Lindsey Kelk 5-Book 'I Heart...' Collection (91 page)

‘But I want to help,’ she insisted, reaching across the table and squeezing my hand. And immediately realizing that was a little bit too much, even for three glasses of wine on a half-empty stomach Angela. She dropped it and shrugged, trying to look more casual. ‘Or perhaps you could visit your friend in England. I am sure she would be more help to you anyway.’

‘You have been an incredible help,’ I reassured her, relieved to be worried about someone else’s feelings for a second. ‘Honestly Virginie, you’ve been brilliant. And you know, if you ever want to come and visit New York, you will always have a place to stay with me.’

‘Thank you,’ she muttered, pulling on the length of her long brown hair and checking for split ends. She didn’t have any, of course.

‘Really, I totally appreciate what you’re trying to say.’ Oh God, she couldn’t even look at me. Bugger it, I hadn’t meant to offend her. ‘You’re brilliant, Virginie. You really are. Oh, and I asked Alex to put you on the guest list for the festival on Sunday, I’d love it if you’d come. I’m guessing he’s done it, but he is a bit crap.’

‘It is not a problem, I have press pass. More wine?’ She looked up, her invisible happy switch flipping into the ‘on’ position.

I smiled tightly and stood up to go to the bar. She was back. As would be my lunch if we carried on drinking at this rate.

As my head started to get foggy, I switched back on to a mojito to try to speed the bar part of the evening along. For some reason, drunken logic persuaded me that it was the wine that was the problem, not the generic alcohol. Not that I was feeling terribly logical. Since I’d decided, with the wisdom of a few drinks inside me, that I wanted to talk to Alex about what I’d seen, I was sort of in a hurry to get it over with, but Virginie was really taking her time with the wine. She seemed to be back in cheerleader mode, but there was something that wasn’t quite right. The edge had gone off her irritating perkiness and she seemed preoccupied. I tried to tell her about the work I’d done on the article, but she just responded to my semi-drunken enthusiasm with nods, smiles and the occasional monosyllabic muttering, and when I tried to draw her on to the subject of when she might move over to New York, she actually squeaked, shrugged and looked out of the window.

Giving up, I went back to my mojito, although I’d drunk it so quickly, all that was left was extremely sweet minty iced water. My feet were still a little sore from the previous night’s high-heeled marathon through the city, but I’d be OK to stand for a while at the gig, and Virginie had said the venue was close by. And it was. It turned out we were just a couple of minutes away, and not only that, but Nouveau Casino was right next door to the café where I’d met Alex on our first night. Hipster Paris was really teeny tiny, a fact that made my feet very happy. Virginie however, hadn’t cracked a smile since we hit the street. Maybe she was pissed because I still had her shoes, I thought. Glancing over at my tiny companion, I saw that she was busily tapping away on to an iPhone I hadn’t seen before.

‘You got an iPhone?’ I asked, trying to start a conversation. ‘That’s cool.’

‘Oh, yes,’ she looked up, flustered. ‘I was looking for a store so I could find a power cable for your computer. It was stupid of me, of course there is now an Apple store in Paris. I got the phone then.’

‘Weren’t you on the other one earlier?’ I asked, enviously eyeing up her myriad apps. Honestly, Apple addiction was a genuine sickness.

‘Uh yes.’ She dropped the phone in her bag carelessly. I couldn’t bear to look, it was going to be scratched to buggery in a heartbeat. ‘I am still using both numbers for now. Not everyone has saved the new one.’

‘Yeah, I was using different phones for ages.’ I nodded, willing her to finish her drink. ‘I had my phone, then the work BlackBerry. But of course as soon as I decide to just use the BlackBerry, it goes and breaks so that’s bitten me right on the arse, hasn’t it? I should get an iPhone.’

‘I suppose so.’ Virginie took the tiniest sip of wine. ‘Did you call the office? To get it fixed?’

‘Cici deals with all my phone stuff,’ I explained. ‘And clearly she’s not going to help me out. I emailed the IT department after I charged my laptop, but they never get back to me, it always takes days. And I emailed my editor at The Look, Mary, to tell her Cici had fucked me over, but she hasn’t replied. Or she hadn’t the last time I checked.’

‘You emailed your editor?’ Virginie looked alarmed. ‘What did you say?’

