Vanity (39 page)

‘Oooh, we're on his tail, we're gonna get him,' she now shouted with glee.

‘You do realize, Pops,' said Bella, ‘that there's absolutely no fucking way we'd have found him without Lars's brilliant phone-tracking thing?'

Poppy turned around in the passenger seat and stuck her tongue out.

‘Piss off, Palin.' Then she slumped back against the seat. ‘Yeah, I know. Even though I
knew
what route he'd take –
I did know that, Belles
, you've got to give me that? – it might have been a bit “needle, let me introduce you to haystack”.'

Bella laughed and stretched out her arm to squeeze Poppy's shoulder.

‘No worries, lovey, that's all hypothetical now, isn't it? We're nearly there now.'

Lars looked at Bella again from his rear-view mirror and smiled.

It had been touch and go at times, but it seemed like the girls' friendship was back on track.

‘I cannot stand talking to him a moment longer,' said the formerly chatty barman. ‘Jeez, I feel like I know his beautiful blonde wife better than I know my own.'

‘No worries.' Pablo grinned from behind his enormous moustache. ‘I have brought in a distraction. If my little niece Juanita does not distract him, then the man is beyond hope.' He staggered slightly and wheedled, ‘Tequila, please, amigo?'

On cue, Juanita slinked into La Hacienda, turning every male head in the joint. At the grand old age of 19, she had been fully aware of her effect on the opposite sex for at least three years, and dressed to accentuate her youthful attributes in tiny denim miniskirts and strappy vest tops that showed off her slender dusky limbs and bouncing bosom. Shiny black hair snaked all the way down to her waist and large dark eyes sparkled with mischief in a heart-shaped face.

Following her uncle's instructions, she danced over to where Damian was sitting, and slumped against the bar. Giggling and talking incessantly, she climbed up onto his lap, as he tried to work out what the fuck she was on about.

‘Ayayayayayayayy!' she finished, tossing back her black shiny mane and laughing up into his face.

‘Ayayayayayyayay, to you too!' he eventually managed, laughing back at her.
Fucking hell, she's gorgeous
,
he thought, as she snuggled up to him like a playful little kitten, practically purring as she writhed about on his lap.

Thanks (partly) to his dark good looks, Damian hadn't been short of female attention during the course of his road trip, but he had been too caught up in his self-pitying melancholy to take any of the various hookers and good-time girls up on their offers. Besides, he'd have lost the moral high ground. Even if Poppy never knew, he knew that
he
would know, and that would pretty much nullify his enormously high dudgeon.

But he was starting to get just a teensy bit bored with high dudgeon.

‘
Cómo te llamas?
What is your name, handsome man? Your skin, it is the same colour like mine …'

The gorgeous little thing put her arm against Damian's, and he realized, with a moment of what felt like clarity, but was probably just lust, that she was right. He had always liked the contrast of his skin against Poppy's, but maybe that was stupid; maybe it was time for him to be with somebody whose skin resembled his own …

As they drove downhill into Albuquerque, Poppy, Bella and Lars belted out the words to ‘Route 66'. What they lacked in harmony, they made up for in enthusiasm and volume.

In the last couple of hours they had passed canyons and mountains, Native American pueblos, strange roadside sculptures and cactus after cactus after cactus, all bathed in a rich golden light. The excitement in the car now was at an all-time high as they approached the city, which glittered with promise in the early evening dusk.

‘We're going to follow GoogleMaps straight to the bar, right?' said Bella. ‘I must say I'm intrigued to see this place where Damian's been spending so much time.'
Shit, I hope it's not a brothel
,
she thought suddenly, then banished the thought as quickly as it had entered her head. No, Damian wasn't like that.

They drove on until they reached the Old Town – a charming, bustling area full of pueblo-style buildings housing cafés, shops and galleries with window displays of Native American jewellery, rugs, pottery and sand paintings.

‘Oooh, I like it,' said Poppy. ‘Bit of a hippy-Ibiza vibe.'

