Devoted 2 : Where the Ivy Grows (28 page)

I shake my head in disbelief. ‘How did you get those
certain
details?’

Marc opens the wardrobe and throws on a suit jacket. ‘Don’t ask me too many questions, Sophia. Especially not right now.’

He stalks out of the room, and I’m left sitting there in my underwear. I half want to stick my tongue out at the closed door, but that would make me feel even more like a chastised child.

So her
e we are again. Close for a moment, then something pulls us apart.

Half an hour later, I get a call from Jen.

‘What’s going on
Soph? Is everything okay?’

I hear traffic noises and guess she’s in a car. Probably the limo with Keith.

Just hearing her voice makes me start blubbing, and I sniff and snuffle down the phone. ‘It’s ... been a tough few days.’

‘I’m on my way to you. Marc called.’

‘He actually called you?’

‘He actually called me. And said he needed me to look after you. That it was urgent. So what’s going on?’

I gulp. ‘Dad had an accident. But it’s okay now.’

‘Your dad?’ Jen’s voice goes shaky. ‘Christ, Soph. I’m so sorry. Is he alright?’

‘He ... was in an accident. A car accident. It was a rough night, but he came around and they say he’ll make a full recovery.’

‘Oh my god. Oh my
god
. Soph, I had no idea. Why didn’t you call me?’

‘I did, but in the hospital there was hardly any reception. And then ... Marc and I went back to his.’

‘Wait. Was Marc at the hospital with you?’

‘Yes. He ... without him, I don’t know how things would have been. He donated scanning equipment so Dad didn’t have to switch hospitals.’

‘Wow. Well ... good. I’m glad.’

‘But he’s gone now.’

‘You sound sad about that.’

‘
We got close again. He was saying all the right things. But ... then he just vanished without a word. I have no idea where he’s gone, and I feel like he’s keeping something from me.’

‘Wait.’ I hear a rustle. ‘We’re driving into Richmond. Does Marc live in Richmond? He said you were at his house.’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘You must be close.’

‘Hold on. We’re slowing
down. Is Marc’s place like four storeys high? A townhouse?’

‘Yes.’

‘The gates are opening. I’m here.’

The line begins to crackle.

‘We’re going underground,’ says Jen incredulously. ‘Wow, is this a -’

The line goes dead, and I leap off the bed and run down the big wide stairs. When I reach the hallway, I hear Jen talking to Keith through the garage door.

‘Thanks. I’m shit with steps.’

‘No problem at all. My pleasure.’

The next moment, the door opens and there’s Jen, looking magazine perfect as always, her shiny blonde hair swinging straight down her back. She’s working her casual look, which is still pretty smart – skinny black jeans, black boots and a designer off-the-shoulder sweatshirt.

‘Babes!’ She flings her arms around me, and I’m covered in kisses and perfume. ‘What a place. You could get lost in here.’

‘I know,’ I reply. ‘I nearly have a few times.’

‘Where’s the kitchen? I’ll make you a coffee.’

When we reach the kitchen, I smell fresh coffee and see a drip filter jug filled with steaming black liquid. Two large blue and white striped mugs sit by the machine, next to a carton of cream and a bowl of brown sugar.

‘Is this house psychic?’ asks Jen.

‘In a way.’ I smile. ‘There’s a housekeeper here. Rodney. He’s got a sort of sixth sense about what you might need. And he knows when to keep out of the way. He must be around somewhere, but I guess he’s making himself scarce.’

Jen pours coffee into the two mugs and adds cream and sugar to mine. She leaves hers black, meaning she’s on yet another diet, and plonks herself on a kitchen stool.

‘Your poor dad,’ she says. ‘And more than that, poor you. It must have been so stressful.’

‘It was,’ I say. ‘The worst night of my life.’

‘I wish I’d been there.’

‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘Honestly. Marc was amazing.’

‘Makes me see him in a new light,’ says Jen. ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong. I never disliked him. If he was the total heartless bastard the press make him out to be, you wouldn’t be with him. I know that. But still. He’s not exactly the warmest guy.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘I felt so close to him at the hospital. And just now. But then he closed right down. He’s vanished and I feel like we’re miles apart. I have no idea where he went ...’

‘He didn’t tell you where he was going?’ Jen frowns, and I know there’s something on her mind.

‘No. Why. Do you know something?’

‘Maybe. Well. I
could
know something, put it that way. I spoke to Ben at my firm before I called you. There’s a rumour that Marc’s on his way to East London.’

‘East London
?’

‘That’s what
the paps are saying. A couple followed him earlier.’

I take a sip of sweet coffee, trying to get my head around this new development
. ‘I love him, Jen.’

‘I know.’

‘There could be a chance for us. But not if he keeps closing down.’

‘Why not call him?’

I do, but the call goes straight through to an answer machine. I hold the phone to my chest. ‘I need to find him. He says there’s a chance for us, but how can there be if he’s still hiding things from me?’

Jen lays her fashionable slate grey fingernails over my hand. ‘Do you want me to phone Ben again, find out if there’s any update on Marc’s location?’

I nod.

‘I’ll say one thing for
paps,’ says Jen. ‘They have their uses. They’re the best tracker dogs when it comes to celebrities.’ She opens up her diamante clamshell phone and puts it to her ear. ‘Hello? Ben? I need a favour. Marc Blackwell. Do you have his location?
Really
? Great.’

She digs a hand in her patent leather handbag and pulls out a tiny pink notepad. Scribbling an address, she hands me the pad. ‘Thanks
, Ben. I owe you one. You too. See you soon.’ She snaps the phone closed.

