Katy Carter Wants a Hero (18 page)

‘I love him!’ squeaks Frankie, practically diving into the television as video footage of the infamous wet-trousers scene is played. ‘When I’m famous, he’ll be begging to be my sex slave.’

‘I thought that was Robbie Williams’s job,’ I say.

Frankie is all but licking the screen. ‘No, Gabriel’s the one for me. I met him once at a record company do. He’s gorge! I’m sure he was interested. He offered me a canapé.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Don’t read too much into the canapé. He’s famous for bonking most of the starlets in Britain, Frankie.’

But Frankie ignores me. ‘I just know!’ he breathes. ‘I felt the vibes.’

Gabriel sits on the studio sofa, one elegant ankle resting on his denim-clad knee. He’s wearing a billowing open-necked white shirt and his long honey-coloured hair cascades in ringlets over his wicked sapphire eyes.

‘It’s been a very exciting year,’ Richard is saying. ‘Are there equally exciting plans for the future?’

‘Well,’ smiles Gabriel, revealing teeth so perfect that dentists throughout Britain probably weep with joy, ‘I intend to start work in the summer on my new film role as a pirate captain.’

‘You’re filming that in Cornwall, aren’t you?’ asks Richard. ‘We’ve spent many lovely holidays there.’

I think of Mads and her wild claims that Cornwall is teeming with sexy men. Mmm. Gabriel Winters dressed like Jack Sparrow. I wonder if she’s watching.

‘I’m filming in Charlestown.’ Gabriel’s voice is smooth and rich, like Bournville chocolate. ‘I’ve just bought a place in Cornwall actually, a little retreat where I can just relax and be myself.’

‘Darling!’ Frankie turns to me, his eyes bright with the zeal of the religious fanatic. ‘Your friend might know him!’

‘Cornwall’s a big place,’ I say. ‘Perhaps you should just join his fan club?’

But Frankie isn’t listening. He’s muttering, ‘One day you will be mine, oh yes, you will be mine!’ at the screen, so I abandon him and wander upstairs to get changed for dinner.

It’s not a date, I tell myself sternly, it’s just two friends having dinner together. Still, I do wish I’d unpacked my bin bags. Ollie’s spare room looks like a squat; all my worldly goods, which actually make a pretty sad collection, are strewn randomly all over the place.

I rummage through the sacks, discarding clothing like a crazy snowstorm. What does a girl wear on a date that isn’t a date? Anything low-cut is out anyway; one decision less, I suppose.

Eventually I settle on a green gypsy top, black wide-legged trousers and my favourite wedge heels. I scrunch some gel through my tangled curls and pin my hair loosely on the top of my head. A few tendrils round my face, a slick of lip gloss and several coats of mascara and I’m good to go. I don’t want to look like I’ve tried too hard, do I?

I sit on the bed and catch my breath. This has got to be one of the strangest days of my life. How can everything have changed so much in such a short time? I look around the cluttered room, at all my things displaced and out of context, but it no longer matters like it used to. I touch my padded breast and breathe out slowly.

I haven’t got cancer.

Perhaps my luck has changed.

I’m just applying a third layer of mascara — it’s a curse having ginger eyelashes — when the doorbell rings.

There’s no reply from downstairs. Frankie is still watching the television and Ollie’s in the shower, so it’s down to me to answer the door. Negotiating the stairs in my four-inch wedge heels is tricky, but I make it in one piece. Just. Perhaps I’ll practise walking up and down for a while. I don’t want Ollie to spend tonight in A&E; he’s endured enough time in hospital with me lately.

The doorbell rings again.

‘Hang on!’ I say, fiddling with the lock.

‘Hurry up, for God’s sake, I’ve lost my bloody key,’ snaps a voice as the door swings inwards. ‘Oh. It’s you.’

Standing on the doorstep is Nina. She peers rudely over my shoulder.

‘Where’s Ollie?’

What am I, the butler?

‘Hello, Nina,’ I say sweetly, even though she’s about as welcome a sight to me as cranberry sauce is to a turkey. I will be the new and improved Katy Carter, even if it kills me. ‘He’s in the shower, I’m afraid.’ I place my arm on the door frame, preventing her from entering.

‘That’s fine,’ Nina says. ‘I’ll wait.’

