I'll Be Home For Christmas Read online

  ‘Luke, why aren’t you in college?’ I asked, immediately. He wants to be a sports physio, and is doing his A-levels at the moment. Loosely speaking.

  ‘Study morning,’ he replied.

  ‘So you’re sitting in your room playing “Call of Duty”?’

  ‘Yup! Do you want Dad? Mum’s round at Becky’s, looking after Ollie. And can you get me tickets to the Dua Lipa tour? And can you arrange for me to meet her as well?’

  ‘Yes, I want to speak to Dad, and no, I can’t get you a date with Dua Lipa. Or maybe I can. I don’t know. Leave it with me.’

  ‘Cool. I’ll get Dad. He’s watching the Formula 1 highlights and cutting his toenails.’

  He left me with that charming and achingly familiar image and, within a few seconds, Dad picked up the phone. He’s a big man, my father, tall and bulky, all of it topped off with a shiny bare head and a face that is usually smiling. He’s known – mainly by himself – as the Bald Eagle, but is actually called Phil. He’s a taxi driver, and has an endless supply of stories, which all start with the same words: ‘I had this bloke/girl/alpaca in the back of my cab the other night. . .’

  ‘All right, love?’ he said immediately, the roaring sound of cars pointlessly driving round a track floating over the line from the telly in the background. I was struck by an urge to just get on the train and go home. To sit with my dad, and listen to his stories, and feel like everything was right with the world. I’m lucky to have that kind of refuge, that kind of security – and to know that if I wanted to, I could give all of this up, get a job in the local McDonald’s, and go back to being their Jessy. They’d love me just as much.

  ‘Yeah, all good, Dad. Just wanted to hear your voice.’

  ‘Oh! Well, that usually means you’re trying to find your way out of a shit storm – what’s wrong? If it’s girl stuff and you want your mum, she’s round at our Becky’s, adoring Prince Ollie.’

  ‘How’s he doing?’ I asked, smiling at the thought of my chubby nephew.

  ‘Brilliant. I swear to God he’s put on about a stone in the last week. He’ll be nicking my tins of Guinness before I know it. How’s the world of show business treating you? Saw a picture of you in a copy of Hello! magazine that got left in the back of the cab the other night. Your mother was worried you weren’t wearing enough clothes to keep your circulation going.’

  ‘Ha! I never wore much more on nights out clubbing in Liverpool either, Dad – it’s just that you never saw a picture of it in Hello! magazine. I’m fine, honest. It’s. . .well, just work stuff. Busy, you know? And. . .well, I’ve had an offer to go and work in the States with someone and I’m not sure what to do about it.’

  There was a pause and the sound of the racing cars died down as he used the remote control. I hadn’t intended to talk to him about the America thing – to be honest, I hadn’t had a clue what I wanted to talk to him about, but that was the first thing that came out of my mouth. It was better than whingeing on about Jack and Vogue and Daniel. Mum and Dad had a vague idea that something had gone wrong with Jack, but as they’d never known we were a couple – Jack insisted on keeping it a secret, for reasons that later became obvious – they’d also never known the full story.

  That was fine by me. The last thing I needed was my dad turning up in his Army & Navy Stores camo trousers and trying to knock Jack’s block off – much as the idea felt appealing right now.

  ‘How long would you be gone for, then, love? It wouldn’t be permanent, would it?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know at this stage, I’ve only just been asked. Could be a weekend, could be a month. It’s a great opportunity, but, you know. . .’

  ‘I know. You’d have to leave Daniel, and us, and that’s scary.’

  As ever, he’d hit the nail right on the head. He might not have any university degrees to his name, but the Bald Eagle is as sharp as they come.

  It was scary – on all kinds of levels. But right then, feeling the way I was about people I’d trusted, it was sounding a bit less scary, and a bit more like an escape hatch.

  ‘Yeah. Scary. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong, does it?’

  ‘No,’ he replied, quickly. ‘Sometimes it means it’s right. I was bloody terrified when your mother told me she was pregnant with Becky – and now I’m a doting grandad! I suppose you just have to trust your instincts, love. They’ve never let you down yet.’

