Could It Be I'm Falling in Love? (41 page)

But he couldn’t finish.

‘I think what he’s trying to say, Austin,’ Sue offered gently, ‘is that we’re all a bit confused about why you’ve turned your back on your career.’

‘Why did
you
turn your back on
your
career, Suga?’ Austin snapped. ‘Or was gorging yourself into obesity the plan?’

‘You arse!’ Roxy exploded. ‘I’d forgotten what wankers stars are.’

‘Yes, don’t listen to his poison,’ Terence told Sue. ‘You’re a beautiful woman.’

‘No, she
was
a beautiful woman,’ corrected Austin. ‘Now she’s just fat.’

‘Enough!’ Woody jumped up, pulled Austin to his feet and marshalled him over to the door. ‘You’ve had more than enough second chances. You shouldn’t have had any at all. Get out!’

‘
Oh, fuck off
!’ Austin spluttered, indignant. ‘You can’t throw me out – it’s a pub! I could buy it a million times over.’

‘I said, out!’

But Austin didn’t move. He just stood and looked at Woody coldly.

‘What the fuck’s happened to you, Woodster? Where’s the real Woody gone? The one who drank the bar dry and humped anything in a skirt? Did you wake up in some supermodel’s bed one morning and decide, “
No
, I
won’t
give that top-quality snatch another hammering – I’ll find a bunch of nobodies to nurse through their mid-life crises. I’ll search out a load of saggy-titted, no-bollocked non-entities, without a single achievement between them … A feeble, washed-up gaggle of wannabes – not even the smallest dribble of talent or shaggability to kee—”’

There was a sudden crack of knuckle on bone, and Austin slumped to the floor.

‘Shit!’ Roxy stared open-mouthed. Woody had punched Austin out cold.

Woody rubbed his knuckles. ‘At last,’ he said quietly to himself.

‘Oh. My. God!’ declared Chelle as she peered over Austin’s crumpled form. ‘You’ve just knocked out
Austin
cockin’
Jones
!’

And then, just as everyone was looking at the unconscious figure of a megastar and wondering what on earth they were supposed to do next, an agonised howl pierced the air. But it wasn’t Austin – it was Sue.

‘I don’t want to be Sue any more!’ she wailed, her face coated in tears, spittle and snot. ‘
I JUST WANT TO BE SUGATITS
!’

Everyone stared, astonished. The word ‘Sugatits’ seemed to echo around the room. And then, as quickly as it had come, the volume of Sue’s upset receded and she dissolved into silent tears, her mouth fixed into an anguished ‘O’. Terence patted her arm stiffly. And then Austin groaned and threw up over his chest.

‘I need a drink,’ he declared, eyes whirling. ‘Fill me up, Dave!’ And he passed out again.

Cressida frowned. ‘Do you think we should take him to hospital?’

Roxy shook her head. ‘The newspapers would have a field day.’

‘But we can’t just leave him here. I know he’s unpleasant, but he’s still a human being.’

‘Debatable,’ Terence muttered, as he comforted Sue.

Woody looked Austin over. ‘He’ll be fine. He needs to sleep it off, that’s all. I’ll take him home.’

‘Do you really think that’s a good idea?’ Roxy frowned. ‘You
did
just knock him out.’

‘She’s got a point,’ agreed Holly. ‘What if he goes for round two?’

‘He’s my mistake, my responsibility,’ Woody said grimly.

‘No,’ Simon suddenly declared. ‘No, he’s
our
responsibility – all of us. Let
us
help
you
, for once, Woody. You’re the last person he’ll want to see when he wakes up. I’ve got the people carrier outside. You get off –
we’ll
get him home.’

‘But—’

‘No, really – we’ve got this. You go.’

Woody rubbed his head. ‘Are you sure?’

Everyone nodded.

‘Really?’

‘He’s the last person
you
should have to help.’ Simon looked at him significantly. Woody nodded.

‘Sorry about …’ He gestured to where Austin was crumpled.

‘Don’t be.’ Cressida smiled. ‘Seeing you punch Austin was more fun than I’ve had in ages. Makes me yearn to be back in the Commons!’

