The Reluctant Celebrity (3 page)

‘Say
goodbye, Max,’ Rich said.

‘Goodbye
Max,’ she responded without thinking.

‘I
was talking to him,’ Rich corrected with another amused grin, nodding his head
towards Max’s panting body.

‘Right,
bye then.’ Jules turned towards the guesthouse to hide her flaming cheeks.  

As
she stepped into the quiet house Jules caught sight of her appearance in the
brass hallway mirror and gasped in horror. Max had left more than just mud and
drool on her already red face. She had what appeared to be clumps of dried
green snot on either cheek. With that and the frizzy damp hair and yesterday’s
smudged mascara she looked liked she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards
and sneezed on by Shrek. What must Rich have thought? Jules cringed.

 Shaking
her head at her own pathetic reflection, Jules forced thoughts of the tall
blond stranger from her mind. The only thing she wanted to concentrate on was a
hot shower and a hole in her ceiling, she reminded herself.

MONDAY,
FEBRUARY 17
^TH
 

WHEREFORE ART THOU JULIET?

We
at
The Daily
are not ones to stand in the way of star-crossed lovers and
judging by the overwhelming response from our readers after model turned singer
Guy Rawson exclusively revealed that he was still deeply “in love” with his ex,
Juliet Stewart, neither is Britain.

So
with the UK still firmly in the grip of winter blues, we hope to bring some
early sunshine and help true love along the way with our brand spanking new
campaign, Wherefore art thou Juliet?

Come
on folks we need your help to reunite Britain’s hunkiest man and his beautiful
muse, Juliet, the girl responsible for his chart topping single ‘Regret’, which
hit number one in Sunday’s chart show.

If
you have a story to share about our love struck pair then contact Sara-Marie
Francis on 0800 559 119, [email protected] NOW!

And
just in case you need another reason to get involved, here’s what Paul Atkins,
a close friend of the pair during their days at Loughborough University, said:
“Guy and Juliet were so much fun. The three of us were always out on the town
having a laugh. They really were the perfect couple, always together and the
happiest people I knew…it’s tragic, we all thought they’d be together forever.’

Left:
The couple in happier times just months before they split.

Guy
threw his body onto the giant leather sofa, feeling at ease among the mess of
brightly coloured toys littering his sister’s North London terrace house.

‘Nuncle
Gy,’ a tiny voice shrieked from the doorway.

The
sight of his nephew sent a wave of love spiralling though him for the tiny
blonde bundle tottering towards him. ‘Sam the man. Come give me a hug.’

‘Gy,
nucle Gay.’

Sam
stretched his stubby arms above his head as he reached the sofa, letting out a
squeal of delight as Guy lifted him high in the air before resting him with
care on the edge of his knees.

 ‘Un-cle
G-u-y,’ he prompted, sounding out the letters of his name.

‘Nuncle
Gay,’ Sam yelled, ignoring his uncle’s pronunciation lesson as Debbie shuffled
her round pregnant belly into the room, balancing two steaming mugs, a bottle
of Sam’s milk and a plate of chocolate Hobnobs in her hands.

‘Sammy,’
Debbie laughed, side stepping a yellow duck waddling its way musically across
the living room.

‘I
bet you taught him to say that,’ Guy accused his older sister with a grin as he
set Sam’s wriggling body to the floor.

‘Guy,
he’s 18-months old, he is getting everyone’s names wrong, yours just happens to
be funny,’ Debbie teased, ignoring Guy’s frown.  

‘Yeah
right.’ Guy took the hot coffee cup from his sister. ‘Ever heard of this great
new invention called a tray?’ he joked.

‘Ever
heard of washing? You smell as bad as Sam’s nappies,’ she retorted with a grin.

Guy
looked down at yesterday’s Levi’s and dirty black t-shirt. Debbie was right, he
did smell. Why hadn’t he stopped to grab a shower and some fresh clothes after
the early call from his publicist?

His
local Primrose Hill newsagent had hardly been in danger of selling out of the
damn thing. His ‘daddy’s trust fund’ neighbours as likely to leave the house
before 8am, as they were to shop anywhere off Knightsbridge.

‘Sorry
Sis,’ he replied with a shrug.

‘Oh
Guy I have to tell you something,’ Debbie began, waving the plastic milk bottle
towards Sam.

