I'll Be Home For Christmas Read online

  The building work was a living nightmare, Patty was still insanely vicious, and now, I had the added risk of bumping into Jack Duncan when I went into work. Vogue and I hadn’t quite returned to an even keel, and I was worried that we never would.

  She’d been OK with me doing the single with Cooper Black – in fact she’d been thrilled, as it could only be good for the label – but on a personal note, there was a tension there that we’d never had before.

  I was worried about her on several levels. I just didn’t trust Jack not to screw her over at some point. Either in business, or in her personal life. I’d tried to tell her that but she’d just shut me down with a full-on diva strop, and I wouldn’t risk it again. She made it clear that it was none of my business, and I didn’t have any choice but to accept that. It made me sad – we’d always been so close, and now there was a distance there that neither of us seemed able to breach. From her point of view, I suppose she felt like she couldn’t talk to me about her life, because her life involved Jack, and I still struggled not to spit every time I heard his name.

  So between the Jack Factor and the noise of the builders and the fear that Patty might one day actually sacrifice me to Satan on an altar made of dead kittens, I felt tense every time I came into the In Vogue headquarters. I didn’t feel as invested in it as I had at the beginning, when it seemed like Vogue and I were working together to build something special. Now it felt like it was Vogue’s, and possibly Jack’s, but definitely not mine.

  It had been over a month since Jack had taken up his role at In Vogue, and our paths had crossed three times. On each occasion, there had been tension – a combination of smugness and fear on his part. Smugness because he’d managed to creep back into our lives in a way I could never have imagined possible, and fear because he knew me well enough to realize I was only ever one funny look away from causing him some physical harm.

  The last time I’d bumped into him, he’d tried to ask me out for a coffee. I think, if I force myself to be absolutely fair about it, that he did it in the spirit of wanting to make things easier for us all.

  ‘Look, Jess,’ he’d said, wearing the super-sincere expression I’d come to hate, ‘I know you’re not happy about this new state of affairs, but it is what it is. And I promise you, I don’t intend to cause any problems at all for you, or Vogue. I have everyone’s best interests at heart. Let’s go out for a coffee together, for old times’ sake, and see if we can’t find a way to work through this.’

  He probably hadn’t considered the fact that when we first started seeing each other – back in the olden days, when I was naive enough to think a man like him could love me, or in fact love anyone but himself – we always used to go for coffees. It was part of his seduction technique: taking me first to posh coffee places, then to posh restaurants, and posh bars, in his posh car, before finally making it back to his predictably posh bedroom. With anyone else, I could have seen a coffee as just a coffee, but with Jack? It was, in my mind, linked to a chain of disastrous and hurtful events.

  ‘I can’t come for a coffee with you, Jack,’ I’d said. ‘Because I can’t stand being in the same room as you. Vogue might be happy to give you a second chance, but I suppose I’m just not as good a person as she is. Try to remember that, won’t you?’

  He’d backed off gracefully, and I’d retreated to my unofficial office in the ladies’ loo, where I’d cried some angry tears and kicked the bin a few times.

  I was, in response to all of this, coming in to In Vogue a whole lot less. It had gone from being a place of hope and refuge to one fraught with obstacles and distress. I realize this is childish – lots of people have a hard time in their workplace. Lots of people have to face difficult situations and stress and lots of people probably do angry crying in the ladies’. The difference for me, I suppose, is that I didn’t have to – which is both really lucky, and also lets me off the hook from having to face up to those difficult situations.

  Yep, I was being a wuss, but who wouldn’t be, if they had the chance? The truth of the matter was that although the studios at In Vogue were brilliant, they weren’t actually as good as the one Daniel had at home.

  I was also at a stage where I could get away with it – the songs for my album were all written, all rehearsed and mostly recorded. They only needed a few finishing touches, some more mixing, a sprinkling of fairy dust – and all of that could just as easily be done at the farmhouse as in London. Plus, as Daniel had pointed out, I could do it in my pyjamas, which is always a winner. So that’s what I’d done, and with a lot less angry crying.

