Take a Chance on Me (18 page)

Parked in the side street, Cleo watched from a distance as Casey Kruger worked his way through the crowd of fans gathered on the pavement by the Hippodrome’s stage door.

Although to call them a crowd was pushing it. At ten-thirty on a cold and rainy evening in March there were barely enough to form a gaggle. Cleo counted eleven and most were fans she’d seen before, the diehards who congregated there night after night and reveled in the knowledge that Casey recognized them, sometimes even greeting them by name and making them feel loved in return.

‘I’m a celebrity,’ Casey announced, falling into the back seat eight minutes later. ‘Get me out of here.’

He made the same ‘joke’ every night. Weaving past the fans as they dispersed, Cleo said, ‘Good night?’

‘Pretty good.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘We sang, we danced, they applauded, they cheered, we sang some more.’ Pause. ‘I tried calling my ex and she hung up on me.’

‘Oh dear.’
Good move, ex
.

‘Then I tried to call my parents back home, but no reply.’

‘Oh.’

‘My dad’s bald. I mean, completely.’ Casey shook his head. ‘Like an egg.’

‘Is he?’ Where was this heading?

‘Yup.’ He nodded morosely, rubbed his hand through his hair. ‘And guess what I saw when I looked in the mirror tonight?’

Cleo negotiated the car through the downtown traffic. ‘Well, if you were looking in the mirror, I’m guessing you saw… you?’

‘Funny.’ Clearly, her attempt at a joke was on a par with his. Sinking back against the leather upholstery, Casey said, ‘I saw a bald spot. At the back of my head. Not totally bald.’ His hand explored his scalp, searching it out. ‘But it’s thinning. Definitely starting to go.’

‘Well, I can’t see anything.’ Poor guy; she had to say something to try and cheer him up.

‘It’s there.’ Casey sounded resigned. ‘Nature’s way of telling you time’s up, you’ve had your fun, your heartthrob days are over.’

‘Oh come on, it doesn’t have to be that bad.’

‘No? Eight years ago I was mobbed in the streets. I had a double platinum album and sold out Wembley. And now I’m thirty-four.’ Catching Cleo’s eye in the rearview mirror, he said, ‘OK, thirty-
six
. And it’s all downhill from here.’ He paused. ‘Shall I tell you how that feels? It feels like shit.’

The journey from Bristol back to Casey’s hotel took twenty minutes. Cleo pulled into the courtyard and he said, ‘Sorry, sweetheart. I’ve been a miserable sod tonight, haven’t I?’

‘It’s allowed.’ Who would have thought she could feel this sorry for Casey Kruger? He was usually so full of himself.

‘It’s my parents’ wedding anniversary today. That’s why I wanted to get hold of them.’ He held up his mobile. ‘Oh well.’

‘You’re just feeling a bit homesick. That’s normal.’

‘Just because it’s normal doesn’t make it any easier.’ Switching on the interior light and twisting round so he was facing away from her, Casey tilted his head back and said, ‘Have a look, will you? Can you see the bald spot? Does it really notice?’

‘It doesn’t. And I’d tell you if it did,’ said Cleo. ‘I’m very honest.’

‘Ah, you’re a star.’ Visibly relieved, he broke into a wry smile. ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to come in for a drink?’

Cleo hesitated. Which would be the best way to say no?

‘Go on. I promise to stop being a miserable sod.’

‘It’s nearly eleven. Isn’t the bar about to close?’ There was no way she was going up to his room.

‘As long as there are people buying drinks, they stay open.’ Indicating the full car park, Casey said, ‘And it looks like there’s plenty in there tonight.’

‘I have to drive.’

‘Look, if you leave now, I’m going to sit on my own in a corner of the bar, feeling homesick and crying into my beer. But if you stay for one drink,’ said Casey, ‘just to keep me company for twenty minutes, I’ll feel better.’

The windscreen wipers swished back and forth. Rain fell out of the blackness and drummed on the roof of the car.

‘Please,’ said Casey.

There was a lucky parking space right next to the hotel entrance, with an overhang of honeysuckle that would shield them from the rain on their way in.

