I Knew You Were Trouble: A Jessie Jefferson Novel (25 page)

I mention this jokily in passing on the Friday night before San Francisco. Johnny and I are in the studio.

Johnny frowns. ‘What’s wrong with Jan?’

‘It’s not that he isn’t a good teacher,’ I say quickly, feeling bad. ‘But I’m bored out of my brains in his lessons.’

His lips turn down in sympathy and he sits down and rests his chin on the tips on his fingers, looking up at me thoughtfully.

‘You miss school,’ he comments.

‘I know I can’t go back home yet. And I don’t want to go back yet—’

‘Don’t you?’ he cuts me off, surprised.

‘Well, no, not yet.’ I shift on my feet. ‘I like it here.’

He reaches forward and tugs another chair on wheels towards him, indicating for me to sit down.

‘You like it in LA?’

‘Yes.’

‘You don’t want to go home?’

‘Well, no, not yet.’ Don’t I? This is the first time I’ve said it out loud.

‘I have to say, you do seem more settled here these last few weeks.’

‘It’s the band,’ I reply with a bashful shrug. ‘And Agnes.’

‘I can see.’

‘That’s not to say I don’t miss Tom, and Stu, and my friends.’ I feel a familiar sting when I think of Libby. I don’t miss her
that
much and, oddly, I
haven’t spoken to Tom since last Sunday and I’m not pining for him in the same way as before. ‘I also know that even when I do go back things won’t be the same. You keep
telling me I can’t go to the same school.’

‘Private school would be my preference.’

I sigh. ‘I don’t know. It will all be so different.’

‘You know, you could go to school here,’ he points out. ‘I mean, if you stayed. Or, even if you didn’t stay, you could still go to school for the foreseeable
future.’

I remember something Agnes said… ‘
You could come to school with me!
’

‘Could I… Could I go to Agnes’s school?’ I ask, finding it hard to believe I’m actually having this conversation.

‘I’d have to check it out, make sure it’s OK,’ he says. ‘Do you want to? Do you want to stay?’

Now Tom’s words ring round my head. ‘
You feel really far away
…’

‘Think about it,’ he says, sensing my indecision. ‘You don’t have to decide now.’ I nod. ‘OK.’

I speak to Tom that night, but I don’t mention the possibility of staying in LA permanently.

‘Good luck for tomorrow,’ he says.

I’m lying in bed and we’re Skyping each other so I can see his face.

‘Thanks. I’m going to need it.’

‘I doubt it,’ he replies, a smile tugging at the edges of his lips.

‘I wish you could be there,’ I say, but, even as the words leave my mouth, I’m not entirely sure it’s true.

‘Will anyone be filming it?’ he asks.

‘I’m sure Agnes will get some of it on her phone.’

‘Is she going?’ he asks.

‘Yes. I’d love you to meet her. I think you’d really like her.’

‘Maybe one day I’ll make it over there to visit. I spoke to my dad, by the way.’

‘When?’ I ask, shocked.

‘Earlier in the week. He called me. He wants me to come and visit him sometime.’

‘Did he? But Tom, that’s brilliant!’ I exclaim. ‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’ I don’t wait for him to make an excuse about the time difference or
how far away I feel. ‘Forget it, just tell me what he said!’

‘He said he missed us.’ His voice sounds a little hoarse. ‘Becky and me,’ he clarifies.

‘Oh, Tom,’ I say, half with sorrow, half with happiness for him. ‘Is he still with that other woman?’

‘Yes. But he didn’t really talk about her. He said he was sorry for not being in touch before, but that he’d been so worried I’d never want to speak to him
again.’

I can see tears glistening in his eyes. He sniffs. I wish I could reach through the phone and hug him.

‘So, if you visit him, you could come and see me, too?’ I say.

‘If you’re still there,’ he says meaningfully and I lower my gaze so he can’t see my expression. This is the problem with Skype: nowhere to hide. ‘Any update on
when you’re coming back?’ he asks.

‘Actually, I have some good news,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll be there at the end of next week in time for Christmas.’

His eyes light up and his jaw drops. ‘No way!’

‘Yes.’ I nod, laughing as he beams at me. ‘But not to stay,’ I quickly correct him.

His face falls slightly. ‘Oh. How long will you be here for?’

‘A week. But it’ll be good to catch up.’

‘It’s better than nothing,’ he agrees with a crooked smile.

