I'll Be Home For Christmas Read online

  Now, I can be – how do I phrase this politely? – a bit on the slow side occasionally. My family have told me that I’m too gullible. Too trusting. That I always see the good side of people, even when they don’t have one. My brother Luke has a theory that I’d invite Jack the Ripper into the house for a cup of tea if he looked like he needed cheering up.

  But even I had to face facts: there was something going on here, and it wasn’t going to be something I liked.

  ‘Come in, please,’ said Vogue, gesturing to me to sit next to her. I could tell from her body language that she was tense and upset, which is unusual – she’s mostly astonishingly laid-back.

  I couldn’t bring myself to sit on the couch where he’d been sitting, so instead pulled a chair round from behind her desk.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked, tapping my toes on the wooden floor. I was obviously pretty tense and upset as well. It was like a virus – and Jack Duncan was Patient Zero. ‘Why was he here? And why were you drooling over him?’

  ‘I wasn’t drooling!’ she replied, although the slightly sheepish look on her face told me she knew she had been. I just raised an eyebrow, and waited for her to carry on.

  She took a deep breath, puffing it out so hard her cheeks expanded, and gazed over towards the window. It was as though she didn’t even want to meet my eyes while she talked. This, I knew, was going to be bad.

  ‘Babe, look. . .I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this for a while. I know I should have spoken to you earlier, but you know what it’s like – we’re both so busy we barely have time to breathe. Between my crazy schedule and yours, we just haven’t seen each other. . .’

  ‘We went for sushi last Friday,’ I pointed out. ‘We were together for two hours pretending we liked raw tuna and drinking wine.’

  She held her head in her hands, and for a moment I thought she was crying. Obviously, if I’d heard a sniffle, my tough-girl act would have softened, but when she finally emerged, she just looked determined.

  ‘I know. You’re right. I’m just making excuses, aren’t I? I need to be honest now.’

  ‘That,’ I replied, crossing my arms across my chest in what I realized was a classic defensive posture, ‘would be nice. Now, what was he doing here?’

  ‘I’m giving him a job,’ she said simply. I opened my mouth to respond, but found that I had no words. Which was a good thing, as she immediately shushed me anyway.

  ‘No, let me finish before you go off on one – I’m giving him a job because I need the help, and because he’s good. You know he’s good. He discovered me, he discovered you, as well as loads of the others at Starmaker. Whatever you might think about him – and I know none of it’s good – he is one of the best when it comes to spotting new talent. And we need that. I need that. I’m rushed off my feet here, there’s so much to do – all the stuff I’d never even expected. Did you know I need a HR policy? How much Health and Safety crap there is? That I have to have meetings with insurance companies, and lawyers, and accountants? There’s just too much for one person right now!’

  I bit my lip, and made myself think about what she was saying. She had been getting swamped, I knew, with the demands of setting up a new business. I suppose I’d been happily focusing on the creative side of things, and she’d been dealing with everything else. In all honesty, I’d not stopped to consider how stressful, and just plain boring, all of that probably was. But still. . .

  ‘OK,’ I replied. ‘I get that. But you’ve never really complained. You’ve never asked for help. I could do more.’

  ‘Honey, I know you mean well, but you’re not really the HR policy type, are you? And I don’t mean that as an insult, before you get your knickers in a twist! I just . . . I’m drowning, all right? And I know your single did well, and I’m sure your album will too, but we need more. If we’re going to be taken seriously in this game, we need more – I need someone out there, scouting for us. I need someone to be my eyes and ears at gigs and events and bloody kids’ parties – and Jack has a way of finding gold dust in the most unlikely of places. You know that! And without new signings, we’re going to shrivel up and die – you’re great, Jess, but you’re not enough. Not long-term. Jack. . .well, Jack can help me with the long term. I know he can.’

  I was momentarily silent, staring at her and wondering how she could have kept a secret like this from me. Then I reminded myself that I was keeping a secret of my own – one that suddenly didn’t feel all that shameful.