‘OK.’ Cleo executed a swift three-point turn and reversed into the space. ‘Just the one drink.’

***

Except it never worked out that way, did it? One drink was never enough. Certainly not for Casey, who was now onto his fifth bottle of beer and third whisky chaser. Keeping him company, Cleo had drunk orange juice, sparkling water, still water, and an Appletize. It was thirsty work having to sit and listen to a former superstar, now relegated to being just your average bog-standard star, complain to you about how crap his life was.

But it was kind of fascinating too. And it made a change to glimpse beneath the brash, super-confident exterior. The longer they sat there in a corner of the hotel bar, the more of Casey’s insecurities spilled out.

‘… see, I should be settled down by now, married with kids, the whole shebang. I’m thirty-four…’

‘Thirty-six,’ Cleo reminded him.

‘Jeez, don’t say it, that’s even worse. And I want to be married, I
do
.’ He shook his head sorrowfully. ‘But I just can’t find the right girl. I don’t know where I’m going wrong. Everyone I get involved with ends up selling stories about me to the papers. It’s just so bloody… predictable.’

This was true. Then again, Casey didn’t do himself any favors when it came to selecting girlfriends. The ones he went for were invariably blonde, perma-tanned, micro-skirted, and pouty-lipped. Furthermore, if you were to line up a whole row of identikit pouty blondes, Casey would unerringly choose the one with I Sell Stories to Newspapers! painted on the placard she was waving above her head.

‘You need to find yourself a nice girl.’ Cleo swirled the ice cubes around her tumbler.

‘I know.’

‘Who does tapestry and flower arranging and knows how to cook.’

‘And has a hot body.’

‘You see? This could be where you’re going wrong.’

Casey looked offended. ‘Hey, I have my standards. I don’t want some ropey old dog with fat ankles and saggy tits.’

‘Is that what the women in your world are divided into? WAGs with boob jobs and ropey old dogs?’

He frowned. ‘That’s a bit harsh. It’s just a case of women I fancy and the ones I don’t.’ He half-smiled. ‘Does that sound terrible?’

‘So, just out of curiosity, am I a WAG or a dog?’

He looked confused. ‘Um…’

‘OK, would you go out with someone like me? In theory?’

‘God… well, no. S’pose not. No offense.’

‘That’s fine, none taken. So that makes me a dog,’ said Cleo.

‘No, no!’

‘But you wouldn’t class me as attractive, would you? Because I don’t have dyed blond hair and extensions.’

Casey said defensively, ‘I went out with a brunette once.’

‘Relax, I’m not looking for compliments. You’re not my type either. But this is interesting,’ said Cleo. ‘Come on, give me a few more reasons why you wouldn’t be interested in me.’

He finished his beer, wiped his mouth, sat back, and slowly appraised her.

‘You haven’t had a boob job.’

‘Well spotted.’

‘You should really consider it, you know. You’re completely flat chested.’

‘Not completely.’

‘It’d make all the difference, I’m telling you.’ He indicated her shirt and jacket. ‘And your clothes are pretty dull.’

For heaven’s sake. ‘These aren’t
my
clothes, they’re my uniform!’

Casey raised a skeptical eyebrow. ‘So when you’re off duty, do you wear skirts up to here, really low-cut tops, and PVC outfits that you have to be laced into?’

‘Funnily enough,’ said Cleo, ‘no, I don’t.’

He spread his arms. ‘I rest my case. Your clothes are dull.’

Why was she even bothering? He was a lost cause. Also, a thirsty one.

‘Back in two minutes.’ Excusing himself to visit the Gents, Casey said, ‘Can you be an angel and get another round in?’

‘A frumpy angel?’

He grinned. ‘You’re not frumpy.’

‘I’m quite tired though. It’s late.’

‘Just one more. It’s good to have someone to talk to.’ Sensing her reluctance, he added, ‘I’ll pay you if you like.’

‘That’s OK. I’ll stay for one more.’ When he’d left the bar, Cleo called the barman over. ‘Fizzy water for me, please. And another whisky for Mr Kruger.’ It was turning into a long tab; thank goodness she wasn’t the one footing the bill.

