‘Lexia, we need you back up in Yorkshire, on your home territory for this photo shoot.’ Jaz Burnley, the American in charge of all Lexia’s PR now that she’d split from Gals and was flying high as Lexi, not only insisted in placing the emphasis on the second syllable so Yorkshire became Yorkshire, but was also adamant that Lexia agree to her agenda. ‘Your fans want to see where you came from, what your background is. They need to see you with your family. You know the sort of thing: arms round you, been there for you from the beginning, supporting you, cheering you on...’
‘But they haven’t.’ Lexia frowned. ‘You know that.’
‘Well yes, but that doesn’t fit in with your image. I know we’ve revved it up a bit lately, shortened the skirts and added your signature red lipstick that all the kids are now going for, but people still like to think you’re just a step away from the bosom of your family; that the folks back home mean everything to you and that you love your mom and all your siblings.’
‘It’s not their fault,’ Lexia said abruptly, ‘that they’ve not been down here in London, I mean. It’s all just… well, complicated.’
‘Well, how about we just uncomplicate matters, a bit?’
Lexia felt slightly panicky. Before Pandora and Richard had taken the baby, travelling back up to Yorkshire with him just three days after the birth from which Lexia was convinced she was going to die (never, ever, she told herself, would she ever again go through the pain and ignominy of any of that again; how her mum had done it four times she couldn’t imagine) Pandora had come to her with tears in her eyes and said she needed to be sure, absolutely sure, that Lexia wasn’t going to regret giving away her baby.
‘Regret it?’ Lexia had stared. ‘No. I don’t want a baby. You know that. I can’t become famous with a baby.’
‘Oh, Lexia, will you stop all this about being famous? Just grow up a bit, act your age, will you? You’re not giving away one of your dolls. This is a baby, Lexia, your baby.’
‘But, Pandora, I don’t want a baby. You take him, you look after him.’
‘But do you promise me that you won’t change your mind in six months’ time? That two years down the line, when all this singing and becoming better than Holly Valance nonsense has come to nothing, you won’t be turning up in Yorkshire wanting him back?’
‘Never.’
Pandora, gazing down with absolute love at the tiny baby boy in her arms, had hesitated before taking Lexia’s hand in her own. ‘Lexia, Richard and I think it best if you don’t come back to Westenbury.’
‘Well no, obviously, I won’t for a while…’
‘No, Lexia, we don’t think you should come back at all.’ Pandora couldn’t quite meet Lexia’s eye.
‘What? Ever?’ Lexia had stared at Pandora, trying to work out exactly what her big sister was saying. ‘What about Mum?’
‘Please, Lexia, just think about the baby. You’ve given him to us now, you’ve agreed to this, and he has to believe – has to know – that we are his real mum and dad.’
‘You’re never going to tell him?’ Lexia looked down at her hands. ‘You know, that I’m his real mum?’
‘Lexia, we’ve talked and talked about this, you know we have.’ Pandora was white-faced apart from two pinpricks of colour in each cheek. ‘This is what we agreed. If you want the best for him, then you have to let him go properly. You know, if you’d put him up for adoption, you wouldn’t be allowed to see him ever. It’s the same thing really; if you want us to take him from you, you have to let us have him completely. No turning up in a couple of years telling Juno and Ariadne, telling Mum, actually he’s not Pandora’s baby, he’s mine. Will you promise me this?’
‘But I don’t know what you mean, I can’t come home? Why not? I’d never say anything; I’d never tell anybody.’ Lexia took hold of her big sister’s arm and tried to smile. ‘I don’t want to come home at the moment, you know that, Pan. I’m going to win and be famous. Aunt Georgina says so. But once I’ve made it, you know, once I’m on the telly like Holly Valance, I can come home then, can’t I? Mum’ll want to see me. And Juno and Ari? They’ll wonder why…’
‘Lexi, come on. Think of the baby. Think of me and Richard.’
‘But what about me? What about me and Mum?’
‘Please Lexi. You have to make this decision now. No going back.’ Pandora’s face was set.
