Bad Girls (33 page)

Amber nodded gratefully. ‘My agent wanted me to go to Dubai,’ she confessed. ‘With some other girls. For a week. To party with some men. He said it would be fun, but one of the girls told me things – made me scared – I couldn’t do it. That’s when I took all those pills.’

‘Oh, jeez, no,’ Skye said, her blue eyes hard. ‘Going to a foreign country for a whole week – with a group of girls – are you kidding me? That’s hardcore.’ She whistled softly. ‘You got out just in time.’

Amber stared at her. ‘It feels like I could tell you anything,’ she blurted out. ‘I mean, you wouldn’t look down on me, no matter what I’ve done.’

‘Hah! You’re kidding, right?’ Skye said cheerfully. ‘You know what my job is! Like the one-star version of yours. And see, now you’ve told me all your dirty secrets, it’s not so bad, is it?’ Skye gave Amber a last hug, and stood up. ‘You should have made friends with a stripper years ago, honey. We’re not exactly the judgemental type.’

Amber actually found herself giggling at this, and after a second, Skye joined in.

‘You really don’t have to worry about me and Joe,’ Amber assured Skye in heartfelt tones.

‘If you say so.’ Skye was pulling her T-shirt over her head, taking her clothes off ready for bed.

‘No, honestly.’ Amber stood up, facing Skye, who was now unclipping her bra. ‘It’s not just that I don’t care about Joe. It’s because –’ she swallowed hard – ‘I never had a friend before. None of the girls at school were ever my friends. First because I looked weird, and then because I didn’t. And I never made friends with any of the models I worked with, because I was always with
Matka
. I’ve had quite a few really rich guys. I’ve got one waiting for me when I get out of here. So I don’t need Joe – and I definitely don’t need all the attention that would come with him,’ she added. ‘What I do need is a friend. That’s much more important to me. I wouldn’t do anything to mess this up.’

Naked to the waist, her impossibly high, perfect breasts jutting out at right angles to her slender ribcage, Skye paused, her pyjamas in her hand.

‘You know,’ she said, ‘I actually believe you. Which is crazy. I actually believe that being friends with some random stripper is more important to you than a shot at Joe Jeffreys.’

‘It is,’ Amber said sincerely. ‘Honestly.’

‘Well, OK then,’ Skye said, laughing. ‘Friends it is!’

She enfolded Amber in a hug, her head barely coming up to the taller girl’s shoulder, as unselfconscious as only a stripper or model could be about her semi-nakedness.

‘You know something funny?’ she said, still laughing. ‘Can you
imagine
what Joe would do if he saw us like this? In each other’s arms, me topless? It’s got to be what he fantasizes about every single night!’

‘You’re absolutely right,’ Amber said, starting to laugh too.

‘He’d come in his fucking
pants
!’ Skye giggled, and the two girls cracked up, laughing so hard that Daniyel, doing a curfew patrol to check everyone was in their rooms, tapped on the door and called: ‘Ladies! It’s way past bedtime!’ which, for some reason, just made them laugh harder.

This is what I need, Amber thought, hugging Skye back as their bodies rocked with laughter. Someone to giggle with about silly things. Someone to be a girl with. Someone I can confide in, who won’t judge me.

I really hope Skye believes me. Because it’s true: right now, what I need more than anything is a friend.

It was inconceivable for Amber – unless she was just out of detox – not to make sure that every aspect of her appearance was perfect before she left her room. But, before her daily session with Dr Raf, she was practically obsessive about checking herself out in the mirror. She was wearing a Reiss strapless silk dress, very simply cut, in dip-dyed shades of pale green that brought out the emerald of her eyes; wrapped over it was a big, butter-soft cloud-grey pashmina. Her hair was curled and pinned back from her face, her makeup so carefully applied it was almost invisible: mascara, gel to smooth her eyebrows, the most delicate glow of pale coral blusher, rose lip stain. She had sprayed her Arpège perfume into the air and stepped into it, so it wouldn’t be too obvious, just a subtle veil of scent, and her flat sandals were slender bands of gold leather over her perfectly manicured feet.

So it was no wonder that Dr Lucy, exiting her office in a swirl of white coat and shiny dark ponytail, took in Amber, looking as if she’d just stepped off a catwalk, and jerked her head back in reaction.

‘Hi, Amber!’ she said brightly. ‘Don’t you look smart! Where are you off to?’

