Could It Be I'm Falling in Love? (53 page)

‘It’s not the same without him,’ admitted Terence. ‘I actually miss the abuse.’

‘He’s back in LA,’ Woody told them. ‘Carmen’s got a job interview.’

Terry snorted. ‘Pull the other one. He’s planning his comeback!’

‘He’s getting offers,’ agreed Woody. ‘And not just the usual rom-coms. Now the world’s seen him with a belly, he’s getting different stuff: cops, shell-shocked war vets, rack-and-ruin divorcees …’

‘That’ll suit him.’ Simon nodded – a touch sadly. ‘His talent needs to be stretched.’

‘He’s still adamant he won’t go back to acting.’

‘Shame,’ mused Terence. And for once there wasn’t a ‘but’.

Roxy looked at Simon. He seemed down. ‘No offers for you, then?’ she asked gently.

He took a long sip of wine. ‘It’s the curse of Sick Nick. The twins are right: once a perv, always a perv.’

‘Don’t worry, mate.’ Woody slapped his back. ‘Something’ll come along!’

‘Yeah, shelf-stacking at Waitrose, probably. Mind you, I
do
know where everything goes.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with Waitrose,’ said Roxy. ‘I might join you there myself.’

Simon momentarily perked up. ‘Didn’t you get any offers either?’

Roxy laughed. ‘I’ve had my fifteen minutes of fame and milked it for thirty. Now I’m just going to get on with my life.’

Woody turned to her and smiled. His hand touched her back, and he kept it there. Suddenly they were the only two people in the room. Roxy felt the heat of his touch surge through her, passing through her top, warming her skin – heating her down to her core.

And then Simon’s phone rang. He pounced on it, as though he’d been waiting for its ring his whole life. ‘Austin? Is everything OK?’

He listened intently for a minute and then hung up.

‘That was Austin,’ he announced in a daze. ‘He’s bought plane tickets for me and Linda. He needs us to visit him in LA, tonight. He says he’s got an urgent proposition.’

And Simon’s eyes began to glitter with excitement.

Lit only by the light of her TV, Roxy sat in bed, drinking hot chocolate in her Wonder Woman pyjamas. She sighed. When would her mind stop its racing? She’d already put herself through the torture of
Newsnight
in an attempt to knock herself out –
and
that other politics show, with the man with the Shredded Wheat hair. She’d even endured
Camping Equipment Hour
on one of the shopping channels – all to no avail. It was nearly two in the morning and she was still nowhere near sleep.

Had she lost what was left of her marbles? she wondered as she took another slurp of hot chocolate, accidentally spilling a drop on Wonder Woman’s head. She frowned and tried to blot it with her thumb. Had she spent so long chasing fantasy that she could no longer tell the difference between what she wanted and what
actually was?
Had she finally, completely lost the plot? Or had something
really
happened between her and Woody tonight?
And
up his ladder …?
And
in the Dog and Duck…? She could have sworn that it had! But then why was she sitting here – alone?

She sighed again, flicked the channel, and tried to be positive as she sat through the ads. There was plenty of happy stuff to think about. Right now, Simon and Linda were sitting in a first class departure lounge, bound for LA and whatever surprise Austin had got planned. Roxy grinned at the memory of Simon’s face … If he’d been any more excited, he’d have burst. She mentally skipped the next bit, when Woody removed his hand from her back and offered to drive Simon to the airport. The evening was suddenly cut short so Simon could rush off to pack, and Roxy had scuttled home, cursing herself for ever imagining that Woody had been about to ask her to stay.

Happy stuff
, Roxy reminded herself sternly.

And so she thought about Sue … Sue, who had the world queueing up. The job offers were coming in faster than lightning and her wardrobe was now every woman’s dream. But it wasn’t fame and fashion that was making Sue glow; Terry adored her – a blind man could see it. And Terry’s life was turning around too.

And the good stuff didn’t even end there, even Chelle was cause for a smile now. WAGs still weren’t her favourite kind of people, but Roxy was chuffed that Dwayne had come home. Vile as she was, Nicola had exposed something good: Dwayne had left Chelle because he truly loved her – and it was as clear as Smirnoff that Chelle loved him back.

Roxy took another sip of hot chocolate, but then tried not to spit it out. The ad break was ending with a trailer for
This Morning
.

‘Join us on the sofa all next week for an exclusive heart-to-heart with the UK’s hottest celebrity couple … Yes, Suzi-Sue Bunce and Tornado Terry will be our very special guests!’

Roxy quickly swallowed before laughing out loud.

See?
she thought to herself.
Life’s good!

And then she heard it: a little tap on her bedroom window. For a moment, she froze. What was it? A bird? A high-climbing cat that had got stuck?
A burglar?
And then it came again: more of a knock than a tap. Well, that ruled out the cat; cats didn’t knock (no thumbs). And didn’t birds sleep at night?
So that only left …
Without stopping to think, Roxy threw back her duvet and lunged over to the window. How ridiculous to burgle
her
house, she thought crossly in the nanosecond it took her to leap across the room. Of all the Lavender Heath houses, hers had to contain the least amount of high-value goodies (unless it was Top Shop the burglar was after, in which case he was definitely in luck). And why knock? What kind of burglar did that? It’d have to be the stupidest kind, her window was actually open, why not skip the pleasantries, jump in and get nicking? Roxy puffed out her chest and was about to give the burglar what for, when something stopped her dead in her tracks.

‘Roxy,’ whispered a voice. And then the knock again.

‘Woody?’ And she threw back the curtain and there he was – the man of her dreams, perched on a ladder at her window.