  The album was due out in a few weeks’ time, and there had been a flurry of activity around it – Patty had sorted out interviews with the world and his wife, I’d been in enough magazines to wallpaper my old bedroom, and frankly, I was sick of seeing myself pop up on social media. The radio play was building, and all the signs were good – which was a relief.

  I mean, I know I can sing, and I knew the songs were good. Great, even. But in my business, none of that is ever a guarantee – and both In Vogue and I had a lot riding on this album. And, of course, on the single – the one with Cooper Black.

  I had, as soon as I’d talked it over with Daniel and Vogue, got in touch with him and said yes. My people talked to his people and, within a day, we had the single through, minus the vocals he wanted me to add.

  It was a great track, and I could see why everyone was so excited about his new direction. It had a kind of cool hip-hop vibe to it, but with a raw bluesy sound to the lead voice that I thought was going to surprise everyone. In the boy band, the singing had been what you’d expect of its type – lots of harmonies and saccharine lyrics and the occasional R&B groove. This was very different, way edgier, more grown-up – and downright sexy.

  I was the female counterpoint to the vocal storyboard; breaking poor Cooper’s heart then looking on in regret as he goes on to ‘Fly So High’ (the name of the song). We’d agreed to film different segments for a video – me in London, him in New York – moodily walking round famous city landmarks while spontaneously bursting into song, dancing with strangers, and reaching out for each other’s fingertips through rainstorms in both cities. Kind of silly to film, but the end result was amazing. It actually looked and sounded like we’d stretched out and found each other across thousands of miles – whereas in the real world, we’d never even met.

  We had talked, though. A lot. Maybe a bit more than I’d expected. He was funny and charming and kind of wicked, and we could chatter for hours about music, what we loved and what we hated, what we wanted to do in our careers, how much we still had left to achieve, and how we were going to get there.

  I wasn’t naive enough to think that featuring on Cooper Black’s new single wouldn’t be a huge boost to my career – I knew it would – but I also hoped that we were becoming friends. JB had been right – he was nice, to say the least. He’d even talked to Daniel, and complimented him on his work as well. One big happy family.

  I had no idea what was going to happen with the album, or the single – as ever, all I could do was work hard, and live in hope.

  *

  A few weeks later, I woke up buzzing with excitement. It was a very big day. Not only was it the day that both my album and the single with Cooper Black were released, but it was also my birthday.

  At home in Liverpool, my mum and dad always celebrated our birthdays by buying those big inflatable helium balloons with numbers on them. And usually with a ‘face cake’ – the ones you get from the supermarket where they magically make an old photo appear on the icing, and you actually get to eat yourself. The older we got, the younger the photos were – for my last one, it was me as a baby, totally bald and covered in chocolate ice cream. Not my best look.

  This time last year, I’d been at home, looking forward to nothing more exciting than endless Disney princess parties, a non-existent love life, and pondering my continued failure as both a singer and a human being. That had all changed w
hen I met Jack Duncan at a rainy garden party in Cheshire, and for that at least I had to be grateful to him.

  This year, the world was a very different place. Most importantly, I was waking up in the warm embrace of the most wonderful man in the world – my Daniel.

  ‘Happy birthday, gorgeous,’ he said, kissing me so well that I was suddenly far less sleepy. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him in closer, deciding that the very best way to start my birthday was with some bedroom action.

  Ever obliging, he quickly did the one-legged hop round the room removing his clothes, before joining me in a very vigorous celebration. This was most definitely already a better birthday than the year before.

  When we finally made it downstairs some time later, I was thrilled to see two pink helium balloons bouncing around the kitchen, the 2 and the 4 getting twisted the wrong way round, as though I was actually turning 42. There was also a face cake on the table, bearing a picture of me as a toddler wearing a Santa hat and covered in Nutella.

  ‘Mum and Dad?’ I asked, poking my finger into the cake and scooping up a glob of chocolate cream and icing.

  ‘Yep, they got them sent down at the weekend, and I was hiding them in the pantry. I was fairly sure that was a place you’d never go.’

  He was right, of course – my cooking skills extend to ordering takeaways and burning toast. One of my many weak spots.

