Friends & Rivals (42 page)

‘Well, that's what I heard,' the runner was saying. ‘And it came from a friend who's done tons of music shoots in Los Angeles. She says it's an open secret over there.'

‘There's no such thing as an “open” secret,' said Cassie reasonably. ‘If Ava were in a serious relationship, the media would have got wind of it by now.'

‘Not if her label put a lid on it. Columbia don't want people to think she's attached. Stops them buying records.'

‘Yeah, but come on. Everyone knows Ava Bentley's single. And she's still only eighteen. He's way too old for her.'

Kendall's ears pricked up. Who? Who was too old for Ava?

‘Besides, wasn't she pictured with Justin Bieber, like, a week ago?'

‘PR stunt,' said the runner dismissively. ‘I'm telling you, she's with her manager.'

A few feet away, Kendall choked on her drink, spraying lemon squash all over the floorboards.
Jack? Ava and Jack?
No. That wasn't possible. That, categorically, absolutely was not possible.

‘That's not possible,' said Cassie, reading her client's mind. ‘Jack Messenger may be many things but he isn't a cradle snatcher.'

‘Not
Jack!
' The runner burst out laughing. ‘Oh my God, no wonder you were so scandalized. No, the other one, the younger guy. His partner.'

‘You mean Lex Abrahams?'

‘Yes. That's the guy. According to my friend, Lex and Ava have been an item since the summer. He's coming with her to London and apparently she's been pushing for them to “come out” as a couple, but the record company are all over it, like “no way, you can't, the single will bomb,” yada yada yada. I'm telling you. You heard it here first.'

‘Kendall?'

A tap on her shoulder made Kendall jump a mile. It was Barry, one of the club managers.

‘Sorry, sweetheart, didn't mean to scare you. You're on.'

The second half of Kendall's set was an unmitigated disaster. She forgot lyrics halfway through one song, and miserably missed the high note on another. All the rapport she'd built up with the audience earlier seemed to have evaporated, a combination of Kendall's mental absence and the copious amounts of alcohol that the crowd had consumed during the interval. A lacklustre performance of ‘Wait For Me', her latest single, was met with near silence. A stumble in ‘Two Steps from Heaven' prompted boos.

Kendall knew she was unravelling, committing the cardinal sin of not giving her fans what they'd paid for. But she couldn't help it. Her body was on stage but her mind was six thousand miles away, repeating the same mantra over and over, willing it not to be true.

Lex and Ava. Ava and Lex.

When she'd first heard the runner say it wasn't Jack, she'd been relieved. But only for a split second. The thought of Lex,
her
Lex, shacking up with Ava Bentley was almost as bad. She didn't know why it should be. But it was.

They're coming to London.

Ava wants them to come out as a couple.

The whole thing was unbearable. Somehow making it through to the end of her set, Kendall practically ran off stage. Her disgruntled fans were already leaving but she barely registered. Suddenly all she wanted was Ivan. She wanted to tell him what she'd heard, to have him hold her and comfort her and tell her it would all be all right. Miraculously, when she reached her dressing room, there he was, looking a lot more sober than when she'd last seen him a couple of hours ago. Leaning against the wall in his dark suit, tall and strong and businesslike and reassuring, he had transformed back into the husband she needed, the one she could rely on.

‘I'm sorry,' she sobbed. ‘I know I was awful. But I heard something in the interval about Ava and Lex.' Ivan raised one arm, inviting her to come under his wing. Kendall moved gratefully towards him. ‘Did you know that they're a couple? Apparently the rumour—'

‘You stupid cow!'

Kendall staggered backwards. Putting both hands on her chest, Ivan had pushed her, more violently than he'd intended to. Too stunned to react, Kendall had slammed into her dressing table. Turning, she lost her footing and slumped to the floor, but not before she'd caught her cheek on the corner of the table, nicking her skin just below the eye. Touching her face she found her fingers were slick with blood.

‘You were a fucking dishgrace out there.'

However he might look, Ivan was in fact extremely drunk. The violence of the push he gave Kendall was testament to that, as was the fact that he was slurring his words like a stroke victim. Looking up at him through a haze of blood, Kendall saw that his face bore the heavy, vicious, brooding look of a punch-drunk boxer angrily contemplating his next swing.