  He was, of course, wrong on that front. My instincts about Jack had definitely let me down. And, maybe, my instincts about Vogue. I couldn’t quite put Daniel in that category, but I couldn’t deny I was having a bit of a wobble about him either.

  ‘What does Daniel think about it all?’ he asked, when I didn’t answer him – I was too distracted pondering how crap my instincts were.

  ‘Well . . . I haven’t told him yet.’

  ‘That’s where you start, then, isn’t it? He knows you. He knows the business. He’s a sensible lad, and he’ll be honest with you.’

  I knew my dad meant well, but it was possibly the worst thing to say right then. Because that was exactly the problem – this whole thing with Jack, with Daniel having his suspicions about it and keeping them to himself, was making me question exactly how honest our relationship was. Plus, on my side, I’d been hiding the Cooper Black thing from him.

  I mean, what would our Billy goat Gandalf say about all of that? I think he’d have been disappointed in me for keeping secrets.

  ‘You’re right, Dad. I’ll speak to him, talk it over.’

  ‘Good girl. You do that. And whatever you decide, love, you know we’re 100 per cent on your side, don’t you? Always.’

  ‘Always – I know. Love you, Dad!’

  ‘Love you too, Jessy. And put more clothes on, all right? You’ll catch your death.’

  Obviously, I felt better after that. But not better enough to talk to Daniel, not just yet. Instead, I went down to the basement to find Neale, my stylist and friend. Neale also knows me, and he knows the business, and more to the point, I knew he’d have a secret stash of chocolate, which I desperately needed. Nothing cheers a girl up quite like a KitKat.

  I walked into his domain to find him plastered in make-up, listening to R. Kelly being played extremely loud through his speakers.

  Now, Neale is gay, but he’s never tried this before – at least not so far as I know. I stared at his multicoloured cheeks and brightly painted eyelids and glitter-coated lips and was lost for words. It all looked very weird – especially as Neale is a short, slender man with close-cropped dark hair and trendy glasses. He looked like he was about to march in the Nerd Pride Parade.

  ‘Just trying out some new samples!’ he said quickly, turning the music lower and gesturing to all the cosmetics spread out on the dressing table. ‘They all get sent to me for free – honestly, Jess, it’s like a real-life fairy tale!’

  OK, I thought, we all have our different versions of happiness, and this was clearly his. I flumped down onto one of the beanbags he had scattered around the still-not-renovated room, and looked at him imploringly.

  ‘I need chocolate,’ I said.

  ‘Oh! It’s one of those days, is it? Feeling a little delicate, are we?’

  He rooted around in one of the drawers, and handed me a snack-sized Twix.

  ‘This is rubbish,’ I said, tearing the wrapper off and stuffing half of it into my mouth. ‘There’s only one finger – it goes against all the laws of Twix!’

  ‘You’d hate me in the morning when you woke up with a zit on your nose. Anyway, wassup? It’s not even lunch-time and you look like someone just decapitated an Andrex puppy in front of you. They didn’t, did they?’

  I held my fingers up to tell him to wait for a while – I was too busy eating, drooling, and generally making a chocolatey mess of myself to speak. He started removing some of the slap from his face while he waited for me to finish, and didn’t even look disgusted as I chewed – true friendship.

  ‘Well,’ I said, eventually, wiping
my face with a tissue I swiped out of his hand, ‘no Andrex puppies have been harmed in the making of this morning, as far as I know. But I kind of feel like one myself. There are a few things to mention, so I’ll make a list. First, Vogue has gone and offered Jack Duncan a job here.’

  Neale paused, his hand frozen mid-wipe, his face now half rainbow and half clear.

  ‘No way! Doing what?’

  ‘Scouting. Managing. Shagging. Whatever it is he does. I know it’s her business, and her call, but still. . .’

  ‘It makes you feel a bit sick in your mouth?’

  ‘Yes! Or maybe that’s the Twix, I don’t know. Secondly – and this has to stay between us until I know how she’s playing it – she’s also taken him back.’

  ‘Back back?’

  ‘Back back. I practically found them bonking in her office. . .’

  This, of course, is a very big overstatement – it’s also distracted Neale, who is now gazing off into the distance, probably imagining Jack Duncan naked. As I’ve said, he’s drop-dead gorgeous – to look at, at least.