  ‘So, do you want to know?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows at me. He was wearing a pair of snug, battered old Levi’s and an equally snug white T-shirt, and was looking spectacularly gorgeous. His feet were bare as well, which I always love for some reason.

  ‘Know what?’ I said, licking the frosting from around my lips.

  ‘About the album. And the single. And whether there’s life on Mars.’

  ‘Hmmm, I suppose. Except about the life on Mars bit. That’s just scary. I’m nervous?’

  Petrified, actually. This was probably the most important moment in my career so far, and I was crippled with anxiety about it.

  Daniel grinned at me, and I suddenly knew it was all going to be OK. That he would never, ever play me for a fool, and give me a grin like that if the news was bad.

  ‘Number one with the album,’ he said, simply. ‘And the single. You, Jessika, are on top of the charts – on both sides of the Atlantic. And it couldn’t have happened to a nicer person. Well done, sweetheart. You did it.’

  I was momentarily stunned, and even wondered if he was making it up. If the news was actually awful, and I’d sold zero copies of both, and everyone hated me, and I was going to have to go back to doing kids’ parties again. Because it couldn’t be real, could it? That I was number one with both?

  I stared at him, slowly chewing a now overly sweet mouthful of face cake, and couldn’t find the proper words to respond.

  Laughing, he picked up his phone, and flicked to the relevant screen. I quickly saw it was a news headline, accompanied by a picture of me. Luckily, not one featuring a Santahat and Nutella.

  BRIT STAR JESSIKA SCORES DOUBLE WIN, said the headline, followed underneath in smaller lettering with: ‘Overnight pop sensation goes from Liverpool hopeful to global success’. I scanned the rest of the story, and read quotes from me that I’d never even given – it looked like Patty had been hard at work, reminding us all why we tolerate her. She’d got it just right – making me sound grateful and humble and jubilant in all the right places. There was also a quote from Vogue, saying she had ‘never had any doubts’ about her protégé’s rise to fame; and one from Cooper Black, adding something lovely about how my vocals had helped turn the single from ‘good’ to ‘great’.

  Naturally enough, there was also a selection of photos from the past few months – me at my debut gig; at the first single launch; with ‘music supremo’ Jack Duncan at a party; with ‘reclusive superstar producer Wellsy’ at a restaurant; me in my Cinderella outfit from days gone by; and, finally, one of my mum and dad and Luke and Becky, standing outside our house in their Team Jessy T-shirts. Bless them all.

  I was stunned. Not so stunned that I stopped eating cake, but completely gobsmacked – just as Patty had said in my quotes. If I’d ever used the word in front of her, she’d have mocked me mercilessly, but it was a very accurate description of the way I was feeling.

  Really, could a birthday get any better? Hot sex with a man I loved, two number ones, and a gigantic sponge? I didn’t think it could.

  Daniel stepped in to give me a hug, and I squeezed him back, leaving chocolatey smears on his T-shirt. He didn’t seem to mind – he was obviously thrilled for me.

  ‘Come on, princess,’ he said, when he finally let me go. ‘You need to get dressed and get into In Vogue.’

  ‘Do I have to?’ I asked, sounding like a spoilt little girl even to my own ears. ‘Can’t we just stay in today, and . . . snuggle?’

  ‘Well, much as I’d normally like a whole day of snuggling with you, Jessy, I’ve got stuff to do, and so have you. Vogue called earlier – she’s taking you out for lunch. It’s her celebration too, and it’s about time you two sorted yourselves out, don’t you think? She’s your friend, and you need to move on. She might have awful taste in men, but she’s still your mate, and you don’t let your mates down. Ever. Plus, we have our dinner in town tonight, remember?’

  I nodded. Of course I remembered. Daniel had booked us a table at our favourite restaurant, and had told me to dress up, and I’d noticed his posh suit hanging up on the wardrobe door last night. For a man who usually preferred the quiet life and viewed dressing up as putting on a clean pair of Timberlands, he was going to a lot of effort – all for me. I needed to man up, and enjoy my day. I had every reason to be on top of the world, and if I could sort stuff out with Vogue, it would be even better.