‘Yeah, me too,' said Bella, smiling. ‘No wonder Damian seems to have taken up residence. It would be nice to stay on a few days once we've found him – though of course, we'll give you both a bit of privacy, Pops. Promise not to dog your every move …'

‘Don't be silly. I'm so grateful to you – both …' Poppy looked around at her companions, her eyes shining with unshed tears. ‘I'm not going to abandon my partners in crime just because I've found my stupid bloody husband …'

‘Let's play it by ear, huh?' said Lars mildly.

They continued to follow the map on Lars's phone, leaving the charming Old Town and entering a significantly grottier area.

‘Might have guessed,' muttered Poppy.

At last, they drew up outside La Hacienda, a building for whom the word ‘unprepossessing' would have been outrageous flattery. All of its windows were blacked out and its sign was hanging at what might have been a rakish angle, had it not been obvious that this was due to neglect, rather than design.

‘OK, here we go,' said Poppy, visibly steeling herself for what she might find within.

‘We're right behind you, Pops,' said Bella, giving her a brief squeeze from behind and kissing the top of her head.

They entered the bar, and everything went quiet.

‘Shit, that's her!' whispered the barman to Pablo. ‘I bet you ten dollars that's his beautiful blonde wife.'

The only man in the whole bar who hadn't looked up at their entrance was Damian, who was indulging in an incredibly enjoyable snogging marathon with little Juanita in a corner. As Poppy clocked them, an extraordinary sound came out of her mouth and she ran over to them as fast as her feet would carry her.

‘Get your hands off my husband, you fucking tart!' she screamed, prising them apart with her surprisingly strong small hands.

‘You owe me ten dollars,' said the barman to Pablo.

‘Qué?' asked Juanita, bemused.

‘What the fuck …' said Damian. ‘
Poppy
?' He looked at her through bloodshot and crossed eyes and Poppy burst into tears.

‘You bloody idiot drunk,' she sobbed. ‘Do you have any
idea
how worried I've been about you?'

Juanita, looking quickly at them both, realized it would be in everybody's best interests for her to bugger off.

‘Adios!' She gave a little wave, then jumped off Damian's lap and ran, nimbly, out of the bar. Tio Pablo owed her one. Big time.

‘I did nothing with Ben,' said Poppy, standing with her hands on her hips, tears streaming down her face. ‘Or Jack bloody Meadows. Why didn't you listen to my messages, you dickhead? I could have explained everything. But no, you had to go running off like some bloody prima-donna drama queen, switching your phone off, scaring us all shitless. If it wasn't for Lars, we'd never have been able to find you …'

Lars?
Hazily, Damian saw that his enormous Swedish friend was standing near the entrance of the bar. And was that
Bella
with him?

‘Poppy …' he started, trying not to slur.

‘When are you going to get it into your thick head that I love you?'

‘Ahhh,' said the assembled drunks. Poppy glared at them over her shoulder.

Looking at her angry, tearful face, and realizing how much he had missed her, Damian stretched out his arms.

‘I love you too.'

‘God, bloody bad timing,' Bella muttered to Lars. ‘Poor Pops, to have seen him snogging that girl, quite so – um – enthusiastically.' She grimaced. ‘Pretty cool of her not even to have mentioned it though. I'd have been absolutely distraught. Livid too,' she added, as an afterthought.

‘Yes, she is a clever girl, not to show she is bothered by the indiscretion.' Lars was smiling slightly. ‘But I think that from now on, this marriage will be conducted on more of an equal footing.'

Bella laughed.

‘You really are a wise old sage, aren't you? Thanks for everything this last week, Lars, you've been wonderful. Love you loads!'

Lars embraced her in an enormous, manly hug.

‘Love you loads too.' He was feeling a little sad that their adventure was over. It had been nice to feel wanted and appreciated once more – even if it had only been for his phone. And he had come to love these two girls – though only in the most honourable of ways, of course. He pulled himself together. Poppy had found Damian – that was the most important thing.

‘And after all that, kiddo …' He smiled at Bella. ‘I think we deserve a drink.'