‘Go home, Woody,’ Roxy said softly. ‘Ice your hand.’ She looked up at him in his lumberjack shirt: the kind-hearted man who’d just decked someone for everyone’s honour. Suddenly, more than anything she could ever remember wanting, she wanted to look after him … to take him home,
tend his hand, nurse his wound. He couldn’t afford to damage his hand – his hands were his living. The thought of his cut, swollen knuckles, frozen up a ladder in February, almost brought a tear to her eye.

‘Oh my God, he’s pissing himself!’ shrieked Chelle, pointing a pink nail at Austin’s groin.

Woody paused reluctantly in the doorway.

‘I’ll ring you in the morning,’ Simon told him, ignoring the pool of liquid spreading out from Austin Jones. ‘Tell you how it went.’

‘There’s piss everywhere!’ yelled Chelle as the puddle surrounded her. ‘It’s all over my cockin’ shoes!’

Woody hesitated, nodded and then left.

‘Aw, that’s disgusting. They’re peep-toes!’ Chelle wailed.

‘Right!’ Simon clapped his hands together. ‘Let’s get this joker downstairs.’

Two vomits later, Austin was safely bundled into the people carrier. Simon was driving, Cressida alongside; Roxy, Holly, Terence and Sue were in the back, with Austin slumped at their feet.

‘Where’s Chelle?’ Roxy asked, looking around.

‘Tactical retreat,’ said Holly. ‘She couldn’t stand the smell.’

‘It
is
pretty strong,’ remarked Sue, back to her old self at last.

‘There’s nothing like the whiff of vomit to dampen the ardour.’ Terence smiled. ‘Or someone’s piss in your shoes!’

‘I saw your soap …’ Austin suddenly croaked from the footwell.

‘Down Town?
’ Simon asked in surprise.
‘You
saw
Down Town?’

‘I called the producshion company; gothem to send a deeveedee.’

‘You did?’

‘You were quite …’ Austin drunkenly tailed off. Simon clenched the wheel as he awaited the verdict. ‘… Good.’

Simon drove in stunned silence. ‘Thank you,’ he finally replied. ‘I’m so flattered …’ But Austin was vomiting on his mats.

‘Bloody hell!’ Terence drew up his feet. ‘Anyone would think he actually cares.’

‘He watched my shows!’ Simon grinned, oblivious. ‘I can’t believe he watched my shows!’

‘I can’t believe he made a phone call,’ muttered Cressida. ‘It must have been his busiest day in months.’

‘And he actually said I was
good
.’

‘
Quite
good,’ Terence reminded him.

But it didn’t matter. Chuckling with delight, Simon took a left and swept into Austin’s drive. Everyone fell silent as they sped along its length, the vast, up-lit manor house sliding into view.

Roxy let out a whistle. ‘Now
that
is what I call epic!’

‘It’s enormous,’ said Holly with a gasp. ‘How much do you think it’s worth?’

‘Six point two million,’ Cressida replied crisply. ‘Don’t any of you read the local paper?’

‘Six point two million?’ Terence spluttered. ‘For swanning around in a few films?’

They drew up at the front door. A dusky-skinned woman came out to meet them. Even in the dark, Roxy could see she was stunning.

‘We’re just bringing Austin home,’ Simon explained as he got out of the car. ‘I’m afraid he’s a bit worse for wear.’

The woman opened the rear door, recoiling slightly as she was hit by the aroma of Jack Daniel’s, vomit and piss. She surveyed the mess inside.

‘Os-tin Jones! You get up rye now!’ she ordered fiercely. Her hair shone glossily under the lamplight as she spoke.

‘He might have a bit of a sore head in the morning,’ Simon offered sheepishly. ‘He gave it a small bump getting in the car.’

‘I’m sure eet ees ze least ee deserves,’ the woman said. ‘Zank you for bringing eem ‘ome. I know ee is not eeasy when ee ees like zis. Ee’s lucky ee ‘as such good friends.’

Everyone examined the ground shiftily, too embarrassed to meet each other’s eyes. And then, as if on an unspoken order, Terence and Roxy started hoisting Austin out from the car.

‘I’m Simon.’ Simon offered the woman his hand. ‘And this is Cressida, Sue, Holly, Terence and Roxy.’