  ‘I’m just . . . shocked,’ I said, eventually, watching as she messed with the rings on her fingers, turning them nervously round and round, over and over again. ‘You’ve genuinely never hinted at anything like this. This place – well, it was supposed to be different, wasn’t it? It was supposed to be better. We were supposed to treat people well, and be fair, and . . . not screw people! Either literally or ethically!’

  ‘It will be better!’ she replied, sounding frustrated. ‘It is better! I’ve talked it all through with Jack, and he knows the score. He knows what we’re trying to achieve, and that we won’t take any bullshit. He’s keen – really keen – to make a change. He’s different now, honest. What happened. . .well, it affected him, it really did. It made him think about the way he was behaving, and the way he was living his life, and he wants to be different . . . he wants to be better as well. And I genuinely believe he deserves a second chance.’

  It’s hard to tell, with Vogue, when she’s blushing. She’s such a confident woman, I’ve rarely seen her embarrassed – angry, drunk, amused, euphoric, all of those things. But not often embarrassed. Right then, though, I could tell she was. She was flustered and nervous and obviously feeling desperately uncomfortable, no matter how hard that speech had tried to convince me otherwise. And I suspected I knew why.

  ‘And what about you, Vogue? Paulette? What will Jack Duncan be doing for you? It’s not just his professional talent that’s getting a second chance with you, is it?’

  She looked up at me, finally meeting my eyes, and trying very hard to look defiant. She didn’t quite pull it off but it was a valiant effort.

  ‘No,’ she eventually said, biting a chunk out of her lip as she tried to continue. ‘No, it’s not. We’re giving it another go. I know that’s not what you expected to hear, and I know it’s a tricky situation. . .’

  ‘Tricky?’ I said, my voice rising about three octaves. ‘Tricky? You really think that’s the right word? For you getting back together with the man who broke both our hearts? The man who fooled us both? The man who jumped from my bed to yours, entirely possibly on the same day? I think that’s a bit more than tricky! And I think you’re completely mad for even considering it.’

  She nodded, because nothing I’d said could possibly have come as a surprise to her. This was why she’d avoided telling me for so long – because she knew exactly how I was going to react.

  ‘I know you think that. And I don’t blame you. But it’s easy for you to say – you were only with him for a few months, and went straight from him to falling in love with Daniel. And I’m happy for you, I really am. It was different for me, and at the end of the day, babe, even though I know you’ve got my best interests at heart, that you want to protect me, it’s my life. It’s my life, and my decision, and if it’s all a terrible mistake then it’s mine to make. Do you get that?’

  She was starting to sound a bit angry now – and Vogue angry is a sight to behold. I hoped that at least part of her was angry at herself, because she knew on some level that what I was saying was right. She just really, really didn’t want to hear it.

  I stood up, and brushed down my top as though there were crumbs on it, just to give me something to do with my hands. I was so upset, I could feel the tears starting to build in the back of my eyes. I always cry when I’m angry – it’s a really annoying habit, because it makes me look weak and vulnerable when I’m actually feeling self-righteous and strong.

  ‘I get that,’ I said quietly, and turned to leave.
‘And you’re right, it’s your life. But it’s also my career – so I’d ask you to keep him away from me, all right?’

  I didn’t give her the chance to reply. I just did my best flounce out of the room, and finally gave in to the urge to slam the door.

  *

  I spent the next ten minutes in the ladies’, crying my eyes out. The loos hadn’t been renovated at all, and still vaguely smelled of sweat and perfume and baby oil from the women who used to use them.

  I locked myself into one of the stalls, and just let it all out. By the time I’d finished, my eyes were red and swollen, and my hands were shaking with emotion. I wasn’t sure which was worrying me most – the fact that Jack Duncan, and everything he represented, was slithering like a snake into our new Garden of Eden, or that my friend was making a huge mistake in her love life.

  They were both pretty shitty situations, and making it all so much worse was the fact that she’d been hiding it from me. I didn’t know how long this had been going on, but it already felt like Jack was making his mark – as soon as he’d arrived on the scene, the deception had started. Maybe some of that was down to me – Vogue was scared of telling me because she knew I’d blow my top. Maybe if I’d been less of an emotional melting pot and more of a calm listening ear, she’d have felt able to confide in me earlier. Maybe not. Who knows?

