It Started With a Kiss (22 page)

Later that afternoon, Charlie smiled as I walked into Tom’s rehearsal room, but it was short-lived and did nothing to reassure me of his innocence. Jack looked up from his keyboard and was more forthcoming, leaving his instrument and walking quickly across the room to wrap his arms around me.

‘Oh mate, I saw it yesterday. What a total bitch! Sophie was so angry I had to stop her going round to Tom’s to confront Cayte. I think she probably fired off some choicely worded texts, though.’

‘But you didn’t text me.’ I glanced over at Charlie, who was staring at me. ‘Nobody did.’

Jack stepped back, guilt staining his features. ‘I know. We just didn’t … I wasn’t sure what to say. I should have called. I’m sorry.’

‘Doesn’t matter. I don’t think I would have known what to say if it had happened to one of you instead. But I’d like to think I would have tried to say
something
.’ I looked him straight in the eye. ‘You didn’t tell Cayte anything, did you?’

Utter shock filled his face. ‘No! Never! Hell, did you think that quote was from me?’

Instantly I felt terrible for even entertaining the possibility. ‘No – well, I don’t know who it was, so …’

‘It wasn’t me, either,’ Charlie said, joining us. ‘I hope you believe that.’ His eyes were earnest as he spoke and I sensed he was telling the truth.

‘I know she probably invented the whole thing. I just hate that it’s made me question my friends.’

The door creaked and Charlie nodded in its direction. ‘I would imagine this is the person who can tell you more.’

Tom didn’t smile as he carried in his battered guitar case and placed it beside the drum kit. Jack, Charlie and I watched him as he busied himself with unpacking his guitar and connecting its lead to the amp. Our eyes must have been burning into him, however, because after a few moments he let out a massive sigh and returned our collective stare.

‘So say it.’

Jack seemed taken aback by his defensiveness. ‘Hey, steady on …’

‘There’s no point messing about. Just say what you’re all dying to say.’

‘Tom,’ Charlie began, but Tom had clearly decided to dig in.

‘Look, I had no idea what she was writing. It’s not my fault it went viral. I don’t control her and I’m not responsible for her actions. OK?’

Incensed, Jack stared at him. ‘What, that’s it? It doesn’t matter to you that your stupid airhead girlfriend has attacked one of your best friends?’

I didn’t want this. Animosity between us wouldn’t achieve anything. ‘Jack, let’s not fight. In fact, can we just not mention it, please? I’d like to forget the whole thing and move on.’

‘No, I’m sorry, Rom. You’ve been attacked and humiliated and
he
doesn’t even seem to care. I think that needs dealing with.’

‘That’s
it
.’ Tom slammed his guitar down on top of the amp and leapt across the room, stopping inches away from Jack’s face. ‘If you’ve something to say to me, you can say it to my face.’

‘Fine by me,’ Jack growled back, squaring up to him.

‘You start on Jack and you start on me,’ Charlie threatened.

That was the last straw. Cayte was
not
going to rob me of my closest friends. ‘Enough!’ I shouted, surprising them sufficiently to cease the standoff. ‘Look, she’s your girlfriend, Tom. If you want to defend her, that’s fine. Jack, I don’t need you to fight my battles for me. And, Charlie, you should know better than to rise to the bait. So stop this now, because I will
not
have a bust-up laid at my feet on top of everything else. Just flippin’ well grow up!’

They were still gawping at me dumbly as I walked out.

I didn’t go far – just the small coffee shop in a former jewellery workshop around the corner from the old shoe factory – but it was far enough to make my point. I ordered a caramel latte and let the scents of fresh coffee, old worn wood and vintage dust soothe my racing pulse. I knew that the tension wasn’t wholly due to the fallout from Cayte’s article: we were all still reeling from the loss of the millionaire gig, suffering the sudden disappearance of its promise for our fortunes and the gaping hole in our diaries it had left behind. And since we couldn’t blame anyone for its postponement, especially given the awful circumstances that had necessitated it, the resulting pent-up emotions were finding another outlet.

Ten minutes after my departure, I received a text.

Unwilling to reopen the conversation for today, I quickly sent a text back.

The next day, I met up with Wren and we walked into the city centre. She was horrified and upset that she had been one of the last of my friends to hear about Cayte’s article – not to mention the ensuing row between Charlie, Jack and Tom.

‘I can’t believe you didn’t call me straight away,’ she said, setting two mugs of cappuccino and two white sparkly cake-pops on the table. ‘The first I heard of it was when Jack called me to say the rehearsal was off. I’ve tried calling Tom but his phone’s going straight to answerphone. It’s such a mess.’

‘I know. I just left them to it. I know it’s not Tom’s fault for what Cayte’s done but Jack seemed to think it was.’

Wren raised her eyebrows. ‘And you’re surprised? Tom should have defended you, not her. You and he go way back – that woman has only been in his life five minutes. And what’s to say that she wasn’t just using him for her next scoop, hmm? The way I see it, it’s about time he got his priorities straight.’

This wasn’t my idea of a relaxing Sunday morning. ‘Wren, stop it. I don’t want us all breaking up over this. It’s done and it’s out there: can we not just all move on?’

‘But she’s a total
bitch
…’ Wren protested.

‘That’s as maybe, but she’s not worth losing all my friends over.’

That evening, I noticed the email inbox flashing on my mobile. Flicking it open, I caught my breath …