Kate ate her dinner, staring out at the foggy, now-rainy London night. Lights along the river were in misted halos; the sand-coloured stone balcony along the river seeped with patches of rainwater, and the trees lining the street below twinkled in the bluish white light.
Darcy and Zoë had been locked away in the room for hours. Susannah was huddled close to Marge, pouring over her tablet and whispering. The cameramen had headed out, trailing muddy boots over the floor, and Kate had mopped it just for something to do.
It was just so weird being in an apartment with Susannah and Darcy McGregor and Zoë Windermere. These were the people in magazines, the people who millions knew by face alone. The kind of people who went to glitzy parties and won awards, the kind of women who weren’t real…not really. She half expected to wake up or be sectioned. Seeing them as people was…confusing.
Susannah was the spit of her mother. Not as tall and less composed, but unmistakably related, from the eyes to the mouth to the frown. The only things that were different were their eyes and hair. Darcy had blonde hair—well, at least dyed—whereas Susannah’s was black. Not that unusual black when people dyed it, but the shiny black Italian, Spanish, or Portuguese women had. Must be from her dad. Was he Italian? He was short and dark-haired, anyway. Susannah was a bit geeky, a bit nervous, like she hated being in front of a camera and being pictured everywhere.
Zoë…well… She was…Zoë. She swayed when she walked, true model gait, and she was styled to perfection. It was hard not to be in awe. When Zoë had stepped out to get Darcy and her a drink, she’d only had to wink, and Kate had dropped her mop. Shaggy blonde hair, deep-tanned skin, brown eyes, lips fuller than anyone else could pull off, and a figure that just hypnotised. Kate pulled up her knees and leaned on them. She knew everyone in the LGBTQIA, or really, any community would be clawing at her for getting to stand in the same room as the woman. Zoë had that fairy tale marriage, the great career, the looks. She just made that dream seem…possible.
And Darcy… Kate picked at her knees. She didn’t know what it was about Darcy McGregor that fired up something in her, but she was either trying to tease her or reassure her, get reassurance, or just make her laugh that wonderful laugh. Emotions raged, and she never did that; she never got flushed because a woman was staring at her breasts, or her legs, or her boxers. She didn’t get so worked up when anyone else hoisted her breasts or her bum…and on camera. She wasn’t someone to be bashful, but how could she not be near Darcy and her aqua eyes? She put her head in her hands. Hopefully no one noticed.
“You handled yourself spectacularly,” Marge said, leaning back in her chair and throwing her glasses onto the table. “Kate, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her thaw like that before.”
“What do you mean?” She sat upright. Must have looked upset. Darcy had been sexy, patronising, knowledgeable, bitchy, and…just Darcy.
“She’s hard to wind up,” Susannah said, a grin on her face. “As in, she’ll be calm and then punch a guy, but she doesn’t snap.”
Kate leaned against the wall. “Like that actor…Marshall something?”
Susannah beamed, her eyes twinkling. “Yeah. Like that.”
Kate looked out at the rainy London night. Maybe she was a lot like Darcy herself? She was always calm until she flipped. “Best I keep my guard up, then?”
Marge chuckled, then eyed the door Zoë and Darcy were locked behind. “I don’t know what they are concocting in there.” Her phone rang, and she picked it up. “John…yes…I know the sponsors will want full advertising, but, John, think of the figures. Who has seen Darcy working with Zoë before? You have any idea the opportunity this is?” She met Susannah’s guarded gaze and rolled her eyes. “Who doesn’t want to see them together on screen? They haven’t been in the limelight together since that fashion show.”
Kate smiled. Yeah. She didn’t do fashion, but it was played on most programs or recreated. Zoë and Darcy had been, what, in their early twenties at most? They’d burst down the catwalk to some thudding pop tune in floor-length trench coats, then ripped them off to reveal see-through, ripped-up jeans, slashed tops, and attitude that pulsed when they turned and posed as a pair. Then they’d turned and strutted back up the catwalk to a standing ovation. Sounded simple, but wow, it was the sheer power of the looks in their eyes, the stances the, “I own this,” that made the designer who he was.
Susannah studied her, then narrowed her eyes, frowned, and went back to her phone.
Kate wandered over and eased into the curvy wooden seat beside her. “Must be hard sharing your mum, huh?”
Susannah met her eyes: she seemed guarded, lonely, looking for support, worried. Click, click, click, like a camera shutter capturing raw emotion. “I don’t know any different.”
“I always felt like I had to share my mum too.” Kate studied her short nails—Darcy would mutter about those, no doubt. She’d once tried false nails for Bennie, who wanted her to be more “feminine” for a friend’s wedding. All it had done was make it hard to grab anything, make a lot of things more…awkward, and she’d lost one in the photocopier on the Monday morning. Frank had been fuming for days about that false nail; not once did he figure out it was her, though.
“But did you ever think she was…false?” Susannah glanced at Marge, then tapped at her phone.
