Unbind (17 page)

Claudia’s arms were always bound—she couldn’t escape her prison even if she wanted to. Cai knew these were games that most other adults didn’t play because having spoken to Jackie, she said she never heard her parents ‘doing the nasty’. In fact they often took weekends away while her grandparents took over the house for a few days.

If Cai didn’t have his link to the outside world, he knew he would go crazy. It had only been Jackie that soothed what he’d thought all along—his parents weren’t in love, but they were somehow dependent on one another. Jackie’s parents were in love, so it seemed, and she often described what it was like—they made dinner together, talked around the table with their children, cuddled and kissed in public, made each other laugh.

Some part of Cai wished he weren’t his father’s child, yet the resemblance between them was uncanny. Still, he liked to imagine it wasn’t true.

When the games took place, and the noises rang out into the night, there was only one thing going through Cai’s mind:
Why does my mother enjoy it so much
? That was something he just couldn’t comprehend. Being locked up… watching horrible scenes…  he didn’t understand it.

Cai knew that this game went on most nights—Philippe having sex with other women. The only occasions it didn’t happen were those times when his mother was painting. You see when she painted, she disappeared for days at a time, never emerging the same again. Never having managed a dot of work.

When she was watching Philippe, however… she was happy. Maybe even, at one.

MY HEADSET ON, I held my hands together in front of me at my desk. The air-con bust, we had every window in the place open. I was seriously considering stripping and knew several others would join in if I did. August in London was sticky, close and uncomfortable even in a Hawaiian maxi dress.

“I know it is a stretch Michael, but you would be helping me out massively. Can you get me confirmation on that ASAP? I mean, only if you’re able to?”

“Sure, sure, I’ll do it,” the guy representing some pop star I was writing up replied.

“It’d be really great to get this in the columns before end of play, you know? It’d look really great for your client. If you just wing that email to me… I can send this off.”

“Yeah, yeah Chloe. I gotcha.”

“Awww, you’re a love.”
Get.me.the.friggin’.info
. Seriously, PR were a nightmare on hot days when nobody could think straight!

He hung up without a goodbye but I didn’t move onto another task. I rested my head back against my chair and tried to breathe some cool air up my own face. It wasn’t working. Neither were any of the fans dotted around because there was only warm air to move.

On the screens in front of me, I had several different applications running at speed. Twitter. Facebook. Digital Spy. Other (unmentionable) rival company websites. I watched the world from my desk most days, waiting for the news to come in, to get confirmation from whatever source I could, before filing the article and loading it to the newswire. The most stressful, tiring days were the ones when a big star died or something. That was all hands on deck.

So… a few months had passed since Cai…

I gave myself a good talking to and decided I’d got my whole ethos wrong—I wasn’t doing London right at all! Most importantly, I wasn’t doing myself any justice either. I realised I did need to focus on the job for a bit and really give myself a chance.

I not only got through the probation with flying colours, but at the end of it I was promoted to
Senior Content Coordinator.
It meant that I basically got shit done. People liked to throw titles like that around, but I wasn’t complaining because it had gotten me a little pay rise.

“Fucking hell I am soaking this chair,” I moaned at Jasinder, the girl sat opposite me. I now had a bigger desk with multiple screens and a small TV too.

She was our resident
Senior Editorial Coordinator
and we shared a double desk unit, away from the others sat at the longer bank nearby. Whatever the hell her title meant exactly, I don’t think even she knew. Writers just tossed stuff at her, and she just edited the hell out of it all and sent it off.

“I can’t even fake the fag breaks to get out of here,” she whined through clenched lips, “even I’m not that much of a chimney!”

That made me laugh.

“Shall we go to the Tesco Metro and hang out in the frozen section?”

We tittered. She’d become a really good friend, actually. She had been really quiet before I got my hands on her, rattled her shell, and somehow got her out of tweed skirts and into leggings and tunics. She was a talented editor, I was a talented gatherer and herder.

I watched my email inbox and Michael’s confirmation dropped in. I got to work writing up this piece about a pop star making off to Vegas to find his true love and marry her all in the same night. It was some reality crap… don’t ask.

One thing I’d always been sure of was that celebrities weren’t any different to us normal human beings. What I had learned in my job was that the way we wrote about celebrities was much more complex than the way we wrote about ordinary citizens.

I worked for a company that was so unbiased, all we could do was present
the facts
. As in, what we knew to be categorically true. It was what made us so respected. Anything else was a big
no-no
. Getting those hard facts wasn’t always easy but I didn’t skirt around any issues and people knew it.

I guess people came to know me as a social butterfly. A crass, filthy-mouthed northern bird who got the job done, in a somewhat uncouth manner. In truth, I made all their lives easier. I was on the pulse and shouldered a lot of responsibility, often taking calls from awkward PR people or agents out to sell us some crap story just to get their star some airspace. I’d quickly gotten to know the game and the old-timers like Ash and Trev were grateful of new blood not bothered about being proactive. I just knew I didn’t have time for shirking, messing around, waiting for some drongo to push a pen so we could push ours. I had learned to enjoy challenge and responsibility.

