Angel (24 page)

'Yeah, but I don't want you doing anything too
outrageous,' Tony put in.

'What, no strippers, no getting hideously drunk
and shagging some lads? What am I going to
arrange then?' Angel asked cheekily.

'I'm sure you'll think of something,' Tony
replied.

'That's not fair, because I bet Cal's going to take
you all lap-dancing, aren't you?' Angel looked challengingly
at Cal, who tapped his nose mysteriously.

'That would be telling.'

After a couple of rounds, they decided to go for
something to eat. Angel kept expecting Cal to
mention Simone and the engagement, but he
didn't. Instead the four chatted about the wedding,
Cal's team-mates and news from Brighton. As
always, conversation between them flowed easily
and even Tony seemed to lighten up and was nicer
than he'd been to Angel in a long time. Angel loved
spending time with Cal, though she was very aware
that this might be the last time she saw him without
Simone. But even though she felt more relaxed,
halfway through the meal she still felt compelled to
take a line of coke. She tried to be as quick as
possible and pretended that Mickey had called her
and that's why she was gone for a while, but even
so, she was aware of Cal looking at her quizzically
when she returned to the table.

At the end of the meal, Cal offered to share a taxi
back to Hampstead with Angel.

'That's a good idea,' Gemma put in before Angel
had a chance to reply. She and Tony took the first
cab home after saying their goodbyes.

'I'll speak to you later!' Angel whispered to her
friend, half appalled, half excited about the
prospect of spending time alone with Cal again.

But if Angel thought she was in for a cosy ride
home, with perhaps a little flirtation thrown in, she
was very much mistaken. As soon as they were
sitting in their taxi and it pulled away, he was on
her case.

'I know what you were up to when you went to
the bathroom, Angel.'

Angel tried to feign surprise.

'What do you mean? I talked to—'

But Cal was having none of it. 'What's going on,
Angel? You told me you only took it when you went
out clubbing, now and then. I wouldn't say having
dinner with friends counts, would you? That looks
to me like someone with a problem.'

'Look, I'd had a bad day, that's all – a bad week,
actually, meeting my mum and stuff. It's my
birthday tomorrow, couldn't you just be a bit nice to
me?' Angel could feel herself growing sulky. The
last thing she needed was for Cal to have a go at her.

Cal's voice took on a softer edge. 'It must have
been rough seeing your mum and I'm sorry, but
taking coke isn't going to make it better. I could
introduce you to someone who could help you.'

Angel shook her head. 'I don't need to see anyone.
I haven't got a problem. You're right, I
shouldn't have taken it tonight, but it won't happen
again.'

Cal didn't look too convinced. When the taxi
pulled up outside Angel's flat, he said, 'Happy
birthday for tomorrow, Angel,' and kissed her
goodnight on her cheek. Desire washed over her as
she breathed in his scent and felt his warm lips on
her skin. Then, all too suddenly, they had said their
goodbyes and she was back in her flat, wanting Cal
so badly it hurt.

'Happy birthday to me,' Angel said bitterly to
herself as she woke up alone. Her mobile rang and
she grabbed it, thinking it would be Mickey wishing
her many happy returns, and she was itching to
have another go at him about the threesome. He
was in Scotland where his manager had pressurised
him into appearing on a kids' TV show where
Mickey had ended up having to sit in a bath full of
baked beans, having green slime poured on his
head in spite of his protesting that he was an artist
and shouldn't have to do that kind of thing. But
instead it was Carrie and she didn't sound happy.

'Good of you to actually answer your phone,
Angel,' she snapped. 'I've been trying to get hold of
you since yesterday. We've got a problem.'

Oh, God, what is it now
? Angel thought wearily. She
hadn't forgotten to turn up for a shoot, had she?

'I had a tip-off from a friend of mine who works
on the
People
and tomorrow they're going to be
running the story of your threesome. That girl,
whoever she was, has sold the story. Apparently she
didn't get paid.' Carrie took a deep breath and
carried on ranting. 'Honestly, Angel, why did you
have to go and get yourself involved in something
like that? It's so fucking tacky.'

Carrie went on to say a whole load of other
things that Angel could barely take in. Everyone
was going to find out about that night – her
parents, Tony, Gemma, Cal . . . The thought of it
was so awful that Angel suddenly threw down the
phone and ran into the bathroom where she
retched into the toilet.

When she'd wiped her mouth and picked up her
phone Carrie was still in full flow. Angel
interrupted her. 'Well, what do you think I should
do, Carrie?'

'I'm coming to that,' Carrie snapped. 'I've
arranged with Mickey's agent that the two of you fly
out to Spain this afternoon. I've got an apartment
in Malaga, and you can stay there for a few days
until this whole thing blows over. A car will pick you
up in two hours. Now, get packing.'

Feeling totally shell-shocked, Angel put down
the phone and did as she was told. As she started
shoving clothes into a suitcase, her mobile rang
again. It was Cal.

'Hi, Angel, I know you said you weren't
interested but I've got the name and number of this
guy I know and I'd really like you to have it.'

