I'll Be Home For Christmas. Abbey Clancy

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      That one little ‘ah’, and the silence that followed it, told me this: Daniel already knew. That the huge shock I’d just had wasn’t as much of a shock to him. That it wasn’t only Vogue who’d kept this revelation to herself.

      ‘You already knew,’ I said, feeling somehow betrayed. I didn’t make it a question – I didn’t need to – I made it a statement of fact.

      ‘I didn’t know she’d decided,’ he replied, using the calm tone of voice he uses when he thinks I’m about to go ballistic. ‘I’d heard she’d been in talks with him, but just gossip. Nothing concrete. They’d been seen together a few times having meetings, and I knew he was looking to leave Starmaker. This was all grapevine stuff – nothing certain – and you know most of the grapevine stuff turns out to be crap.’

      ‘We both know you made that up to fuel your sick fantasies, but why, Daniel? Why didn’t you tell me? I just bumped into him upstairs! I could have done with some . . . I don’t know, warning?’

      ‘Well,’ he replied, and I could hear the sounds of the garden around him. He’d walked outside – probably barefoot, probably holding a mug of coffee – and I could hear the animals making animal noises in the background. I could picture him there, and usually that would immediately reassure me – but now . . . well, I felt a bit thrown, to be honest.

      ‘Well. . .’ he repeated, and again I could picture him – he was sitting down on the sawn-off tree stump and looking out at the hills, ‘first of all, I’m really sorry you’re feeling so awful. If I’d known anything for sure, I’d have told you. But it was just gossip, so I didn’t want to upset you for no reason. I could have got you all freaked out for nothing. And part of me thought – still does – that it was Vogue’s story to tell, you know?’

      I felt the tears coming back again, and squished them so hard with my eyelids they just squirted out a tiny bit at the sides. I was now frustrated as well as angry and scared, and it was a pretty toxic combination.

      ‘Well, she didn’t tell me the story. Not until I literally walked in on them, cuddling up on the couch together. . .’

      ‘Oh!’ Daniel said, now sounding genuinely shocked. ‘Really? She’s taken him back in that way? After everything that’s happened? You’ve got to be kidding!’

      ‘No, I’m not kidding. And I felt the same way. Look, I’ve got to go, all right? I can see a bevvy of builders heading in my direction with flasks and packets of Benson & Hedges. . .’

      ‘OK. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, Jessy. Maybe I should have. Probably I should have. And I’m really sorry you’re so upset. And I love you.’

      I stood up, and looked around at the completely empty garden. There were no builders. No flasks. No Benson & Hedges. I just felt shaken up, a bit knocked for six as my dad would say, and needed an excuse to get off the phone.

      The fact that I was finding excuses to end a conversation with Daniel – and that I was fibbing to him – wasn’t really helping me feel any more steady or in control. It was like the world had turned upside down.

      ‘Love you too,’ I said, quickly. ‘I’ll call you later.’

Chapter 3

      I made my way back inside the building, just in time to see Patty disappearing out of it. There was, surprisingly, no cloud of sulphur surrounding her, just a faint whiff of Dior Poison. I hung back so I could avoid bumping into her, and then went back to our office. I have no idea how Patty would react to me crying – possibly, she’d be unexpectedly kind; possibly, she’d eat me like a praying mantis on a wildlife documentary. It wasn’t worth the risk so I hid.

      It was now blessedly quiet in there, and I was able to sit and think for a moment. To try to stop blubbing. To sort through my thoughts. Vogue had lied to me – or at the very least deliberately kept something huge a secret. And Daniel had known . . . kind of. Being fair, I understood why he hadn’t mentioned it – he didn’t know for sure and didn’t want to upset me. But being unfair, it added to the sense of betrayal I was feeling – like the big kids had been ganging up on me. Not very mature, I know, but that’s feelings for you.

      I needed to talk to someone outside this world, and be reminded that there were bigger things in life than me and my petty problems. Well, maybe I actually needed to talk to someone about my petty problems – and, as ever, I made like E.T. and phoned home.

      My parents are brilliant people. They’re hard-working and solid and they love the bones of me. I know they’re always 100 per cent on Team Jessy – even if they’re telling me things I don’t want to hear. The fact that we came close to having a serious falling-out at the end of last year has made me even more aware of how much I owe them, and how much I need them. It’s easy to lose your sense of gravity in this business – and they’re like those big clumpy space boots that astronauts use to keep themselves grounded.

      I used the landline to call them, and was greeted by a fake Italian accent: ‘Welcome to Luigi’s House of Pancakes and Pain! What may I do you for?’

      ‘Luke, why aren’t you in college?’ I asked, immediately. He wants to be a sports physio, and is doing his A-levels at the moment. Loosely speaking.

      ‘Study morning,’ he replied.

      ‘So you’re sitting in your room playing “Call of Duty”?’

      ‘Yup! Do you want Dad? Mum’s round at Becky’s, looking after Ollie. And can you get me tickets to the Dua Lipa tour? And can you arrange for me to meet her as well?’

      ‘Yes, I want to speak to Dad, and no, I can’t get you a date with Dua Lipa. Or maybe I can. I don’t know. Leave it with me.’

      ‘Cool. I’ll get Dad. He’s watching the Formula 1 highlights and cutting his toenails.’

      He left me with that charming and achingly familiar image and, within a few seconds, Dad picked up the phone. He’s a big man, my father, tall and bulky, all of it topped off with a shiny bare head and a face that is usually smiling. He’s known – mainly by himself – as the Bald Eagle, but is actually called Phil. He’s a taxi driver, and has an endless supply of stories, which all start with the same words: ‘I had this bloke/girl/alpaca in the back of my cab the other night. . .’

      ‘All right, love?’ he said immediately, the roaring sound of cars pointlessly driving round a track floating over the line from the telly in the background. I was struck by an urge to just get on the train and go home. To sit with my dad, and listen to his stories, and feel like everything was right with the world. I’m lucky to have that kind of refuge, that kind of security – and to know that if I wanted to, I could give all of this up, get a job in the local McDonald’s, and go back to being their Jessy. They’d love me just as much.

      ‘Yeah, all good, Dad. Just wanted to hear your voice.’

      ‘Oh! Well, that usually means you’re trying to find your way out of a shit storm – what’s wrong? If it’s girl stuff and you want your mum, she’s round at our Becky’s, adoring Prince Ollie.’

      ‘How’s he doing?’ I asked, smiling at the thought of my chubby nephew.

      ‘Brilliant. I swear to God he’s put on about a stone in the last week. He’ll СКАЧАТЬ