Lexia had stared at Pandora, and when she saw that Pandora was serious, that Lexia must do what she said, that there was no alternative if her sister and Richard were going to take the baby for her, she’d turned her face away and nodded. What would she do with a baby? She didn’t want one. That was all there was to say about the whole situation.
*
And she’d kept her promise: cut herself off completely from her family, even from her mum. And, to be honest, she hadn’t really missed them. Life was all too exciting to be thinking of home and of her past life. Aunt Georgina had taken her over completely, moulding her, coaching her and even, once she’d won TheBest and become the accepted lead singer with the other three girls, leaving her job as music teacher in a large London comprehensive in order to become her agent, full-time. The months went by and the little village of Westenbury, and the unpleasant memories of her last year at home once Patrick had upped and left, seemed a lifetime ago.
It was a different time – her past, of which Lexia no longer wanted any part. She’d shrugged it all off, buried it deep inside her and, while Aunt Georgina continued to drive up north to visit Helen, and was able to give Lexia the news that her mum was still in and out of hospital but appeared to be slowly improving, she kept her promise to Pandora and didn’t return. Both Ariadne and Juno had constantly phoned, written letters, sent birthday and Christmas cards and both, separately, on a couple of occasions, turned up at Aunt Georgina’s but, once she began to make money – lots and lots of money – and the whole Lexia circus that controlled, and manoeuvred her, had moved her into an apartment with the other girls, her two elder sisters had appeared to give up on her, finally accepting that she had cut them out of her life and moved on, and they must do the same.
And now Jaz was saying she must return home for some photoshoot for Blast, a new magazine taking off big time in the States. Lexia chewed on her nails and considered, while Jaz frowned. ‘Will you stop biting those nails, Lexi? That’s not the image we’re trying to portray. So, you’re going out for dinner with Theo Ryan next week?’ She now nodded her approval. ‘That’s good. We like that. Although,’ she frowned once more, ‘not overly original, I guess. Well, at least he’s an Irish soccer player, a bit different from Victoria and Cheryl…’
‘You can’t take photos of my mum; she’s not well.’ Lexia felt an instinctive urge to protect, but whether it was Helen or herself, she wasn’t sure.
‘I know that, Lexia, and to be honest, it’s probably not the best image – you know, mental illness – we want to portray. So, these sisters of yours? We need to contact them?’
‘Ariadne is doing something at Berkeley in California and Juno is up in Aberdeen. They’re scattered all over the place, not at home in Yorkshire at all.’
‘And the other one? Persephone?’
‘Pandora.’
‘I knew it was another one of these weird names your parents landed you all with. So, Pandora. Give me her contact details and I’ll speak to her.’
‘She won’t want to have anything to do with any photoshoot. She’s very, er…’ Lexia searched for the right word. ‘Private.’
‘You’re making this very difficult, Lexia.’ Jaz raised an eyebrow and glared pointedly as Lexia continued to bite her nails as she considered the implications of returning home.
‘It’s not my fault,’ Lexia snapped. ‘You’re making out my family are intentionally keeping out of my way.’
‘I think it’s you doing that, yourself, hon. You’ve always given that impression. Look, we’re going to take you up to Yorkshire next week, take some pictures of that quaint little village of yours, your old home, this club you started out at, any local beauty spots. I’ll sort it all out with Persephone.’
*
It had been Aunt Georgina who had finally persuaded Pandora to take part in the photoshoot, telling her that Lexia was coming up to Westenbury anyway and that she and Richard needed to be there for her in the eyes of Lexia’s adoring public. Otherwise, they’d be opening a can of worms, with the media swarming round trying to work out just why Pandora refused to see her little sister. Better just to smile and go with the flow, she told her.
The Blast team had driven themselves and a wardrobe of outfits up north at the crack of dawn in the middle of a seemingly endless June heatwave – gloriously warm hazy mornings that stretched indefinitely into blazing afternoons before cooling down into mellow, yellow evenings. Jaz Burnley and a couple of her sidekicks followed on behind while Lexia and Aunt Georgina brought up the rear in Georgina’s brand-new BMW.