'Okay,' Angel just about managed to get out.

Cal reeled off the details and Angel pretended to
write them down, but her hand was shaking so
much she couldn't have held a pencil anyway.

'Well, happy birthday, Angel, I hope you enjoy
your day.'

Cal was obviously about to go and Angel found
her eyes full of tears.

'Wait, Cal,' she sobbed.

'What is it?' he asked, his voice full of concern.

'Nothing. Everything. I'm going away for a
couple of days and something bad's going to come
out in the press tomorrow about me.' As the tears
streamed down her face, she struggled to carry on
speaking. 'And I wondered if, when you see Tony
and Gemma, you'd ask them not to judge me too
much and that I'm sorry for showing Mum and
Dad up.'

'Tell me what's wrong, I'm sure it can't be that
bad. I can help you.'

'When you find out tomorrow, you won't want
to. Goodbye, Cal.' He rang straight back but Angel
just switched off her phone.

Three hours later, she and Mickey were at the
airport, checking in. Neither had anything to say to
the other. Mickey had been given a bollocking by
his manager – threesomes with prostitutes and
cocaine didn't exactly go down well with the cleancut
boy-band image he was supposed to promote –
and he looked sulky and anxious. He didn't
attempt to apologise to Angel for misleading her
about Desiree, nor did he try to comfort her. They
ignored each other through the flight, each pretending
to watch the movie. Although Angel hadn't
eaten all day she felt too sick to have any food.
Instead, she drank champagne, each sip making
her feel more and more depressed. Mickey hadn't
even remembered that it was her birthday. She had
thought her sixteenth had been her worst one yet,
but how wrong had she been – with her nineteenth
she'd hit an all-time low.

They were met at Malaga airport by a car and
driven straight to Carrie's apartment. It was ten
o'clock at night, but still incredibly hot. Any other
time Angel would have been impressed by the
luxurious surroundings. Carrie's spacious and
elegant apartment was on the top floor of an
expensive-looking complex, with its own swimming
pool on the roof. But Angel felt like she was walking
into a prison. Carrie had ordered her maid to stock
the fridge with wine and food and had already
warned Angel not to go out. The press would easily
track her down if she did. Instead, her maid would
buy them anything they needed. She'd also left
Angel a new mobile phone with which Angel could
communicate with her, so that she could switch off
her other phone, which the press were bound to
call the next day. There were already dozens of
messages from journalists wanting to know her side
of the story. Angel deleted every one without
bothering to listen to it. There were several from
Cal, but she couldn't bear to hear his voice so she
deleted them, too.

That done, she poured two large glasses of wine.
Mickey took his without even bothering to say
thank you.

Fuck you
, thought Angel bitterly;
it was you that got
us into this mess.
But she didn't have the energy to
argue, and, after calling Carrie to let her know that
they'd arrived safely, she changed into her bikini
and went swimming. She swam two miles, desperate
to tire herself out and to dull the craving for coke
that was already starting to take hold of her.

When she finally got out of the pool, Mickey was
lying on one of the sun loungers, chain-smoking.
He'd given up two years ago but obviously this crisis
had proven too much for his willpower.

'Don't suppose you've got any gear on you,
babe?' he asked hopefully.

'Oh yeah, because it would have been such a
good idea to smuggle some on board the plane!'
Angel snapped.

'I was just asking!'

The two of them sat there drinking wine. Angel's
plan to tire herself out hadn't worked; she was still
desperate for a fix.

'Don't you know anyone out here?' she finally
asked Mickey.

'I've just been trying to think. I suppose Si
might, it's worth giving him a call.'

It was midnight back in England, but luckily for
Angel and Mickey, his dealer was still 'working'
and, yes, he did have a contact in Malaga.

'How much cash have you got on you, babe?'
Mickey demanded as soon as he got off the phone.

'I've got about one and a half grand,' Angel
replied. 'And by the way, you still owe me a grand,'
she snapped, feeling fresh anger at the memory of
why they were here in the first place.

'Yeah, yeah, you'll get it. I'm going to call up this
guy and get us a grand's worth. We don't know how
long we're going to be here.'

Angel could only hope it wasn't for long – she
was already starting to feel claustrophobic.

An hour later, Mickey had handed over Angel's
cash to the dealer who arrived at their apartment,
in exchange for a large supply of coke for him and
Angel. As soon as he shut the door he quickly laid
out a couple of lines.

'Fuck the tabloids!' Mickey declared after taking
his line.

Then he tried to give Angel a hug. 'It'll be all
right, babe, I'm sure.'

Angel let him, but she wasn't at all sure it would
be.

Carrie phoned at seven the next day. Angel and
Mickey had stayed up most of the night taking coke
and Angel felt totally wasted.

'I'm going to fax over the article. I think it's best
that you know what it says. The phone's been going
crazy here, with people wanting to talk to you. I've
issued a statement saying you have no comment;
you're emotionally exhausted and are resting. I
don't, repeat,
don't
want you to leave that apartment
until I tell you. We just might be able to
salvage something out of this by selling your side of
the story, but I want a lot of money for that.'