I embraced my
real
London life and every night it was something different. A play. Stand-up. A festival, carnival. Shopping trip. A gallery opening. A new brand launch. Book launch. Beer launch (definitely there!). You name it, if someone invited me, I was there. If it was free, great! If not, I’d try and flash my Press card to get myself straight in.

My job took all my waking hours. I’d gotten myself established fairly early on, after Klaus took me for lunch with some people from the BBC and reassured them I was someone to watch. What bull, but it seemed to work and I got myself a couple of friendly contacts that day.

I stayed late every night, until at least six p.m. That was after getting in at eight a.m. Even after my heavy nights, I’d still turn up. Be dolled up. Ready for action.

Don’t get me wrong, I thought of Cai often. Most probably every day. Even all of the guys I’d screwed in the past combined didn’t take up nearly as much headspace as Cai did. In all my time in London, I hadn’t let one cock near me. Not one. I went to bed every night exhausted but my last thought before I shut my eyes was always him. The way he held my hand or stroked my hair, kissed me, touched me.

I missed the chance he represented and wondered whether that was why he hadn’t left my thoughts. For some reason I didn’t feel the need to make myself ill over it—I just kept hoping he’d one day walk back through those doors—one day we’d get another chance. In my heart, something told me it wasn’t over.

So when an opportunity was thrown my way, I didn’t pass it up. What did I have to think about? I might have even jumped for joy.

“It’s just for a week but it could lead to something more. They’re considering expanding our New York office so I think you’d definitely be one of those considered for a transfer… after all you don’t have any ties here.”

Those were Ash’s words one Monday morning. (He was a little insensitive about the no-ties thing, I know.)

“Will I be doing the same work, just overseas? Just like I have been here, but… out there?”

“Um, well, it’s not as simple as that,” he tapped a finger on the desk top between us. “New York is much different… it’d be more of a challenge, that’s for sure.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know if I wanted to know more about that. Sounded scary. For months I’d been telling myself to face whatever crept up, not turn my back—but New York was like another planet. Still, I would do it. I’d go. I was resolved.

“When do I leave?” I smiled at Ash.

For some reason, he seemed beyond happy to be rid of me for a week while I went out to the US with Trevor and a few others helping to ascertain whether expansion there was possible.

“Friday. Is that workable? I know it’s last minute but someone just dropped out.” I caught a sneaky look at Jas and she sat there with her head buried in something.
Sneaky bitch.
I knew as my senior, she should have been the one going. “Anyway you’ll have the weekend to get established, ready for a busy week ahead. You’ll fly back the following Friday night after that.”

“Flights? Accommodation?”

“All taken care of.”

He left me there at my desk and I shouted at his back, “This is no joke?”

“Nope!” he said, even though he was still walking away. “If you’ve got a passport… then you’re good to go.”

It was good… I was always a hopeful, prepared dreamer.

Whether Cai was even in New York was one thing. Whether he wanted to see me, another.

I walked to Notting Hill that evening, through the crowded parks full of summertime revellers. It was to meet Kayla in the Italian, but just for a drink. I hadn’t seen her since that day I’d told her I thought she should leave Rob. However, with my impending New York trip, something told me to touch base with her.

We eyed one another awkwardly over two glasses of Shiraz, a bottle still half-full beside us. Cheaper than a glass each.

“How’s you?” She asked with a struggling smile.

“Fine. You?”

“Fine.”

I just had to come out with it. “I’m flying to New York soon. It could lead to work there, I dunno… I thought you should know,” I hastily added and she looked wrecked at the news. “Plus, well, god I miss you.”

Her hand flew across the table to hold mine and she started shaking all over. A big, ugly tear roamed down her face and I fanned a napkin in front of her. Her crying made me feel awkward and uncomfortable.

“Sorry,” she spluttered, her eyes rolling, her nose streaming. She couldn’t help herself.

“How are you? Really?” I began tentatively.

She bit her lip and I sensed there was something going on with her. She seemed tired and more haggard than usual and she hadn’t made as much of an effort with her hair and make-up.

“You were right,” her lip trembled, her voice breaking, “he was a snake.”

It broke my heart to see her like that. It did. “Start from the beginning.”

She looked relieved to have someone to tell it to. Long story short, she couldn’t forget my words and refused to move in with him so he said they should cool it a while. She thought that was just one of their normal timeout periods and he would return.

This time he didn’t. When she went looking for him, she found him in a pub one night, his hand down someone else’s bra in the bathroom.

I wanted to tell Kay none of that surprised me. “He was a wanker, we know that without a doubt. That’s all there is to it. There’s a line drawn under that now. What you need to look at is why you kept going back, why it still seems like you love him. Cos you do, I see it in your eyes. You’re pining for him.”

“I am,” she huffed, her demeanour so sad.

“It wasn’t love, Kay. You’d know love if it hit you. Trust me.”

“How would you know?” Her eyes were fixed on me now, trying to read me.

“A guy,” I began, and her eyes widened. I hid my red cheeks behind my hands, though even just the thought of him transformed my face. “He came into my life and rocked my foundations. I just let him get away. Don’t know how to get in touch with him.”