‘Ta,’
she said, as he gripped the container with both hands and plodded towards the
television at the end of the room. ‘The other day it was so funny, we were
watching TV with Carl’s parents and that clothes advert you’re still in came
on. I didn’t realise how much Sam could pick up, but he started jumping up and
down shouting “gay gay gay,” honestly I thought I was going to wet myself.
Although I feel like that most days,’ she smiled resting one hand on her bump
as she dropped to the other end of the sofa. 

‘Now,’
she began, between mouthfuls of Hobnob, ‘What brings you here so early? Sam’s
not even had his nap yet?’

‘Nap?
It’s barely nine.’

‘You
try getting up at five every morning and see how you feel by this time. Now
don’t avoid my questions, I’m your big sister and I can tell when something’s
wrong.’

Guy
sighed and unravelled the newspaper from its previously twisted position in his
fist.

‘It’s
this.’

Despite
the creases, Guy watched his sister’s eyes fall straight to the double E cups
of the red head sprawled across the page.

‘Oh
dear,’ she said after swallowing the remainder of the Hobnob.

‘Bloody
hell! Not that, this, this is what I’m talking about.’ Guy jabbed his finger at
the story on the opposite page to the half-naked girl, causing a dark splash of
coffee to burn through his jeans.

‘Guy,’
Debbie hissed nodding her head in the direction of Sam, his gaze unfaltering
from the television screen and the episode of Peppa Pig he was watching with
trance like interest.  

‘Shhi…Sorry,
I always forget,’ he whispered, rubbing his hand across the scolding damp patch
on his thigh.

Guy
watched his sister scan the article between loud slurps of a red coloured tea.
She had the same high cheekbones and dark eyes, but the features which had
earned him a small fortune in modelling contracts were drawn and weary on his
older sister. Until the same crooked smile lit up her face that was.

 ‘Why
are you smiling?’  Guy asked, failing to see even the slightest amount of humour
in the story which had jolted him from his sleep like a cattle prod to the
head.

‘Because
this is typical you, totally overreacting. You are such a drama queen.’

‘How,’
he cried out. ‘How am I overreacting?’ Guy took a breath. Ever since he could
talk Debbie had been able to make his voice rise to the pitch of a 12-year old
choirboy. ‘I don’t even know anyone called Paul, or where the hell they got
this photo from,’ Guy added, staring at the picture of him and Juliet lounging
in the sun during their final summer together. It seemed a million years ago
now.

Guy
tried unsuccessfully to push away the memories poking at the edge of his
mind.  

‘What’s
the big deal, it says here you got to number one, and congratulations by the
way,’ Debbie touched his arm, ‘but other than that, it’s not even about you.’

‘That’s
the point, Debs. It’s about Juliet.’

‘Well
have you phoned her to see if she’s okay?’

‘Come
off it. We haven’t spoken in five years and I’m just supposed to pick up the
phone and dial a random number on the off chance it’s hers? I have no idea how
to contact her. I wouldn’t know where to begin anyway. I still can’t believe
what an idiot I was for telling that journalist about her in the first place.
Does off the record not count for anything?’

‘Exactly
my point.’

Guy
let his head fall against the soft cushioning of the headrest and closed his
eyes. ‘I’m sorry, what is your point?’ he mumbled, not liking the direction the
conversation seemed to be taking.

‘For
goodness sake, there have been hundreds of stories printed about you, most of
which have been total rubbish and you’ve always shrugged them off or had a good
laugh about it. Why are you letting this one get to you? Surely the extra
publicity is helping to sell your music?’ 

‘You
sound like Sonja. She acted like it was a lottery win when the first story came
out, “you can’t buy publicity like this”’ he added, replacing his faded South
Yorkshire tones with the mimicked squeak of his high-strung publicist.

‘So
you expect me to believe that you just happen to reveal some juicy details
about a relationship which you never talk about to anyone let alone to a
complete stranger just as your new career is taking off? A bit of a coincidence
don’t you think?’

‘What?
How can you even suggest…’ Guy let out a deep sigh, rubbing his hand against
the sandpaper of his day old dark stumble. It tickled against the coarse edges
of his fingertips, dry and rough from so many hours spent plucking the strings
of his guitar. 