Johnny, Meg and I talked about this idea over dinner. As I’m thinking about extending my stay – perhaps permanently – I thought that I should spend Christmas with Stu. I also
want to pack up some more of my things and bring them back to LA. But there’s another more pressing reason, although I find it hard to think about: Mum’s things. They’ve been left
in the spare room for far too long. I feel like I’m neglecting her. They need to be sorted out. It’s time to say goodbye.

I bite my lip to stop it from wobbling and smile at Tom. ‘So I’ll see you soon, no matter what.’

The next day, we all fly to San Francisco together, including, to my delight, Johnny, Meg and the boys.

Meg will stay at the hotel with Barney and Phee, but my dad has insisted on coming to watch my first-ever gig. I’m touched, even though he’ll remain backstage. I’m sure it
would help my nerves more if I could see him in the crowd, but Meg pointed out with a wry grin that he’d steal our limelight if he were out in the open.

I think it was the first time I’d ever seen him blush.

Agnes and Jack’s dad and brother are also coming, as well as Miles’s friend and Brandon’s girlfriend. I found it hard to believe an ordinary girl would be able to compete with
Charlotte Tremway the TV star, but when I meet Maisie I understand what Brandon sees in her. She’s beautiful, with long dark hair and big brown eyes. But she seems very shy, and barely says
more than two words to any of us before scooting off to their room to get ready. Brandon follows soon afterwards.

I’m sharing a room with Agnes, Jack is in with Drew, and Johnny and Meg have adjoining rooms with Barney and Phoenix.

I thought Agnes was joking when she claimed she wanted to be my stylist, but I should’ve known otherwise. She’s brought a suitcase full of potential outfits for me.

Johnny knocks on the door when I’m trying on my third ensemble: denim cut-off shorts and a cream, midriff-baring top.

He glares at me. ‘You’re not wearing that.’

I tut. ‘I didn’t want to wear it, anyway,’ I say, glancing at Agnes. She’s a force to be reckoned with, but, then again, so is my dad. ‘Next!’

She rolls her eyes and throws me a couple of garments. I duck into the bathroom to change.

‘With your wedge heels!’ she calls after me.

I can hear her chatting to Johnny as I get dressed.
Aah, my skinny black jeans
, I think with relief as I tug them on. What’s this? I hold up what turns out to be a drape-neck vest
top with a graphic print on the front. I like it. Finally I slip on my shoes and go back into the room.

‘Nice.’ Johnny nods appreciatively. ‘Cool T-shirt,’ he adds.

‘Thanks,’ Agnes murmurs, scrutinising me.

‘Is it one of yours?’ I ask her. I know she likes to design her own prints.

‘Mmm-hmm,’ she replies, distractedly hunting through her suitcase and pulling out a black belt with a chunky metal buckle. ‘Try this.’

I do as I’m told. I know better than to argue.

‘And this,’ she adds, handing over my own leather jacket.

‘Won’t I be too hot?’ I ask.

‘Take it off after the second song,’ Johnny says.

I grin at him and look down at my outfit.

‘Perfect,’ Agnes says, glancing at Johnny for approval.

‘I’m just glad we brought Lewis,’ he replies, making my shoulders slump.

‘Johnny!’ I cry.

‘Bad joke,’ he says. ‘Sorry, chick.’

‘It’s OK,’ I reply, turning to look at myself in the mirror.

‘No time for that,’ Agnes says, pulling me into the bathroom. ‘I’ve gotta start backcombing your hair.’

‘Sorry,’ I mouth at Johnny, but he just grins and stands up.

‘I’ll let you know when our ride’s here.’

The ride, as it turns out, is an enormous stretch limo.

I squeal when Agnes, Johnny and I pile out of the hotel to see it pulled up at the kerb.

‘Where did you get this?’ I ask him, as he chuckles at my reaction.

‘It belongs to my record label. Annie sorted it,’ he replies.

‘Oh my God, it’s amazing!’ I exclaim, climbing aboard and being greeted by a chorus of male cheers. Jack, Drew, Miles and his friend, and Brandon and his girlfriend are already
on board, checking out the contents of the minibar.

Johnny opens a bottle of champagne and I hold up glasses for him to pour it into. He raises a can of Coke to us.

‘Here’s to a great gig.’

We’ll drink to that.

Later, I’m backstage and nervous as hell. My hands are shaking, my palms are sweating and I fear that, if I open my mouth, all that will come out is a squeak. I’ve
been to the toilet three times in the last half an hour and I need to go again. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking when I agreed to do this.

‘Jessie!’ Agnes cries, poking her head round the corner to see me sitting on a speaker, hidden in the darkness. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Freaking out,’ I admit.