‘It’s fine, we’re fine. Mary is my boss on the website not Belle, Cici’s her assistant. I didn’t say anything to anyone at Belle, don’t freak out, you’re not going to get in any trouble. If anything, you’re a bloody hero anyway. I’m going to be telling them how you saved the day and everything.’

‘OK.’ She finally flashed me a big smile. ‘You know how the Belle girls can be, but I will not worry.’

It seemed like my promising to put in a good word had cheered her up and she practically skipped down the street ahead of me. I picked up the pace behind her, the still raw balls of my feet protesting through the medium of intense burning. She really did walk incredibly fast for a short girl.

After a couple of minutes, Virginie came to a sudden halt and turned back to me, to point at a queue of people outside a big dark door. It was only just after ten but people were already lining up for the show. For a moment, I forgot how pissed off I was with Alex and just felt incredibly proud. I couldn’t imagine how it must feel to see people queuing to see you do something you loved. No one was ever likely to stand in line to watch me inhale a tub of Phish Food and settle in for a three-hour America’s Next Top Model marathon. I made a mental note actually to get around to doing something relevant with my life. Or at least have a think about it.

Approaching the door, Virginie explained, in French, to the fashionably disinterested girl with a scribbled-up guest list that we were both on the list and that yes, we were aware that the doors weren’t open yet and no, we didn’t give a shit because I was in fact the lead singer of Stills’ girlfriend. I tried not to wonder how much longer I’d be able to use that label, while simultaneously giving the door girl a raised eyebrow ‘yes, that’s right’ look. It wasn’t my first time, but I still wasn’t very good at it.

Stumbling through the near darkness into the main room of the club, I just about managed not to knock myself out on a huge iron staircase in the middle of the floor. There were a few people milling around, journos and friends of friends I guessed, and the support band was still working on their sound check.

‘I’m going to try and find Alex,’ I yelled to Virginie over the deafening feedback. Ouch, that sound check was definitely needed. ‘Meet you back here at the bar?’

She nodded and leaned against the wall, assuming a stony, ‘don’t even think about talking to me’ face for the benefit of the pair of giggly boys already whispering and pointing at her from beneath the stairs.

After a quick aimless walk around the venue, I finally spotted someone who looked vaguely as if they worked there and flashed my access all areas sticker (how cool was I?). The unimpressed French roadie pointed up the metal staircase and shook his head at me. Well yeah, OK, it was the only place I hadn’t looked. I took a deep breath, steeling myself both for steep stairs and a conversation I really didn’t know how to have, and mounted the staircase to find a small seating area, full of leather banquettes and low tables. Another flash of the AAA pass at another miserable-looking bald man and I was in. Unfortunately, Alex was not. No one was. I leaned over the balcony, trying to attract Virginie’s attention. My mojito-fuelled bravado was disappearing quickly and now I was here, my heart beating hard, I really didn’t want to confront Alex about anything. Not here, not now. I just wanted to hang out with a friendly face. The VIP area had a great view of the stage and, more importantly, free drinks, but Virginie wasn’t looking. In fact she was studiously not looking, tapping away on her iPhone again. The boys who had been hiding under the staircase like a pair of hipster trolls, had sidled up to the bar and were clearly trying to get her attention, but it just wasn’t happening.

I was kneeling on one of the leather sofas, trying to wave at Virginie and wishing for the millionth time that hour that I had a mobile phone that worked, when I realized that the music had changed. It wasn’t bland indeterminate indie rock support band any more, it was Alex. I paused mid-flail to see him centre stage with his guitar, checking the tuning, strumming a few chords and then asking the sound engineer some questions in French. It weirded me out to hear him speaking another language so perfectly, as if he were someone else. Although thinking about it, if the fact that he spoke fluent French had been the only thing I’d discovered about Alex on this trip, I’d have been far happier. Graham and Craig appeared behind him and started to tinker with their instruments while Alex carried on strumming, singing and stopping until the sound was just right.

‘I remember when he wrote that song.’

I didn’t need to look to know who it was, but I couldn’t help myself. Solène was kneeling beside me on the sofa, her arms resting on the metal barrier and her chin in her hands. She stared out at the stage, smiling softly.

‘We had not been living together long. I was so homesick for Paris and he tried so hard to make me happy.’ She rested her head on her arms and turned to look at me with the same smile. ‘It is even prettier when he sings it in French.’