Sam was happy to be home. Yesterday, she had helped her mum do the Christmas tree, as they listened to Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole and Slade. Little Ryan had made it difficult, of course, but he had been so sweet, proffering his homemade decorations and clapping with glee every time Sam had hung one of them onto a branch, that nobody had had the heart to be cross with him. Even when he'd had one of his ‘episodes' and hurled himself at the tree, screaming, trying to bring it down to the ground.

Resigned, Sam and her mum had started picking up the decorations that had fallen onto the pine needles the tree had already shed, as her dad had taken Ryan upstairs for his medication.

‘It's great to have you back, love.'

‘Oh, Mum, I can't tell you how great it is to be home.' Sam meant it.

After the Flaming Geysers had been signed by Pistol Records, they had been dispatched on tour almost immediately, so Sam had been rattling around the house in Dalston on her own for most of the term. Of course she'd had nights out with Sienna, and spent several evenings at her luxurious new flat in Notting Hill, but Notting Hill was a long way from Dalston, and it had been pretty lonely, really. She had only ventured into college for lectures, seminars and tutorials, steering clear of the Student Union, canteen and bar. Still, she had taken advantage of the solitude at the Crack Den to throw herself into her work, and as a result was getting better grades than ever, and more and more enthusiastic praise from her tutors.

The Flaming Geysers were gaining in fame and popularity by the day, and Dan and Carlota da Silva were rarely out of the tabloids and gossip columns. They made a ridiculously glamorous couple – the rock star and the supermodel – and Sam tried to ignore the pain she felt whenever she saw a picture of them together. She knew it was her fault for blowing it with Dan – she had turned him down twice, after all. Anyway, it was far better for his image to be seen with a supermodel than with her.

Mark had called her earlier that day, and she had been surprised by how little pain she had felt in hearing
his
voice.

‘Um. I want to say sorry,' he had said hesitantly. ‘I was an idiot, I know that now. I miss you, Sam. I miss you like hell. Will you please give me another chance?'

Sam, lonely and sad about Dan, wavered for a second. But then she recalled the photos of Karolina Kristova that had made her feel so crap about herself.

‘No, Marky, I'm sorry, I can't.' She could hear the steel in her own voice and it spurred her on. ‘I can never trust you again. That girl … that … porn star tart could have been one of hundreds. Even if she was the first, she certainly wouldn't be the last. There are too many temptations in your job, and I can't live like that. I've got to get on with my own life, I've got to concentrate on my studies and get my degree. I can't be constantly wondering what you're getting up to. I don't want there to be any hard feelings, and I hope you have a nice life, but your life isn't the one for me. Happy Christmas!'

She had done a little dance as she hung up on him, knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, that she'd done the right thing.

Now she looked at the familiar view out of her old bedroom window and smiled. It was starting to snow, and she was starting to feel all warm and festive, despite the constant dull ache in her heart about Dan and Carlota. At a quarter to four, it was nearly dark and she could see the trees in people's windows twinkling merrily all the way down the suburban street.

As she gazed out, watching the snow falling faster now, the flakes fat and fluffy in the street lights, she saw somebody, a man in leathers, roaring down the road on a motorbike.
It definitely wasn't a pizza delivery, or anything like that – this was an extremely expensive and cool-looking vehicle. It drew up in front of her house, and its tall, leather-clad rider dismounted. As he removed his helmet, Sam realized, with a shock of excitement, that it was Dan.

A couple of seconds later, the doorbell rang, and Sam's mum called up the stairs, ‘Sam, love, you've got a visitor.'

‘I'll be right down!' she shouted. She quickly checked her appearance in the mirror attached to her old Barbie pink dressing table. She was dressed comfortably in jeans, Ugg boots and a white zip-up fleece, with her dark red hair tied back in a ponytail. She looked incredibly pretty and fresh-faced, though she didn't see it quite like that herself. Oh, well, she was no competition for a supermodel, anyway. She wondered what Dan wanted.

He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, tall and dark and gorgeous in his leathers, holding his motorbike helmet in his right hand.

‘Hi, Sambo.' He smiled into her eyes and her heart started to beat quickly, the way it always did when he smiled at her like that. She couldn't believe how sexy he looked, and made her feel.