I find myself stepping aside and letting her into the hall. I even take her coat and hang it up. I’m not sure why I do all this, only that there’s something about Nina that makes me feel totally useless. It’s not only that she’s well groomed and flat-stomached; it’s also that she’s frighteningly successful, which makes her the exact opposite of me. While I’ve been battling to teach English to bored teenagers, Nina has been ruthlessly establishing her catering company as the company to hire for any occasion. Being the laissez-faire type when it comes to structuring my career (which is probably why it grinds to a halt more often than the British train network), I always feel more than a little inadequate in her presence.

Nina looks me up and down, and her top lip curls.

‘You’re a bit dressed up, aren’t you?’

‘Ollie’s taking me out to dinner,’ I say. ‘We’re going to Antonio’s.’

‘He’s taking
us
,’ Nina corrects me, checking her gore-red lipstick in the hall mirror. ‘He texted earlier and invited me. I won’t pretend I’d rather it was just me, but I’ll let you tag along this once. Ollie’s felt so sorry for you with all this lump business. This must be his way of cheering you up.’

‘You know about my breast lump?’

‘He’s told me all about it,’ says Nina, peering beyond me into the smeary mirror and smoothing her hair. ‘It’s been a real pressure for him, Katy; I don’t think it was fair of you to make him carry the burden. After all, he isn’t your partner, is he? You’ve taken up time when he could have been doing other things with other people. It’s been pretty selfish of you actually. But you know Ollie, he won’t complain.’

I’m seething. How
could
Ollie discuss me with Nina, of all people? Why couldn’t he just be honest and tell me to my face that I was imposing on him? When I think about how I asked for him to come and hold my hand while I had the biopsy, I feel dizzy with mortification.

‘In that case you’ll be pleased to know I’m fine,’ I tell her. ‘I got the all-clear this afternoon.’

‘Good!’ Nina claps her hand together. How she doesn’t do herself a serious injury with her
Footballers’ Wives
-style nails is one of life’s great enigmas. ‘Then you won’t mind giving Ollie back.’

‘Are you and Ollie on again?’ I ask. Keeping up with their relationship makes me dizzy.

‘Of course!’ Nina’s eyes widen. ‘Why do you think I’ve been popping round?’

‘Because you’re a psycho stalker bitch from hell,’ I say.

Actually, I don’t say that but I’d like to.

‘Where do you think Ollie goes after school?’

‘To the gym? The pub?’

‘He’s been coming to mine, of course.’ Nina leans forward. ‘And I tell you something, Katy, breaking up and making up is so much fun!’

‘Too much information already,’ I say, but Nina isn’t listening.

‘I know how fond Ollie is of you,’ she continues. ‘That’s why I’m happy for him to bring you along to Antonio’s with us. I’ll order us a cab while he gets ready.’

She stalks into the sitting room and I sink on to the bottom stair. No way am I going to Antonio’s now to shovel in carbs while Nina nibbles on a lettuce leaf or whatever it is that thin people nibble on. I’d rather walk barefoot over drawing pins. Besides, my appetite’s vanished. I want Ollie’s friendship, not his pity.

I climb the stairs wearily and once in my room pull off my going-out clothes and shrug on my ancient dressing gown. Let Ollie concentrate on Nina. I’ve no desire to spend all evening doing a gooseberry impression.

I almost jump out of my dressing gown when there’s a sharp rap on the door. Ollie sticks his head around it. ‘Still getting dressed? Get your arse in gear. I’m starving.’

‘I’m not going out for dinner.’

Ollie shoves his way into the room, kicking through mounds of discarded clothes. ‘Aren’t you feeling well?’

‘I’m fine. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to go out for dinner.’

‘Why not? We eat out all the time.’

We so do not. Granted, we cook dinner together, hoover up chips in the school canteen and sometimes stuff ourselves with McDonald’s on the way home from the pub, but we have never, ever been out to a smart restaurant, especially not with Nina in tow.

‘Nina’s downstairs. She says you texted her and invited her out for dinner. Apparently you and her are back on big time.’ I fix him with a stern look. ‘Are you?’

Ollie runs his hands through his hair, a sure sign that he’s stressed. ‘Bollocks. I must have sent the text to her by mistake.’

‘But are you two back on?’

‘Well, sort of.’

‘That’s a yes then. Honestly, how thick can you be? You can’t date one girl and take another one out for dinner, even if it’s just as friends. Go out with Nina tonight and have a lovely evening. I know it’s not been easy having to put up with me over the last few weeks.’

‘I don’t know why you’d think that,’ says Ollie.

Because bloody Nina told me
, I want to scream.

‘I’d do it all again gladly,’ he adds. ‘You’re my friend.’