‘Whaddafuck happened?'

‘I told you,' stammered Kendall, answering him because she was too shocked and frightened to do anything else. ‘I was upset about Lex and Ava.'

‘Ava's a bitch,' slurred Ivan. He was visibly confused, looking around Kendall's dressing room like he had no idea where he was. Then he focused on Kendall and his eyes darkened again. ‘You hurt your face.'

‘
You
hurt my face, you asshole!' sobbed Kendall.

Ivan ignored her, staggering over to where she lay slumped on the floor. ‘Are you cheating on me?' he mumbled. ‘R'you fucking around? C'sif you are I swear to God …' He raised his hand, whether to hit her or to steady himself, Kendall didn't know, but this time she was too quick for him. Scrambling to her feet she grabbed him by the elbow and simultaneously raised her knee, smashing it into his groin. Ivan let out the most horrendous scream and fell to the floor himself, writhing in agony.

Panicked and in complete shock – Ivan had never laid a finger on her before, never – Kendall grabbed her purse and ran, still in her stage clothes and with blood streaming from the wound under her eye. Ignoring the concerned cries of the club staff, she ran out into Oxford Street and jumped into the back of the first passing black cab.

‘A and E?' asked the cabbie, who had also noticed the blood. ‘St Mary's is probably the closest.'

‘No,' said Kendall. She gave him an address in Primrose Hill.

Stella Bayley opened the door in pink floral White Company pyjamas, looking as clean and wholesome as Kendall looked debauched and bloody. Without saying a word or asking a single question, she paid the cabbie and helped her friend inside.

‘I'll run you a bath.'

Kendall was so grateful, not just for the bath and the open door, but for Stella's silent, non-judgmental support, she burst into tears. The salt-water stung her cut face like acid.

‘Come on. That's enough of that,' said Stella gently, leading Kendall upstairs the way she would a child.

The bathwater was warm and smelt of geraniums. Washing her face with a flannel was too painful, so Kendall took a deep breath and submerged her whole head instead, emerging clean but sore and with her wet hair clinging to her head like the sleek coat of an otter. Drying herself off, she wrapped one of Stella's fluffy white towels turban-style around her head and slipped into the grey Frette bathrobe and slippers that Stella had laid out for her. She found her friend downstairs in the sitting room, curled up on the sofa with a mug of hot chocolate.

‘That one's yours.' Stella gestured to the red spotted Cath Kidston mug on the coffee table. Next to the milky drink was a plate of home-made shortbread biscuits. Kendall started to cry again.

‘You don't have to talk about it,' said Stella. ‘Only if you want to.'

Suddenly Kendall did want to. Sipping the hot chocolate and taking bites of biscuit in between tearful interludes, she told Stella the whole story. Ivan's drinking, the gig starting well, then hearing about Lex and Ava and coming apart at the seams. When it came to talking about the actual assault in the dressing room, she found herself feeling unaccountably embarrassed, stumbling over her words and skipping over the details, as if she were the perpetrator of a crime and not the victim. Stella noticed but said nothing, waiting patiently for Kendall to finish. If she was shocked, she didn't show it.

Eventually she said, ‘Has he ever hit you before?'

Kendall shook her head vehemently. ‘No. Never. And he didn't hit me tonight either. He pushed me and I slipped.'

‘But you've been scared of him before? When he drinks?'

Kendall bit her lip and gave an imperceptible nod.

‘Are you going to press charges?'

Kendall rolled her eyes. ‘And have the media camped outside my door like vultures for the next two months, turning me into some sort of victim? No, absolutely not.'

‘Are you going to leave him?'

Kendall tried to look out of the window but it was pitch dark outside. Instead of finding distraction, she was ambushed by her own reflection. She winced. Who was that sad, battered girl looking back at her? The cut under her eye had stopped bleeding now, but the whole eye area had begun to swell and livid purple bruises were forming there and on her opposite cheek. She looked as if she'd been in a car accident.

‘I don't know,' she said quietly. ‘It was sort of an accident. It's complicated.'