Dr Lucy was effectively blocking Amber’s path down the corridor. Amber had no option but to stop.

‘I have my session with Dr Raf,’ Amber said cautiously.

‘Oh!’ Dr Lucy’s voice had a coating of frost on it now. ‘Your makeup is
lovely
,’ she said, smiling, her teeth white and perfectly even. ‘I can tell you used to be a model.’

That ‘used to be’ grated on Amber exactly as Dr Lucy had meant it to, but her reaction was probably different from what Dr Lucy had been expecting.

‘Oh, thank you. Yours is very good too,’ Amber said, giving Dr Lucy the same scrutiny. ‘Very natural.’

Dr Lucy’s eyes widened fractionally before she smiled and said: ‘Do you know, talking about this has given me a very useful idea. I have this exercise that I do with the women in group. I ask them all to take off their makeup, so they can interact with each other with bare faces, really get to know their essential selves without hiding behind a mask. We must do that very soon.’ She narrowed her gaze, looking at Amber’s luxuriant curled auburn tresses. ‘And I get them to brush out their hair too. Undo the styling. Really get back to basics. You and Skye could certainly benefit from that.’

Amber had been on the receiving end of plenty of bitchery from women over the years, and she’d never known how to respond. She didn’t want to be bitchy back; that wasn’t in her character, and she wouldn’t know how.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t stand up to her. That doesn’t mean I can’t say she’s gone too far.

‘Do you come in without makeup,’ Amber asked, ‘or do you take yours off at the same time we do?’

‘I –
what
?’ Dr Lucy stammered.

‘You do it too, don’t you?’ Amber said, terrified now, but pressing on bravely. ‘Otherwise your essential self wouldn’t be interacting with us, right?’

Dr Lucy’s lipsticked mouth flapped open. ‘Well, I – I’m not sure how appropriate that would be—’

‘Oh, look at the time!’ Amber said quickly. ‘I’ll be late!’

She shot past Dr Lucy and hurried quickly down the corridor, not daring to look back.

I can’t believe I did that, she thought, her body racing with adrenalin at the confrontation and triumph at how well she’d managed. I really stood up to her! I actually managed to go head to head with Dr Lucy. Rehab is completely changing my life.

‘Amber!’ Dr Raf jumped up as she entered his office, staring at her in open appreciation for a moment. ‘You look – well, you look . . .’

He cleared his throat.

‘Sorry,’ he said, taking his glasses off and then looking rather hopelessly round for something to clean them with before he put them back on his nose again. He blushed. ‘I shouldn’t really comment – it’s just that you look very, um, positive. In very good spirits.’

‘I am,’ Amber said, giving him such a dazzling smile that he hurried forward to pull her chair out for her.

She settled into it, arranging her skirts around her, as Dr Raf took the other seat, a matching leather chair with a small coffee table between them, in the centre of which was placed the obligatory box of tissues. It was noon, and his dark stubble had not yet begun to show; his olive skin was still smooth. Amber could never decide whether she thought he was more handsome cleanshaven, or with the shadow of his stubble outlining his features, giving him a rougher edge. She stared at him, considering, and her scrutiny made him lift one hand to his cheek, rubbing it self-consciously.

‘So!’ Dr Raf said, crossing one chino-clad leg over the other. ‘Amber! I’ve scheduled you double sessions from now on, since we overran yesterday and cut into Petal’s time.’ He flashed a quick, enchantingly boyish grin. ‘And neither of us wants Petal getting cross with us again, do we?’

God, he’s so gorgeous, Amber thought, smiling back at him. Look at his
dimples
. I could look at him for ever and never get bored.

‘Um . . .’ It was as if Dr Raf had read her thoughts, because his light tenor voice was louder than normal as he continued: ‘Did anything come up for you in group this morning that you want to talk about?’

Something came up for me a minute ago I want to talk about, Amber thought, but she knew she couldn’t acknowledge Dr Lucy’s hostility to her, not with Dr Raf. She’d had this scenario a million times in her working life: men – the nicer men – wanted to think that women got along fine. There was no point bitching or complaining.

But I could use it – I could talk about it without mentioning Dr Lucy.

‘I’m feeling so much stronger than I used to,’ she said. ‘I open my mouth and these words come out. Words I wanted to say before, but never could.’

