The Reluctant Celebrity (7 page)

‘Sure,
sounds good.’ she replied, following behind.

She didn’t
need to hear the rest of Rich’s sentence to know that he’d invited her for
dinner. After the way she’d behaved, she would be glad to show him that she
wasn’t a deranged alcoholic.

‘Great.
Saturday night okay for you? Stan helps out behind the bar at the weekends so I
get a chance to take a break.’

‘This
Saturday?’ Jules stuttered, suddenly feeling claustrophobic on the narrow
staircase as she forced her feet into her cold pumps, and choosing to ignore
the still missing socks.

A
meal with Rich at some point in the future sounded good, but now, with her life
already such a mess, it didn’t feel right.

‘Yeah,
why not?’ Rich called out, unleashing a rush of cold air as he opened door at
the bottom of the staircase.

‘Um...okay,’
Jules replied, her head too sore to think of an excuse.

It
wasn’t a date anyway, she reasoned. Not after her drunken antics last night.
Rich was probably just trying to make her feel welcome, she decided, unable to
decide if it was disappointment or relief that her assurances stirred.

An
easterly wind fell from the bleak grey clouds and forced its way down the wiry
branches of the bare woodland. As its icy touch hit the scattered stone houses
of Cottinghale it split, howling into the soot-filled chimneys and lashing
through the twisting lanes of the hamlet.

It smacked Jules like a cold hand striking her cheek
as she stepped from the back door of the pub. For a moment, her eyes saw
nothing but brown. The thick streams of her hair relishing the freedom from an
elastic bobble as the wind whipped it across her face. 

By the time her hands had swept it aside and she’d
regained her sight, Rich and Max had disappeared along a footpath to the east
and out into the open farmland.  

She
stared after them for a moment, but the fierce wind caught hold of her again;
its wispy talons pushing their way through to her bare skin. Suddenly the idea
of Mrs Beckwith’s scolding shower didn’t sound so bad, especially for her
sockless feet, which had already started to feel numb.

Jules
stepped as fast as the thumping in her head would allow up the deserted street
in the direction of Mrs Beckwith’s guesthouse and the Cottinghale farm shop.

It
was the first time she’d seen the hamlet surrounded by looming storm clouds
above the tall grey homes and manicured shrubs that followed the curve of the
lane perfectly.

The
dark skies suited Cottinghale, as if the little place suddenly had secrets and
mystery beyond the quaint stone walls.

 In
between the houses to her left, she could see an almost black skyline laying low
and heavy above deserted fields, still in the midst of their winters rest.

To
her right, as she struggled to keep her watery eyes open against the harsh
wind, she could see that the rain had already fallen in the distance. Past the
gloom of the woodland and up over the valley, she could just make out a hint of
brightness.

She
just hoped her own problems would disappear at the same rate as the dark clouds
moving above her.

Guy
had to be wrong. He had to lying to her about more stories, she decided. If he
wanted her to give an interview, then it had to be helping his career in some
way. Once upon a time she would have done anything to help Guy, but those days
were long gone. She had no intention of helping him now.   

Jules
felt a pang as she recalled their argument.

Seeing
him again had done something to her. She didn’t feel herself around him. He had
achieved what they’d always dreamt about, but now the reality of him back in
her life filled her with an indistinguishable mesh of emotions. The very thought
of him made her want to crawl into bed and hide forever.

Jules
gulped in the smell of fresh raindrops about to tip from the sky above, and
pushed thoughts of Guy aside.

Everything
would be fine. She had weathered a tiny storm of mortifying embarrassment from
the Newspaper, Guy, and her own foolish behaviour, but it would be sunshine
from now on, she told herself.

He
wouldn’t be back. Her bitter comments had seen to that, she thought with an
unexpected burst of sadness. Before she could dwell on the feelings, Jules
summoned the image of her face on the front page of a tabloid. The sadness
disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by the familiar comfort of a
slow burning anger.

Just
then, the rattle of an engine brought Jules out of her thoughts.

A
muck covered
Land Rover,
that looked like it might once have been black,
roared up the lane and stopped when it passed her. Jules heard the gears crunch
with a sense growing dread as the vehicle sped backwards.

 A
blonde woman, only a little older than Jules, lent across to the passenger side
and pumped the handle of the car window. ‘Jules, Lovey how are you?’

Jules
did not know how to respond. Ever since she’d felt Max’s breath on the back of
her neck that morning, nothing seemed to be making sense. 

The
woman had the craziest hair she’d ever seen. Giant blonde frizzy corkscrew
curls sprung out in every direction, as if the woman had a stream of
electricity running through her.

‘Sally
Pegg,’ the woman added, reading the confusion on Jules’ face. ‘Bill’s wife.
We’ve got the farm up the hill. We met last night, although I’m not surprised
if you don’t remember. I’ve had the pleasure of Rich’s lethal cocktails on more
than one occasion.’

Jules
nodded and smiled. ‘Hi.’

She
wished the haze of her hangover would clear and her memory return. The tight
grip she kept on her life seemed to be loosening by the minute. 

‘Look
I can’t stop,’ Sally continued. ‘One of the cows is as constipated as a cement
block. Just wanted to remind you about the invite to Sunday lunch soon okay?
The kids are dying to meet Cottinghale’s very own celebrity,’ she said without
taking a breath. ‘And I need to hear all about THE Guy Rawson, what a hunk.’
Sally grinned.

‘Great,’
Jules answered through gritted teeth, keeping her mouth in a smile as tiredness
overwhelmed her.

It
was one thing for
The Daily
to force a ridiculous celebrity status on
her, digging up her past and stomping over her present, but if she had to deal
with the same from the local residents then her stay in Cottinghale would be
nothing like the tranquil seclusion she’d envisaged several months ago.