She waited for Stella to launch into a rant about how it wasn't complicated at all. How physical violence should never be tolerated and no woman should ever accept living in fear, not for their career or for any other reason. But she didn't. Instead, after a thoughtful pause, Stella asked, ‘Do you think you'll ever have children with him?'

Kendall surprised herself by replying instantly and with absolute certainty, ‘No. Never.'

‘Interesting.' Stella nodded slowly. ‘So who
would
you want to have children with, if not with Ivan?'

Again the answer was instant and instinctive. ‘Lex.'

Kendall clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my God. I have no idea why I just said that.'

‘Maybe because it's true?' offered Stella.

‘No. No, no, no. I'm not attracted to Lex, I never have been. We're friends. We
were
friends. I mean, he'd definitely make a good father but … no. That's just crazy.'

Stella made no further comment. Clearing away their mugs and plates, she hugged Kendall, taking care not to press against her injured face, and showed her upstairs to the guest bedroom. A simple, whitewashed room next to Miley's room, it smelled faintly of lavender. Everything in Stella's house seemed to smell of something sweet and restful and comforting.

‘Sleep as long as you like in the morning,' said Stella. ‘If I'm out when you wake, I'll just be running Miley to pre-school, so don't panic.'

‘OK,' said Kendall. ‘Thanks.'

She didn't think she'd sleep, so frenziedly was her mind racing about Ivan and their future and how the hell she was going to explain away the damage to her face when the world finally saw her next week. But as soon as her head hit the lavender-scented pillow, she was out like a light, sinking instantly into a deep, post-traumatic sleep.

By the time she awoke at noon the next morning, Ivan had already called Stella a total of eleven times.

‘I admitted you were here,' said Stella. ‘He knew anyway. But I told him I wasn't going to wake you and it would be up to you whether you wanted to see him or not.'

‘Any press calls? Do the media know I'm here?'

‘Nope,' said Stella. ‘And there's been nothing online either, I've been checking all morning. A couple of bitchy reviews about last night's gig, but that's it.'

That much at least was a relief. In a way, so was Ivan calling. They would have to see one another and talk eventually. To be able to do it today, privately and in the safety of Stella's home, was a lot better than any of the other possible scenarios.

‘Let Ivan know I'll see him,' said Kendall, brushing her hair back from her face and wincing at the pain as she inadvertently touched her bruises. ‘He can come over as soon as I'm dressed.'

‘You're sure?'

Kendall nodded. ‘You'll be in the house, though, won't you? You don't have to go and pick up Miley or anything?'

‘Oh don't worry,' said Stella firmly. ‘I'll be here. I wouldn't dream of leaving you alone with him. Besides,' she added meaningfully, ‘I have a few things I want to say to your husband myself.'

Unsurprisingly, Ivan turned up looking ashen, miserable, and as remorseful as either Stella or Kendall had ever seen him.

‘I feel terrible,' he told Stella in the kitchen, while Kendall finished getting ready upstairs. ‘Just terrible.'

‘Yeah, well, a hangover'll do that to you,' said Stella unsympathetically, pulling the dead leaves off her potted basil.

Ivan groaned.

‘You have a serious drinking problem,' Stella went on. ‘You do know that, right?'

‘Of course I do,' grumbled Ivan. ‘I thought I had it under control, but when I got home last night and she wasn't there … when I realized what I'd done …' His eyes welled with tears. ‘I'm not a violent person.'

‘We're all violent people under the right circumstances,' said Stella, slightly more softly. ‘And you have a horrific temper.'

‘Do you think she'll ever forgive me?'

‘I hope not,' said Stella, angrily tearing some healthy basil leaves.

Just then Kendall walked in. She was wearing Stella's clothes, a white chunky-knit sweater over a ‘sensible' pair of dark jeans. The outfit completely de-sexualised her.
Perhaps that's the intention
, thought Ivan. It also did nothing to distract attention from the awful swelling on her face.

She looked at Ivan without emotion. ‘Hi.'

‘Hi.'

Silence hung in the air between them like a wall.

‘Thank you for seeing me.'

They went into the sitting room and sat down on opposing sofas, as awkward as two teenagers on a blind date. Clearly the onus was on Ivan to begin, to say something. ‘Sorry' was laughably inadequate, yet not to say it was impossible, unforgivable. He cleared his throat nervously.