  ‘OK. Well, that’s up to her, I suppose. But I can see why you’re worried. This is all new, and the whole point of In Vogue was to get away from people like Jack, wasn’t it? Even if he is fit enough to win Best in Show at Crufts.’

  ‘Exactly! And on top of all that, it turns out that Daniel knew about it. Well, kind of knew about it. . .’

  Neale pulled another beanbag over and sat by my side. He gave me a quick hug, and then a quick talking-to: ‘What do you mean by “kind of”? You mean he’d heard some gossip?’

  ‘That’s what he said. He said he didn’t want to repeat it in case it came to nothing, and he didn’t want to upset me.’

  ‘Well, I can see why you needed chocolate, honey. Daniel loves you to pieces, and there’s no way he’d do anything to hurt you – he was trying to protect you, even if it doesn’t feel like that right now. You know he’s your happy-ever-after, don’t you? I can tell you’re annoyed with him, but you should probably take it down a notch and not do a full-on diva about it. Just because you’re in a couple doesn’t mean you have to tell each other every thought that enters your head, does it?’

  He was right, of course. And it wasn’t like I’d been entirely honest either.

  ‘No, it doesn’t. And while we’re on that subject, what do you know about Cooper Black?’

  ‘The Cooper Black?’

  ‘No, the knock-off Cooper Black I got from the market the day I got that Prada handbag for twenty quid. Of course the Cooper Black!’

  ‘OK, OK, no need to snap your bra hook at me. . .Well, obviously, he’s a mega-babe from another planet. Super-hot right now. And – well, I do know one of his friends, actually, since you asked so nicely.’

  ‘One of his friends? One of his real friends?’

  ‘No – one of his knock-off friends I got from the market! Yes, a real friend – JB. He used to be in the band with him. JB’s lovely – can’t sing for shit, mind, but he looks great and he can dance. That’s how I met him.’

  ‘Out dancing?’

  ‘Yeah. At that club I took you to once. You remember?’

  It was hard to forget – or at least hard to remember, which is the sign of a good night out. It had been the night after my first single launch, when I’d performed with Vogue to a packed crowd of writers, movers, shakers, and my entire family. It had been an incredibly stressful time, not helped by the fact that I had a row with my parents afterwards. I’d needed two things in life that evening: a Big Mac and a carefree night out, and Neale and his pals had kindly provided me with both.

  It had been a great night, but it had also left me with one of the worst hangovers in the entire history of hangovers. Tequila, you swine.

  It was also, and this I did remember, a gay club – a place Neale told me was discreet, where lots of famous people went when they wanted to be safe from getting papped. JB being there didn’t mean he was gay – I wasn’t – but I could tell from the slightly dreamy expression on Neale’s face that my friend at least hoped he was.

  I tried to dredge up an image of JB from his days in the boy band, and finally matched it: he was the bad boy. Cooper Black was all blond handsomeness – the kind of boy you’d take home to meet your parents, sexy but wholesome – and JB was the wild child. Shaggy dark hair, a body to kill for, blue eyes and a wicked grin. In his own way, he’d been just as much of a heart-throb as Cooper.

  ‘Is he . . . ?’

  ‘A big flaming queen with sugar and sprinkles on top?’ supplied Neale, laughing at me. ‘Yes, he is – he doesn’t lie about it, but he doesn’t broadcast it either. So be very, very careful to keep your lovely Liverpool mouth shut about it, all right?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I learned my lesson the hard way!’ I replied, patting him on the thigh to reassure him. I really had, as well – last year, I accidentally ‘outed’ Neale in the press. It had been a masterclass in when to stay silent.

  ‘Now, I have to ask you why you want to know all this stuff. What’s with you and Cooper Black? Are you crushing on him, you little minx?’

  ‘No! Yes! Maybe – I mean, I’m only human! But . . . well . . . he’s actually been in touch and asked me to feature on his new single. And maybe do more work with him. And I just don’t know what to do about it – it’s a brilliant idea, but it might mean leaving Daniel. And Vogue. And this place. You know?’

  Neale nodded emphatically, making his glasses bobble on the edge of his nose.

  ‘I can understand that – but, well, wow! If you take all the personal shit out of it, it’s fantastic, isn’t it? The next stop on the Jessika world domination tour! And a huge compliment. . .So, what are you going to do?’