I pressed my lips together and held on to the railings. I didn’t have a clever comeback, just a very strong desire to club her around the head, call her a bitch and tell her to fuck off. Which would have been very satisfying, but not very grown-up.

‘Sometimes we would sing it together, even lovelier.’ She pulled her long blonde hair over her shoulder and combed it through with her fingers.

‘Oh, just fuck off, you bitch!’ I stared straight ahead. So I wasn’t very grown-up. But at least I didn’t hit her. ‘I thought you said you had a boyfriend?’

‘I did?’ Like any really good backstabbing harpy, Solène didn’t react to my ridiculously childish insult. She just carried on smiling at me. ‘Angela, I thought we were friends.’

‘No, you didn’t,’ I said. ‘You thought you were going to steal my boyfriend.’

‘Oh please, we are not children.’ She laughed sweetly. ‘I am not going to steal your boyfriend.’

‘Really?’ I didn’t like the air quotes she put around ‘steal your boyfriend’. And I liked the implication that I was the one being childish even less. Even if I was.

She sighed lightly. ‘Alex is mine. I cannot steal what already belongs to me.’

Starting to shake slightly, my mouth already dry from drinking too much. I turned to face her.

‘Are you serious? Did you really just say that?’ I asked, incredulous. ‘No one really says that you know. And also, he’s not yours. Hasn’t been for a really long time actually.’

‘What did you do to your face?’ she asked, putting her hand over her mouth in mock horror and laughing. ‘I hope that does not hurt too much.’

I ignored her and concentrated on not crying. But it didn’t matter to Solène that I wasn’t committing fully to the conversation, she seemed happy to talk for both of us.

‘It is sad that Alex and I had to spend some time apart, but now, we are ready to be together again,’ she reasoned. ‘He is ready.’

‘And he’s over the fact that you cheated on him like a big dirty slag, is he?’ I asked, trying to remain calm. Not an easy task.

‘I did a terrible thing, but there was a reason, of course. We have talked about this before.’

‘And that’s how I know you’re a nasty cheating slag.’

‘That is such an ugly word.’ Solène shook her sparkly blonde head. ‘You are a writer, non? You have no better words for me?’

The worst part was, I didn’t. I didn’t have any words. Just a great big lump in my throat and a growing urge to vomit.

‘I only did what I did because he was too much for me.’ Solène placed her hand over mine. ‘I loved Alex so much, but I was so young and he was rushing into everything. After he proposed, I panicked, I got drunk, his friend came over and I was upset. Before I realize, we are in bed together and of course, this is when Alex comes home.’

I snatched my hand away as though it had been burned. How dare she touch me? ‘Hang on a minute, go back. What did you say?’

‘I do not understand, go back to where?’ she asked, wide-eyed and innocent.

‘Fuck off, you know what I’m talking about.’ I was starting to veer back towards clubbing her around the head. ‘He proposed? Alex proposed?’

‘Yes, he did. Several times.’ She smiled sadly and flipped herself around, her head resting against the back of the sofa. ‘And I wish every day I had said yes.’

Still up on my knees, I looked out at my boyfriend on the stage. He had swapped his acoustic guitar for an electric and was fiddling intently with the tuning pegs, staring at the monitor by his foot. His hair shone blue under the stage lights and his knackered old Nirvana T-shirt, the T-shirt I had slept in the second time I’d ever stayed over at his place (I was a girl, I remembered things like that) was covered up by a slouchy black cardigan. His washed-out, black skinny jeans revealed just a little bit too much of his jersey boxers when he bent down to mess with the monitor. Graham saw me first and waved, mouthing a wordless hi and then calling to Alex. He looked up from the stage and gave me such a shining smile, I couldn’t help, but return it. But mine just couldn’t compare.

‘And so I came back to Paris. Without him, I had no reason to stay in the city. New York was dead and cold to me,’ Solène carried on with her sob story while I stared down at the stage, my breathing becoming more uneven and heavy. ‘I begged him to take me back, I sent letters, wrote him songs, I even sent plane tickets, but he was heartbroken. And then I am hearing many stories about him with many different girls, and I am heartbroken.’

‘I heard that too.’ I broke away from staring at Alex and swung my legs around to sit on the sofa. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. ‘But then he met a really nice girl and started going out with her and he was really, really, really happy.’