The Accidental Life of Jessie Jefferson (17 page)

A distinguished-looking man wearing a casual white shirt and black trousers greets people as they arrive. It takes me a few seconds to recognise him as Michael Tremway. There’s a woman who must be his wife beside him. She looks young, and I remember reading somewhere that he remarried someone who is about twenty-five years his junior. She’s young enough to be his daughter. I wonder what Macy thinks of her.

‘Johnny,’ Michael says, warmly, as we reach him. ‘Meg. You look stunning, as always.’ He kisses her hand first and then shakes Johnny’s. I hang back, but Johnny steps aside and brings me in. ‘And this is Jessie, my—’

‘Our nanny,’ Meg smoothly interrupts.

Was Johnny just about to introduce me as his daughter? I feel a surge of annoyance towards Meg for cutting him off. Who is she trying to protect, me or them? I have a feeling it’s the latter.

Michael shakes my hand and smiles, his grey eyes crinkling at the corners. He turns around to his wife.

‘You remember Colleen.’ She steps forward and kisses Johnny’s cheeks, doing the same to Meg. She has a high-pitched, slightly cloying voice.

‘It’s great to have you back in LA,’ I overhear Michael saying to Johnny.

‘Yeah, well, can’t argue with the weather,’ Johnny replies. ‘Happy birthday, by the way,’ he adds.

There’s a commotion behind us. I whip around to see a girl, who must be about my age, in a skimpy red bikini and with long, dark, dripping-wet hair, sitting on her bum in the middle of the lobby. She looks shell-shocked. Michael Tremway stalks through the crowd.

‘How many times do I have to tell you not to run on the marble with wet feet!’ he exclaims with exasperation as he reaches her.

The girl blushes a deep beetroot as she scrambles to her feet.

‘Screw you,’ she hisses, deliberately bumping into Colleen as she heads to the stairs, making her gasp and wobble on her high heels.

I stare after the girl, dumbfounded, as I realise that that was Macy from my favourite TV show. Charlotte Tremway, I correct myself in my head.

Michael laughs lightly. ‘Teenagers,’ he mutters. ‘Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.’ Then he turns to say hello to the next people to arrive.

I can’t help but feel bad for Charlotte for being dismissed by her dad so easily.

A while later, I decide to go and explore on my own. I feel like Meg’s on edge having me around threatening to blow the big secret. I leave her and Johnny sitting inside with a few people from Johnny’s record label and go for a walk around the fairground.

My heels sink into the grass as I walk past a hotdog stand towards the old-fashioned dodgems, snatching up a Bellini from a passing waitress on the way. Mmm, yum. This one’s even nicer than the berry one. I wish I had a friend here to share this experience with. I miss Natalie. She’d go crazy at a party like this!

Thinking about her reminds me that I’m going home soon. But I’ve barely got to know my so-called dad at all. I can’t imagine ever knowing him, not like I do Stu. Once more I feel a pang of homesickness. Absence definitely makes the heart grow fonder in my case. I wonder if Stu’s missing me. Probably not. I bet he’s enjoying the peace and quiet.

Katy Perry’s ‘California Girls’ is blaring out of the garden speakers as the dodgem ride up ahead comes to an end. The combination of perky music and alcohol makes me decide to have a go. By a stroke of luck, I manage to swipe a just-vacated car beside the barrier. I hold my almost empty glass between my knees and take in my surroundings while I’m waiting for the ride to start. The ages of the people around me range from about ten to sixty. There are a few teenagers who look pretty cool. They shout across the cars to each other and, as the ride starts off, my eyes are drawn to the back of one boy’s head. He has black, messy hair and even from behind I can tell he’s probably pretty cute. I nip in between a couple of kids and he rounds the bend up ahead, allowing me to catch a glimpse of his face. Whoa. I was right. He’s gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. Tanned with dark eyelashes and sculptured cheekbones. I wonder if he’s an actor?
I wonder if he has a girlfriend
. . . Maybe he’s gay. An old biddy crashes into the side of me and then hoots with laughter. I giggle as I turn my wheel all the way to the right and reverse away from her, crashing backwards into the front of another car. My head jerks forward on impact.

‘Hey!’ I hear a guy behind me jokily complain as I put my foot down. I look over my shoulder with a grin to see that it’s
him
. My eyes widen, while his narrow, and he leans forward with determination as he chases me. I dart in between two more cars and take a hard right to come up behind him. He spies what I’m up to and I laugh at his mock outrage. All of a sudden he spins his car around so we’re facing each other, heading for a head-on crash. I squeeze my eyes shut, then, ouch!