‘Double?’

‘God, no.’

The barman hesitated. ‘It’s just that all the others have been doubles.’

Blimey, had they? Talk about packing it away. ‘Just a single this time,’ said Cleo. ‘Stick in a bit of extra ice. He’ll never notice the difference.’

***

Fifteen minutes later, she rose to leave. Following her out to the wood-paneled reception hall, Casey said, ‘You know what, babe? I’ve enjoyed this, being with you tonight.’

Babe. Cleo let it slide. ‘You mean I’m not bad company for a frumpy girl.’

‘I told you before. You’re not frumpy.’ Catching hold of her elbow, he swung her round to face him. ‘There’s something about you, babe. You’ve got… character.’

‘Shall I let you into a secret?
I
don’t mind being told that, but most girls would be really insulted.’

‘I wouldn’t say it to most girls. Because their characters don’t tend to be that important. But you’re different.’

‘Yup. I don’t wear PVC and I don’t have gravity-defying E-cups.’

Casey laughed. ‘See? You’re good company. Entertaining.’ Abruptly leaning back against the wall, he pulled her with him. ‘Maybe I’ve been getting it wrong all these years… come here, babe…’

His right arm grasped her waist. For a split second his mouth clamped down on hers and alcohol fumes stung the inside of her nose. Damn, she should have seen this coming. Cursing herself for letting it happen, Cleo jerked her face away, slid sideways, and ducked under the left arm propped against the wall.

And saw Johnny LaVenture watching her from the other end of the reception hall with a faint unreadable smile on his face.

‘Whoa, hey, where’d you go?’ Casey took a steadying step forward and did a bewildered double take.

‘Cleo.’ Acknowledging her with a nod, Johnny said, ‘Fancy bumping into you here.’

Mortified at the thought of what he’d just witnessed, she straightened her jacket. ‘I’m just leaving.’

‘Someone you know?’ Glancing over his shoulder at Johnny, Casey said, ‘She’s a great girl, this one. A real character.’ He gave Cleo a nudge. ‘Even if you do have to pay her to keep you company.’

Johnny’s eyes glittered. ‘How much does she charge?’

Hilarious. Ignoring him, Cleo turned back to Casey. ‘Bye. I’ll pick you up at four tomorrow.’

‘I’d have paid more,’ said Casey. ‘You only had to ask.’

Casey reeled back into the bar, trailing a cloud of whisky fumes in his wake. OK, time to go. Cleo left the hotel, ran down the stone steps, and splashed through the puddles to the car.

The tap on the passenger window came as she was pulling out of the parking space under the dripping honeysuckle. Through the rain-dappled glass, his face looked as if it were melting.

She buzzed the window down and Johnny said, ‘Hey.’

‘Hey.’ In the glimmering darkness he had cheekbones like Johnny Depp.

‘Off home?’

‘Amazingly, yes.’

He didn’t say anything, just steadily held her gaze.

‘Go on then, get in,’ said Cleo.

‘Thanks.’ He jumped into the seat next to her.

‘I’m not a taxi service, you know.’

He grinned. ‘You’re a friend. That’s even better.’

‘Hm.’ Cleo’s stomach curled like a prodded oyster. A friend. Was she really?

‘I tried four cab companies, but they were all booked up for the next couple of hours. It’s my own fault; should have called earlier.’ Johnny raked his fingers through his damp hair. ‘Never mind. You came along at the perfect time.’

‘I have my uses. And just so you know, I don’t charge Australian soap actors for my company.’ As they drove out through the hotel’s impressive iron gates, Cleo said, ‘He was drunk.’

‘I guessed that when I saw him kissing you. Sorry,’ Johnny raised his hands in self-defense. ‘That came out the wrong way. Of course he’d want to kiss you. Who wouldn’t?’

OK, what was
that
supposed to mean? ‘If you’re going to start making fun of me now, you can jolly well get out and walk.’

‘I’m not.’ The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘Anyhow, you can do better than him. What was all that about the PVC and the E-cups?’