“Oh yeah, really fake. She had an affair when I was a kid. She kept having an affair, even when Mikey was born.” She pulled over the tissue box, ripped off a corner of it, and cleaned her nails. Maybe she was being a bit deep, but it still got to her. “Mikey was a toddler when I was in my mid-twenties. Everyone thought he was mine.”
“They did?” Susannah tapped at her hand and fished something out of a designer handbag. “Mum’s. Just don’t let her catch you.”
Kate grinned and pulled out the nail scissors—had Darcy’s name engraved, huh. “Yeah. Even when Mum said he wasn’t, they still thought she was covering me.” She picked at her thumb, which always got grubbier for some reason. “She never paid attention to either of us…not really.” She cleaned off the scissors and stashed them away. “We fell out, big style, and I moved out.” She sighed. It still gnawed at her. “I came home to see Mikey try sliding down the bannister and fall from ceiling height onto his head.” She pushed the case toward Susannah. “Mum was too busy with her bloke.”
Susannah put her hands over her mouth. “No…like that?”
“Oh yeah.” She leaned back in her chair as Marge nattered away to the guy on the phone. “I took Mikey to hospital and flipped. I smacked the bloke so hard I broke my knuckle and his front tooth.”
“I would have too.” Susannah nodded, that frown deep, her eyes full of compassion.
“Yeah, anyway. It’s why Mikey is…and he’ll always be…” She tapped at the edge of the table. “Just a kid on the surface.”
“He seems happy, though?” Susannah patted her hand, leaning in. “He likes seeing you smile. I saw the video.”
“Yeah.” She shrugged and picked at the edge of the table again. “I haven’t forgiven Mum, even though she married the guy. Dad got really messed up over it.” She leaned onto the table. “I did the same thing.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to forgive.” Susannah leaned onto her fist. “I don’t know my dad, not really. Zoë was around…” She shrugged. “But then she got married.” She glared at the door. “And the only thing Mum has an affair with is a camera.”
“But, unlike my mum, she does pay attention.” She nodded at the door. What were they doing in there, anyway? How hard was it to dress a person? “She notices.”
Susannah let out a full teenage snort. “Yeah, right.”
Kate turned and winked at her. “Yeah, right.” Full teenage impression right there, yeah.
Susannah giggled.
“Look, John. Zoë is a designer.” Marge tapped her finger to the table. “What do you mean a family show?”
Kate winced. “I guess John doesn’t rate my boxers, huh?”
Susannah giggled again. “He’s the head of the channel. He always yells.”
“John, choose your words carefully. There is no need for that kind of talk.” Marge gripped the table, fingertips white. “I will not have a male designer.”
“Because a male designer is family-friendly?” Kate motioned to the door. Yeah, Zoë had punched a few photographers, been drunk and pictured drunk, but she was a celebrity.
Susannah smiled. “More than Zoë, probably.”
“John, I’m hanging up now.” Marge scowled at the table. “Why do I need to check the Twitter feed?” She shook her head. “I’m running with Zoë.” She cut the call and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Did Zoë make his clothes too tight or something?” Kate bumped Susannah’s shoulder. Hopefully Marge would calm from purple-faced. It did not look healthy.
“Zoë is a lesbian. That’s the only thing I can think of.” Marge flicked through her phone. “He’s not like that. He’s never been like that.”
Susannah’s face dropped as she stared at her phone. “Um…there might be a good reason.”
Marge leaned over, and her face dropped into the same ashen grimace. “Oh dear.”
Kate folded her arms. She’d give them space. This was their thing, their lives.
Susannah met her eyes. “There’s a picture of Mum leaving the restaurant…and in a restaurant on Valentine’s Day.” She flipped the phone around. A picture of Zoë planting a smacker on Darcy’s lips. “Kissing married women on Valentine’s Day isn’t really family-friendly.”
Kate chuckled. “It’s hardly steamy.” She shook her head. “Zoe’s kissed her before like that.” And she so did not have that picture on her phone.
Susannah exchanged a look with Marge.
“She wasn’t married then. It was for show,” Marge mumbled.
Kate flicked down the screen. “Yeah, but look, she’s talking about the restaurant. It’s support.” She tapped Susannah on the hand. “Don’t worry about it.”
Susannah smiled, but it was more guarded than before. Marge was much the same.
“Come on, your mum is not like mine. She’s not going to have an affair with a married woman.” She held up her hand. “Okay, that sounded like my mum is a lesbian. But you get the idea.”
Marge tapped Susannah on the shoulder, her brow wrinkled. “Of course. Kate is right.”
Susannah nodded but went back to her phone, her frown line deep. “Sure.”
Kate picked up the case with the nail scissors in and grinned. “If she is, we’ll cut her nails short. That’ll teach her.”
Susannah chuckled, and whatever worry was in her eyes faded. Yeah, it was crazy to think Darcy and Zoë were an item. She glanced at the door… And she was not pulling that picture and saving it to her phone. Nope.