Max didn’t know how long she had been staring out of the restaurant window. She kept replaying the conversation she’d had with Lucy the day before. Having woken after their heart to heart about what had happened in Scotland, Max had been sure her news would cheer Lucy up.
‘Luce, I’m in love.’
‘Of course you are, Max, until next week. Who’s the lucky chap?’
‘Luke.’
Silence.
‘Your brother.’
‘No, Max, don’t even think about it.’
Max was taken aback by the harshness in her sister’s voice. Lucy, normally so calm, had turned to face Max and was confronting her with real hostility.
‘What? I like him. He’s wonderful.’
‘Don’t you dare, Max. Is it just like the time you slept with one of my best friends and he still refuses to speak to me because you stopped taking his calls?’
‘No, it’s not like that.’
‘Or the time you did a runner halfway through dinner with the guy I know from work because he had a squint?’
‘Luce, he was wearing shades when I met him. I hadn’t realized. I didn’t know if he was eyeing up the waitress or my tits.’
‘No, Max, you cannot do this – not with my brother. Family is everything, you know that. I can’t let you hurt Luke. He’s my brother, for God’s sake. It’s far too close.’
‘But he’s lovely.’
‘Yes, Max, he is. But you drop guys as soon as you become bored. It’s what you’ve always done since Alfie. How do you think that feels for them?’ Max had never seen Lucy look so serious. ‘I know you don’t mean to hurt them, but you do. I can’t let you do that to Luke. I love him. You always come first, Max, but, Jesus, there are millions of guys you can date. Not Luke.’
Lucy stared at Max, waiting for her to laugh, to agree that London was full of hotties and she was right – Luke was off limits. But Max wanted to scream that yes she was a fuckwit when it came to men, yes she had been careless with some men’s emotions… but she had never felt the way she did about Luke. As she looked at her sister she thought about how much Lucy had done for her, for as long as she could remember. She had given her cash when, as a cub reporter, Max had reached her overdraft limit; more than once she had driven miles to pick her up in the early hours when she had drunkenly fallen asleep on the night bus and missed her stop; she had supported and loved her through every crisis – and there was always some drama in Max’s life. She had never brought any of it up again to remind Max how indebted she should be, not once. Her support was unqualified and unquestioning.
And now Lucy was protecting her half-brother because she had no reason to believe Max would not tire of him like she had the rest. Max longed to tell Lucy that she craved love as much as anyone and thought, at last, she may have found it with Luke. But how could she do that when Lucy had been through so much? Half of London’s socialites were probably bad-mouthing her for betraying Hartley even as they spoke. And the man with whom Lucy had imagined spending the rest of her life thought the very worst of her. No, for once Lucy needed her help. What was she supposed to do – pat Lucy on the back and say, ‘There, there, I know you’ve had your heart broken but guess what? I’m in love with your brother.’ Somehow, she didn’t think so. Max knew what she had to do.
‘Ah, you know me too well. Maybe you’re right. Keeping it in the family would be a bit too weird.’ Max shrugged her shoulders as if to say ‘easy come, easy go’ and hoped the act was convincing.
Lucy looked relieved, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Max knew she had made the right decision. Lucy would always come first, especially now.
‘OK. Good. I want you to find the right guy, Max, to be happy. But I doubt Luke is your Mr Right.’ The anger had gone from Lucy’s face; she was smiling as she absent-mindedly poured a glass of orange juice.
Her coffee now cold, Max smiled as she thought of Luke. Perhaps she wasn’t in love with him – she had spent so little time with him, after all. But she knew something was different. Maybe those hopeless romantics were right and you ‘just know’ when the right one comes along.
But it was a chance she could not take. Not while Lucy was so fragile. As she felt her mobile buzz she fished it out of her handbag and saw a text message from Luke.
‘Hello, Miss Ambi Pur. Can I take you out for supper tonight? x’
Max was overwhelmed with sadness as she deleted the message. If she ignored him, he might be hurt but it was the easiest way. He would soon forget. She couldn’t meet him; she knew she could not trust herself to do anything other than be honest with him. And if he knew how much she wanted him he would not let her go.
Closing her eyes, Max took a deep breath and tried with all her strength to focus. She knew Bridget had to have been behind what happened in Scotland and she resolved to put her best investigative foot forward to prove just that. She desperately hoped it would stop her thinking about Luke.
For once, Max was grateful when she saw Sheri’s number flash on her phone. She was bound to have some ridiculous tale to tell, and Max needed a distraction.
‘Awright, sweetheart, I’ve got a cracker.’