‘Everyone’s looking for you! We were about to have a toast.’

‘Another one? I think I’ve had enough to drink. Or maybe I haven’t had enough. No, then I’ll just need to go to the loo again—’

‘Jessie,’ she cuts me off. ‘Calm down. You’re going to be fine. You know the songs like the back of your hand.’

‘I wish my mum was here.’ I jolt with surprise. That sentence came out of my mouth all of its own accord.

She hesitantly comes to sit down next to me. ‘You must miss her.’

Her words feel like a knife has been twisted in my gut. The truth is, recently I haven’t missed her much at all. I’ve been too busy, too distracted with the band. Am I forgetting
her? Here I am, in LA, away from Stu and our little home. Am I losing her? Am I losing myself?

Or am I finding myself?

I shake my head rapidly. I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing.

‘Do you want me to get Johnny for you?’ Agnes asks sympathetically.

‘I’m here,’ I hear him reply, and then he’s in front of me, crouching down and staring at me steadily with the same shade of green eyes reflecting back at me like a
mirror.

I don’t even have my mother’s eyes.

‘You OK?’ he asks.

Agnes squeezes my shoulder and leaves us to it.

‘Bit shaky,’ I reply, my voice wavering.

‘What is it? Just the gig, or…’

I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but tears spring up in my eyes and all I can think about is Mum.

He moves to sit next to me, wrapping one arm round my shoulders and pulling me against his chest. ‘I want to tell you that it’s all going to be OK. Small steps and everything. But
you haven’t been taking small steps, have you?’

I half laugh. ‘No, I guess not.’

‘For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you,’ he says against the top of my head.

‘It’s worth a lot,’ I reply quietly.

I wonder if Mum would be proud. Is she up there, looking down at me and smiling? Or is she shaking her head in horror at the thought of me on a stage?

‘Your mum would be proud of you, too,’ he says in a gruff voice, as though reading my mind.

‘I don’t know if she would,’ I allow myself to say.

He looks down at me, his brow furrowed. ‘Yeah, she would.’

‘She kept me away from you all this time, and now here I am, trying to follow in your footsteps.’

‘I hadn’t seen Candy in years,’ he says. ‘But your mum was a rock chick, through and through. I bet that never changed.’

An image comes to me of her rummaging through my make-up bag and pulling out a deep-red shade of nail varnish.

‘Aha!’ she says, triumphant.

‘Here we go again,’ I moan jokily. ‘Can’t you buy your own nail varnish?’

She grins at me over her shoulder, her light-brown eyes warm and her long, wavy, dark hair cascading down her back. ‘It’s nice to share, Jess,’ she says sweetly.

I roll my eyes at her and she giggles and arm-bumps me as she hurries back to her room with the polish in her hand.

She knew that I didn’t really mind. She was always listening to my music, nicking my make-up and stealing my clothes. She was young at heart and I adored her for it,
however much I might’ve given her stick at the time.

‘She’d love to see you up there,’ Johnny continues. ‘She’d be right there at the front, smiling up at you and singing along to the music.’

He looks a little dazed as he stares off into the distance, caught in his own memory of Mum when she fell for him. ‘She’d love it,’ he reiterates firmly. ‘Now come on,
you. Go out there and make me proud.’

‘You’re already proud of me,’ I point out with a smirk. ‘You just told me.’

He chuckles. ‘No need to be arrogant about it.’

I giggle and get to my feet.

‘There you are!’ Jack says with relief when we round a corner to the side of the stage. ‘We’re going on in ten minutes.’

We’re the first act to play, which makes the whole thing even more nerve-wracking.

‘You OK?’ he checks, eyeing me with concern.

‘Yes.’ I nod, pleased that he seems to care. ‘I didn’t mean to worry you.’

Johnny goes to talk to Billy, but I’m distracted by Agnes laughing at a tall, tanned, absolutely gorgeous guy with brown hair.

‘Who’s that?’ I ask Jack.

‘Brett,’ he replies with a grin. ‘An old friend. Come meet him?’

‘Sure.’

We wander over. Agnes’s eyes are bright with excitement as she introduces me.

‘Are you Australian?’ I ask him, hearing the twang in his accent.

‘You got me,’ he replies with a lopsided grin.

‘How do you guys know each other?’ I ask, struck by how piercing his blue eyes are.

‘My mum worked for the Mitchells for a few years,’ Brett explains, hooking his thumbs into his jeans pockets. ‘We lived on site.’