Max had called Simon a little after ten o’clock. She had the day off after working last Sunday, but he would be at the desk.
‘Alright, mucker?’
‘Hi, Simon. Can you talk?’
‘Yep.’
‘You’ve seen today’s front page?’
‘Ah.’ Simon seemed to be collecting his thoughts. ‘Hold on a minute… Right, I’m in the corridor, no one about. Yes, I’ve seen it. You want to know how Jade got it?’
‘Do you know?’
Simon laughed. ‘Course I do. As discreet as hardcore porn, that one. Wait… you mean she didn’t run it by you last night before she filed her copy?’
‘Nope.’
‘What a tart. Lucy’s your sister.’
Simon admired Max’s discretion – she had never boasted about her sister dating that posh Earl and made it clear she wouldn’t be divulging any details, no matter how much praise it might get her at the paper. What were brownie points worth when you’d sold a family member out, Max had told Simon.
‘Right,’ he continued. ‘She knows I’m your mate but couldn’t help boasting about her big story this morning. Apparently,’ Simon lowered his voice conspiratorially, ‘she was hanging around in Claridge’s. You know the comfy chairs where you can have a drink and those nice cheesy nibbles and see everyone who comes in the main entrance?’
This made sense. Mick Jagger and a couple of the 24 cast were staying there. Panicking at her lack exclusives of late, Jade would have sat in wait, hoping to witness something – an argument with a girlfriend or drunken conversations at the bar.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Well, in pops Daphne Kelner. She’d been out for dinner with Kirk. Jade saw her chance and went over to talk to her. Even tells her she’s a reporter and – bingo! – daft Daphne gives her every cough and spit of what’s just happened.’
It all fell into place. There was no ‘daft’ Daphne about it. Kirk’s mum had known exactly what she was doing. After her son had been associated with the likes of Shagger Sheri, she would have been elated to see Kirk go for someone like Lucy. And after dating Hartley, Lucy couldn’t be further removed from the Fake Brigade who stalked her son in clubs, with pound signs in their eyes.
‘OK, thanks, Si.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
‘Did you give up the fags?’
Simon dug a pound coin out of his pocket and slotted it into the vending machine. He pressed a button for a packet of salt and vinegar Snack a Jacks.
After he had been complaining about his growing gut, Max had told him they were far lower in calories than normal crisps and suggested he had a packet when hungry. He was averaging six packets a day.
‘Did I fuck! Lasted half a day. It’s this fucking job. How can anyone give up anything when life’s a free bar?’