Wishful Thinking (7 page)

Jason disappeared shortly before Ben’s first birthday and she never saw him again. He’d written a long, incomprehensible letter trying to justify his abandonment and had slipped away late one night, never to return. His departure had left Jess utterly bewildered and she grieved for him as if he was dead. He might as well have been as he was so irrevocably lost to them now. Once she reconciled herself to the truth of her situation, she had little choice but to draw on her survival skills and throw herself into her work in order to salvage her dignity and provide for her son.

They currently rented a small flat in a rather soulless, purpose-built block to the west of London. There was nothing remotely glamorous about it but the residents looked out for each other and Jess felt relatively safe in her bed at night. In fact she felt lucky to have found it. She knew there must be far worse places to live and had learned to count her blessings. It was also close enough to the Central Line that she could be at work in just under half an hour, although she preferred to see the benefit working for her in the opposite direction. If anything happened to Ben, she could be home in just under half an hour to take care of him.

After they’d hauled all their luggage upstairs, Ben knelt before the little Christmas tree and retrieved the two packages Santa had left behind for him, while Jess sipped her coffee and enjoyed his excitement. She wished more than anything that she could take a few days off work just to spend more time with her son. She had enjoyed turning the flat into a little fairy grotto and spending the last few evenings before Christmas watching heart-warming films and reading (though mostly inventing) Christmas stories for Ben. Now the year was rapidly drawing to a close. Christmas was over and life would continue much as usual, despite all its glitter and false promises.

When Ben had gone to bed, Jess flipped open her laptop and logged onto Katya’s blog. After skimming through the more interesting posts, she began to widen her search. Christian’s latest film, called ‘Evil Endeavours’ was receiving much interest. It was due to be launched in the early spring and was a sequel or prequel – Jess couldn’t quite work out which – to ‘Evil Absolute’ for which his name was already being paraded in the forthcoming awards lists in the Best Supporting Actor category. She explored a little further and found he had two earlier film credits to his name, though again, he had not played starring roles in either of them. She jotted down the titles to look up the films later with the aim of renting or buying them.

She then looked up Amber Rayne and was dismayed to see millions of pages of Google listings about her. She was a phenomenon - and glamorous too, as page after page of stunning images showed. Jess began to navigate through the articles, sorting out the internet wheat from the chaff. But even the chaff was revealing and made interesting reading.

This Amber Rayne appeared to be a sad and complex character. She had risen above a seriously damaged childhood to superstar status due to her incredible voice and charisma. Adored by teenage fans, especially girls, all over the world it seemed she had tried to be a good role model, particularly since joining the band Wishful. Once the group had disbanded, she’d gone onto enjoy even greater success as a solo performer, though haunted by her past and suffering several minor breakdowns - drug and alcohol abuse were mentioned on several occasions.

Her name was always linked with Christian’s, even after their break up and her subsequent engagement to Adam Ainsworth. Some articles called them ‘inseparable’, others insisted that her engagement to Ainsworth was merely a smokescreen to give her and Christian some privacy and allow them to pursue their separate careers. The fans seemed to divide themselves between the two schools of opinion.

Amber shook her head, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I hate New Year. Or maybe it’s the thought of the old year dying that I hate. By the time December comes, you’ve grown comfortable with the old year. It’s like an old friend – it hasn’t any more new surprises to spring on you and you can be comfortable with it. But the New Year is different – everyone has such high expectations of it. And they can only ever lead to disappointment.” The tears spilled down her cheeks and both Christian and Adam reached for her hands and squeezed them comfortingly.

“When I was younger, people were forever making promises to me about what the New Year would bring me. But it never did. Wherever I went, it was always just more of the same.”

“I can’t be around her when she hits the wall like this, man,” Adam said, his voice thick with emotion. He dug his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and stared at the floor in misery.

Christian nodded. “I should never have let her leave the clinic.”

“As if you had any choice,” Adam said, his voice full of bitterness. “It’s when she gets like this, I just freak out. I just can’t deal with her. I’m sorry, mate, but I can’t be here right now.” He turned to leave the room but Christian followed him, catching his arm outside the door and pinning him to the wall.

“Do you think it’s any easier for
me?
We’re all she’s got, you know. We can’t
abandon
her. We’re in this together – we said that all along. Don’t leave her to me again. I need you as much as she does. We’ll get her through this – we’ve done it before. We just have to wait it out…together. I can’t do it on my own.”

Adam sniffed. Tears were streaming down his face, but he brushed them away with his fisted hand and nodded. Both men took a few deep breaths each before re-entering the room.

7

When Jess walked into the office three days after Christmas, she knew at once that something was wrong. Sam and Kamia sat hunched over their computers as usual, but there was a suspicious stillness about them.

“Happy New Year…nearly,” Jess said, trying to sound more cheerful than she felt as she hung up her coat and unwound her long scarf. Rather typically, after the pre-Christmas snow, followed by a very mild three days, the weather had now turned bitingly cold and the sky looked ominously heavy, with dense grey cloud cover. She glanced at her co-workers one after the other, before addressing Kamia, who was biting her lower lip nervously.