  *

  ‘Sushi totally sucks, doesn’t it?’ I said, pushing the food around on my plate. It had been described as something fabulous involving seventeen different types of seasoning that I couldn’t even pronounce, but, at the end of the day, it was really just some raw tuna and rice. At least to my uneducated taste buds.

  ‘Yeah, kind of,’ replied Vogue, ‘but we must persevere. It’s good for us. And the wine is excellent.’

  She wasn’t wrong there, and I lifted my glass in acknowledgement. I took a sip, and realized I was feeling slightly queasy – probably a combination of all the excitement, cake for breakfast, raw fish, and the tension.

  The tension part was definitely getting easier to deal with. I’d arrived at our lap-dancing HQ to find the pole in the middle of reception decorated with balloons, and all the builders holding up a giant home-made banner that said, ‘Number One!’ Yvonne the receptionist was getting hammered on the phone, and pointed to a massive amount of flowers as I walked in. There were bouquets and plants and small trees in pots, as well as baskets of fruit and bottles of Champagne, and they were all for me.

  Some were for my birthday, but most were congratulating me on the number-one spots. OK, so they might have been from people I’d never even met, but it was still really cool. Neale had emerged from his basement lair to cover me in kisses, and Patty had cracked half a smile as she whisked me away to do some ‘phoners’ – interviews with magazines and radio DJs over the phone. I was better at that stuff than I used to be, and had it all boxed off within a couple of hours. When it was all done, she shooed me out of the office, warning me I needed to be on breakfast telly the next day, so ‘don’t go all Scouse psycho and get totally rat-arsed tonight’. Ever the charmer.

  I’d made time to chat to my mum and dad as well – I’ve learned my lesson on that front, and know I have to always put them right up there on my list of priorities. They even put Prince Ollie on the phone, but he didn’t seem very impressed – he just made a gurgling noise that sounded a bit like a fart, then threw the phone on the floor. Everyone’s a critic.

  And now, after an almost overwhelmingly exciting morning, I was sitting in the posh sushi place with Vogue, trying to be o
pen-minded and pleasant. Daniel, of course, was right – Vogue was my mate, and I couldn’t stay angry with her. It wasn’t fair on either of us. Whatever happened with Jack was beyond my control, and I had no right to judge her for the way she lived her life. Even if I personally found it about as appealing as my lunch. Maybe Jack had changed; maybe he’d turn out to be her Daniel, and they’d live happily ever after.

  I gagged slightly at the thought – or maybe it was the tuna, who knew?

  ‘Look, babe,’ said Vogue, reaching out and holding my hand on the tabletop, ‘I know things haven’t been good between us, and it’s been tearing me apart. I should have discussed the Jack thing with you. Or at least warned you. I was just . . . well, I was a bit scared about how you’d react, you know? So I chickened out. And for that I can only apologize. I just don’t want us to carry on like this. Everything’s going right for us, but I can’t enjoy it if I think you’re hating on me.’

  I squeezed her hand back, and smiled at her.

  ‘I could never hate you, Vogue,’ I said, and meant it. ‘I was just shocked, that’s all. It’s your life – you were right when you said that. It’s not my place to boss you around, I know that, but I was worried about you. I don’t want you to get hurt.’

  ‘I know, kiddo. I know. Neither do I. And hopefully, I won’t. But if things do go tits up, I need to know you’re there for me.’

  ‘Of course I am,’ I replied. ‘Always. I’ll be there with a bottle of wine, a tub of Ben & Jerry’s and a blowtorch for his balls if he ever messes you around. I’m sorry it’s been so rough between us – we need to let it go. Concentrate on what matters.’

  ‘Like the fact that you’re number one in the UK and the US?’ she said, grinning.

  ‘Well,’ I said, raising my glass again, ‘I think that is something to celebrate, don’t you? And not just for me. I couldn’t have done it without you, Vogue. Here’s to us, and to sisters doing it for themselves!’

  ‘That,’ she said, chuckling, ‘is definitely something worth toasting. Cheers!’