Once up in Midhope, the Blast people had stopped for breakfast and a team meeting to discuss the various locations and the sponsored designer labels Lexia was to wear and Aunt Georgina had driven Lexia and herself to the hospital where Helen had recently been readmitted after nearly two years of living back at home. And while it had been wonderful to see her mum, to hug her and tell her all about what she’d been doing – her success, her number one album, the photoshoots – Lexia walked back down the steps of the hospital towards the car with a solid lump of something indiscernible in her heart and in her throat, feeling only terrible guilt that she was leaving Helen alone once more.
And it was so hot. Again, and again, the makeup girl dabbed and wiped at her face, adding yet another coat of lip gloss which melted immediately in the unforgiving heat or was swallowed as Lexia nervously licked at her lips. And here was yet another location, another change of clothing, and once again she was poked and prodded and persuaded into a pose which, to Lexia, was not only horribly uncomfortable but ridiculously over the top.
After she’d been photographed in the – somewhat overgrown – back garden at home, cuddling Hercules, the ginger tom, who’d strolled over from old Mrs Taylor’s house where he stayed when Helen wasn’t around, they were on the move once more.
Lexia had balked at the suggestion of a photoshoot at the Ambassador Club, but Jaz and Euan, the photo-journalist from Blast were adamant that’s what the American readers wanted to see. ‘Where it all started, hon, you know?’ Half an hour later the vans and car were parked up on the backstreet and Lexia was leading Aunt Georgina and the crew inside.
‘Just a couple of minutes?’ Lexia pleaded, impatient to get it over and done with and be back outside in the sunshine. The place was virtually deserted – just a barman she didn’t recognise bottling up, and a pink-haired cleaner desultorily sweeping round tables and chairs. Once they’d been given permission from the seemingly uninterested barman, it seemed to take forever for Euan to achieve the effect he desired in the dingy, vague half-light of the club’s interior, but eventually he ordered her up onto the stage where she had to take the mike and belt out her latest single. Lexia closed her eyes as directed by Euan, ‘show a bit of passion, honeypie’ and so didn’t see Damian St Claire until he applauded loudly from where he was standing in the shadows at the back of the club.
‘Even better than when I first discovered you, Lexia, babe!’ he shouted.
Lexia felt her heart pound, her pulse race, as her eyes shot open and met his. What on earth had she ever seen in him? was her first thought as she took in the prematurely receding hairline and newly acquired paunch straining at his grubby white T-shirt. He looked middle-aged, she realised, seedily unattractive and nothing at all like Duncan James from Blue to whom in her imagination, during the past three years since she’d last seen him, she’d referred.
The Blast team turned as one, peering through the gloom to see who’d spoken. Was this someone they could interview and photograph as being part of Lexia’s past?
Lexia jumped down from the stage, grabbed her bottle of water and walked quickly to the entrance, ignoring St Claire totally as he reached out a hand to her. ‘We need to go,’ she ordered the team. ‘There is absolutely nothing else of interest here…’
Aunt Georgina was at her side, ushering her out onto the pavement and towards the waiting BMW, scanning her makeshift itinerary as she did so. ‘Norman’s Meadow,’ she called back to the others as they started to pack up cameras and lighting. ‘Local beauty spot where we’ve arranged to meet Lexia’s sister and family for a picnic,’ she added. She pushed Lexia ahead of her. ‘That him?’ she asked grimly once they got into the car and waited for the others.
Lexia nodded, shaken. ‘Do you know, I’ve hardly thought of him these past few years, but now I’ve seen him, I feel so angry, so furious that he ignored me when I was… you know. I was fifteen when I did it with him. Fifteen. A little girl…’ Lexia put up a hand to her pounding head. ‘I’m due a period. I’m really tense, really hot, really angry. Have you any paracetamol?’
Georgina delved through her bag and handed a couple of painkillers to Lexia. ‘It’s finished, Lexia. It’s over.’ Georgina opened the window to let out the heat from the stifling parked car. ‘The last thing your fans need to know is what happened when you were fifteen. Not good for your image at all, especially as you gave away the baby.’
