Johnny's Girl (4 page)

‘This place has good memories for you too, right?’ he asks. He points to the left of the pool. ‘That was where I saw you for the first time, lying there, fast asleep, in your
skimpy bikini.’

‘I remember it well,’ I say wryly. ‘I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard your voice.’

‘Look, they kept our table.’ He nods at the polished concrete table with bench seating. We shared a pizza there on my first night in LA and he quizzed me about my love life.

‘And they’ve still got the bar,’ I say sardonically, spotting the outdoor bar that used to be stocked with just about every spirit under the sun. Whisky was Johnny’s
drink of choice.

He lets his arm drop and I instantly feel mean. He hasn’t had a drink for over two years.

‘Sorry.’ I turn around to face him.

‘It’s a fair comment,’ he replies, his green eyes looking even more luminous with the light of the pool reflecting in them. Yes. I remember this sight, too.

‘I love you,’ I say seriously. ‘I love you so much. I don’t want
anything
to come between us.’ I say this last sentence fervently and tears prick my
eyes.

‘Hey,’ he says, looking crushed. He pulls me into his arms. ‘Nothing is going to break us now. We’re too strong. I would never do anything to risk hurting you, Barney or
Phoenix. You guys are my
life
.’ He squeezes me hard as he says this, then he pulls away to face the house. ‘But I still love this place. It’s
me
, you know? I mean,
look at it. It’s fucking awesome.’

I laugh at his enthusiasm, despite myself. ‘It’s pretty cool,’ I agree.

‘We could buy it back – in your name as well as mine,’ he says pointedly. ‘It could be
our
place. I like England, but I’m so pissed off with the rain,’
he adds grumpily. ‘And if you really hate it after a year or two, we could always move back.’

‘Hang on,’ I interrupt. ‘Are you saying you want to move here permanently?’ I’m taken aback. ‘I thought you were just talking about a summer pad. Somewhere to
live while you’re recording your new album.’

He shrugs. ‘I thought we could give it another go.’

My heart starts to beat faster. ‘What about our place in Henley?’ I ask. ‘I love it there. The kids love it. And Barney really likes his nursery.’

‘Barney is
three
,’ Johnny says meaningfully. ‘He’ll adapt. He always does.’

Hmm. That’s certainly true. His little life has been nothing but adaptation.

‘What about me? I’m not sure I’m very good at starting afresh anymore. I’ve only just begun to feel settled with you at home.’

‘Come on, Nutmeg. Christ, you’re only thirty. And I’m thirty-six! Let’s live a little. You knew when you married me that life wasn’t going to be ordinary. I want
you guys to come on tour with me next year.’

‘Since when are you touring next year?’ I ask.

‘I was going to tell you,’ he says wearily.

I have such bad memories of Johnny on tour… And he knows it. He can see it on my face.

‘You have nothing to worry about,’ he says firmly. ‘Shall we go and see inside?’

Talk about a change of subject. ‘Fine,’ I reply bluntly. ‘But don’t go thinking this is a done deal, because I’m nowhere near convinced.’

‘I know, I know,’ he says flippantly. ‘We’ve got lots to discuss.’

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: he always gets what he wants in the end.

Two months later I find myself standing in the very same spot, looking down over the city of LA.

‘Can we go in the pool?’ an eager Barney asks.

‘Of course,’ I reply with a smile, looking behind him to see Johnny stepping out onto the terrace with Phoenix on his shoulders. I kick off my flip flops – this time I came
prepared – and stand on the first step. The weather is much warmer now than it was in March and the water is the perfect temperature. Not too hot, not too cold. I sit down on the side of the
pool and turn to take off Barney’s shoes.

Once I agreed, Johnny had the house sale pushed through quickly, wanting it to be ours by the time he started recording his new album. In the last couple of weeks while he’s been in LA
recording, he’s been able to get the place ready for us. I, meanwhile, have sorted out our things at home, many of which are being shipped over in a big crate to arrive in a couple of weeks.
We’re hanging onto the house in Henley for the moment – we’ll probably rent it out to keep it occupied, but there’s no rush.

I tug Barney’s shorts down and he sits next to me on the step while I lift his T-shirt over his head. He splashes the water with his feet. Beyond excited.

‘I’ll go and get our swimming costumes,’ I say to Johnny, who has just joined us, poolside. ‘You coming in?’ I call over my shoulder.