I stare at the note. Jen has scr
ibbled a street address in East London.

‘So what’s next?’
Jen says, glancing at the pad. ‘Shall we go there?’

‘
I should,’ I say. ‘Alone. I’m not getting you mixed up in this.’

‘Oh no.’ Jen shakes her head. ‘You’re not going on your own. I’m coming with you.’

‘I can’t let you do that, Jen. What about work?’

‘What about it? This is a family emergency. They’ll understand.’

‘If I’m going to stand any chance of Marc opening up to me, I should go alone. Please Jen. Look. I’ll turn my phone sat nav on so you can track me.’

Jen sighs. ‘Okay.
’

‘Maybe Keith is still in the garage. He can drive me there.’

‘Let’s go see.’

Down in the gloomy garage, Jen and I discover that Keith has left already. We stand surveying Marc’s ultra-shiny top-of-the-range cars, me biting my thumb, Jen opening and closing her clamshell phone.

Then I notice something.

‘Jen. It’s gone.’

‘What’s gone?
’

‘Marc’s father’s car.’ I stare at the black parking space where the spiky yellow car sat earlier on. ‘He ... I guess he must have taken it.’

‘So?’

‘It’s not a car he ever drives.’

‘And yet he’s driving it right now.’

‘I guess he must be.’

‘Is that a bad thing?’

‘I don’t know.’

Jen surveys the rest of Marc’s vehicle collection. ‘These cars must go really fast.’

‘I know.’

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

‘Probably.’

‘Will he be mad if you take one of his cars?’

‘I don’t think so. He doesn’t care about pos
sessions all that much. Despite appearances. But we need to find the keys.’

‘I think I know where they are,’ says Jen, going to a red metal box on the wall. ‘My dad has a box just like this.’ She opens the lid and peers inside. ‘
Aston Martin, anyone?’

She holds out a f
at gold key with a black fob.

I chew my thumbnail. ‘
Okay. Quick, give me the key. Before I change my mind.’

As I climb onto the leather seat, I start to giggle.

‘What is it?’ Jen asks
, leaning against the roof.

I put my hand to my mouth, but the giggling won’t stop. ‘Sorry,’ I manage to say. ‘I think I’m a bit in shock. But ... I just remembered that time we drove your dad’s car.’

Jen starts giggling too. ‘And we got lost and thought we’d have to phone him and admit we’d taken it.’

We laugh and laugh, bending over, holding our sides, tears running down our faces. ‘Why is it always the times you shouldn’t laugh that you do?’ I splutter.

‘Okay, enough of this,’ says Jen, clearing her throat. ‘Come on, Evel Knieval. You need to get going. Good luck.’ She slams the door shut.

I start up the engine, and the car shunts
forward towards the wall. ‘Oh!’ I slam on the breaks and notice the car is already in gear.

I see Jen smiling and shaking her head through the windscreen. ‘
Your driving,’ she mouths.

‘I’ll be fine,’ I mouth back
, putting the car in reverse and gently touching the accelerator.

‘Mind the wall!’
I hear Jen shout, and I slam on the brakes again.

Whoops.

I manage to manoeuvre the car around and towards the garage door, which to my relief opens automatically as I approach. That’s one obstacle out of the way. The gate opens automatically too, and I ease the car forward onto the pavement.

As the black
bonnet creeps towards the road, two paparazzi fling their cameras at the car window and start snapping away.

I’m flustered, but also furious.
This is not the time. I swerve the car so it pushes into them, just a little. A warning. And I beep the horn for good measure. It does the trick. The paps back away, and I pull out onto the road and put my foot down.

I realise this is definitely not an incognito car as I power along London’s traffic-jammed streets. I’m kind of scared by the car’s speed, so I’m doing under thirty, but this seems to irritate the other motorists. I guess if you’re driving a car like this, you’re expected to go fast.

As I
get nearer to the address, I start to feel more and more nervous.

I’m heading into a
rough neighbourhood, I realise, as grimy tower blocks and kebab shops shoot past. The streets and buildings around here kind of remind me of that TV programme,
Shameless
.

Sickly nerves work their way into my stomach
as I get closer. Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe I should turn back. But curiosity gets the better of me. What is Marc doing somewhere like this? Is it to do with a woman? I have to know.

I drive on, and the nerves in my stomach start running around in circles. The streets around here look grey. Sad. And the people on the street look restless and angry. They hold Special Brew cans and inhale cigarettes like oxygen.

Red graffiti on a crumbling wall says:
Skag heads forever
.

I grew up poor, so I’m not scared of people with no money. But this isn’t just a place with no money. It’s a drug place, and drugs can turn the nicest people into the nastiest people.

Just as I decide I should definitely turn back, I see the bright yellow shell of Marc’s dad’s car parked with two wheels on the pavement. It’s outside a little terraced house with a stained mattress pushed up against the window.

Two
paps sit on the crumbling wall out front, so this must be the place. They’re shivering like they’ve been there a while.

I pull up behind the yellow car, letting out a long breath.
My fingers feel for the car door handle, and I climb out.

The two paps leap up when they see me.

Snap, snap, snap.

‘Can’t you guys get real jobs?’ I mutter, stalking past them.

I head towards the house. The front door is made of that pressed cardboard stuff that lets in water, and there are bubbles of damp all over it.

God, I’m nervous now. Maybe this was a bad idea. But no.
No
. I need to know what’s going on.

I reach up and knock loudly on the door. Behind me, the photographers go crazy.