‘Oh, thanks very much for that,’ Lexia snapped. ‘That makes me feel a whole lot better…’
‘Shh.’ Georgina nodded in the direction of Jaz who was making her way towards their car.
‘Bit of an unsavoury character, that one,’ Jaz sniffed as she poked her head through the open car window while drinking thirstily from her bottle of water. ‘Jeeze, it’s hot.’
‘Rather a hanger on,’ Georgina said. ‘Thinks he had something to do with discovering Lexia when she was a kid.’
‘Yes, he said.’ Jaz frowned. ‘I know the type; he was trying to get some money out of us.’ She laughed. ‘I soon sent him on his way.’
‘Can we just go?’ Lexia pleaded, as the pain over her eye intensified. ‘Haven’t we enough photos yet?’
‘What about your sister?’ Jaz frowned once more. ‘She’s waiting for us at this Norbert’s Meadow place.’
‘Norman’s,’ Lexia snapped irritably.
‘She’d be really pissed if we didn’t turn up. Besides, we have the most awesome white Suzy Maclellan dress for you to model.’ Jaz gave Georgina and Lexia her most winning smile. ‘And, we’ve the cutest white parasol to finish off the outfit. It’ll be awesome, quite sensational. We’ll have you drinking tea and eating cucumber sandwiches in an English meadow with your sibling. The guys back home will just love it.’
‘Come on then, let’s just do it and get it over and done with and then we can drive back to London.’ Lexia closed her eyes, trying to fight the panic she was beginning to feel at the prospect of meeting her baby. But of course, he wouldn’t be a baby anymore; he’d be having his fourth birthday in August. Surely, Pandora wouldn’t bring Hugo – how could she have called her baby that dreadful name – to meet up with her. Surely, she’d leave him with the Boothroyds, or someone else?
It was mid-afternoon by the time the team had packed up and driven the seven or so miles from the town centre, out through Westenbury village itself and, following Lexia’s directions, taken the country lanes out to Norman’s Meadow. The vans and BMW had bumped over dusty pot-holes, steered around insolent sheep that had obstinately refused to move out of their way, and then been forced to reverse at speed when Lexia gave the wrong turnings. By the time they arrived, even the initial glimpse of bewitchingly beautiful acres of natural wildflower meadow was failing to enchant and Lexia just wanted to throw up. She’d always been carsick – apparently Pandora was the only one of the four of them who wasn’t – and it was a total relief when the entourage bumped along to its final resting place and she could get out of her aunt’s car and fight the nausea.
Pandora and Richard were already in-situ, sitting in the shade over to the left-hand side of the meadow and, from their straight-backed, unmoving stance, Lexia had the ridiculous notion they were carved out of stone, a permanent part of a natural tableau, about to be surprised and disturbed by the newcomers. Tension was emanating in waves from the pair of them and at first, as she walked slowly over towards them, Lexia thought they were alone. And then a blonde-haired little boy suddenly appeared from behind a particularly large clump of the magenta-coloured Corn cockle, and began to run in ever-increasing circles around his parents, swooping and whooping with arms outstretched while emulating, like every other nearly four-year-old before him, his parody of a flying aeroplane.
Lexia stopped, her heart racing. This was her son, for heaven’s sake. The child also stopped when he saw her approach and, obviously bidden by his mother, sat down suddenly at Pandora’s side, shy in the presence of someone he didn’t know.
‘This isn’t on, Lexia,’ Pandora hissed in her ear as she stood from the white tablecloth spread on the grass and made to put her arms round her little sister. ‘You promised…’
‘I’m sorry. It would have looked really strange if we’d come up here and there was no family willing to be seen with me. Aunt Georgina said, anyway.’
‘Aunt Georgina would say that.’
‘Would she?’ Lexia looked at Pandora in surprise. ‘Why?’
‘Well, you know, she’s in charge of you now, isn’t she? Given up her teaching job… she must be raking it in…’
‘Lexia. Hello lovey, how are you?’ Richard Boothroyd came between her and Pandora, cutting off his wife’s diatribe and hugging Lexia with genuine affection. ‘You look fabulous, love. I’m so pleased it’s all worked out for you. A very famous sister-in-law. I’m always being asked to get your autograph.’
