‘LIBERTY!’ I’m screaming, really screaming, through the railings, boots wedged on twirling wrought-iron dragons. ‘LIBERTY!’
‘Get down from the bloody gate, Lorna.’ Diane appears through the trees again. ‘Before you hurt yourself. What do you think? You’ve got a few muscles, and now you can scale a ten-foot fence?’
I drop to the ground. ‘I’m stronger in every way these days, Diane,’ I say. ‘Now I don’t keep myself as thin as a twig for Michael.’
Most women fill out a little in middle age, but Diane hasn’t. She has skinny limbs like a teenager. Too thin. Brown hair. White skin. Michael definitely has a type: pale, frail and vulnerable. I often think, if the cancer hadn’t made me so thin and weak-looking, Michael wouldn’t have been interested.
‘Have you no shame?’ Diane puts hands on boy’s hips in tight jeans. ‘Do you know what today is? Our wedding anniversary.’
‘Send Liberty out and I’ll leave.’
‘As if I’d take your word for anything.’ Diane sounds tired. ‘We both know it’s meaningless. How can I trust a liar? Look, just leave, okay? Haven’t you hurt us enough already?’
‘Give me my daughter.’
‘She’s here to see her father,’ says Diane. ‘They’re catching up on the years you stole from them. Can’t you give him that, at least? Can’t you have the decency to let them get to know each other?’
‘Get to know each other? He’s brainwashing her, the way he’s brainwashing you. Haven’t you figured it out by now, Diane? Nothing he says is true. None of it is real.’
‘It’s you who tells lies.’ Diane’s lips pull tight. ‘I’m sorry Michael wasn’t kind to you. But Jesus, had you no common sense, woman? If you will sniff around after a married man, what do you expect?’
‘I was an idiot. I’m not saying I wasn’t. But Michael picked me up, not the other way around.’
‘What man’s head wouldn’t turn when a semi-naked teenager hangs around a stage door like a prostitute?’
‘I wasn’t semi-naked.’
‘Look, Michael did wrong,’ Diane continues. ‘Fame went to his head. He thought he could sleep with who he wanted on tour and no one would get attached. What happens on tour stays on tour. Musicians aren’t saints. Everyone knows that. But he isn’t the reason you had a mental breakdown. We hope you find peace and the help you need.’
‘Please. Please, Diane. I’m begging you. Give my daughter back. Don’t take her from me – you know what Michael’s doing. He’s turning her against me to get revenge for those press articles.’
‘She’s with her father right now,’ says Diane curtly. ‘And I dare say he’s telling her all the things you’ve left out of the story. The truth. Something you wouldn’t understand if it came up and bit you on the behind. Just go home. Okay? Liberty will come back to you when she’s good and ready. If she’s good and ready, after all the lies you’ve told her. She can stay here just as long as she needs.’
‘You need a reality pill, Diane,’ I snap. ‘We’re both his victims. You just don’t see it. He’s using you. You’re good for his image.’
‘I’m not a victim,’ Diane shouts. ‘Michael and I are still going strong after twenty years, in spite of girls like you throwing yourselves at him. What did you expect when you picked up a married rock star outside of a concert? Happily ever after?’
The truth is, that’s exactly what I expected – stupid little teenage idiot that I was.
‘I’m asking you to leave our property,’ says Diane. ‘I have an anniversary party to organize.’ She gives an odd smile, then turns back to the house.
‘Please, Diane—’
‘Excuse me, madam.’
I feel a tap on my shoulder.
Two police officers stand behind me. One has shiny brown hair pinned into a bun, large sun spots on her cheeks and carrying a good twelve pounds of flesh around her stomach. She looks overheated and holds her cap in short, fat fingers.
The other, a male, reminds me of a milk bottle: tall, pale and skinny with an impeccable uniform. And way too young to be doing this job.
‘What?’ I demand.
‘You’re on private property,’ says the policewoman.
‘I have a right to be here,’ I say. ‘My daughter is here. Behind those gates. She’s only sixteen.’
‘Mrs Ray told us the full story,’ says the policewoman. ‘You’re on private property, so if you could come with us, please, Miss Miller.’
‘How do you know my name?’
‘Mrs Ray filled us in.’
‘Get my daughter out of there and I’ll go with you.’
‘Miss Miller. If you don’t come with us now, you’ll be charged with trespass. We know … we know you’ve had problems.’
‘You’ve got your facts mixed up.’ I turn back to the gate, wedging my foot back into the railings. ‘Michael isn’t what you think he is. He’s a monster.’
‘Miss Miller!’ The policewoman shouts. ‘Come with us now, before you get yourself into any more trouble. This is Mr Ray’s private property and you have no right to make a nuisance of yourself.’
‘You don’t understand,’ I say, finding another foothold on the gate and pulling myself up. ‘If you did, you’d be telling Michael to open the gates and let my daughter out.’
‘We understand the situation.’ The female police officer looks up at me. ‘You’ve been … very keen on Mr Ray and his music for a long time. And you just want to get close to him.’
The skinny policeman adds: ‘The word is stalking.’
I look down. ‘This is a set-up. I don’t care if you arrest me for breaking and entering – I’m speaking to my daughter.’
‘We will arrest you right now for attempted breaking and entering,’ says the policeman.
‘So don’t do anything silly, okay?’ says the policewoman. ‘Listen. We know you’ve had some issues in the past.’
‘I’m not leaving here without my daughter.’
‘Let’s give Mr Ray the respect and space he needs. He’s entitled to enjoy his home without fans mobbing the gates.’
‘He’s allowed his privacy,’ chimes the male police officer, coming forward to grab my arm.
Fury rises to the surface. ‘Michael isn’t a good person. He’s fooling you. All of you. It’s what he does.’
‘Get away from the gate right now, Miss Miller,’ says the policeman, tugging at me. ‘Right now. I’m this close to arresting you.’
‘Arrest me?’ I cling tight to the bars. ‘What a bunch of bullshit. Do you know what happened behind these gates? Do you have any idea what Michael’s capable of?’
‘Come down now, Miss Miller. Or we’ll be forced to remove you.’
I try to climb but feel hands grab my ankles and wrists.
‘You’re his puppets,’ I yell as my fingers are peeled from the bars. When my boot accidentally hits the policeman in the face, he loses his temper.
‘Get down now!’
‘Keep it calm, PC Holmes,’ says the policewoman. ‘Let’s all stay nice and calm, shall we?’
Eventually they pry me off the gate and drag me flailing and shouting to the police car. I’m proud to say it takes them at least twenty minutes. I’m nothing like the skinny little girl who cried her eyes out over Prince Michael all those years ago.
Not anymore.