Found (20 page)

‘Arielle!’

You have to be kidding me.

‘Arielle, please, I need to talk to you.’

I spin around and, yes, my ears have not deceived me. There in front of me on the pavement is
Lydia
. I cannot believe that Lydia is standing less than two metres from Tabitha’s place – Tabitha who she sold out to the press.

She has the cheek as well to look so indifferent, like she’s done nothing wrong, though I notice her skin looks a little dry and her hair isn’t as shiny and silky at it once was. Her nails are also chewed down to the pink bits.

‘Congratulations.’ She nods at my rings, and I snort, forgetting how I’ve never seen her look this unkempt before. Like I want
her
well wishes.

‘You’ve got some nerve coming here,’ I tell her.

I take a step further towards the door of Tabi’s. She wouldn’t dare follow me in here; if she tried, Ryan would stop her. Tabitha’s head doorman is watching us, though I see him glance inside and shake his head slightly before I turn back around and face Lydia.

‘I didn’t–’

‘You didn’t what? Pick up my phone, read my private messages and then sell what you read to the press – is that what you didn’t do?’

Lydia has gone bright red. ‘Arielle, p-please,’ she stammers, ‘please listen...’ She stops short, and I follow her glance behind me. Tabitha is in the doorway and she’s radiating anger like I’ve never seen before.

‘Go,’ she says looking straight through me at Lydia.

‘Arielle–’ Lydia tries again.

‘GO.’ With that one word she sounds incredibly menacing, and I’m relieved I’m not on the receiving end of her anger.

Lydia shoots me one more look, then darts off. Whatever she has to say, whatever lame reason she has for selling that information to the press, it is inexcusable. If she desperately needed money, she could have asked me. She didn’t have to sell out Tabitha.

Tabitha heads back inside without another word, and I make to follow her. For a second I think that Ryan is going to block me from entering Tabi’s.

‘She’ll have gone up to Ramone’s old studio. Can I get you a drink?’

‘Errr, a sparkling water, please. Thanks,’ I add, before asking: ‘Is Ramone definitely not coming back then?’

Ryan’s eyes say exactly what he thinks about Ramone without him having to utter a single word. He’s bloody loyal to Tabitha.

‘OK, I’ll be upstairs.’

I find Tabitha pacing up and down, her long silky skirt swishing around her legs with each step. The space is as bare as it was the last time I was here.

‘Are you OK?’ I ask as I walk over to her.

‘That woman!’ she seethes. ‘That’s the fourth time Ryan has caught her hanging around outside.’

I quickly put my arm around her as we kiss cheeks, and then step back to study her. She looks stressed out – probably from what happened outside – and she looks exhausted.

‘Can’t you do something?’ I ask.

‘As tempting as it is to get a restraining order,’ she rages, ‘she can’t get in here. If I did get a restraining order, she’d likely sell that story to the press. That’s the last thing I need.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Why are
you
sorry?’

‘She was my friend,’ I point out.

Tabitha waves her hand dismissively and sits down as one of her members of staff brings in a sparkling water for me and a tumbler full of clear liquid for Tabitha. I suspect gin and tonic.

‘How are you doing?’ I ask carefully as I sit down opposite her. ‘Are things a bit better with your family?’

Tabitha takes a long sip of her drink before answering, her eyes watering slightly at the strength of it. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ She slams her glass down, and looks anywhere but at me.

I really wish she’d open up to me like I do with her, but I suspect her upbringing, and how many lowlifes have sold her out to the press, will mean it’s going to be a few more years before she starts to confide in me properly.

‘Why are you here anyway?’ she asks. ‘Not that I’m not pleased to see you,’ she corrects as my face falls, ‘but I thought you had Ob’s stag do?’

I had asked Tabitha to come along to keep me company but she, rightly, pointed out that a stag do and drunken men is usually a recipe for some pretty horrific comments hurled at her given her tabloid “Tabitha Tits” reputation. That stupid nickname, all because of the prominence of her chest, has haunted her since she was eighteen years old and therefore old enough to became a target for the paparazzi.