‘Carmen Bonitta,’ the beautiful woman replied. ‘Os-tin’s girlfriend.’

‘Thassa lie,’ Austin slurred from the depths of his anorak. ‘I’m single!’

‘Of courz you arr, Os-tin,’ Carmen agreed wearily as she wiped a chunk of bile from his beard. ‘And ze sky ees also purple.’

‘You’re his
girlfriend?
’ Roxy was stunned.
Austin Jones
had a
girlfriend?
How could anyone have a beard and a gut and a girlfriend like Carmen Bonitta? ‘Wow!’ she blurted in awe.

‘Yes, wow,’ Carmen replied sardonically. ‘Luckee me.’ And then, staggering under his weight, she expertly half-led, half-carried him back into the house. ‘Come on, Os-tin.’ She tried to rouse him. ‘Coffeee time!’

They all stood in the glow of the manor house up-lighting.

‘How can he have a girlfriend?’ Terence hissed. ‘He practically begged Roxy for sex.’

‘She thinks we’re his friends,’ Roxy whispered. She suddenly felt very ashamed.

Holly ran after Carmen. ‘Can I come in? It’s just, I need to wash sick off my skirt.’

‘Bee my guess,’ Carmen called over her shoulder. ‘Zair ees guess bathroom, third door on left.’

‘We’ll wait,’ Simon told Holly.

‘Don’t,’ Holly called back. ‘I’ll cab it – I can’t stand the smell. Besides, Carmen might need some help.’

Everyone piled wordlessly back into the car. They all sat in mute contemplation. Simon stared out through the windscreen at Austin’s house.

‘You know, maybe I’m not cut out for success,’ he mused quietly. ‘Maybe panto isn’t so bad, after all.’

And then he started the engine and drew away from the manor house, the people carrier reeking of A-list Hollywood chunder.

To:
Roxy Squires

From:
The Daily Telegraph

Dear Ms Squires,

Thank you for contacting us with your idea for a new, no-nonsense agony aunt column, to be penned by the former Secretary of State for Work and Pensions, Cressida Cunningham.

We love it!

Cressida Cunningham has long had a reputation for plain talking with a sensible, old-fashioned approach. We have often marvelled at her disregard for tact, diplomacy and fashion, whilst simultaneously admiring her ability to ‘hit the nail right on the head’. She’ll be a perfect agony aunt.

Many thanks for this wonderful suggestion. We’ve asked our legal team to draw up a contract of employment …

Roxy breathed deeply and concentrated on keeping her pace. She’d decided not to run with Woody this morning. She’d told him she needed a lie-in – but the truth was she needed to think. There’d been lots of surprises about jogging – the fact that she liked it being the first. But one of the other surprises had been space. Pounding the pavements gave her the perfect time and space for some thought – although thinking still needed a soundtrack and, without Woody, she needed her iPod. She hadn’t changed so much that silence was golden.

Familiar sticky-sweet notes started chiming
.

Of course, if she’d wanted real clarity of thought, she probably shouldn’t have picked Woody’s back catalogue as her playlist. It was hard to be rational when his voice caressed her ears like warm honey. But then, it was hard to be rational about Woody full stop. Ever since the ladder-spooning, she’d felt different – as though everything was completely upended. Her career was over – she knew that now. But, strangely, she didn’t feel depressed. And, whilst a few days ago she may not
have liked where she stood with Woody, it was as though, when she’d climbed up that ladder, she’d stepped off one piece of ground and stepped back down on to another. But what she couldn’t work out was this: was where she stood
before
the ladder better or worse?

Woody had reached his famous chorus
.

It’s funny, she thought, but when she was fifteen, his cover had meant nothing more to her than its video. The words and tune were hardly the point – she’d loved it because Woody wore his vest. Fast-forward to a few weeks ago and she’d thought that the song was cheesy. But today, as she jogged with it on her iPod, it was cool. For the first time, she listened past Woody’s lyrics and heard what was happening underneath … the delicate bongos, the soaring strings, the rich but understated brass … and suddenly she heard the whole song. And she liked it.

And as the music reached its crescendo, Roxy was struck with a thought that made her heart beat faster and stop at the same time. Was
this
what she was doing with Woody?

Could it be that
she
was falling in love?