‘No head-on crashes!’ the guy running the dodgems shouts at us.

The boy purses his lips at me and I try to keep a straight face as we find ourselves riding side by side. I grab the opportunity to down the rest of my drink.

‘Are you drinking and driving?’ he asks with faux horror. He has an American accent. ‘Bad girl,’ he mutters.

‘You don’t know the half of it.’ I turn my wheel sharply to the left and veer into him.

‘Hey!’ He laughs, doing the same to me. All of the cars slow to a stop as the ride comes to an end. Damn.

‘Everybody off!’ the dodgem car operator shouts.

Our cars have stopped beside each other. He shoots me a sideways look and raises one eyebrow. ‘I hate to think what you’re like on the road.’

‘I don’t have a licence,’ I reply flippantly, trying to look cool and not too ungainly as I go to climb out of my car.

‘No?’ He looks surprised as he hops out of his own and holds his hand down to me. He has a tattoo of a comic-book style POW! on the outside of his right forearm and a bunch of braided leather straps around his wrists. I take his hand instinctively, the slit on my dress flashing the length of my leg as I step on to the smooth metal. At least with him holding my hand I won’t slip in my heels and make a tit out of myself. ‘How old are you?’ he asks, as a girl of about ten barges past me to get into my car.

‘Fifteen,’ I reply, glaring at the little brat. He looks surprised, and then I realise I’m gripping his hand hard, so I drop it like a hot cake. His fingertips were rough like Johnny’s. ‘You play the guitar,’ I say without thinking.

‘Yeah.’ He looks confused. ‘Have we met?’

‘No, just a lucky guess.’ I nod down at his hands.

‘Aah,’ he says.

Even with the extra inches on my shoes, he’s taller than me by half a foot.

We reach the barrier, trying to avoid people rushing to take over the empty cars. A couple of kids who miss out moan loudly. I spy the old biddy who hooted with laughter looking a bit sneaky as she stays in her car. ‘Cheeky cow,’ I mutter.

‘Who?’

‘Her.’ I nudge and point. ‘That old lady, sticking in her car for another ride.’

He grins and tuts. ‘Guess she’s gotta get her kicks from somewhere.’ We step down on to the grass and it’s then that I notice his T-shirt: it’s grey with a faded black line drawing of a wombat on the front, playing an electric guitar.

‘You like The Wombats?’ I exclaim.

‘Yeah, man, they’re cool.’ His bluey-grey eyes stare out at me from behind a few wisps of black hair that have fallen down across his forehead. ‘I’m going to see them in September.’

‘No way! I’m so jealous.’

‘Can’t you get tickets?’ He hooks his thumbs into the belt loops of his skinny black jeans.

‘I won’t be here, then,’ I reply sadly, handing my empty glass to a passing waitress.

‘Where will you be?’

‘Maidenhead, innit.’

‘What?’

I giggle, amused by my insider lingo. ‘England.’

‘Is that where you’re from?’

‘You’re quick,’ I tease. He grins and my insides go all jittery.

‘Obviously I knew you had an accent.’ Pause. ‘You look
really
familiar. Have I seen you around?’

‘I doubt it. I’ve only been here since Sunday.’ I fold my arms.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Jessie.’

‘I’m—’

‘Jack!’ a guy interrupts him with a shout. We break eye contact and look over to see four other teenagers from the dodgems waiting approximately ten metres away: two girls and two guys, one of whom is responsible for calling his name. ‘Are you coming on the slide?’

My spirits dip.

‘There in a bit,’ he calls back nonchalantly, his gaze returning to me. ‘I’m Jack, by the way.’

‘So I heard.’ I purse my lips, sensing that we still have his friends’ attention. One look over and I’m proved right – they haven’t moved. In fact, one of the girls – a tall, skinny blonde in a floaty lilac-coloured dress – seems a bit put out. Is she his girlfriend? Perhaps not, if he’s still here chatting to me, but I bet she wants to be. Who wouldn’t? For some reason, at that very moment, my brain chooses to show me a mental snapshot of Tom laughing.

‘You wanna come with us?’ Jack asks me, jerking his head in their direction while simultaneously jerking my focus back to him.

‘Sure.’ I’m leaving soon, and how many Hollywood parties am I likely to be invited to? I’d be stupid for not making the most of tonight. Jack is super-cute, and it’s not like Tom and I are even going out.

I follow him over to the group. The girl I noticed earlier shifts on her feet, but shoots daggers at me.

‘Hey guys, this is Jessie.’ Jack introduces me, then points to each of his friends. ‘Morgan, Miles, Bryony and Lissa.’