‘You’re not going to say anything, are you?’ Pandora was fearful ‘You know, about Hugo?’
‘Of course she isn’t, Pandora.’ Aunt Georgina was at their side, speaking in a low whisper. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. We didn’t go through all that charade three years ago to out the truth now. Or ever. And don’t forget, this is for the American market, I’m not sure it’ll even be seen here.’ She turned to Hugo. ‘And this little chap is Lexia’s gorgeous nephew,’ she said loudly, smiling for the benefit of the team who’d followed in her wake. ‘Now, at Pandora and Richard’s request, just one photograph of Hugo please. No more, I mean it. It’s not good to have images of small children splashed all over magazines.’
It had been a long day and Euan, obviously at the end of his tether with the journey, the different locations, the heat and, now that he was in the English countryside and surrounded by a mass of flowers, his hay fever, put up his free hand in acquiescence.
‘Not a problem,’ he sneezed. ‘We just want Lexi in the Suzy Maclellan dress and parasol, sitting with her family, and then it’s a wrap.’
A wrap? Pandora stared. Did people actually use such clichés?
‘Go and get changed, Lexi,’ Euan drawled. ‘The light here is so fantastic, it won’t take long at all…’ He sneezed several times. ‘Fucking countryside. How do you live in it?’
Pandora, furious at his cavalier swearing in front of her son, glared. ‘It’s too hot to be here much longer. Can we get on?’
Twenty minutes later, Lexia was in the beautifully cool floaty white dress, white parasol draped artfully over her shoulder as she, Pandora and Richard sat on the grass, pretending to eat the picnic Pandora had brought. Typical Pandora, Lexia thought, she’d really gone to town with an amazing spread of cheeses and pate and, on the instructions of Aunt Georgina, a plate of beautifully cut cucumber sandwiches. There were homemade scones, Pandora’s own raspberry jam (even when doing something she obviously didn’t want to do, pride hadn’t allowed Pandora a jar of Tesco Economy plum and a pack of scones from Aldi) a tiny glass churn of thick yellow cream and a sharp kitchen knife artfully displayed on a snow-white starched napkin atop a traditional wicker picnic basket, filched from Bee-Bee Boothroyd’s loft.
‘Thank you for this, Pan,’ Lexia whispered. ‘It really is going to be all OK, you know. Hugo is gorgeous, but he’s yours. Nothing at all to do with me.’ She touched Pandora’s hand. ‘I miss you all.’
Pandora, as tense as a highly tuned violin string, bristled slightly at the touch. ‘But it’s just not on, you coming back here, Lexia,’ she hissed again as Euan turned his camera to the beautiful meadow flowers. ‘Don’t do it again…’ She pasted a rictus of a smile on her face as Euan turned once more to the picnic and called, ‘cucumber sandwich anyone?’ Euan took one final photograph, pinched a sandwich and began to pack up his cameras. ‘Do this for me and Richard, Lexia. And for Hugo. I couldn’t cope with you being here, wanting to see Hugo every day.’
‘But I miss you all. You’re cutting me off from my family, Pandora…’ Lexia felt the tears start and she tried desperately to sniff them away with the back of her hand. ‘I saw Mum today. I want to be able to come up and see her whenever.’
‘You promised, Lexia. If the Boothroyds ever found out that—’
‘Fuck the fucking Boothroyds.’ Lexia clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, Richard. I don’t think of you as one of… you know, one of them.’
‘OK, Lexia, that’s it. Great stuff.’ Euan stood in front of them. ‘Your little guy’s all pooped out.’ He indicated with a beringed finger Hugo who had taken himself off to his stroller in the shade and was now fast asleep. ‘Are you ready to leave?’ He looked at his watch and waved towards the others with a winding up motion of his hand.
‘Actually,’ Aunt Georgina said, ‘I think we’ll stay on a bit longer, if that’s OK with you, Lexia? We’ll hit the teatime traffic and the heat if we leave now. I’m sure she’d like to spend some private time with her family,’ she added for the benefit of the others who’d come to say their goodbyes. ‘They’re so close,’ she said artfully.