She couldn’t look at Dr Raf while she talked. She’d never been able to. His gaze was fixed on her, his dark eyes soft and so full of empathy that she lost herself in them and couldn’t get back.

So Amber looked down at her hands, twisted in the folds of her pashmina, as she continued: ‘I could never stand up for myself before. Anything anyone wanted, I did it. I honestly don’t think I knew how to use the word “no”.’

Dr Raf was nodding. ‘And that included drugs, of course,’ he said.

‘Yes.’ She managed a faint smile. ‘I never said “no” to a pill. You know, I look back and realize that for the last ten years or so I was always in a haze. And I didn’t like it.’ She met Dr Raf’s eyes for a moment. ‘I really didn’t like it. Some people do. They want to be knocked out all the time. But actually, I think I’d’ve been a better model if I’d been sober. I bet if I got out some of my old photos, I’d see it in my eyes. That I’m not completely there.’

‘You never did any professional work while you were sober?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘I was on tranquillizers from when I was fourteen.’

Amber expected Dr Raf to say something in response, but he didn’t. He just went on looking at her. And she knew what he was waiting for; she had known it almost since the first session with him.

‘I don’t blame
Matka –
my mum,’ she said eventually. ‘She was just trying to help me.’

‘And she’s an addict herself, from what you say,’ Dr Raf prompted.

‘Yes. She always says it’s for pain relief. You know, her back hurts, or her arthritis is worse, or something like that . . .’ Amber trailed off, because she’d suddenly had a revelation:
All these years
, Matka
said her back was bad from all the cleaning work she’d done. Bending over, mopping and scrubbing floors. But she was never cleaning at all. That was a lie.

How many other lies have there been?

‘Amber, are you OK?’ Dr Raf asked. ‘You’ve gone very pale.’

‘No,’ Amber said slowly. ‘I’m not OK . . .’

And then, to her horror and dismay, it came pouring out. Slava’s story about being out every night cleaning offices, locking Amber into the flat for safety, when she was really working as a prostitute. The desperation with which Slava had pushed Amber into modelling, her stone-cold insistence that Amber had to succeed at all costs, because they could never go back to their old life in Margate. And Amber’s realization of exactly what Slava had meant by that.

‘I can’t imagine it,’ Amber whispered, her pashmina clutched into a tight damp ball now, her fingers working on it. ‘She never told me anything.’

‘It sounds as if she was trying to protect you,’ Dr Raf suggested sympathetically.

Amber’s head shot up, her green eyes full of misery as she looked at him.

That would be true – if she hadn’t been OK with me doing it as well. If she hadn’t told me she knew what all my ‘dates’ really were.

If she hadn’t pushed me to go to Dubai.

‘I don’t know about that,’ she said, and her eyes filled up with tears so fast they came pouring down her cheeks before she’d even realized she was crying.

Dr Raf was pushing the tissue box towards her. She reached into it, her fingers scrabbling against the cardboard base: it was empty. Muttering apologies, Dr Raf got up and rummaged on the shelves behind his desk for a fresh box, ripping it open. As he came back with it, passing Amber’s chair, he leaned over and handed the box to her.

Her face was wet with tears. She could hardly see. She fumbled for the box, but it fell through her fingers, dropping to the floor between them. Dr Raf bent to pick it up, but it had slipped partially under her chair; he went to his knees to retrieve it, and when he straightened up, still on his knees, the tissue box in his hand, his face was directly on a level with Amber’s.

For a split second, they looked at each other, so close that even through the tears clinging to her lashes, Amber could make out every tiny detail of his features. It was one of those moments on which everything hangs: waiting for one of you to lean forward, just a fraction . . . for the other one to lean forward too, acknowledging the tension hanging in the air between you, thick and heady as a cloud of incense.

Or for the moment to pass. For one of you to pull back, fumbling with something like a tissue box, remembering that he’s a doctor and you’re the patient and that having his mouth so close to yours is completely unprofessional.

I won’t let that happen. I want this more than I’ve wanted anything in my life.

It was the bravest thing Amber had ever done, and if she’d given herself any time to think it over she would have stalled.

But she didn’t. She leaned forward and kissed Dr Raf, her mouth tender and wet with her own tears, and as soon as their lips touched, the electricity that had sparked before, when their hands met, short-circuited and burst into flames. If Dr Raf had any resistance in him, it melted the moment he tasted the salt of Amber’s tears against the warmth of his mouth.