‘Nothing that would interest you. Well,’ Cleo amended, ‘it probably would, but never mind. What were you doing at the hotel anyway?’

‘Having dinner with the Hart-Berkeleys. They want to commission a piece for their stud farm.’ He paused. ‘You wouldn’t want to be an E-cup.’

For crying out loud. ‘I know I wouldn’t! How much did you overhear of our conversation?’

‘Oh, a fair amount. We were sitting right behind you in the bar.’

Damn those high-backed wooden booths.

‘So just out of interest, were you angling for compliments back there?’

‘No.’

‘Do you secretly have a thing for Casey Kruger?’

‘No!’

‘Sure?’

‘Weren’t you watching? I
escaped
when he kissed me.’

Johnny shrugged. ‘Could have been playing hard to get.’

‘Trust me, I wasn’t.’

‘Shame. I’d have won my bet.’

So he hadn’t forgotten.

‘Well you haven’t won.’ Cleo’s insides were back doing the squirrelly oyster dance and she had a horrible feeling she knew why. She didn’t want Johnny to think she had any designs on Casey Kruger. If she was completely honest, and this was something she wouldn’t tell another living soul, there was only one person she’d be interested in having designs on and he was currently sitting beside her in this car.

Oh God, there, she’d admitted it to herself at last. Cleo swallowed with difficulty. Her confused feelings about Johnny LaVenture had settled into something recognizable. He’d always been seriously attractive and charismatic, but it had recently begun to dawn on her that personality-wise, he was also actually a lot nicer than she’d always thought. She took shallow breaths, genuinely scared by the turn events had taken. She liked him. A lot. But that still didn’t mean it was a sensible idea; he might have good qualities but he was also a—

‘Fox,’ Johnny observed as a blur of reddish-brown fur darted across the road before diving into the undergrowth and disappearing from sight.

Which was apt, because he and the fox shared so many traits. They were both clever and confident, rapacious and sly. They knew what they wanted and they didn’t stop until it was theirs. With their who-dares-wins attitude, they exerted a kind of hypnotic fascination on other, less single-minded types.

And they usually left a trail of headless chickens in their wake.

Cleo concentrated on the road ahead, dark and slick with rain. If she’d learned anything while she was growing up, it was that you didn’t get involved with the human version of a fox. You didn’t allow yourself to get into that situation. Because if you did, it could destroy you.

From when she was really little, she’d adored her mother’s younger sister. Auntie Jean, with her dancing brown eyes and strong resemblance to a young Audrey Hepburn, had showered her with love and affection. She was always happy, laughing, and carefree, like a princess living the best possible life. Cleo had vowed to be exactly like her when she grew up.

She didn’t remember Auntie Jean and Uncle David first getting together, but one of her favorite childhood memories was of herself at the age of six, being a bridesmaid at their wedding. It had been a hot sunny day, she’d been wearing a shiny pink dress and matching silk rosebuds in her hair, and she’d been told off by Abbie for pretending to be a pony and galloping around the churchyard after the service.

The only other thing she really remembered about that day was cantering out of the village church hall during the reception and discovering Uncle David down the side alley kissing a woman she’d never seen before. Although he seemed to know the woman pretty intimately. Well enough, at any rate, to be investigating her bra.

Then, as she’d grown older, and without anyone actually saying anything about it, Cleo had instinctively learned that when you came home from school and Auntie Jean was sitting in the kitchen with your mum, you steered well clear. Because Auntie Jean wasn’t so happy-go-lucky these days; in fact, she hardly smiled at all. Instead, she quite often got upset and talked on and on and on in a mixture of whispers and coded references to things that weren’t for children to hear. Then she’d start crying, quietly at first, then louder and more messily, getting through tissues at a rate of knots, and not even caring that her nose was running and she looked a complete mess. These were the times Cleo had most hated. Even if she’d been really desperate for a biscuit or a drink of juice, she’d refused to go into the kitchen while Auntie Jean was in one of her states. And that had been before she’d started bringing those little bottles of medicine along with her, taking them out of her handbag and adding the contents to her cups of tea.