‘Sure,’ he replies.

I walk back into the living room and step around the shaggy, lime-green rug and the enormous, brand new charcoal-grey L-shaped sofas that Johnny bought last week before we arrived. I walk over
to the concrete polished staircase and go up the one floor, turning left at the top to walk along the landing, which is open to the living room on my left. Our bedroom door is straight ahead.

We had a bit of a giggle when we went into the master bedroom at the viewing and saw that the last owner had had the walls wallpapered with red velvet and had chosen gold-embroidered carpet and
curtains. Now every room has been redecorated – a couple in exactly the same style as Johnny had them the last time. The room which I used to stay in was nicknamed the White Room. I was
touched to see it restored to its former glory after the last owner’s opulent navy blue and silver colour scheme. Now its walls, ceilings and floors are pristine white, with white built-in
lacquered wardrobes, and an en-suite with white stone lining every surface. The children have the bedrooms next to the White Room and the decorators have done a gorgeous job, but I’m looking
forward to putting my own touches onto them once the crate arrives with all of their things.

I reach our bedroom door and push it open. It spans the width of the house, from front to back, with a floor-to-ceiling view over LA at the back, and large windows overlooking the trees at the
front from inside the big en-suite bathroom. To the left of the bathroom is a bright and airy walk-in wardrobe which I’d never been inside before. I can smell the fresh paint, though. Apart
from the white walls, this room is very different to how it looked when Johnny lived here before. It’s the one room he
didn’t
have restored to its former glory. We chose the
colour scheme together. New plush smokey-grey carpets, a yellow and grey geometrical pattern on the curtains, and a contrasting yellow and green patterned bedspread on the brand new super kingsize
bed. A modern, yellow chaise longue rests near the windows with the main view. The bathroom overlooking the trees is fitted out with white stone, and we’ve even had special glass installed in
the windows so the clear glass turn opaque at the flick of a switch.

It’s stunning. Fresh, shiny and new. My toes dig into the plush carpet and I can’t help but smile as I stand there for a moment and take in my surroundings.

Out of nowhere the memory hits me of Dana lying sprawled out and naked on the bed while Johnny lay wasted in the bathtub. I squeeze my eyes shut and shudder. Then I steel myself. I’ve got
to move on. We will fill this house with happy memories, more than enough to wash away the bad ones. The sound of my children laughing, the sound of my husband strumming his guitar and singing in
the music studio next door. I’m back here as Johnny’s
wife
, and I won’t be bowed by bad memories.

I go and unzip my largest suitcase and dig out our swimming costumes.

It surprises me how quickly I settle back into life in LA. I hire a new PA/occasional nanny called Annie, who’s petite and pretty with twinkly eyes and a warm smile. But
underneath her pixie-like features, she packs a hefty punch and she came highly recommended. Kitty heard about her on the CPA grapevine – she was working for an aged movie star who, to put it
kindly, is a little bit of a diva. Annie decided that it wasn’t unreasonable to desire a life outside of work, so she’s here during normal working hours, although she has agreed to help
out with after hours babysitting sometimes. It’s a far cry from the 24/7 of my CPA past, but it suits us, and we love having the house to ourselves at weekends.

We have two new maids, Sharon and Carly, who come in every morning. Johnny’s old maid, Sandy, has moved to Indianapolis with her husband for work, so there was no chance of her
returning.

As for our cook, I’m thrilled when Eddie – our American cook who came to England with us – decided to join us on our return journey. We’ve even managed to persuade two of
our old security/bodyguards to come back: Samuel and Lewis. I’m happiest to welcome back Davey though, the limo driver who I have always had a real soft spot for. He’s not long out of
retirement, but he quit his other job for a company executive as soon as Johnny got in touch. Now he has a brand new, shiny black Mercedes limousine to ferry us around in, with car seats for the
kids at the back of a long bench seat which curves along one whole side of the vehicle. Opposite the bench seat is a mini bar, stocked with anything but alcohol.

I see Kitty occasionally while Johnny is at work, although I’m yet to go out with her over an evening. She asks me to at our next lunch date.

‘It’s a film premiere,’ she tells me. ‘Should be really good fun. The after party is at Chateau Marmont.’ The notorious rock star hang-out.

‘When is it?’

‘Tomorrow night.’ Which is a Thursday. ‘Johnny could come too?’