‘Of course we’re friends,’ I say quickly, ‘but things will get messy if we start going for meals and doing coupley stuff when you’re with somebody. Yes they will!’ I insist when he opens his mouth to protest. ‘It isn’t fair on Nina.’

How I say this without choking I’ll never know. Just call me Saint Katy of Ealing.

‘Since when have you been bothered about Nina?’ Ollie says. ‘You can’t stand her.’

‘It’s not just about her,’ I say quickly. ‘Imagine if James heard that we’d been out for dinner. He’d be bound to get the wrong end of the stick.’

‘Let’s get this straight. You still care about what that wanker thinks? After everything he’s done? And you seriously
want
me to go out with Nina?’

‘She’s your type. You’ve got history.’

‘This is the same Nina that you said is so up her own arse that she’s inside out? That Nina?’

Er… I may have said that.

‘She’s not so bad. She’s mad about you.’

‘But Katy, I—’

I hold up my hands. ‘Please, don’t say anything else. Just go out and have a good time. In fact, I’m glad you texted her. I’d rather be alone — I’m really tired.’

‘Fine,’ Ollie says looking wounded. ‘If that’s what you want.’

‘It is! Come on, Ol, don’t be funny about it. Your girlfriend’s downstairs. Go and be with her. We’re mates, we can catch up any time.’

‘I’m not sure we can, Katy. In fact…’ Ol pauses, and there’s a catch in his voice, ‘things are getting a bit awkward here, aren’t they? It might be a good idea if you started thinking about finding somewhere else to stay.’

‘You want me to go so you can be alone with Nina?’

Ollie doesn’t meet my eye and suddenly seems to find the hideous Seventies carpet fascinating. ‘You said it, not me.’

I swallow. ‘I understand. I’ll give Jewell a call. I’m sure she’ll let me stay for a bit and then you guys can have all the space you need.’

He drags his eyes up from the psychedelic swirls beneath our feet. ‘And you’re OK with that?’

Er, no, actually. I can’t bear the thought of Nina getting her French-manicured talons into my lovely pal, but I can hardly say this to Ollie, can I? Nina has a talent for being poisonous when she’s alone with me and all sweetness and light when Ollie appears. Consequently he can’t understand why I have a problem with her and I daren’t try and explain because it’ll just look like I’m jealous. And I’m not jealous. Obviously not.

But because I can’t say any of this I just nod instead. ‘Of course I am. It’s fine. By the time you get back from Antonio’s I’ll have everything sorted. Since James threw me out I’ve been effectively homeless so I don’t suppose it matters where I live, does it? I may as well be at Jewell’s as anywhere else. There’s nothing to keep me here.’

Ollie stares at me for a moment. Then he shrugs and says, ‘Fine, call Jewell. I think you’ve made your feelings more than clear. I’ll get going, I won’t bother you any longer.’ And with this he stomps out of the room, slamming the door so hard the entire house shakes.

I stare at the closed door, confused. What the hell was all that about? Here I am being a considerate friend by giving him space to be with Nina and trying my hardest to save him from feeling guilty about kicking me out, and what thanks do I get? None. Nada. Big fat zilch.

Men. They make everything so complicated.

Feeling very wronged, I fling myself on my bed and close my eyes. All the champagne has made me woozy and the room dips and spins like a roller coaster. When I eventually peel my face from the pillow it’s dark outside and the street lamps throw tangerine pools of light into the room. Apart from the telephone shrilling a couple of times and a murmur of conversation from the other side of the party wall, all is still.

I’ve got a raging thirst from the champagne and my head’s thumping like a techno track, so I pad down to the kitchen to fetch some water. Then I meander into the lounge and press the play button on the answerphone. Call me paranoid, but I have to make certain it isn’t Dr Morris calling back to tell me that they got the results wrong and that actually I have got breast cancer after all.

Nothing would surprise me today.

The first message is for Ollie. It doesn’t make much sense but it’s from a travel agent, who says he won’t get his deposit back for cancelling his skiing holiday.

That’s weird. Ollie never said anything about cancelling his holiday. He adores skiing and saves like crazy all year so that he can go at Christmas.

That message is obviously a mistake, so I skip to the next one.

‘Hello! Hello! Katy?’

The strident tones of Auntie Jewell fill the room, and in spite of myself I smile. Jewell hasn’t a clue about answer-phones and frequently tries to hold long and convoluted conversations with them.

‘Where are you, darling? I’ve been on a spiritual retreat. Terribly serious, lots of chanting. Your parents would simply adore it. Anyway, I’m so thrilled with your good news. I did a healing meditation for you, so it must have worked.’