He
tried again to explain, ‘Look it was an accident okay? We were in my flat, just
me and the journalist. The interview was over. We were sifting through photos
of my old playing days and one of Juliet cropped up. I should have just said
she was an old friend, but something about seeing her face again, it sparked
something in my stupid head and I just started blabbing. She stole the picture
too. I mean how rude is that?’

Debbie
paused for a moment, sniffing the air. ‘If you’ll excuse me, there is now a
worse smell in the air than you.’ She pushed herself to her feet, resting a
hand against the small of her back and letting out an exhausted sigh. 

‘Come
on Sammy, let’s get that nappy changed and have a little nap, and then mummy
will take you to see the ducks.’

 ‘Duck,’
Sam repeated allowing Debbie to guide his tired legs towards the door.

‘Oh right, so he can say duck perfectly but he can’t
say Guy,’ he mumbled, unable to conceal a smile at Sam’s quacking noises.

At the door, Debbie turned back to the sofa, ‘Just one
other thing - if this wasn’t just a stunt then did you mean what you said?’

‘I…err…’ Guy spluttered, their eyes locking as
Debbie’s eyebrows shot to the middle of her forehead. 

‘I’ll let you think about that one shall I?’ she cut
in, leaving Guy alone with her question still ringing in his ears.

Did he mean it?

The emotions had felt real enough when he’d spoken
about them to that bloody journalist. But every time he tried to conjure the
same feelings it left his stomach in knots; hardly the most concrete
declaration of love, he conceded running his hand over the short spikes of his
dark brown hair.

Whatever
his feelings, he knew they had started long before the interview. Ever since
the modelling contracts had began to leave him feeling hollow and pathetic.
Ever since he’d dusted off his old guitar and started strumming his fingers
against the strings for the first time in years.

Something
in him had changed. The same something that had finally driven him to walk away
from modelling and start singing again. It had unlocked him. As if he had been in
a long coma; only to wake up and find the world had turned upside down. He
hadn’t recognised the pampered reflection staring back at him from the mirror.

But
even after the unexpected success of his first single and the feeling that he
had finally began living his dream, a part of him still felt missing.

A
number one single – he should be jumping from the walls, but instead he felt
unfazed, numb even.

Whatever
Juliet had to do with his feelings, he didn’t know, but day after day he
couldn’t stop the memories and the feelings from creeping back.

Guy
swallowed hard. Unleashing his emotions into the lyrics of his songs detached
them somehow. Admitting them in the bright morning light left nothing to hide
behind.   

‘Right,’
Debbie said, dragging Guy’s thoughts back into the room. ‘‘I have exactly sixty
minutes before Sam’s batteries recharge to max. Have you got an answer?’ Her
movements were similar to the waddling yellow duck as she dropped back to the
sofa, lifting her feet onto the glass coffee table.

Guy
turned his head towards her, noticing again the dark circles under her eyes and
the grey sheen covering her usually rosy cheeks. ‘Hey.’ He reached out for her
hand feeling suddenly protective. ‘Are you okay Sis?’

She
met his gaze with a weak smile. ‘You’re avoiding my question.’

‘No,
I’m serious, are you okay? Do you want me to take Sam out today, give you a
chance to have a break?’

‘Thanks
but I’m fine, honestly. It’s just the usual pregnancy tiredness and chasing
after a toddler all day and most of the night. But Carl has been running around
after me like a guide dog for the blind so I can’t complain. Ask me again next
week and I’ll take you up on your offer.’

‘Any
time. I mean it.’

Guy
continued to stare with a growing concern at his sister. At four years older,
she had always looked out for him.  Guy had been too young to remember when
their parents had died in a car accident, but Debbie hadn’t. Putting her grief
aside she had looked after him. Reading to him late at night when he couldn’t
sleep and staying with him whenever he had nightmares.

They’d
been lucky. Their aunt and uncle had given them a happy childhood in Doncaster,
but Debbie had never stopped mothering him. Now the years of worry were written
across her face.  

When
she’d met Carl three years earlier at a conference, Guy had been a little
sceptical about their relationship. Carl was a nice guy; the reliable type, but
hardly the most exciting man in the world. It had taken Guy a while to
understand that Debbie liked that about Carl: the stability and the
unquestionable love that they had for each other.