‘Today is clearly arsehole day,’ I share, quickly filling Tabitha in on what happened with Noah. ‘I’m terrified of going home and having to tell Piers,’ I admit, ‘though I’m hoping he likes the part where I kicked him in the balls.’

‘You didn’t!’

‘I did,’ I confirm.

‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything stronger?’ Tabitha nods at my drink. ‘You deserve a cocktail for that!’

‘I’d better stick with this. I need a clear head to face Piers.’

‘Wait, did you want to kiss him?’ Tabitha asks slowly.

I pull her a look of horror. ‘Definitely not,’ I state firmly, and I do mean that. Whereas I had my doubts and secretly thought Noah Penrose was the one who got away – and I have no idea now why I had that stupid delusion – the past is the past: Piers is my present and future. He’s my
everything
. Well, unless Jake Gyllenhaal comes a-knocking.

‘Then what do you have to be worried about?’ Tabitha asks.

‘It’s Noah Penrose. He’s like kryptonite.’

‘Only if you let him be kryptonite.’

‘True, but Piers isn’t having an easy time at the moment. It feels like he’s reacting weirdly to every little thing that I say. This is going to be a major blow for him.’

‘How did his work meeting go?’

I fill her in. ‘At least Etta’s agreed he can cover for Blythe. When Blythe’s recovered, we’ll see what he ends up doing.’

Tabitha finishes her second G&T and looks at me sternly.

‘What?’

‘And what about you?’

‘Me?’

‘What about
your
career? Are you doing another pop-up here?’ She sounds a little drunk, which makes me wonder how much she had to drink before I got here.

‘I’ve got Etta’s party on Thursday, and Ob’s wedding on Friday. A pop-up is on the following week’s list.’

And it’s going to have to be. No matter what Tabitha is lecturing me about – me putting myself first, not losing the momentum I’ve built up and, worst of all, her taunt about making Felicity proud – at the moment I need to focus on Piers and the gallery. If that means having to dedicate my time and attention to making Etta’s party a success with him, even though she doesn’t deserve our help, so be it.

Piers looks up in surprise. ‘You’re home early. Where’s Ob?’

I walk across the room towards him, Atlas following me every step of the way, darting around me like we’re playing some game. I scoop him up as I sit down next to Piers and plonk him on my knee. The purrs emitting from him sound like he’s a jet plane about to take off, though one stroke from Piers and he’s climbing up his torso and settling himself on Piers’ shoulder like a parrot. Piers grins at this. I’m not sure who’s missed who the most over the past few months, but I do know we’d both be lost without Atlas around.

‘Traitor,’ I playfully sing at him as I lean over to scratch his ear and give Piers a kiss. Atlas watches the two of us with his inquisitive eyes. ‘Probably at a strip club,’ I answer as I place my hand on Piers’ lap.

‘Ah.’ He grimaces. ‘That’s early.’

‘Mmmmmm,’ I half-heartedly respond, wondering whether I should tell Piers the truth or not. I know I should, but I really don’t want to stress him out for no reason.

‘Pony?’

I take the plunge. ‘OK, I don’t know if they are there,’ I admit, ‘because I left for another reason.’

‘Oh?’

I really don’t want to have to say this, but I can’t keep this from Piers. He’s my husband. I’d be so hurt if I knew he had kept something like this from me.

‘He invited Noah and Peter Penrose,’ I state, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice.

‘And?’ Piers’ tone turns sharp.

‘I didn’t know until I got there, and I don’t know what Ob was thinking, keeping it from me,’ I rush out, ‘but I knew I couldn’t stay.’

‘So where were you? You and Ob left ages ago.’

He sounds so frosty, but I realise he’s probably thinking about when we split up and I
did
hook up with Noah in a moment of madness that I’ll always regret. I can’t change what happened though, and if he’s forgiven me, he’s forgiven me...
right
? 

‘I bumped into Etta. She lives in Kentish Town,’ I add as Piers studies my face closely. ‘I mentioned about you looking after the gallery, and she’s fine with it, and then I went to see Tabitha.’

