Remember My Name. Abbey Clancy

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       Chapter 7

      I know, I know.

      It sounds bad, doesn’t it? Sleeping with the boss? It sounds like a complete stereotype, in fact—the bright-eyed young wannabe shagging her way to stardom. The older, more experienced record exec taking advantage of her desperation to get a roll in the hay.

      Except … it wasn’t like that at all. It really wasn’t. For a start, we hadn’t even done it.

      And—although I might sound like I’m trying to convince myself here—everything that had happened had felt very natural, and very real. It wasn’t as though I’d arrived in London, been chucked on a casting couch, and ordered to get jiggy with it. If that had happened, I’d have told him where to get off, and caught the next train back to Lime Street. Team Jessy just didn’t roll that way, thank you very much.

      In fact, though, it had all started with a cappuccino. On my first day at the office, Jack had taken me for a coffee at this trendy place around the corner where a cuppa cost as much as a crate of ale. He’d explained my schedule, he’d asked about my flat, and he’d told me what I needed to hear—that I’d done the right thing.

      ‘Life’s all about taking chances,’ he’d said, sipping his drink and gazing at me with those dreamy dark eyes of his. ‘And that’s what you’ve done. Bravo. How do you feel now you’re actually here?’

      I still felt on the nervous side around him, so I wasn’t completely truthful. That would have involved words like ‘petrified’, ‘terrified’, and other things that ended in ‘ied’. Instead, I settled for ‘a bit anxious’.

      ‘That’s understandable,’ he’d said, leaning back in his chair and smiling at me. He was so calm. So charming. So completely comfortable in his own skin, and in this overpriced café full of beautiful people. ‘And I get it. But you need to know that I’m here for you, even if you fall on your backside in a pile of mud. Metaphorically speaking.’

      ‘Well, you’ve seen me do it before,’ I replied, ‘and it might well happen again. Although so far I’ve not even seen any grass, never mind mud.’

      ‘I can fix that. One day, when you’ve settled in, I’ll have to take you out and show you the sights. It’s a beautiful city, and there is plenty of mud to roll round in if you know where to look. And if you’re that way inclined. Maybe if the mood takes me I’ll roll round in it with you—get in touch with my inner druid.’

      He was so well turned out in his tailored shirt and posh jeans, he looked like he was more likely to have an inner male model than an inner druid. I tried to picture him dressed in a white toga and prancing round Stonehenge chanting, but that just made me giggle.

      Giggling is never a good idea when you’ve just chugged your posh coffee, and I choked on my cappuccino—spluttering it up, and spraying the whole table, his face, and the front of my top with frothy foam. Of course.

      I blushed bright red, having one of those you-can-take-the-girl-out-of-Liverpool moments as I felt like every hipster in the place turned to stare at me. Even the girl chalking up the specials on the blackboard stopped to have a gander.

      Jack just wiped his face and laughed along with me—putting me completely at ease again, just like he had at Jocelyn’s party. This was starting to become a theme: me messing up, everyone else being amused/horrified by me, and Jack just … not caring. Just keeping calm, and carrying on.

      ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, swiping at the table top with the sleeve of my best Karen Millen jacket. ‘Every time I see, you I seem to be doing something stupid. I’m not normally like this, honest to God. Usually, I can go whole days without a cock up.’

      He raised one eyebrow at me, and gave me a very direct look in response to what I’d just said. Um. Maybe I could have phrased that one a bit better. As usual. At home, Luke or Becky would have poked me and said: ‘A cock up where?’ or something equally rude. Here, I realised I was treading on foreign soil.

      ‘Sorry, again,’ I muttered. ‘I’ve got to learn to think before I speak …’

      ‘It’s all right,’ he replied, grinning. ‘It’s cute. And anyway, I’m here to help. It’ll be like in My Fair Lady—I can be Professor Higgins to your Eliza Doolittle.’

      ‘Well, I’m definitely common enough, I’m starting to realise,’ I answered, looking around me.

      It was funny, but I’d never felt common in Liverpool. I’d felt normal. But here, people already seemed more precise; more driven. More capable of drinking a cup of coffee without spitting it everywhere.

      ‘You’re not common,’ he said quickly. ‘And don’t ever feel like you’re not good enough. Didn’t I read somewhere that Liverpool was the pop music capital of the world? You come from a place that’s produced a lot of talent, a lot of stars. Must be something you all breathe in from the Mersey. So don’t ever be ashamed of what you are—just be yourself.’

      ‘That’s not what Professor Higgins says to Eliza,’ I replied. And I should know—it was one of my favourite musicals, and I’d watched it maybe a hundred times.

      ‘Fair point … okay, be a better version of yourself. One you feel comfortable with, but also one where you don’t feel embarrassed when you realise what you’ve said or what you’ve done. If this thing works out—and I really hope it will—you’ll need to be aware of how you come across in interviews, on stage, on camera. You can still be you—but maybe save the real you for your people who don’t mind getting covered in mud or drenched with cappuccino.’

      ‘Like you?’ I asked, not quite able to stop myself sounding a tiny bit flirty. He was too old for me, I told myself. He was my boss. And anyway—he was out of my СКАЧАТЬ