Pride and Premiership (22 page)

I’m about to get into my witch’s outfit with the specially raised hem that makes it sexy.

Robbie is going to wear a Dracula costume (if he ever gets out of the shower) and … OMG, just realized he’s left his mobile phone on the bed! OK, I know I shouldn’t look…

But I don’t bloody care!

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Message one on Robbie’s mobile read:
Hey sexy boy when are we meeting up again?

I scrolled down for his reply and found:
Im working on getting a pass princess. I cant wait to hook up with you again.
xx

PRINCESS?!

Message two said:
I love you so much xxx

His reply said:
Luv U 2 xx

WTF?!

The third message said:
When are you going to tell her?

Then Robbie walked in from the shower.

I could have dropped the phone and pretended I hadn’t seen a thing. Been like Paris, thought about getting that salon and turned a blind eye. And for a split second I truly thought about it. But I couldn’t do it. Because what really got to me wasn’t that he was seeing someone else (even though that was gut-wrenching) or that he was calling her princess (even though that made it worse). What really took the piss was that he’d been so sure his puppy-dog eyes and gift of the gab would work on me that he hadn’t even bothered to delete the bloody text messages. Robbie Wilkins thought I was a FOOL! And I saw red. My fists made a blur as they pounded into his chest.

I never want to see Robbie Wilkins again.

Kellie’s gone to school but her mum has just been in and brought me a nice cup of tea. Now she’s given me some space and left me to chill out in Kellie’s bedroom. Kellie has been brilliant. So much of what she’d said was right. I had changed – got completely caught up in WAG life. A lot of people would have loved the fact that I’d ended up with egg on my face, but Kellie didn’t think twice about inviting me to come and stay at hers until I sorted myself out. She’s a proper friend. The best in the world. But I know I can’t stay here for ever.

I suppose I’ll have to go back to Mum’s and face up to her new life with Alan.

That bloody Nicole Walker just phoned. “Is it true you’ve split with your footballer?” she said. “I can’t believe it. What you gonna do now? I knew he’d be a—”

Didn’t hear any more because I ended the call.

Been going over what happened with Robbie. He told me that he’s known Chloe (the girl who was texting him) since he was eleven. She was his childhood sweetheart, who – and he kept repeating this – loved him when he was nothing, a no-mark with as much chance of becoming a footballer as anyone else. Which was why he couldn’t just finish his little fling with her, even though I demanded it.

“How do I know you’re with me for the right reasons?” he had the cheek to snipe, as if
I
was the one cheating. That’s when my fists started to fly and I told him to stuff his party and walked.

I’ve been completely numb for four whole days now. When Robbie’s birthday came on Monday, I thought the pain would be unbearable, but apart from checking my phone a few times to see if he’d sent me a message (no way was I going to send HIM one), I basically did and felt nothing.

Everyone’s telling me it’s because I’m in shock. Who knows? Whatever the reason, I haven’t even managed to cry yet. All I do when I think about Robbie is feel burning anger inside. And it’s not even him I’m most angry with – it’s myself for being such a fool. Foolish enough to quit my job, foolish enough to almost, ALMOST, give up my dream to open a salon, and foolish enough to lose Spencer. And I know things weren’t perfect with Spencer, but Malibu was right, I should have kept him as a fail-safe.

That’s why I’ve decided to give him a call.

In the past hour, I have finally dropped enough tears to flood London.

They started to flow as soon as I ended the call to Spencer, which gave me so much hope in the beginning when he answered my “I have something to tell you” with “I have something to tell you, too”, but ended with heartbreak when I told him to go first and he admitted that he’d finally met someone who made him understand that I’d been right and we were better off as friends.
Her name is Joanne and she goes to Loughborough University with him.

“She’s amazing, Rem, you’d really like her,” he told me.

“Oh, great,” I replied, forcing myself to sound happy. (I’m not sure I did a good job.)

Anyway, my eyes filled up when he said he’d arrange for me to meet her when he came down at Christmas. Then we said goodbye and I threw myself onto the bed and cried and cried and cried.

Some offers just can’t be refused. Take this one, for instance: live rent-free (till I start earning), have meals cooked for me and a bit of washing and ironing thrown in too. How fab is that? Yep – I’m moving back to Mum’s. TODAY! OMG, living with her and Alan under the same roof – this is going to be interesting. I’ve decided to be polite to him but that’s IT. No major conversations or laughs.

My lovely big sis is driving over in the new BMW X5 that Goldenballs bought her as a having-a-baby present. It’s full of my clothes and beauty products, which she kindly picked up from Robbie’s house. I couldn’t bear to face him so soon. On second thoughts, I can’t bear to face him ever! I keep remembering all the sweet talk he used to give me – those little lines that always made me smile and now just make me want to reach for the nearest bucket. Ugh!

Malibu called as soon as she drove away from our – no, HIS – house and said that Robbie had asked how I was doing. “He looked proper gutted, Rem. I think he misses you.”

“Yeah? Well, GOOD!” came out of my mouth from deepest, darkest bitchville.

OK, so I’m home. And after a big hug for Mum and a polite hello to Alan, I rushed to set up in my old bedroom and found that it’d been painted bright yellow with white polka dots.

Some things never change.

Met Dad for lunch and once we got the tricky stuff out of the way (“Well … how is Alan being with you?”, “Um… Actually, not too bad. But I hardly talk to him, to tell you the truth.”) we got down to business.

Dad absolutely loves my salon business plan: three treatments (tanning, waxing, nails), the Tanarama booth and even its name – Ta-dah! Then I took a deep breath and made my proposal.

“So,” I said, “how would you and Uncle Pete like to invest in the business?”

I told him how I thought it would work. For a 25% share, Dad and Uncle Pete would buy the Tanarama booth and the equipment. I’d rent out nail tables and equipment to three beauticians, which would cover most of the salon’s rent, and the beauticians could keep what they made for themselves.

He looked over my three-year forecast, which shows me making profit at the end of the second year. “The Tanarama booth alone has the potential to make fifty thousand a year,” I told him, “and I’ll also sell nail and beauty products.”

“How much do you need?” he asked.

“About thirty thousand.”

Dad looked thoughtful.

“But I plan to pay you back the full thirty thousand pounds within three years, plus let’s say … five per cent interest on top,” I told him. “And if I do, the salon becomes one hundred per cent mine.”

Dad raised his eyebrows. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“It’s business, Dad,” I said. “Don’t take it personal.”

And he laughed because that’s the title of Deborah Gordon’s autobiography.

“Well, in that case,” he said, once he’d finished chuckling, “as long as you agree that we can always retain a ten per cent share, I’m sure I can convince your Uncle Pete.”

“Deal,” I told him. And then we shook hands. Yippee!

OMG. Kellie just called and said out of the blue, “We’re going to Turkey!”

“We ARE?” I replied, shocked.

“Yep. A couple of weeks before your birthday.”

“But I can’t afford to, Kel, I’m putting everything I have into my salon.”

“Shut up,” she said. “I know that – that’s why it’s on me.”

“No–o! I can’t let you spend that kind of money!”

“It’s gonna cost peanuts, trust me. A little, ahem, deal I’ve just negotiated.”

I sighed. “Who is he, Kel?”

Then her voice completely changed. “OK, then, Mum, see you later.” Then she whispered down the line, “I’m with him right now”, and she was gone.

Yay! I’m going to Turkey!