‘I’ll ask him. Barney, stop wriggling.’

It’s a warm, sunny day, and we’re in a little café on Melrose Avenue – one of our haunts from the past. This time, though, I have
two
children, and Samuel is
waiting outside the door. It still freaks me out to have a bodyguard. I accept that the added security is necessary when I have the kids with me, but sometimes I insist on going out alone if
it’s just me. It’s a shame we can’t sit outside today, but if there’s one thing I hate more than the paps getting pictures of me, it’s the paps getting pictures of the
kids.

Kitty bounces Phoenix on her lap and makes him giggle. I watch on, half with amusement and half with dread because he’s just had some milk and could throw up at any minute on her very
beautiful and very pink Amber Sakai dress.

‘I’m full,’ Barney moans from beside me.

‘Two more mouthfuls,’ I insist.

‘But I’m full,’ he complains again, flopping back in his seat.

‘Fine.’ I give up. So much for being consistent. ‘Do you want me to take him?’ I ask Kitty hopefully.
Give me the baby before he barfs
…

‘No, no, he’s fine!’ she says breezily. ‘So what do you think about the premiere?’

‘Can I have an ice-cream?’ Barney interjects.

‘I thought you were full,’ I say wryly.

‘I am, but I really, really want an ice-cream,’ he tells me seriously, his green eyes pleading with me.

I stare back at him, wavering. Kitty still can’t get over how much he looks like his dad.

‘Get him an ice-cream,’ she butts in good-naturedly.

‘Okay, but let me take Phoenix before he’s sick on you.’

She laughs, but all-too-willingly hands him over.

‘Can I?’ Barney interrupts.

‘Yes, okay,’ I say wearily.

‘Yay!’

‘But only if you promise to eat your dinner!’ I hastily add.

The baby hiccups, burps, and then vomits into the napkin I’m holding, ready and waiting. I really am too good at this.

Kitty grimaces.

‘Sorry,’ I apologise, then I smirk. ‘You know what? Yes, to the premiere.’

Much as I love my children, I could do with a night off.

Davey drives me to the film premiere on Hollywood Boulevard. I’m wearing a black Brochu Walker mini dress over black skinny jeans and ankle boots. I remember the first
time I came to a premiere as Johnny’s PA, I got all dolled up, and ended up feeling like a bit of an idiot when Kitty turned up in jeans. Now, there’s every chance I’ll get
recognised, but I’d still feel a bit silly going the whole hog with a long evening gown. Maybe if Johnny were with me, I’d make a bit more of an effort, but he wasn’t interested
in seeing the film or walking the red carpet. The movie is a romantic drama, which is totally not his scene, but he says he’ll come along later to the after party.

Davey’s voice sounds over the intercom. ‘Johnny asked me to tell you he put a little something in the minibar for you.’

‘Oh! Okay.’ I reach across and open the small fridge. I spy the champagne immediately: Perrier-Jouët Rosé. Very expensive and very delicious. My heart sinks.

‘He told me to tell you not to worry,’ Davey adds in a kind voice. ‘He really was quite insistent that you go out and have a good time.’

Still, I hesitate. I would love a drink, but…

‘He’s a much stronger man these days, Mrs Jefferson.’

‘Did he tell you to say that, too?’ I ask wryly.

‘No. That came from me.’

‘And call me Meg, for crying out loud. How many times do I have to tell you?’

He laughs a deep laugh. ‘I haven’t heard a champagne cork popping.’

‘Oh, alright then, you bully,’ I joke.

I pull out the champagne and look down at the bottle with its pretty vintage flower climbing up the side. I suppose I’ve got to start trusting Johnny not to cave under pressure. I
won’t drink too much. I unwrap the foil at the top, just as we arrive at Kitty’s house. She comes out of the door – she’s obviously been waiting. She’s not working
tonight. It’s Dex’s gig – the guy that she’s been having an in-work flirtation with. Nothing has happened between them – yet. Maybe tonight will be the
night…

Kitty looks gorgeous in a floor-skimming, burnt orange maxi dress. Her curly hair is down and falling well past her shoulders. I’m wearing my hair down, too, but I’ve tonged it to
give it a tousled look. I’m wearing shimmering green eye-make-up and lipgloss.

‘Hi!’ she exclaims, climbing into the car and calling back her thanks to Davey. She spies the bottle. ‘I hope that’s not all for me.’