‘Really?’ he scoffs, but his face has gone white and I realise he’s scared, though I’m not sure exactly why. I mean, we’re
married
. Piers is the love of my life, my soul mate. Noah Penrose is someone I used to know when I was young and had no clue about love. When I had no clue who I actually am. Does Piers honestly think I’d give up our life together for a cheap thrill? Destroy our marriage for one quick fuck?

He grabs Atlas from his shoulder, causing him to squeak in protest as he puts him down on the rug, then he strides over to the window. It’s pretty obvious that he can’t stand being next to me.

‘You can ask Ob. You can ask Tabitha. Bloody hell, Piers, you can even ask Etta. You know she’s not going to lie for me, of all people.’

I nervously walk over to him. I feel sick at the thought of Piers not believing me. Has he always had issues about trusting me?

‘Pony?’ I place my hand on his lower back but he doesn’t shrug it off. I know he will as the worst is yet to come. ‘Pony?’ I repeat.

‘What?’ he snaps as he turns around. He’s shaking. Those brown eyes of his look devastated. I shouldn’t have told him – there was
nothing
to tell – but it’s too late now.

‘He...’ I take a deep breath and look Piers straight in the eyes so he knows that I’m telling the truth. ‘He tried to kiss me,’ I rush out, ‘but I pushed him away.’

I feel like my heart has paused and, even though I’ve done nothing wrong, I feel clammy and guilty.

Piers doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me like I’m a monster.

‘I kicked him in the balls,’ I continue with a nervous laugh.

That gets a small flicker of a smile at the corners of Piers’ mouth. ‘Really?’

‘
Really
. I love you so much, Piers, and I left as soon as they showed up, I promise. Well, other than to have a quick drink with Etta and Matt. Matt wouldn’t take no for an answer, but it meant I could get the OK for you to take over from Blythe.’

‘
Matt
?’ That weak smile vanishes from his face.

OK,
now
he’s being silly. ‘Etta’s brother,’ I remind him. ‘He was there with his girlfriend. Look, not that any of that matters, but we’re OK, right? You know how much I love you.’

‘We’re only OK if you’ve not done anything.’

‘Piers!’

This is so unfair. I didn’t do anything; I pushed Noah away.

He studies me again for the longest of moments, then nods. ‘Come here,’ he says gruffly. I put my arms around him and he gives me a very tight hug. ‘Sorry, Pony,’ he mutters.

I want to mutter my own apologies, reassure him, but I’m scared if I do then Piers will think that I have something to be sorry about.

*

There’s a mighty crash outside that would usually have me calling the police in alarm, but since I can hear what I think is an Ob-like voice shouting on the street downstairs, I refrain. Then the doorbell rings. Over and over. It’s the most disorientating and irritating sound possible when you’ve been fast asleep.

‘Arielle,’ Piers mutters with a groan.

Groggily I squint at the clock as I get out of bed. It’s ten past six in the morning.
Thanks Ob
. I won’t get back to sleep once I’ve dealt with him, though it will give me a chance to spend some more time reading the next Sookie Stackhouse book. I’ve had no time to read of late with organising Etta’s party. I would rather be sleeping, however. I feel so tired lately.

‘I’ll deal with him,’ I whisper. ‘Go back to sleep.’

After a pretty uncomfortable evening – it took the rest of the evening to get Piers to smile at me – Piers will be getting some serious VIP treatment from me for the next few days. And, OK, Ob is my best friend. If that was Nigel downstairs I’d expect Piers to deal with him, not that Nigel would ever crash at ours. Nigel hasn’t even been around to visit Piers and see how he is.
Twat
.

I grab Piers’ sweater and throw it on over my vest top as I go to let Ob in. I only hope he’s come home alone and there are no nasty surprises waiting for me outside. If Noah and Peter are with him, I’m slamming the front door shut.

‘Arielle,’ he slurs as I open the door and I squint at him in the bright morning sunshine. It looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day. ‘Don’t feel well.’

He’s an absolute state. One of his eyebrows has been shaved off and he’s got a penis drawn on his cheek in thick black marker. There’s sick all over his shirt, and I feel sick clocking the chunks dripping down him.

