Johnny's Girl (2 page)

In truth, I don’t find it funny at all. I’m only laughing in this context. I still haven’t come to terms with how many women Johnny would have slept with when he was in Fence,
the rock group that made him famous, and later when he went solo and his career soared to the highest of heights. Okay, we have sex all the bloody time, even now with two kids, but I still
don’t know if I’ve broken his record. And yes, however bad it sounds, I do want to.

‘In our first proper
month
together I’d been with you more than I had with any other woman,’ he tells me seriously.

‘Yeah, but I want to know about your total.’

‘I don’t know my total,’ he mutters.

‘Am I close?’

He frowns, looking away from me with frustration. He glances back at me. ‘You really want to know?’

Actually, I’m not sure that I do. I feel a bit sick now. ‘Yes,’ I tell him.

‘Bloody hell. Okay. So we’ve been together, what… We got together at the end of June? July, August, September…’ He counts on his fingers, finishing one year and
many months later at the end of March, which is where we are now. ‘Twenty-one months,’ he says eventually, while I look on, amused, despite the underlying nausea in my stomach.
‘We have sex three times a day occasionally. Sometimes more.’

‘Not straight after Phoenix was born,’ I correct him. ‘And not when you’re away.’

‘Phone sex doesn’t count?’ he asks hopefully.

‘No,’ I tell him firmly. ‘Let’s call it once a day on average.’

‘That’s being extremely cautious.’ He stares back at his fingers, and then looks back up at me with confusion. ‘I’m not good at maths.’

I laugh out loud.

‘Bollocks,’ he mutters.

‘We must’ve had sex well over seven hundred times,’ I chip in, waiting for his response.

‘Erm…’

‘Have you slept with more than seven hundred groupies?’ I ask with surprise.

His brow furrows and he looks away from me. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Don’t lie to me,’ I warn, all humour gone from my voice.

‘I am
not
lying to you,’ he says firmly. ‘I’m
thinking
. And I don’t
think
I’ve slept with that many women.
Seriously
,’ he
stresses. ‘But I can’t be completely sure,’ he adds, his shoulders slumping. I know that he’s telling me the truth.

‘Sorry,’ I say, feeling bad now because I’ve let my green-eyed monster take over again.

‘Never apologise,’ he mutters, taking me in his arms and holding me tightly. ‘I love you,’ he says into my hair.

I bury my face in his neck and kiss him there. He pulls away and kisses me again, and I don’t stop him even when we become more passionate. But I’m not quite ready to “live
dangerously”, as he put it, so we reluctantly break away from each other and walk hand-in-hand through a field full of wildflowers back to the privacy of our cliffside room.

‘Look! There they are!’ I cry gleefully as I peer out of the helicopter window at the small figures of Mum, Dad, Barney and Phoenix below. They’re standing on
the front garden near the swimming pool and Mum is holding Phoenix in her arms, pointing up at the helicopter as it flies in to land on the roof of the Malibu beach house we’ve hired for this
holiday. Barney is jumping up and down on the spot, waving like a little lunatic. I am so excited to see them again, I can’t even tell you. I’m out of my seatbelt well before the rotor
stops moving.

‘Hang on a sec.’ Johnny puts his hand on my arm. He’s happy to see the boys too, but I don’t think he would have minded if we’d stayed away for another day. As for
me, much as I loved my precious time alone with my husband, I wanted to be back to put our children to bed. Phoenix is not even nine months old and I’m still doing the last feed of the day. I
missed our ritual last night, even though Johnny did his best to keep my mind occupied with
other
things… Hmm, I’m thinking maybe we should get a hot tub of our own.

As soon as I’m allowed, I climb out of the helicopter and run down the roof steps to the front lawn where my parents and children are waiting.

‘Mummy!’ Barney shouts, waving around a tube of M&Ms with a little battery operated fan at the top. ‘Look what Grandma bought me!’

‘Wow! That’s amazing!’ I exclaim, raising one eyebrow at my mum. She looks guilty. ‘It had a helicopter on the top,’ she says defensively. ‘Like the one Mummy
and Daddy went away in.’ She has a tendency to spoil him with treats, whereas I try to steer clear of too much sugar. For Barney, not me. I’ve got a ridiculously sweet tooth. Yep, I
stick by my double standards.

I sweep him up into my arms and give his little body a big squeezy hug, then I pass him to Johnny who has just appeared behind me.

