Could It Be I'm Falling in Love? (51 page)

Roxy cleared her throat. ‘There
was
someone you told,’ she said quietly. ‘Remember …? Our girly night out, downstairs …?’

‘But …’ Chelle puffed up her cheeks as she tried to remember.

‘Me
 …’ Roxy admitted.

Sue gasped, her hand flying to her face in shock. In a nanosecond, the whole room seemed to fill with dismay. Six pairs of eyes bore into her with disgust at her betrayal. Even Woody looked seriously cheesed off. Roxy rushed to finish her sentence.

‘… and you also told—’

‘Her!
’ Chelle pointed at the doorway.

Everyone turned. And, outlined in the doorway, the early-morning sunlight radiating out behind her, was Holly. But she wasn’t Holly. This Holly looked different: harder. The pastel woollies were gone, replaced by a pointy-shouldered jacket and heels. Her hair was darker, her lipstick bolder and her creamy cheeks had been sharpened with blusher. And flanking this Holly were two men in anoraks, one with a camera, one filming.

‘Holly?’ Sue asked in surprise.

‘Nicola,’ Woody corrected flatly.

And sure enough, the outline in the doorway was the same as the newspaper silhouette.

‘Shit!’ Roxy blurted. Could Holly
really
be Nicola Blunt? Impossible! Holly was a saintly mother-tending wallflower, who’d never even walked past a nightclub. Nicola Blunt was a hard-bitten showbiz journalist, a nocturnal scalp hunter, the torment of celebs across the land.

And then slowly, maliciously, Nicola-Holly grinned.

‘Hello, gang. Everyone enjoying their breakfast?’

‘But …’ Simon looked lost. ‘Are you Holly’s …
sister?’

The man with the camera snapped Simon’s gormless expression.
Nicola laughed – a brittle, tinkling sound, like shards being dropped in a champagne glass.

‘So sweet!’ she declared nastily. ‘So naïve! It’s been like taking candy off a baby, it really has! And how are
you
, Austin? An Irish coffee, I presume?’

‘Burn in hell, witch,’ Austin replied evenly, his hatred undisguised.

‘But you’re …’ Sue faltered, brain lagging.

‘Top of my game and heading for promotion?’ Nicola grinned. ‘Really, did none of you little flopsies suspect?’ She looked around the room with satisfaction.

‘Proud of yourself, are you?’ Cressida asked tightly, ignoring the flash as the photographer as he recorded the group’s betrayal.

‘Yes, I am, as it happens!’ She laughed. ‘Really, Cressida, I expected
you
to be sharper. The others, no. But
you
 …’

‘You two-faced, lying—’ Roxy hands balled into fists.

‘I mean, Austin’s off his tits half the time, Simon’s too busy being bullied by his kids and there are more brain cells in Chelle’s weave than her head.’

‘I
should
have guessed!’ Cressida self-flagellated. ‘You looked so peculiar when I said you were writing again. I should have realised I’d just caught you out.’

‘That’s the problem with politicians,’ Nicola smirked. ‘They think they know everything, but when it comes down to it, they’re actually one below window cleaners on the brightness scale.’ And then she turned to Woody and smiled. ‘Enjoying my handiwork?’ she pointed at the newspaper. ‘Pity you cottoned on to me two weeks too late.’

Roxy looked at Woody in surprise. ‘You
knew?’

‘Suspected,’ he replied, his eyes not moving a millimetre from Nicola, as though watching a cobra preparing to strike. ‘I saw an old picture of Holly. The old one wore braces. But this one’s got a gap in her teeth.’

‘He’s been phoning the office,’ laughed Nicola, ‘leaving messages, warning me off. Asking me, as a friend – as a fellow human being…
As if!
He even turned up at the office. Security wouldn’t let him through, of course, and he still couldn’t be one hundred per cent sure it was me. But he’s not as dull as he looks. He got a lawyer to email my editor about your right to privacy. Not that my editor read it.’

‘But why?’ asked Sue, her face still rumpled in confusion. ‘Why let us think you’re our friend? Why pretend to be Holly?’

‘Nobody’s seen Holly for years,’ Nicola replied crisply. ‘Even when she was writing, there was only that one fuzzy photo. And I always believe if a story’s worth doing, it’s worth getting embedded for. Don’t flatter yourselves – I wasn’t after any of you no-lifes. The ins and outs of your little lives were so dull I could barely be bothered to type them up! No, it was the exclusive on Austin I wanted. I’d heard rumours Hollywood had had enough of him, and I wanted to make sure I was here when he scuttled back home. Woody unwittingly gave me a way in. He was so intent on helping you sad little nobodies, it was easy to pretend to be one of you and join.’