  ‘Well, this morning, I was thinking no. Then all this crap happened, and I’m thinking maybe yes. But, before I decide, I suppose I’d like to know a bit more about him – what kind of person he is. Whether he’s likely to screw me over. Whether he’s a. . .’

  ‘Showbiz twat?’

  ‘Exactly! Because with Jack Duncan back on the scene, I have enough showbiz twattery to handle already. Do you think maybe you could ask JB for me, kind of on the QT?’

  ‘Darling, I can do better than that – it must be your lucky day! You know I’m your fairy godbrother, right? Funnily enough, JB is in town. Let’s all go out, and you can ask him yourself.’

  *

  Let’s just say that the night got messy. It started with tequila, Big Macs and dancing. And after a riotous journey around London’s bars and nightspots it was ending, it seemed, with a very competitive game of strip darts.

  JB was a larger-than-life character, all hair and piercings and tattoos and muscles. Now the band was history, any constraints he’d previously felt were well and truly gone, and he was living it up in London.

  Only ten minutes into the game, he’d already stripped down to just his Calvin Klein boxers and one sock. Neale was doing better, and was merely topless, his sinewy torso pale above his skinny jeans. JB flopped down next to me as Neale prepared to take his turn, his bulky chest glistening with sweat from an earlier dance session dominated by old classics like ‘Ride on Time’, ‘Pump Up the Jam’ and ‘No Limits’. He gave me a sideways grin as we watched Neale nail the double twelve he needed to win. JB stood up, saluted him, and very slowly stripped off his last sock, like he was doing some kind of teasing burlesque routine.

  Neale fanned his face in a mock sincerity that I suspected was very much real. It was obviously the sexiest foot he’d ever seen in his entire life.

  ‘So,’ said JB, taking a big gulp of his Jack Daniel’s and Coke, ‘the thing to remember about Cooper Black is that he’s solid. He’s got this whole all-American jock thing going on, with the perfect hair and the shiny teeth and the wholesome boy-next-door smile, but underneath all that, he’s a solid guy. That’s an act – like my wild boy sex machine was an act.’

  I glanced at him – sitting there in his knickers, tendrils of rough black hair c
urling onto broad shoulders – and suspected that was no act. He was a wild boy sex machine, just not in quite the way most of his fans thought he was.

  ‘So . . . he’s nice?’ I asked, incapable of forming a more incisive question due to the fact that most of the blood in my veins had been turned into tequila.

  ‘Yeah, he’s nice, but he’s funny too. Real funny, the guy has a wicked sense of humour. And he’s talented. I can’t sing – I can dance a little and I look good – but Cooper? He’s the whole package. He always wanted to write his own songs, get into better material, but the way the band was marketed held him back. Now he’s going solo, he’ll fly – and his new stuff is awesome. I’ve heard some of it, and you can believe the hype. If he’s asking you to get involved, I’d say go for it. It’s a hell of a chance. Plus, I can tell you two would hit it off.’

  Neale sat down on the other side of me, squashing me between the two of them. His legs were vibrating like somebody had wound him up – a clockwork stylist.

  ‘Plus, you know, think of the nights out!’ Neale said. ‘And the parties! And the outfits!’

  If you’d asked me that morning, none of that would have sounded attractive. That morning, I was distressed at the thought of spending even one night away from Daniel and our life together. That morning, the idea of jetting off to the States was a worry, not an opportunity.

  Now, though, I was beginning to see things slightly differently. Even setting aside everything that had happened with Jack and Vogue, which had really unsettled me, I’d also had a brilliant night out with these two. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a complete drink-yourself-daft, get-home-with-the-milkman blow out like this.

  When I had to, I attended showbiz parties and events – it was part of my job, and I did enjoy it a lot of the time. But it was work – there was pressure to look a certain way, behave a certain way, to not flash my gusset or vomit in a gutter. And behind it all, there was always part of me that just wanted to bin it all off and go home to Daniel, and my other life.

  Tonight, though, hadn’t been like that. It had just been fun, pure and simple. Being out with Neale, who I could trust with my life, and JB, who was all kinds of hilarious, was different. It was even, I had to admit to myself, more fun than being with Daniel.