  Either way, I felt devastated. Like the rug had been pulled from beneath my feet. Like the future was now a very uncertain road, to be crossed late at night after six pints of lager.

  I splashed cold water on my face, and stared at myself in the cracked mirror. There were still bright red lipstick kisses all around the edges from its previous customers.

  I looked like a pufferfish, but I didn’t suppose that mattered. But I felt like a zombie, which mattered more.

  After a few deep breaths, I decided I had to talk to Daniel. He was one of the most calm, steady and sensible people I knew. Maybe that’s why we worked so well together – I could get overexcited at an episode of Coronation Street, but he was always on a level. He’d hear me out, and let me cry, and then say something so utterly sensible and sane and perfect that I’d feel better about the world immediately.

  I didn’t see the point in going back to Patty’s lair, where I wouldn’t be able to hear myself think for all the baby-sacrificing, so instead I found myself a quiet corner in the little courtyard garden outside.

  It’s not huge – not in this part of London – but big enough for a table and chairs, and a few boxes of flowers. The noise from the street is pretty minimal, and it’s an unexpectedly calm spot.

  Usually it’s occupied by at least one builder on a fag break, but it was blessedly empty when I emerged into the sunlight, clutching my phone and sniffling.

  Daniel answered on the first ring, which told me two things: that he’d finished his chores around the farm (collecting eggs from the chickens and feeding our Billy goat, who we’d named Gandalf because he looked so wise and intelligent); and that he hadn’t yet started work (finding new and funky samples to use on a track by Vella, one of the new artists he was working with).

  ‘Good morning, gorgeous,’ he said immediately, and I couldn’t help but smile. Honestly, the fact that he could make me smile even when I felt so awful was enough to warm my insides.

  ‘I love you,’ I replied. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I do. Because you bought me that T-shirt that has it printed all over the front: Jessy Hearts Daniel. I’m wearing it today. Gandalf was very taken with it. You OK? You sound a bit . . . damp. Have you been crying?’

  ‘Erm. . .yeah.’ He knows me too well.

  ‘Did Patty throw a dart at your face?’

  ‘No! I confiscated her darts after the last time!’

  ‘OK. Have you been thinking about that scene in The Lion King where Simba realizes his dad isn’t going to wake up?’

  ‘No, but now I am, and it’s not helping. It’s Vogue, Daniel. She’s back with Jack. And she’s given him a bloody job – here! I just can’t believe it . . . and I’m so angry . . . and I’m not just angry, I’m worried . . . about her, and about us, and about everything!’

  The words rushed out of my mouth so fast they sounded a bit blurry even to me, so I completely understood when Daniel didn’t respond immediately.

  After a few seconds, he finally spoke. But all he said was one word: ‘Ah.’

  It’s a short word, and possibly not even a word at all, more of a sound or an exclamation, but it told me a lot.

  Because while Daniel knows me inside out, I also know him inside out – and an ‘ah’ like the one he’d just murmured isn’t a simple thing. For a start, he didn’t sound shocked. He didn’t freak out, or swear, or drop the phone in surprise. He just said one quiet little ‘ah’. This was not the reaction I would have expected from Daniel, who, while not the kind of bloke who has fights or causes scenes, despises Jack Duncan with a quiet passion. Partly for what he did to me, partly for the way he conducts himself in business.

  That one little ‘ah’, and the silence that followed it, told me this: Daniel already knew. That the huge shock I’d just had wasn’t as much of a shock to him. That it wasn’t only Vogue who’d kept this revelation to herself.

  ‘You already knew,’ I said, feeling somehow betrayed. I didn’t make it a question – I didn’t need to – I made it a statement of fact.