When Angel tried to protest that she wasn't into
doing kiss and tells, Carrie snapped back, 'You
slept with a hooker, for God's sake, it's a bit too late
to come over all coy.'

Angel and Mickey passed the day as they had
passed the night, taking coke and drinking. Angel
still hadn't eaten anything and she felt totally spaced
out, unable to focus on anything. Carrie faxed the
article, but Angel couldn't bring herself to read it.
Mickey read it quickly and then told her it wasn't as
bad as it could have been, although even he seemed
a bit shaken by the way Desiree had described their
drug-taking. At five, Carrie called to say that she
had made a deal for Angel to sell her side of the
story to a leading Sunday tabloid for a hundred
grand. The journalists would be round first thing in
the morning. When they arrived, Mickey was to stay
in his room and not come out – his manager had
signed a deal for forty grand with a rival tabloid for
his side of the story. Angel paced round the
apartment, unable to sit still, unable to relax. Part of
her longed to speak to Gemma, but she couldn't
face it. She felt so ashamed and humiliated.

Mickey was on the phone to his manager for
most of the afternoon. Angel thought it was
pathetic the way Mickey was sucking up to him,
endlessly apologising and promising it would never
happen again, and then whining that Angel was
being paid more for her story than he was. 'Why is
that?' he kept asking.
Go figure
, thought Angel.
Loser
. Then the moment he was off the phone, he
was taking more coke. She was mildly shocked to
find that all the love she had felt for Mickey was
gone. She hated him for setting up the threesome
with a hooker, she hated the way he had sponged
off her, she hated him for betraying her with the
girl in Germany. She didn't have any doubts
about that one any more, certain now that he had
been unfaithful. And she hated him for his self-obsession.
But most of all she hated herself for
wasting over a year of her life with him. She
looked at him as he sprawled on the sofa dressed
only in his white Calvins, and everything about
him that she had once found so attractive – his blue
eyes, his perfect features and his toned body –
disgusted her now. He was just a selfish, vain, spoilt
little boy, who didn't care about anyone except
himself.

All Angel wanted to do was sleep, but she had
taken so much coke that she was completely buzzing.
She swam, flicked through magazines and channel-surfed
on the TV, willing the day to be over. When
she finally did get into bed, Mickey tried to put his
arm round her, but Angel pulled away from him and
moved to the edge of the bed to be as far away as
possible.

'Come on, babe, don't be like that.'

'What! You think we can kiss and make up?'
Angel sat up in bed. She couldn't lie next to him
and pretend everything was okay any longer.

'You lied to me, Mickey, about that girl and I
think you've lied to me right from the start. I bet
you did shag that slag in Germany.'

Mickey tried to cut in, but Angel was in full flow.
'What kind of shit relationship is this? All you ever
do is go on about yourself, you don't give a fuck
about me. You just use me like a fucking cashpoint.
Well, I've had enough. You owe me over ten grand
and I want it back – now.'

'I'm expecting a cheque soon,' Mickey mumbled.

'Bullshit,' Angel shouted back. 'You own that
flat, that must be worth over a million. You can get
a loan based on that or you can fucking well sell the
Porsche.'

Mickey looked down. 'I don't own the flat, it's my
record company's. And I've had to give the car
back, I couldn't make the repayments.'

Angel could hardly believe what she was hearing
– he had borrowed from her knowing he couldn't
pay her back. She didn't think her opinion of him
could get any lower, but it just had.

'You don't understand what it's like,' Mickey
complained. 'After we've paid the song writers and
the management and divided up the rest between
the band, we don't get that much.'

'Oh, my heart bleeds!' Angel got off the bed and
marched into the other bedroom. She didn't want
to spend another second in the company of that
loser.

The journalists buzzed the apartment promptly at
ten the following morning. Angel had made a halfhearted
effort to tidy, clearing the empty bottles of
wine and vodka from the table and throwing them
in the bin. She'd made an equally half-hearted
effort to make herself presentable, but had no
energy. In the end she'd pulled on a white hoodie
and a pair of white tracksuit bottoms over her
bikini, tied her hair in a ponytail and put on a pair
of huge dark sunglasses that covered up half her
face underneath a baseball cap. She couldn't be
bothered to put on any make-up. She knew she
looked like shit, but for once she didn't care.

She led the journalists onto the roof terrace, not
wanting them to snoop round the apartment. One
was a hard-faced, overly made-up woman called
Sue, the other a surprisingly young man called
Keith.
Good cop, bad cop
, Angel thought grimly,
though as it turned out, she was wrong, they were
both bastards. They wasted no time in firing
questions at her.

'Whose idea was the threesome? Did she enjoy
it? How many other threesomes had she been
involved in? What was her sex life like with Mickey?
Was she into bondage?'

'Mickey's, no, just this one, great and no,' Angel
replied wearily.

Then they got onto the part that Angel had been
dreading. 'How long had she been taking drugs
for? Did she have a problem?'