew with absolute certainty her heels were too short, her tan too pale and her boobs too low. Something inside her sank. It had been bad enough having just Jennifer to contend with …

‘Um,’ Sue piped up shyly. ‘Are you Chelle Blowers – wife of the footballer, Dwayne Blowers?’

The room looked at Sue in surprise. Holly gasped.

Chelle straightened proudly and flicked her hair. ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘Oh!’ Sue’s face lit up. ‘I read about you in my magazine! You had such a beautiful wedding.’

‘Sue!’
Cressida tutted.

‘What? I’m only saying.’

‘You shouldn’t be wasting your time on
those
kinds of magazines.’ Cressida had clearly had enough. She turned to Chelle. ‘Excuse me, but taking aside the fact that you clearly lack the maturity to marry, why was a magazine covering your wedding?’

Chelle looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, you know …’

‘No, I don’t. Are you accomplished?’

‘Am I what?’

‘Are you a person of talent? What do you do for a living? What do you do for charity? Have you discovered something, invented something, given to society in some great way?’

‘Well …’

Roxy grinned. That was it. Her and Cressida – love!

But Chelle wasn’t about to roll over.

‘No, I ain’t got a job.’ She blinked defiantly. ‘But I’m worth stuff – despite what Dwayne thinks. And I’m gonna get him to give me what he said he would. “For life,” he said. Didn’t know he only meant a few months. All my mates told me not to sign that pre-nup.’ She started blinking again, as though she might cry.

Suddenly, Holly sprang forward. She gently touched Chelle’s arm. ‘Welcome, Chelle,’ she said kindly. ‘It’s good to meet you; sit down. I’m very sorry you and Dwayne have broken up. I hadn’t heard.’

‘Yeah, well, this week’s edition ain’t come out yet.’ Chelle sniffed as she allowed herself to be lowered on to a sofa and
accepted a large glass of wine. ‘I’m announcing the split on the cover.’

‘Awwww,’ Holly crumpled her nose sympathetically and rubbed Chelle’s Fake Bake’d arm. ‘You poor thing – how terrible for you. It’s bad enough suffering the heartache of a breakup, without having to go through it in public as well.’

Roxy searched Holly’s face for irony, but couldn’t see any. In fact, Holly seemed to be enjoying her Claire Rayner role.

‘I really loved him, my Dwayne!’ Chelle blinked fiercely. ‘He’s my childhood sweetheart. Never thought he’d do the dirty on me – and wiv so many slags.’

‘Yes, well, that’s very sad,’ Cressida said crisply. ‘But we’re not Relate.’

Holly frowned.

‘What?’ Cressida innocently protested. ‘I’m simply trying to suggest somewhere more appropriate.’

‘Woody understands!’ Chelle wailed. ‘Wivout Dwayne, I’m nuffin’! And ‘til he pays me what he said he would, I ain’t got nuffin’, either. I just need you guys to give me a, you know …’

‘Loan?’

‘… leg-up.’

‘A leg-up where, exactly?’

‘I just wanna have fun – see and be seen. I wanna meet someone new – someone famous.’

‘Hang on a minute,’ Simon interrupted. ‘Are you saying you wanted to meet us to see if you could find a famous boyfriend? No wonder you’re so disappointed.’

‘I just wanna be kept in the manner I’m customed. You know – new clothes, new clobber, new car …’

‘What’s wrong with the clothes you’ve already got?’ Cressida cross-examined her. But Chelle just pulled a face.

Holly paused from rubbing Chelle’s back. ‘I don’t get it,’ she puzzled. ‘You said you were announcing your marriage break-up in next week’s magazines. Don’t those magazines pay for their interviews?’

‘Yeah, but not enough. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve got enough dirt on Dwayne to get me covers for a year. But the mags pay peanuts.’

‘I heard they pay tens of thousands,’ Sue said helpfully.

‘And? Tens of thousands’ll only last me five minutes, even though Dwayne left me the house and the car. It’s expensive being me. I’ve gotta wear the right stuff, have the right hair, go to the right places.’

Despite herself, Roxy nodded. She had a point.

‘No,’ Chelle declared decisively. ‘Being single won’t work. I’ve gotta be part of a couple, and my other arf’s gotta be famous. That’s just how it is.’ And she set about draining her wine.

Everyone huddled around Woody, except Holly, who was still busy sympathy-rubbing Chelle.

‘Woody! What were you thinking?’ hissed Cressida. ‘She’s not like us. She can’t possibly stay.’

‘But she’s had her heart broken,’ Sue whispered timidly. ‘She needs help.’

‘Sue’s right,’ Terence agreed with uncharacteristic charity.

‘And besides, she
is
like us, in a way,’ Sue continued. ‘
We’re
trying to work out what to do with our lives after fame, and
she’s
trying to work out what to do with her life after marriage.’

‘Oh, I think she’s already figured out that.’ Cressida frowned. ‘She’s going to piggyback on somebody else’s success. Really, Woody; we shouldn’t condone this kind of behaviour.’

‘What do you think, Rox?’ Woody studied her carefully.

Roxy pursed her lips and blew out a long column of air. What
did
she think? Her instinct was to get rid. Chelle was younger and thinner – and obviously desperate to get her hands on Woody. And all that stuff about bagging a rich boyfriend was gross!
But
… Chelle
was
getting magazine covers; maybe she could be useful to the group – share her press contacts around. And didn’t they say to keep your enemies close?
Arrrrrgh!
What did Woody
want
her to say? She quickly searched his face for clues.