‘Nice pyjamas!’ He grinned.

Roxy was powerless to reply. It wasn’t Woody’s unexpected nocturnal appearance that was rendering her gormless – it
could have been midnight New Year’s Eve or midday in midsummer; she didn’t care. No, it was his impossibly handsome face, his implausibly fanciable arms, his rescue-you-from-anything demeanour and his utterly irresistible pheromones that were robbing her of breath yet again. That, and the fact that, even in the dark, his eyes were still exquisitely, awesomely blue.

‘I tried your phone and the door, but you didn’t answer.’

‘I’ve been watching telly,’ she mumbled. Woody looked over her shoulder and smiled. She turned and and saw a middle-aged arse.
Swingers From Swindon
had started.

‘What are you doing here?’ she blurted. ‘Where’s your bucket?’

‘I gave it the night off.’

‘But you’re supposed to be at the airport …’

‘Been there, done that … I’m back.’

‘But my windows aren’t dirty. And it’s not Thursday.’

Woody rubbed his head and looked at her in a way that made her insides turn to vodka jelly.

‘You left really quickly. I was hoping you’d hang around.’

‘You were?’

‘I was going to ask if you’d come to the airport. We could have dropped them off and then chatted – alone.’

‘We could?’

There was a moment of silence.

‘Ahhh, you’re not making this easy for me, Rox!’ Woody laughed. ‘Although, I remember you telling me you weren’t.’

Roxy frowned. What was she not?
Easy?
That didn’t sound
like her at all! But then she remembered her first night at Woody’s, when she’d turned up expecting a date and had sassed him on his doorstep.

Woody rubbed his head again. ‘Roxy, there’s something I’ve been meaning to give you,’ he said. ‘Actually, I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while.’

And he leant through the open window and put something into her hands. Numbly, Roxy looked down. Resting in her hands was an envelope – a card.

‘But it’s not my birthday.’

‘I know. Just open it.’

And so she did.

Hands trembling at Woody’s closeness, Roxy opened the envelope’s seal and slowly slid out the card. Suddenly her heart went hyperactive.

‘It’s a—’

‘Valentine’s card,’ he finished, with a smile.

‘But it’s—’

‘Late?’

‘… March!’

He grinned. ‘I didn’t think you’d be a stickler for the rules.’

‘I’m not. I’m just …’ Roxy looked at the card in wonder. It was the most perfect Valentine’s card she could imagine: pink and funky, and with sparkles. She looked at Woody in confusion. ‘But why?’

He cocked his head and looked right at her. ‘Because I’m mad about you, Rox,’ he said simply.

‘You
are?’
Roxy could barely trust her own ears. All sorts of
delicious feelings started whirling inside. ‘But why now? Why give me a Valentine’s card
now?
’

‘I couldn’t give it to you on Valentine’s.’ He smiled. ‘You’d just yelled at me in the street for being a washed-up, hypocritical wuss!’

Roxy blushed at the memory of their argument.

‘And besides,’ he continued, ‘I thought you and Austin were—’

‘Knobbing?’

Woody nodded and laughed.

‘So anyway …’ He looked at her and something inside her ignited. ‘I figured, why
shouldn’t
I give you a Valentine’s card in March? If you love someone, you tell them – right? You don’t wait until February 14
^th
.’

Their faces were suddenly very close and the proximity was too much to bear. He’d just said that he loved her, she told herself dizzily.
Woody had actually told her he loved her!
Suddenly she couldn’t be
this
close to his skin, his lips, his amazing man-ness and not pass out. She felt literally drunk on Woody – like she’d just downed the world’s most intoxicating cocktail. And then, firmly but gently, Woody put a hand around her waist and scooped the other through the back of her hair – and then he leant through the last bit of space in between them, and kissed her.

And it was
exactly
the kiss Roxy had dreamed he’d give her … only better – so very, very much better! As his lips fused with hers, she nearly groaned. She felt herself melt, dissolve. Suddenly she was glad he was holding her tightly. He might
be the one balancing on top of a ladder, but it was she who felt like she’d fall.

‘It’s all right,’ he whispered, as though sensing her buckle. ‘I’ve got you.’

‘I can be easy,’ she told him between kisses. ‘I can be very,
very
easy!’

And gently she pulled him over the sill and inside.

Simon gripped Linda’s hand tightly. This was weird. Brilliant – fantastic – awesome – amazing …
but weird!

He’d walked down red carpets before, but only as a minor oddity in his
Down Town
days. He’d only caused a ripple of interest at the time: a few boos from the crowd, a smattering of
‘Give us a frown’s
from the paps. But this was different. The screams, the roars, the desperate begging for autographs almost made him laugh with joy. Not that he’d have heard himself do it … Whenever he answered a journalist’s question, the cheers were so loud, he only knew he was talking because he could feel his mouth move.

Dressed in a brand new Tom Ford dinner jacket and black tie, Simon felt himself gently ushered forward. It had already taken thirty minutes and a fleet of headset-wearing PRs to get Simon just three-quarters of the way from his limo to the cinema door, and they were on a strict schedule. But, despite the ticking clock and officious PRs, Simon grinned absurdly. He, Simon Drennan, was being escorted by a public relations person. And not just one – a whole team! As much as he loved
their attention, they really needn’t have bothered. Their main purpose seemed to be to make sure he was charming and smiley. But, if it was up to him, he’d have personally hugged every man, woman and child in Leicester Square, before taking a note of their names and addresses and sending them all hand-written cards at Christmas.