Why
did she have to get drunk and open her mouth in the first place? Jules berated
herself.

This
was all Guy’s fault.

‘Brill’
Sally crunched the old 4x4 into first gear. ‘Oh by the way,’ she shouted back
to Jules as she began to pull away. ‘We checked the paper and you’re off the
hook today.’ 

‘What?’
Jules asked more to herself than to Sally, who had already sped up the lane
before Jules had chance to process her last sentence.

WEDNESDAY,
FEBRUARY 18
^TH

GUY HIT SMASHES RECORDS

Guy
Rawson’s debut single has become the most downloaded song of the year just two
days after its release.  His smash hit ‘Regret’ jumped to number one on Sunday
from radio play alone and looks to stay there for some time based on sales
figures released today.

Since
turning his back on modelling, the 27-year old has established himself as a
successful solo artist. Within a matter of months, the London born singer has
swapped his super-groomed catwalk style for what editor of our style magazine,
Lips
,
Tracey White has termed ‘The retro stubble look’.

But
far from lower his status as Britain’s’ top hunk, White has tipped Guy to be
voted Hotty of the year in next month’s poll. “Not only is Guy more visible to
the public now, but his music really hits a chord with women.”

Nominated
for best newcomer at next month’s Lotus Awards, Rawson looks set to take the
music biz and woman everywhere by storm.

Is
Guy still your fav British hunk? Get voting online NOW!

Only
when she entered the farm shop halfway between the pub at the bottom of the
lane and the guesthouse at the top, did Jules understand Sally’s last comment.

‘Sold
out,’ Stan explained, his hand passing over the remaining newspapers spread in
front of him.

So
far, the balding shop owner seemed to Jules to be the only person in
Cottinghale who had not been injected with an overdose of friendliness. 

He
narrowed his eyes on her. ‘But what did you expect, asking anyone who would
listen to keep their eyes peeled for stories about you?’

‘I
said that?’ Jules exclaimed, wondering what or who had invaded her body and
done the exact opposite of her wishes. Never in her right mind would she have dragged
the entire hamlet into her life. Bloody Guy and his newspaper, and bloody Rich
with his ridiculous concoctions, she fumed.

‘Yep.’
Stan moved out from the long counter covering the wall to the right of the
door. Stepping into the middle of the store, he began unpacking a cardboard
crate of large earth covered potatoes into a sloped display next to an array of
other vegetables.

‘Anything
else you were looking for?’ he asked without looking up from his task.

‘What
about the copy that you were delivering to the house? Can’t I look at that
one?’ she asked, ignoring the shop owner’s obvious annoyance at her presence
and selecting a
Curly Whirly
from the colourful display of chocolate
bars stacked by the till.

Stan
let out a deep sigh. ‘So you want that now do you?’

‘Yes
please,’ she responded in the most pleasant voice she could muster. It was only
two days ago that she’d had great difficulty convincing Stan to stop the
deliveries in the first place.

‘Sold
that one too,’ he replied, his face twisting into an amused smile. 

‘Oh.’

‘I
suppose,’ he paused, breathing out another long sigh and wiping his hands on
his long green apron. ‘If you don’t mind looking at a creased copy, I could let
you take a quick look through mine.’    

‘Thank
you Stan, that’s very kind of you,’ she replied, gritting her teeth with frustration
as Stan busied himself with the potatoes for a few moments longer, before
stepping back to the counter.

‘Here
you go then.’ He reached under the till and handed the paper to Jules.

‘Thanks.’    

‘I
suppose next you’ll be wanting me to put one aside for you each morning?’ his
tone gruff as he reached for a leather-bound notebook.

‘That
would be great, thank you.’ She had no desire to hunt through a trashy tabloid every
day, but after the shock of Guy’s visit and her strange behaviour in the pub, did
she really have a choice? If she wanted to avoid any more surprises then a walk
to Stan’s shop each morning would have to become part of her routine for a few
days at least. 

‘You’re
not in it, but your boyfriend is mentioned somewhere in the middle.’

‘He’s
not my boyfriend,’ she muttered, trying to keep the edge from her voice as she
rummaged through the pages and found the mention of Guy.

It
took two careful checks from front to back before Jules felt confident Guy had
been wrong.

Nobody
cared about her and nobody would bother speaking to the paper about her. It had
all been part of his pathetic games after all, she realised; too relieved that
her life could return to normal to feel any more anger at the mess Guy had
already caused.  

‘Everything
alright up the house?’ Stan’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

She
folded the newspaper in her hands and passed it back to Stan. ‘Yes of course,
why wouldn’t it be?’ she quizzed, handing him the money for her chocolate bar.

‘Just
wondered if the old tenants minded all the changes going on.’

‘Why
would they mind?’ she asked, puzzled by the shop owner’s bizarre question.

‘Not
my place to say,’ Stan answered, busying himself with his notebook entries.

Jules
stared at the top of Stan’s shining head as he bent over the counter, waiting
for him to explain.

He
said nothing.

‘Right,
well bye then,’ Jules said, brushing aside her confusion and continuing her
walk up the road.

 A
sugar hit and a shower and she’d be ready for work, Jules told herself, tearing
open the chocolate bar wrapper and devouring it in three mouthfuls.  

It
was only when the bleary gaze of her eyes fell onto to the tiny bed, did she
wonder if she could allow herself a quick nap.
 

Before
she had a chance to change her mind, Jules stripped off her clothes and slipped
under the cold covers. Feeling the throbbing of her headache slow down, she
closed her eyes and allowed sleep to take her.