  ‘I didn’t know she’d decided,’ he replied, using the calm tone of voice he uses when he thinks I’m about to go ballistic. ‘I’d heard she’d been in talks with him, but just gossip. Nothing concrete. They’d been seen together a few times having meetings, and I knew he was looking to leave Starmaker. This was all grapevine stuff – nothing certain – and you know most of the grapevine stuff turns out to be crap.’

  ‘We both know you made that up to fuel your sick fantasies, but why, Daniel? Why didn’t you tell me? I just bumped into him upstairs! I could have done with some . . . I don’t know, warning?’

  ‘Well,’ he replied, and I could hear the sounds of the garden around him. He’d walked outside – probably barefoot, probably holding a mug of coffee – and I could hear the animals making animal noises in the background. I could picture him there, and usually that would immediately reassure me – but now . . . well, I felt a bit thrown, to be honest.

  ‘Well. . .’ he repeated, and again I could picture him – he was sitting down on the sawn-off tree stump and looking out at the hills, ‘first of all, I’m really sorry you’re feeling so awful. If I’d known anything for sure, I’d have told you. But it was just gossip, so I didn’t want to upset you for no reason. I could have got you all freaked out for nothing. And part of me thought – still does – that it was Vogue’s story to tell, you know?’

  I felt the tears coming back again, and squished them so hard with my eyelids they just squirted out a tiny bit at the sides. I was now frustrated as well as angry and scared, and it was a pretty toxic combination.

  ‘Well, she didn’t tell me the story. Not until I literally walked in on them, cuddling up on the couch together. . .’

  ‘Oh!’ Daniel said, now sounding genuinely shocked. ‘Really? She’s taken him back in that way? After everything that’s happened? You’ve got to be kidding!’

  ‘No, I’m not kidding. And I felt the same way. Look, I’ve got to go, all right? I can see a bevvy of builders heading in my direction with flasks and packets of Benson & Hedges. . .’

  ‘OK. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, Jessy. Maybe I should have. Probably I should have. And I’m really sorry you’re so upset. And I love you.’

  I stood up, and looked around at the completely empty garden. There were no builders. No flasks. No Benson & Hedges. I just felt shaken up, a bit knocked for six as my dad would say, and needed an excuse to get off the phone.

  The fact that I was finding excuses to end a conversation with Daniel – and that I was fibbing to him – wasn’t really helping me feel any more steady or in control. I
t was like the world had turned upside down.

  ‘Love you too,’ I said, quickly. ‘I’ll call you later.’

  Chapter 3

  I made my way back inside the building, just in time to see Patty disappearing out of it. There was, surprisingly, no cloud of sulphur surrounding her, just a faint whiff of Dior Poison. I hung back so I could avoid bumping into her, and then went back to our office. I have no idea how Patty would react to me crying – possibly, she’d be unexpectedly kind; possibly, she’d eat me like a praying mantis on a wildlife documentary. It wasn’t worth the risk so I hid.

  It was now blessedly quiet in there, and I was able to sit and think for a moment. To try to stop blubbing. To sort through my thoughts. Vogue had lied to me – or at the very least deliberately kept something huge a secret. And Daniel had known . . . kind of. Being fair, I understood why he hadn’t mentioned it – he didn’t know for sure and didn’t want to upset me. But being unfair, it added to the sense of betrayal I was feeling – like the big kids had been ganging up on me. Not very mature, I know, but that’s feelings for you.

  I needed to talk to someone outside this world, and be reminded that there were bigger things in life than me and my petty problems. Well, maybe I actually needed to talk to someone about my petty problems – and, as ever, I made like E.T. and phoned home.

  My parents are brilliant people. They’re hard-working and solid and they love the bones of me. I know they’re always 100 per cent on Team Jessy – even if they’re telling me things I don’t want to hear. The fact that we came close to having a serious falling-out at the end of last year has made me even more aware of how much I owe them, and how much I need them. It’s easy to lose your sense of gravity in this business – and they’re like those big clumpy space boots that astronauts use to keep themselves grounded.

  I used the landline to call them, and was greeted by a fake Italian accent: ‘Welcome to Luigi’s House of Pancakes and Pain! What may I do you for?’