I look behind him to check if he’s on his own and see a cabbie standing on the pavement. I’m unsure whether he’s waiting to see if Ob gets safely in the house, or whether he’s waiting to be paid. I suspect the latter. Brilliant. Still, on the bright side there’s no Noah or Peter, or anyone else from the stag do with him.

‘Did you pay him?’ I ask.

Ob promptly throws up on me.

‘Fucking fantastic,’ I swear, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. I’m not paying for his cab. I try and hold my breath but the acrid stench of sick fills my nostrils and I gip. I hate vomit.

‘Arielle, I love you,’ he mumbles as he tries to stand up straight, using me as support and, somehow, managing to place my hand on his dick. Utterly charming, though quite impressive for someone who is hammered. I hope that’s a lack of co-ordination in his inebriated state rather than something I need to worry about. Also, I understand now why he was single for so long if that was his pulling technique. I decide to chalk up this drunken “affection” to, well, drunken affection.

‘Go into the kitchen,’ I order, ‘and, for fuck’s sake, don’t go anywhere else in the house. Don’t touch anything.’

Ob staggers off, crashing into the hallway wall, and I cringe as he knocks into a collage of photos that are hung on the wall. The bright turquoise frames wobble but, thankfully, they don’t crash to the floor.

‘Do you take cards?’ I ask as I walk over to the cabbie.

He does, and luckily I know Ob’s pin. I don’t even question the cabbie’s spiel about it being an additional £100 to get the cab cleaned since Ob threw up in it. Judging by the state of him – and the lovely fact that I now have his sick all over me – I believe the cabbie when he says that his cab is soiled.

Indoors, I find Ob half undressed and slumped on the kitchen floor. I really don’t want to, but I may have to rouse Piers to help me get Ob in a position where he won’t choke on his vomit, though I’d be surprised if he has anything left in his stomach to purge.

‘Come on, Ob,’ I say cajolingly, ‘sit up, please.’

‘Arielle?’ he slurs.

‘A-huh,’ I say brightly, though it’s an effort.

He smells like he’s been bathing in ale, and when I don’t have that powerful odour making me feel sick, I have the tart stench of vomit. Why do men get themselves into such a state? There’s a massive difference between enjoying a drunken night out versus getting inebriated to the point where you can’t function... and then drinking some more.

‘I love you,’ he slurs.

‘A-huh, I don’t love you. How much did you drink?’

‘No,’ Ob mumbles, struggling to sit up. ‘I mean, I really love you. Wish I...’ He starts spluttering, and I reach over to hold his head up. ‘... marry you,’ he finishes.

‘You’re marrying Jade,’ I say cheerfully, still holding his head, though I feel far from cheery. ‘Next weekend, remember? You’re having a baby.’

‘Baby with you,’ he wheezes as he pushes himself upright and leans against the kitchen units. ‘We make baby.’

I stop what I’m doing. Please, no. Not now. Not
ever
. Please don’t do this Obélix. Don’t jeopardise our friendship.

Whilst I do love Ob – of course I do – I love him
like a brother
. Please let this be some weird drunken caveman thought popping into his head because he’s smashed and not a confession he needs to declare before he marries Jade.

‘Ob–’ I pause as I think of something heartfelt to say, something nice to let him down gently and not make him feel like an idiot who can never talk to me again when he wakes up. But, that’s when I realise that Ob won’t remember any of this when he wakes up. Of course he won’t. Ob is wasted. He’d probably be declaring his undying love to Piers if Piers was the one looking after him.

‘You’re right,’ I say, hoping Piers is fast asleep upstairs. If he hears this then he really will lose the plot. ‘We should have a baby together, but first you need to rest up for me, OK? That way we can make the best baby.’

He mumbles something nonsensical as I cringe.

As I start stroking his hair, feeling like an utter bitch, he passes out leaning upright against the units. I stand up and step away from my best friend, staring down at him. He’s snoring gently and looks a sight for sore eyes. If Jade could see him now, she’d likely rethink marrying him. If Jade could
hear
him now, she’d ban him from ever seeing me again.

As I walk out of the kitchen to get a blanket to put over him, I really hope he has no memory of this when he wakes up. I also really hope that this was just the alcohol talking...