‘Hey, buddy!’ he says, while I take Phoenix. He’s blond with brown eyes, like me, and he has an exceptionally toothy smile. Exceptional, because there’s just the one
tooth at the moment. I tickle him under his chin and he giggles up at me. They’re both wearing their PJs and are ready for bed.

‘How was it?’ I ask Mum and Dad as we wander back inside.

‘They were as good as gold,’ Mum says.

‘Fine,’ Dad replies nonchalantly.

‘Did you have a good time?’ Mum asks us both.

My face breaks into a grin and I look up at Johnny and smile. ‘Yeah, it was great.’

‘Thanks,’ Johnny says with sincerity to them both.

‘Anytime,’ Mum replies, patting him on his arm.

We wander back inside. The three-storey, cube-like house is on stilts overlooking a sandy beach and the Pacific Ocean beyond. It’s styled like a beach house – despite its size
suggesting it’s more of a beach mansion – with painted white weather boarded ceilings and sanded floors with cream-coloured shaggy rugs underfoot. The outdoor deck is modern with a
fantastic view, but inside it’s a little bit twee, and not really to Johnny’s minimalist taste. But it’s secluded and safe, and it counts dozens of other A-list celebrities as
neighbours. The price for renting it reflects that. Ouch.

‘Drop in the ocean, Nutmeg, drop in the ocean…’

We sit in the living room on huge, comfy light-grey sofas dotted with dozens of muted-coloured cushions and catch up on the last thirty-six or so hours. After a while, Phoenix starts to grizzle
– it’s well past his and Barney’s bedtime – so Johnny and I excuse ourselves and take the boys up to their bedrooms. Johnny goes next door with Barney to read him a story,
while I feed Phoenix in an armchair overlooking the ocean, listening to the low murmur of Johnny’s voice next door. After a while, Phoenix falls asleep, exhausted. I hear Johnny come out of
Barney’s room, just as I’m laying my baby boy into his cot.

‘Okay?’ Johnny whispers from the doorway.

I nod my reply.

I step out of the room and join him in the wide corridor as he takes me in his arms. This first year with Phoenix has been a very different experience to the first year I had with Barney. That
year was full of uncertainty and fear. I loved being a mother, but I was living in doubt. I didn’t know if Barney was Christian’s or Johnny’s. I was
with
Christian –
I hadn’t seen Johnny since I fell pregnant. And when I found out that I was, I hoped the baby would be Christian’s, a good, kind man who wasn’t into drink, drugs and shagging
around. But months after Barney’s birth, my son started to resemble his rock star father, and I found myself living in a nightmare, knowing that the truth would destroy Christian – and
hurt my baby. I didn’t think Johnny would step up to the plate and become a father. But when the truth came out, he did. And devastating as it was for Christian, over the next year we found a
way to be a part of each other’s lives again as friends. Now Barney calls him Uncle Christian, and I thank my lucky stars each and every day that he found a way to forgive me – and
Johnny. But I still haven’t forgiven myself. I don’t think I ever will. As mistakes go, this one is hard to top.

Johnny pulls away and looks down at me. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. I hate being away from you.’

‘We’ll be able to travel with you a bit more now. It’ll be easier,’ I promise, staring up at him earnestly.

‘I’ve gotta go in for a meeting tomorrow,’ he says. It’s with the execs at his record label. ‘Do you want to hitch a lift and go shopping while your parents are
still here to help out?’

I look thoughtful. ‘Actually, Mum might be up for having a look around, too.’

‘I was going to take the bike,’ he says.

‘Oh!’ I laugh lightly. ‘Fair enough. No, I don’t think Mum would be up for squeezing on the back of that.’

Johnny still keeps his Ducati motorcycle in LA. He uses it when he’s here.

‘I’ll organise a car for you,’ he says with a shrug.

My instinct is to tell him that I’ll sort it, but I zip my lips.

We have a PA in Henley, where we live. Her name is Marla, but she’s a mum of three and she only works part-time. I still sort of feel that it’s my job to look after Johnny, even
though I haven’t been able to do as much of that recently as I would have liked. Anyway, Marla’s on holiday with her family while we’re here, so Johnny has been trying to help out
with organisational stuff. That’s another indication of how much he’s changed in the last couple of years. He used to be a right selfish git.

‘But I do want to get you on the back of my bike again soon,’ he warns.

I feel apprehensive. ‘Let me talk to Mum first. She might prefer to hang here.’