“Something bad has happened, hasn’t it?”

“She’s calling a meeting,” Kamia said. “Just as soon as you get in.”

Jess nodded and sighed. Please, please, don’t let me lose my job, she thought. But a tiny, rebellious voice at the back of her mind asked:
would it be so very bad if you did?

Melissa looked as if she hadn’t slept a wink in the three days since Jess had last seen her and she suddenly felt very sorry for her. She’d stopped off at Starbucks and bought her favourite coffee as she did practically every morning. It was a gesture Melissa had grown to take for granted, although she always reimbursed Jess later. But when Jess gave it to her this morning, Melissa looked ready to burst into tears.

“Thank you, Jess.” I hope you had a good Christmas?”

Jess shrugged. “It was…you know – colourful.” She thought about it for a moment. It seemed so much longer than three days given what had happened to her. She almost felt like a different person now.

Kamia and Sam looked at her expectantly but Jess refrained from saying anything further. She wanted to hear what Melissa had to say.

“Well mine, as you can probably guess, was less than average. In fact it was something of a nightmare.” She took a long draught of her coffee through the spout in the lid. That was unusual as she normally tore off the lid and drank it from the cup, claiming spouts belonged on baby cups only. “I’ve thought and thought about this and considered every possible alternative. I’ve discussed it endlessly with my uncle and his advisers but we can’t find a solution. Portman Publications is in trouble and we need to downsize - radically.”

An uncomfortable silence followed as they digested the news.

“I take it we’re talking redundancies,” Jess said briskly, surprising herself. The other two looked too terrified to open their mouths.

Melissa looked at her with something like gratitude and nodded. “It’s either that or half-salaries - but I’m still in consultation. I just wanted you to know that the future isn’t exactly looking rosy; our signings are dwindling – everyone’s going to the big stables that can afford the advances and are nudging all the smaller publishers out of the way. If it’s not that, it’s the Internet and this whole ‘self-pubbing’- as they so fondly call it - which is partly responsible for the e-book revolution. I don’t want to be all doom and gloom but I must tell you that, should you want to, you are free to start looking around for other openings. It will be very hard for
me
to decide who should go – you’re all so good in your own areas but I’m aware that you share your expertise with each other all the time - and, needless to say, each one of you will receive glowing references. Naturally, I’ll keep you all informed, but I wanted you to be prepared. We’re looking at the end of February.” Melissa picked up her coffee again as if to indicate that the meeting was now over and her three editors returned to the outer office.

Once outside Sam and Kamia immediately began commiserating with each other and speculating the worst. Sam had a disabled wife to take care of while Kamia, together with her brother, was supporting both her parents and a younger sibling. Jess didn’t feel equal to competing with them and busied herself at her desk. The last thing she wanted was to lose her job, but her situation was probably easier than her colleagues. Being a lone parent she would be eligible for certain benefits while she looked for another position and the respite would give her more time with Ben. But she did not want to be caught in the poverty trap of single parenthood and dependency, even though she felt she was barely a step ahead of that ignominious status at the moment.

She threw herself into her work to blank out other concerns. She was proofing and editing a ghost-written autobiography – it seemed celebrities never wrote anything themselves anymore, even though the words on the page were purported to be their own. The problem was the writing from the commissioned ghost-writer was so poor that Jess needed virtually to rewrite it from scratch. She might just as well have been employed as the ghost-writer in the first place! And that, of course, was when the idea struck her.

Galling as it was, she knew she had Katya to thank for it.

****

Amber slept well that night. It was a drug-induced sleep, but nevertheless deep and restful. Both Christian and Adam managed to sleep properly too and awakened the following morning feeling far more refreshed and positive. Christian dreamt he was skiing and woke up thinking about the snow and Jess and groaning at the aching need aroused by the dream. He was irritated with himself that he still hadn’t succeeded in putting her out of his mind. I can’t sit around here all day in crimbo-limbo-land babysitting Amber – I need to be busy, he thought. I’ll call Tom and see if he can set something up to take my mind off things.

He wandered into his office, but instead of picking up his phone, he switched on his computer and once again called up Google maps, tapping in those possible postcodes. He’d narrowed it down to a long, residential road somewhere between Acton and Ealing with a number of larger buildings, some houses converted into small flats, others purpose-built blocks owned by housing trusts, or the local council. The postcodes matched one of five or six buildings, which all looked similar and which were all depressingly dreary. How was he ever going to find Jess in such a warren? But worse still, how could that sweet girl and her son actually live in such a place?

She worked for a publisher, he remembered. He closed his eyes to try to recollect the name or whereabouts. He was sure she’d mentioned the name – it sounded vaguely familiar at the time. A woman! She worked for a woman called…what was it? Miranda? Marissa? How many women ran London publishing houses, he wondered.

He snatched up his phone and pulled up his manager’s number. He received an answer on the third ring. “Tom, I need your help. You remember that guy you hired to look into Amber’s little problem last year? I need his name.”