They all say hi – some more enthusiastically than others. Morgan is tall and skinny with short dark-blond hair and scuffed blue jeans, Miles is a bit shorter and broader with dark hair dyed orange at the tips – he’s dressed all in black – and Bryony is my height with medium-length dark hair. Lissa, the blonde one, barely even meets my eye. The girls are wearing expensive-looking dresses, which makes me feel better about my outfit, especially because the boys are pretty scruffy.

‘Take your time,’ Lissa says moodily to Jack.

‘You don’t have to babysit me, darlin’. I would have met y’all over there,’ Jack replies in a fake country accent. Lissa huffs. ‘So what’s your story?’ he asks me in his normal voice as we walk on. ‘Who are you here with?’

‘My . . .’ I almost say ‘my dad’, but I catch myself just in time. ‘Just some people who know Michael.’ I force myself to say Michael and not Michael Tremway so I don’t sound completely clueless.

‘Are you an actress?’ Lissa asks over her shoulder, in a slightly condescending way.

I throw my head back and laugh. ‘Hell, no.’ She looks even more put out as Jack smirks.

‘What about you?’ I ask him. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Oh, my dad knows Mike.’

Mike, not Michael. Bugger. I didn’t sound as clued up as I had intended.

‘How long are you in LA?’ he asks as we reach the helter-skelter.

‘Just until the day after tomorrow,’ I reply, as he passes me a mat to use on the giant slide.

‘What a shame,’ Lissa comments cattily, her disposition visibly improving.

‘Chill out, Lissa,’ Jack snaps. She stomps up the stairs huffily in front of us. We follow her to find a short queue at the top.

‘Excuse me!’ I move to one side as someone pushes past me, then I see who it is.

‘It’s the pushy old lady from the dodgems!’ I tug on Jack’s arm and we look after her with astonishment.

‘Who are you calling an old lady?’ she shouts angrily over her shoulder.

Shit, she heard me! I clap my hand over my mouth.

‘I’m forty-nine!’ she yells at the top of her voice as she shoves her way to the top.

Jack and I glance at each other and crack up laughing. The sound of her squealing as she rides down the slide only makes us laugh harder.

I’m still giggling when I come down the slide myself, and even the sight of Lissa whispering to Bryony at the bottom doesn’t wipe the smile from my face. Jack is behind me anyway, so I turn around to wait for him.

‘I wouldn’t get too close to him if I were you.’ I glance over my shoulder to see Lissa and Bryony have edged forward, but it’s Bryony, not Lissa, who spoke.

I raise one eyebrow. ‘Is he trouble?’ I’m being completely sarcastic, but it’s lost on them.

‘Yeah,’ they both reply in all seriousness.

‘OK. I’ll keep that in mind tonight.’ As if I’m going to fall for him in the next few hours. I roll my eyes and turn back in time to see Jack whizz down the slide. Trouble or not, he’s hot.

‘Are you sure we don’t know each other?’ he asks again as he walks over to me.

‘Trust me, if I knew you, I’d remember you.’ I can’t believe I said that without blushing.

He chuckles and shakes his head. ‘You really remind me of someone.’

And then it hits me. Does he mean Johnny?

‘What?’ he asks because I must’ve looked a bit on edge.

‘Nothing,’ I brush him off.

‘Come on.’ He touches his hand lightly to my back and a shiver goes down my spine. ‘Catch you later,’ he calls back to his pals.

Taylor Swift’s ‘I Knew You Were Trouble’ starts to play out of the speakers and it’s everything I can do not to laugh out loud. Maybe Taylor’s trying to tell me something.

Jack digs his hand into his pocket as we walk, pulling out a crumpled packet of cigarettes. He nods up ahead. ‘Let’s go around the back. The music’s better.’

‘You don’t like Swifty? I prefer indie rock myself, but you can’t deny a catchy tune when you hear one.’

‘My little sis is obsessed. But there’s only so much Taylor Swift a guy can take.’ He pauses and offers me a cigarette. I’m semi-tempted, but I decline. I don’t really need one and I’m sure Meg and Johnny wouldn’t approve.

‘I bet Harry Styles would agree with you.’

‘Who?’ he asks through a trail of smoke as we keep walking.

‘Harry Styles from One Direction. He went out with her.’

‘Oh, them.’ He glances at me. ‘Now it’s all coming out. I thought you liked good music like the Wombats.’

‘I do!’ I exclaim. ‘Anyway, you’re the one with a Zayn Malik comic-book tattoo.’ I grab his wrist and twist his arm so his tattoo is on show. ‘He’s got one like this, only his says ZAP!