Teachers. That had been the name on the bottle. At the time, Cleo remembered, she had often wondered whether her Auntie Jean, who
wasn’t
a teacher, should really be drinking it.

Next to her in the car, Johnny said, ‘You’ve gone quiet.’

‘Just thinking.’

‘What about?’

‘Foxes.’ Uncle David had been a fox; good-looking, flirtatious, a real player. Back then, she had liked him because he was fun and always laughing. Now, all these years later, she recognized that he had been selfish and irresponsible, only interested in pleasing himself, and not remotely bothered about the pain he inflicted on others along the way.

And God knows, he’d inflicted plenty. Uncle David liked to share himself around; affair followed affair and Auntie Jean crumbled under the pressure. Her drinking escalated and she discovered mix and match pills, knocking back tranquillizers and anti-depressants with un-gay abandon. Anything to get her through the day. Apart from the obvious solution, which would have been to leave her charming, unfaithful husband.

But leaving him didn’t feature on Auntie Jean’s radar. She loved him more than anything in the world. He was her life. If she didn’t have Dave, she’d want to be dead.

Cleo, passing the kitchen, had overheard her saying this once, followed by her mum replying, ‘Don’t say that, Jean. Nobody wants to die.’

To which Jean had announced in a slurry voice, ‘No? Sounds like a pretty good deal to me.’

That exchange had taken place when Cleo was ten. Just over a year later, her mother had suffered a catastrophic brain hemorrhage and had died in hospital three days later without regaining consciousness.

It had seemed so unfair that Auntie Jean, who wanted to die, was still alive.

Whereas her mum, who loved every aspect of life and whom Cleo still so badly needed, was now gone.

And Auntie Jean hadn’t comforted her, not even once. She’d just carried on drinking and trembling and crying. But not over the tragic loss of her sister. Oh no. About
David
.

This was when Cleo had stopped liking her once-joyful aunt and had begun to resent her instead. And at the same time, she had experienced the first flickerings of fear, because this was what happened when you loved someone too much and they didn’t love you back. They grew stronger and you grew weaker and more helpless. They humiliated you and you let them do it. And you ended up with no self-respect, not even caring that other people were pointing and laughing at you as you stumbled down the street with your shirt undone and your tatty underwear on show.

Which was undoubtedly entertaining for everyone else, but a lot less funny when it was your own auntie they were mimicking and laughing at.

They’d reached Channings Hill. Right, stop thinking about Auntie Jean now. Seeing as it was still bucketing down, Cleo pulled in through the gates of Ravenswood and drove up to the house.

‘Door-to-door service,’ Johnny observed.

‘Only because it’s raining.’

‘You’re a star. I owe you one.’

The security lights had come on; he was giving her that indecipherable look again. Wiping her cheek, Cleo said self-consciously, ‘What’s wrong? Do I have something on my face?’

‘Yes, you do.’

As she’d climbed into the car a great swathe of wet honeysuckle had brushed against her hair
. Oh God, please don’t let it be a slug…

‘This.’ He raised his hand and with the back of his index finger touched the big freckle beneath her right eye. ‘Your beauty spot.’

Phew, not a slug then. ‘It’s a freckle.’

‘D’you know something? I’ve always really liked it.’ Johnny nodded slowly. ‘That’s a great freckle you have there. Makes you look like Pierrot.’

Oh God, he had
no
idea what he was doing to her insides when he touched her face like that.

Either that or he knew exactly what he was doing. Which, let’s face it, was infinitely more likely. She concentrated on keeping her breathing even, not betraying her emotions. Letting Johnny know how she felt about him would definitely be a terrible idea.

‘OK. Well, bye.’

‘Thanks for the lift.’

She managed an easy smile. ‘No problem.’

Johnny climbed out of the car, then leaned back in through the open door and said, ‘I’d have given you a goodnight kiss, but you didn’t seem to enjoy the one you got earlier.’

‘Not much, no.’

He grinned. ‘I couldn’t cope with the rejection.’

Cleo’s mouth was dry; her lips were actually tingling at the thought of what she’d just missed. Aloud she said, ‘Good job then that you didn’t try.’