Austin stood up angrily.

‘It’s fair enough to go for me,’ he thundered. ‘I’ve played the game – I’m used to this bollocks. But why go for them?

You had enough muck on me to sell papers; why fuck up their lives too?’

Nicola shrugged. ‘Why not?’

‘I’m gonna deck her!’ Roxy lunged, but Woody held her back.

‘I’m gonna fucking kill her!’ shrieked Chelle, flinging herself at Nicola, nails first. It took both Simon and Terence to hold her down.

‘But you came to my house,’ Sue insisted. ‘We had tea and biscuits. We were friends.’ She moved towards Nicola in confusion, but Nicola and her henchmen drew ranks. There was a panicky scuffle and the TV camera connected with Sue’s face with a crack.

‘Get your hands off her, you scum!’ Terence roared.

Nicola paused, momentarily floored by his fury. But then she recovered herself. ‘Go on, Terry – hit me,’ she goaded. ‘Teach me a lesson with the back of your hand. It’ll give me a new angle: Tornado the woman-beating weatherman. Let’s see how employable you are after that.’

Cressida whipped out her mobile. ‘I’ve had enough of this nonsense. I’m calling the police.’

‘To do what?’ Nicola spat out a laugh. ‘Have me arrested for crimes against egos?’

Terence helped Sue into a chair, her nose wrapped in his handkerchief. As she let out a whimper of pain, the photographer leant in and took her picture. Quick as a flash, Woody punched the camera away. The man cried out, reeling in shock, and the camera smashed on to the floor and into pieces. Roxy
kicked the bits into the corner before the photographer could bend to retrieve them.

‘You can’t do that!’ screeched Nicola. ‘That’s
Sunday Post
property!’

‘Sue me,’ Woody growled in reply.

‘Right – that’s it. Get out, you harpy!’ yelled Austin. And he pushed Nicola, hard, in the chest.

‘Austin, don’t, she’ll turn it into a story,’ wailed Sue.

‘It’ll be worth it. Now, fuck off!’ he roared at her henchmen.

‘Stop,’ Woody said calmly, but with an authority that brought the room to a halt.

‘You’re going to leave now,’ he told Nicola evenly. He turned to the man who was filming. ‘And
you
are going to give me that.’ He held out his hand for the camera.

‘In your dreams, SpongeBob!’ Nicola laughed.

Woody turned back to her.
‘You
are never going to print another story about any of us. You’re going to print full apologies. And you’re going to get the hell out of Lavender Heath.’

‘Oh, yes?’ Nicola smirked with pure venom. ‘And how do you reckon on that? Because I don’t see you holding any cards here,
window cleaner.’

‘That’s your problem, Nicola. You’re looking so hard for scandal, you can’t see what’s under your nose.’

Nicola looked down and, sure enough, right under her nose, Woody was brandishing his holdall. He slowly unzipped it and pulled out a netbook. He opened it up and a woman’s face appeared on the screen.

‘Woody?’ said the woman on the computer. ‘Are we on?’

‘We’re on,’ he confirmed, and he held the netbook up to Nicola’s face.

‘Nicola Blunt?’ the woman asked as Nicola frowned at the computer. The woman was in her mid-thirties. She was scruffy and wearing no make-up. Her features weren’t strong, but they were determined and she was strangely, unconventionally pretty.

‘Nicola Blunt who has recently been residing at fourteen Hawthorne Close as the lodger of Lavinia Childs?’ the woman continued.

Nicola tried to look bored. ‘And who the hell is this civilian?’ she sneered.

‘My name is Holly Childs,’ the woman informed her. ‘And this is a copy of a document my lawyer is about to serve on your editor.’ She held a wadge of printed sheets up to the screen.

Nicola took a step back. And then she peered into the computer in shock.

‘You’re
Holly Childs?’ Her eyes moved frantically to Woody. ‘But how did you …? She’s supposed to be up a tree on an island!’

‘Just because I live in a tree house, doesn’t mean it doesn’t have a modem,’ the woman on the computer replied. ‘I’m very aware of what’s going on in the world, and your reprehensible activities within it. When Woody contacted my publisher, I was only too happy to help.’

Nicola gave Woody a look of venomous hatred.