‘I’d like to go back and see Mum again,’ Lexia said, grateful to not be heading straight back. ‘Just let me take this dress off.’
‘It’s yours,’ Euan said, keys in hand and obviously desperate to get off. ‘It’s covered in grass stains. And that parasol is dangerous, watch the pointy metal bit at the top, it’s incredibly sharp – I’ve already cut my finger on it. Obviously cheap rubbish,’ he grinned.
‘Really? I can keep it?’ Despite the money accruing in her bank account which meant she was able to buy any amount of designer dresses, Lexia was delighted at the unexpected gift. ‘That is so kind. Well then, I’m going to keep it on, it’s so beautiful.’ She twirled the parasol in Euan’s direction and he gave them all a quick salute goodbye before heading off after Jaz, for whom it was pretty obvious he’d got the hots.
*
With the Blast team and Jaz Burnley headed for the M1 and London, Pandora seemed to relax somewhat and began slicing her scones and offering them round to the others who, despite being at a picnic, hadn’t actually been encouraged to eat what was on offer. Lexia was tense, upset that Pandora was still telling her she didn’t want her to ever come back home. What did Pandora think she was going to do? Race round to the Boothroyds and tell them everything: that their darling grandson wasn’t any relation, shouldn’t be in line to inherit the family firm and that, in fact his real dad was – judging by his appearance that morning – some sort of layabout drug addict?
Lexia lay down and closed her eyes, breathing in the heady scent of the wild flowers all around her in an attempt to calm her racing pulse and real fury at that bastard turning up and making an actual claim on her. She’d always adored being outdoors, loved the wide-open spaces of the countryside; London wasn’t really all it was cracked up to be. She found her room in the apartment small and stultifying (she sometimes woke in the dark of the night convinced the ceiling was coming down on her) and had recently given up travelling on the Tube, not so much because she was recognised and mobbed, but because of the tight panicky feeling of claustrophobia she was beginning to suffer whenever she was shut in a small area, unable to get out. Oh, but it was so beautiful up here: her Mum had always loved walking up to Norman’s Meadow, but now she was locked up again, unable to leave the ward even if she wanted. Lexia screwed her eyes closed, desperate to rid herself of the image of her mum unable to get out and she, herself, ending up like her Mum, locked up, a prisoner. She was gulping now, trying to take deep breaths, but they were just poor, shallow little things that almost tutted as they tried to send oxygen round her body…
‘I do hope you’ve left a couple of those scones for me?’ Damian St Claire was leaned against the Hawthorn hedge – dusty and parched now in the June heatwave – a silly smile on his face and a still-sleeping Hugo in his arms.
‘Put him down.’ Pandora leapt to her feet, knocking jam and cream flying, and rushed towards her son.
‘But why, Pandora? It is Pandora, isn’t it? He’s much more mine than yours. Wouldn’t you agree?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is my son,’ Pandora snarled. ‘Get your hands off him. Give him to me.’
‘Come on, let me have him.’ Richard, pale under a summer tan acquired from hours spent on the golf course, spoke calmly but his outstretched hand shook slightly.
‘It’ll cost you.’ St Claire smiled. ‘What’s the going rate, these days? You know, for me not to shout this all out to the paparazzi. They would love it, wouldn’t they? They’d lap it up. I reckon I could go and live in the Caribbean or somewhere on what they’d shell out for my story. I bet…’ He gave a short cry of pain as something sharp was jabbed into his left side. He looked down in confusion at what appeared to be a white umbrella attached to his less than white T-shirt which was, as he looked down – slowly turning red.
St Claire looked up into the face of the man taking his son from his arms and then turned, confused, looking down, this time to his other side, where something else sharp, smeared with blood – or was it raspberry jam? – was now sticking out of the right-hand side of his T-shirt.
Damian St Claire felt the blood drain from his face as it simultaneously seeped through the cheap white T-shirt, before, unable to help himself, he slowly slipped into the gorgeously heady abundance of meadow flowers at his feet.