As it turns out, Mum does want to stay home. ‘Go with Johnny! Your father and I will have plenty of time for shopping when we leave you.’ They’re heading to
Las Vegas in a few days, and from there, onto the Grand Canyon. ‘You should have stayed in Big Sur for longer. I haven’t seen anywhere near enough of my grandchildren recently,’
she complains good-naturedly.

‘Okay, if you’re sure.’

‘I won’t organise a car, then,’ Johnny chips in cheerfully.

I’m nervous late the next morning as I kiss the kids goodbye and go outside to the garage at the front of the property. My nerves intensify when I hear the loud roar of
the Ducati engine as it fires up. I haven’t been on the back of Johnny’s bike for so long. Not since I left LA.

‘Here,’ he says loudly over the engine noise, passing me the shiny, black helmet that was resting on the seat behind him. He nods to the bench-top nearby, where I see a brown leather
jacket and gloves.

‘Where did you get these from?’ I shout with a frown.

‘I keep them in storage!’

‘Who for?’

‘For you!’ he shouts back, shrugging his frustration at me.

So long as they weren’t for anybody else…

I pull on the jacket and can smell the leather even over the fumes coming from the exhaust pipe. I screw up my nose and Johnny takes the hint, turning the ignition off.

‘Thank you,’ I say pointedly.

‘Don’t look so excited,’ he replies with a grin.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ I ask.

‘Get your arse over here,’ he responds firmly.

I’ve become a bit of a wuss since the kids were born. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to handle this.

I zip up the jacket and hesitantly walk over to him, putting on the gloves as I go. He picks up the helmet and pulls it over my head, fastening it up.

‘I won’t go too fast,’ he promises, his green eyes twinkling.

He flips his visor down to obscure his face and then does the same to mine, patting the seat behind him. I put my foot on the footrest and swing my leg over the back of the bike, clutching onto
him for dear life as he restarts the ignition and drives out of the garage.

The first five minutes are absolutely terrifying. After that I begin to relax and enjoy myself. I remember this feeling, actually. This feeling of freedom, of being able to go straight to the
front of the queue of cars waiting at the traffic lights, and be the first off the mark as we leave them in our wake. Johnny used to easily escape the paparazzi this way. I can understand how much
he loves to ride.

Being with him now, I remember how much I used to love riding
with
him. It makes me feel young again.

I laugh inwardly. I’m only thirty, for crying out loud. But this is making me feel nostalgic for a time before I had to grow up and become responsible for two little lives. Not that
I’d change a thing.

Last night I called my friend Kitty to see if she was free to catch up for lunch. I don’t need to go shopping. I haven’t seen Kitty in person since our wedding, but
we Skype fairly regularly. We became pals when I first starting working for Johnny. She was also a CPA – Celebrity Personal Assistant – although she no longer works with actor Rod
Freemantle. After quitting, she took a year off and went travelling, and when she returned, Rod helped her to get a job in the film industry. Now she works in PR for one of the Hollywood
studios.

‘I’ll pick you up in a couple of hours,’ Johnny promises, dropping me at the curbside. ‘I’ll call when I’m setting off.’

‘Cool, thanks. Have a good meeting.’

‘See you in a bit.’ He flips his visor down and zooms away from me. It’s only when he’s turned the corner that I realise my heart is fluttering. He still gives me
butterflies. I take my helmet off and shake out my shoulder-length hair, then I turn and walk up the few steps into the white picketed enclosure that is The Ivy.

The waiter seats me outside at a table for four on the terrace underneath a white umbrella. I’m tempted to put it down so I can feel the sun on my skin, but I don’t want to cause a
fuss. I order a mineral water and pull out my ereader, enjoying a rare bit of me-time as I wait for my friend.

‘Are you Meg Jefferson?’ I hear a slightly breathless voice ask.

I turn around, half expecting to see one of Johnny’s potentially demented fans. I burst into laughter when I come face to face with Kitty. What a wind-up merchant. I get up and throw my
arms around her. She’s wearing a horizontal-striped black and bronze mini dress with long sleeves, and purple slingbacks on her feet.

‘You look amazing!’ I exclaim. ‘I love your dress.’

‘Thanks!’

‘Don’t comment on what I’m wearing,’ I tell her hurriedly. I feel completely underdressed in my skinny black jeans, T-shirt and trainers. My helmet is on the seat next to
me, the jacket slung over the seat back. ‘I had to dress appropriately for Mr Ducati,’ I reveal.