‘Nicola Blunt,’ Holly Childs continued, ‘this document warns that, if you persist in stealing my identity, I will take immediate steps to prosecute you under the Data Protection Act of 1998. It also contains a copy of a letter of complaint, detailing your harassment of my mother, which will shortly be delivered to the police. And, finally, it contains a copy of an agreement I’ve signed with your rival paper,
The Bugle
. Unless you agree to my requests – in full, and within fifteen minutes – I will grant them an exclusive interview detailing your sinister deception of my family and my specific complaints about your personal conduct and methods. My words are bound to go global: I’ve never spoken publicly before.’

There was a long pause. Nicola eyed Holly.

‘The Bugle
will never name me personally,’ she told her.

‘On the contrary; they’re only too glad to help.’

Nicola frowned. ‘The public won’t care about my methods.’

‘“Hardened journalist harasses elderly, vulnerable lady”? Do you know my mother suffers from dementia?
The Bugle
have the medical reports that prove it.’

There was a pause. Nicola narrowed her eyes. ‘Even
if
I agree to your requirements,
The Bugle
’ll never sit on the story. You’ve given them a scoop. No editor in the land wouldn’t run it.

‘I have complete confidence in
The Bugle
. Their exclusive extracts from my next novel are at stake.’ Holly looked at her watch. ‘And the documents are being delivered right about … now. You have until exactly 9am to comply.’

‘Hi, Holly.’ Austin peered into the computer. ‘Great move – cheers for this. Hey, I
do
remember you!’

‘Hello, Austin,’ Holly Childs replied with a grin.

‘You used to do your homework on set! You played with the puppies between takes!’

‘I remember you were always very sweet to me.’

‘Shhh!’ Austin warned with a frown. ‘This lot think I’m a bastard.’

Holly Childs laughed – and then she too frowned. ‘Nicola – you’re still there.’

‘I …’ Nicola floundered.

‘Woody, Skype me in ten,’ Holly instructed. ‘Ding, dong, the witch is dead, and all that.’

‘You’re on,’ Woody replied. He closed the computer and passed it to Roxy. And then he turned to the cameraman, who was still filming.

‘Give that to me,’ he commanded. For a split second the cameraman froze, but then he meekly offered it up. ‘And now you’re all going home.’

Nicola looked at Woody, her eyes boiling with poison. She looked set to scratch his eyes out. ‘You’re finished, you pathetic little sponge-carrier,’ she spat, stabbing a long, spiky finger into his chest. ‘Even
if
I don’t write anything else, your life in your precious Lavender Heath is over. Nobody’s going to want a sex pest peeping through their windows. Nobody’s going to want to be friends with a scheming, cheating, two-faced, pussy-addict pervert.’

Woody sighed, rubbed his head and then, in a single movement, scooped Nicola into a fireman’s lift and carried her bottom-first towards the door.

‘You’re going to regret this, you dumb fucking bastard,’ Nicola screamed, upside down. ‘I’m going to make
all
you fuckers regret this.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Cressida replied. ‘It’s words in a paper; we’ll survive.’

And then Woody carried Nicola downstairs.

For a few seconds, the room fell into stunned silence. And then a telephone rang.

‘Barrington?’
Simon answered his mobile in a daze.

‘Who’s Barrington?’ Austin asked mischievously.

‘Yes; yes, I’ve seen the papers …’ Simon said numbly. ‘Yes, I
do
know Austin Jones … No, I didn’t see any reason to tell you …’ There was a squeal of excitement from the phone. Simon began to look cross. ‘Well, I don’t really see how it’s relevant … I expect he
already has
an agent. Besides, don’t you
read
the papers? He’s retired.’

‘Put him on speakerphone,’ Austin urged, as Woody reentered the room. Roxy quickly looked Woody over. He was OK, she saw with relief. There were no nail marks gouged into his face.

‘But you’re supposed to be representing
me
, Barrington …
Me!’

‘Speakerphone!’ Austin tugged Simon’s arm. Simon looked at him blankly, but then did as he was told. Barrington’s voice suddenly filled up the room.

‘… if you could just put in a good word for me, I could get him the perfect comeback vehicle. A quality rom-com! In fact, I’ve got Richard Curtis’ phone number right here. He’s casting his new project next week.’

‘Ballington?’ Austin took the phone from Simon’s hands.

‘Oooo!’ Barrington squeaked with delight. ‘Is that Austin Jones?
The
Austin Jones?’

‘Get your tongue out my arse and just listen. You’ve been a
shit
agent to Simon and he won’t put up with it any more.’

‘No, of course! Absolutely! But Mr Jones, whilst you’re on the phone – Ooo, this is so exciting, I’ve got goose bumps! – I was just wondering if you fancied a coffee, you know, to mull over a few ideas abou—’