I'll Be Home For Christmas. Abbey Clancy
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is rubbish,’ I said, tearing the wrapper off and stuffing half of it into my mouth. ‘There’s only one finger – it goes against all the laws of Twix!’
‘You’d hate me in the morning when you woke up with a zit on your nose. Anyway, wassup? It’s not even lunch-time and you look like someone just decapitated an Andrex puppy in front of you. They didn’t, did they?’
I held my fingers up to tell him to wait for a while – I was too busy eating, drooling, and generally making a chocolatey mess of myself to speak. He started removing some of the slap from his face while he waited for me to finish, and didn’t even look disgusted as I chewed – true friendship.
‘Well,’ I said, eventually, wiping my face with a tissue I swiped out of his hand, ‘no Andrex puppies have been harmed in the making of this morning, as far as I know. But I kind of feel like one myself. There are a few things to mention, so I’ll make a list. First, Vogue has gone and offered Jack Duncan a job here.’
Neale paused, his hand frozen mid-wipe, his face now half rainbow and half clear.
‘No way! Doing what?’
‘Scouting. Managing. Shagging. Whatever it is he does. I know it’s her business, and her call, but still. . .’
‘It makes you feel a bit sick in your mouth?’
‘Yes! Or maybe that’s the Twix, I don’t know. Secondly – and this has to stay between us until I know how she’s playing it – she’s also taken him back.’
‘Back back?’
‘Back back. I practically found them bonking in her office. . .’
This, of course, is a very big overstatement – it’s also distracted Neale, who is now gazing off into the distance, probably imagining Jack Duncan naked. As I’ve said, he’s drop-dead gorgeous – to look at, at least.
‘OK. Well, that’s up to her, I suppose. But I can see why you’re worried. This is all new, and the whole point of In Vogue was to get away from people like Jack, wasn’t it? Even if he is fit enough to win Best in Show at Crufts.’
‘Exactly! And on top of all that, it turns out that Daniel knew about it. Well, kind of knew about it. . .’
Neale pulled another beanbag over and sat by my side. He gave me a quick hug, and then a quick talking-to: ‘What do you mean by “kind of”? You mean he’d heard some gossip?’
‘That’s what he said. He said he didn’t want to repeat it in case it came to nothing, and he didn’t want to upset me.’
‘Well, I can see why you needed chocolate, honey. Daniel loves you to pieces, and there’s no way he’d do anything to hurt you – he was trying to protect you, even if it doesn’t feel like that right now. You know he’s your happy-ever-after, don’t you? I can tell you’re annoyed with him, but you should probably take it down a notch and not do a full-on diva about it. Just because you’re in a couple doesn’t mean you have to tell each other every thought that enters your head, does it?’
He was right, of course. And it wasn’t like I’d been entirely honest either.
‘No, it doesn’t. And while we’re on that subject, what do you know about Cooper Black?’
‘The Cooper Black?’
‘No, the knock-off Cooper Black I got from the market the day I got that Prada handbag for twenty quid. Of course the Cooper Black!’
‘OK, OK, no need to snap your bra hook at me. . .Well, obviously, he’s a mega-babe from another planet. Super-hot right now. And – well, I do know one of his friends, actually, since you asked so nicely.’
‘One of his friends? One of his real friends?’
‘No – one of his knock-off friends I got from the market! Yes, a real friend – JB. He used to be in the band with him. JB’s lovely – can’t sing for shit, mind, but he looks great and he can dance. That’s how I met him.’
‘Out dancing?’
‘Yeah. At that club I took you to once. You remember?’
It was hard to forget – or at least hard to remember, which is the sign of a good night out. It had been the night after my first single launch, when I’d performed with Vogue to a packed crowd of writers, movers, shakers, and my entire family. It had been an incredibly stressful time, not helped by the fact that I had a row with my parents afterwards. I’d needed two things in life that evening: a Big Mac and a carefree night out, and Neale and his pals had kindly provided me with both.
It had been a great night, but it had also left me with one of the worst hangovers in the entire history of hangovers. Tequila, you swine.
It was also, and this I did remember, a gay club – a place Neale told me was discreet, where lots of famous people went when they wanted to be safe from getting papped. JB being there didn’t mean he was gay – I wasn’t – but I could tell from the slightly dreamy expression on Neale’s face that my friend at least hoped he was.
I tried to dredge up an image of JB from his days in the boy band, and finally matched it: he was the bad boy. Cooper Black was all blond handsomeness – the kind of boy you’d take home to meet your parents, sexy but wholesome – and JB was the wild child. Shaggy dark hair, a body to kill for, blue eyes and a wicked grin. In his own way, he’d been just as much of a heart-throb as Cooper.
‘Is he . . . ?’
‘A big flaming queen with sugar and sprinkles on top?’ supplied Neale, laughing at me. ‘Yes, he is – he doesn’t lie about it, but he doesn’t broadcast it either. So be very, very careful to keep your lovely Liverpool mouth shut about it, all right?’
‘Don’t worry, I learned my lesson the hard way!’ I replied, patting him on the thigh to reassure him. I really had, as well – last year, I accidentally ‘outed’ Neale in the press. It had been a masterclass in when to stay silent.
‘Now, I have to ask you why you want to know all this stuff. What’s with you and Cooper Black? Are you crushing on him, you little minx?’
‘No! Yes! Maybe – I mean, I’m only human! But . . . well . . . he’s actually been in touch and asked me to feature on his new single. And maybe do more work with him. And I just don’t know what to do about it – it’s a brilliant idea, but it might mean leaving Daniel. And Vogue. And this place. You know?’
Neale nodded emphatically, making his glasses bobble on the edge of his nose.
‘I can understand that – but, well, wow! If you take all the personal shit out of it, it’s fantastic, isn’t it? The next stop on the Jessika world domination tour! And a huge compliment. . .So, what are you going to do?’
‘Well, this morning, I was thinking no. Then all this crap happened, and I’m thinking maybe yes. But, before I decide, I suppose I’d like to know a bit more about him – what kind of person he is. Whether he’s likely to screw me over. Whether he’s a. . .’
‘Showbiz twat?’
‘Exactly! Because with Jack Duncan back on the scene, I have enough showbiz twattery to handle already. Do you think maybe you could ask JB for me, kind of on the QT?’
‘Darling, I can do better than that – it must be your lucky day! You know I’m your fairy godbrother, right? Funnily enough, JB is in town. Let’s all go out, and you can ask him yourself.’
*
Let’s just say that the night got messy. It started with tequila, Big Macs and dancing. And after a riotous journey around London’s bars and nightspots it was ending, it seemed, with a very competitive game of strip darts.
JB was a larger-than-life character, all hair and piercings and tattoos and muscles. Now the band was history, any constraints he’d previously felt were