Max suddenly remembered something Simon had told her the other day after he had read two exclusives he’d been working on for months, in a rival paper: she should watch what she said over the phone. He was sure a journalist had hacked into his voice messages or even tapped his phone.
‘You do? Where are you?’
‘My place.’
‘OK, I’ll jump in a cab and see you in twenty.’
Thank God her expense account allowed for all the taxis she wanted, Max thought as she put on her new coat – a lightweight, military-style, full-length, navy Armani. It had cost more than Max had ever imagined she’d pay for a coat but reasoned Lucy could get some use out of it too. No matter how glossy and upmarket the mag her sister worked for, staff didn’t enjoy the sort of inflated salaries and expense accounts of many of the tabloid hacks they looked down upon. Once they’d made the soft-carpet land of an executive post that all seemed to change, with no shortage of lunches and entertaining clients. If anyone put in the work, it was Lucy. Max had known her sister to be leaving the flat as she was returning from a bash at four or five in the morning – so she could catch sunrise for a fashion shoot; or stay in the office until midnight to speak to a fashion designer who was seven hours behind in Los Angeles. Max just hoped someone would reward Lucy rather than a work-shy clothes horse with an eating disorder just because she was related to someone important.
A clear cab run brought her to Sheri’s flat within ten minutes. She climbed the stairs to her flat as quickly as her Topshop platform ankle boots – hell, she couldn’t afford designer bloody everything – could carry her, and knocked on the door.
A breathless Sheri looked like hell again. With her lifeless eyes, skin as grey as that of a sixty-year-old smoker, lank hair with half the blonde extensions missing, she cut a tragic figure. No doubt she had been unrecognizable the night before when fully made-up.
‘Quick, come in, you’re gonna love this one.’
Max walked through to the sitting room and noted it wasn’t as neat as usual. There were unwashed wine glasses and coffee cups on the table, a square mirror on the sofa with the remnants of the white powder she was so partial to.
It was as if Sheri had read her mind: ‘Envy’s away on a shoot – I’ve been lettin’ me hair down a bit.’
Max smiled to reassure Sheri but couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. Beside the window hung a picture of Sheri aged seven or eight, dressed as a fairy. A beautiful, angelic, blonde little girl in wings and a tutu, with the world at her feet. So pretty, so happy. And now?
Everyone saw her as a fame-hungry user, which was true. But it was she who was being chewed up and spat out by the dark side of showbiz. Sure, every footballer she kissed and told on faced the wrath of his girlfriend for a few months. But the girlfriend’s anger subsided in direct correlation to the number of Cartier watches and Gucci bags he bought her. Even if she did dump him, he still had his fifty grand a week job doing the thing he loved and clubs full of girls desperate to be with him. Sheri? She had no money, a coke problem of biblical proportions and an addiction to the seedy world of celebrity she had briefly inhabited. Where would it take her? Looking at her – pale, ravaged and skinny in her pink Juicy tracksuit – Max shuddered to think.
‘So, what’s the big story?’
Sheri took a deep breath. ‘Max, last night I shagged Billy Brown.’
‘Shut up.’
‘I promise you, on me mum’s life.’
‘England captain Billy Brown?’
It was too good to be true. Arsenal and England captain, Billy, had the perfect marriage to Becci Brown, from girl group the Baby Dolls. She had just given birth to their second child, Sugar Plum, a sister for their two-year-old son, Tizer. They had been hailed as the new Posh and Becks, their marriage and fairy-tale life untouchable.
‘Max, I know what you’re finkin’. I’d do anyfing for a bit of cash now. You’re right, I would. That’s why I’ve been out the last three nights. Finally, thank fuck, I struck gold. I promise you. Couldn’t believe me luck. He was so drunk, he didn’t know what he was doin’. But I promise ya, Max, he was doin’ me by the end of the night.’
‘Do you have any proof?’
‘Semen stains still on me bed sheets – we came back ’ere. Get a DNA check?’
Max laughed in spite of herself. ‘Somehow I don’t think he’d agree to a sample, Sheri. I wouldn’t know where to start with that.’
‘Bloody get one of his hairs or saliva from a glass, I don’t care. I bloody need the cash.’
Max regarded Sheri. She was desperate. But Max knew Sheri well enough to know she was telling the truth. Maybe there was a way.
‘Do you have his phone number?’
‘Yeah,’ Sheri said, rummaging through her bag and fishing out her mobile. Max noticed she was starting to sweat, her hands were shaking. ‘I waited till he was out cold and called my phone from his phone so I ’ad the number. But then I passed out before I got a bloody picture of ’im beside me in bed. Max, I promise ya…’
‘OK, don’t worry. I have a plan. But we’ll have to wait a week or two.’