The Foster Husband (6 page)

‘Hey,’ said Chris, again. Mr Romance. It’s not as if I felt he had to get down on one knee or write me a poem, or compose a song in my honour, I just felt like it would be good
if he showed even a little effort. Standing next to me and repeating ‘hey’ until I got drunk enough to let him snog me was hardly appealing, and it certainly wasn’t true love.

There was a stir over in a corner of the room, and the crowd of cameramen moved for a moment, as one, like a shoal of fish, for long enough for me to glimpse the governor entering the room,
outfitted in a beige uniform that was ostentatiously draped with swags of gold braid. His teenage daughter held his hand, her skinny frame swamped in a patterned dress, biting her lip nervously in
anticipation of meeting her hero.

‘Excuse me,’ I said, grabbing two bottles of Star off the bar and handing one to Sarah as I left Chris looking baffled.

It was a mere two minutes’ work to introduce the governor and his daughter to Slender Dee, and I left them happily chatting in the VIP area, which suddenly looked more impressive for being
surrounded by the governor’s security detail. Dean nodded over to me anxiously from the buffet table where he was ‘working’, i.e., getting drunk with some artists, and I mimed
deleting the photograph from my phone. He smiled back nervously, not quite trusting me. I’d never send anything like that to Marie, but maybe I didn’t need to – maybe just the
threat of it would make him keep it in his pants tonight.

Now, at last, I could relax. The show was over, the de-rig had begun, in just – I looked at the clock on my phone – in just nine hours I’d be on a plane home. And until then, I
had a lot of drinking to do. The cameramen had parked themselves at a table and looked as settled as if they’d moved in for the night, leaning back in their chairs, empties already piling up.
Sarah had moved off to sit in a far corner with Jay, knees touching as they sat opposite one another, talking intently. Leila was slumped on one of the white leather sofas, smiling benevolently at
no one in particular. Danny was giving the eye to one of the singers from Gabon, a beautiful woman in a green printed dress who held herself elegantly on a high stool by the bar. I wondered when
Danny would realize that she, like Slender Dee, was blind, rather than playing hard to get.

Matt was still working. I guessed that the people he was talking to must be the Airtel VIPs, judging by his pretty convincing look of absolute fascination at everything they said. He was aided
in this by his height – he had to be well over six foot – which meant he had to incline his head to listen to most people. It lent every conversation a confiding air, a sense of real
attentiveness, when he was probably bored rigid and wondering when they’d leave the party they’d paid for. Matt saw me looking and gave me a wink over the heads of the sponsors. I
smiled back and turned towards the bar again.

I was halfway across the room, squeezing myself past the Lagos glitterati and Nollywood stars, feeling deeply underdressed in comparison with their platform shoes and towering headpieces, when I
felt a tug on my sleeve. What now? The sponsors may have thought this was their party, but as far as I was concerned, it was my reward for two weeks’ hard slog and I wasn’t about to be
dragged into more work issues.

I turned to see Matt behind me, head inclined again in that confiding way.

‘Cheers,’ he said, clinking his bottle of Star against mine.

‘Cheers,’ I said, eyeing him warily. Behind him I could see the massed ranks of the cameramen watching our conversation, Chris in particular.

‘I can see you want to get back to your friends,’ said Matt, looking backwards over his shoulder at the table. ‘I just wanted to thank you for helping me earlier – and
sorry for hassling you, I know it’s been a bit of a nightmare show. I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.’

‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘It’s my job.’ But I couldn’t help smiling at him a bit. He was awfully good-looking. Now that I looked closer, his eyes were a
dark, dark blue.

‘Maybe I should get you a drink,’ he offered. ‘To say thanks.’

‘Er, it’s a free bar, Matt.’ I laughed. ‘And I’ve got a bottle of Star on the go.’

‘Maybe I should take you out for a drink when we get home, then?’ Matt suggested. ‘I’m sure I can get some Star sent to London, what with all my great new friends at
Airtel.’ He waved over towards one of the sponsors, who waved back, grinning. ‘See? Joseph over there would be only too happy to help.’

Matt made a thumbs-up sign, and Joseph signalled back. Matt raised an eyebrow at me.

‘Star for life. Sorted.’

‘Matt, sorry to disappoint you, what with your impressive Nigerian connections and all, but I’ll be happy if I never see another bottle of Star for as long as I live,’ I
said.

‘Even though it will always be a special reminder of how you and I met?’ Matt teased. ‘Over a bottle of Star, some African superstars and a blackmail plot against the head of
Talent?’

‘Not even for that,’ I said, grimacing as I drained the remnants of my warm beer. I was surprised to find that I was having fun. I guessed Matt was used to putting people at ease. He
had an easy sort of charm that, while I could see it was practised, felt entirely natural. I was happy to let myself be charmed, for once, instead of being the one who had to smooth everything
over.

‘Ah, well, I guess it will only be meaningful to me, then,’ sighed Matt. ‘You’re a tough woman to please, Basher Bailey. I guess it’s a good job you’re pretty
enough to make up for it.’

I considered him from under my fringe, my eyes narrowed. ‘What do you want?’

Matt looked momentarily startled, before bursting out laughing. ‘Can’t a compliment just be a compliment?’

‘It so rarely is,’ I said smoothly. ‘Everyone’s usually out for something.’

‘Well, maybe I am out for something then,’ said Matt. I suddenly noticed that by leaning in towards me he’d made me inch myself back into a corner that was slightly secluded
from the rest of the bar.

‘Oh yes?’ I said. My voice was steady but I could feel a blush stealing up the back of my ears, threatening to give me away. Was Matt flirting with me, or was he about to hit me with
another annoying request from his sponsors?

‘Yes,’ said Matt, moving closer. I stepped away again and found the wall of a small alcove at my back. My heart started beating faster, as if I was trapped. Matt just gave me a lazy
smile and raised his eyebrows.

‘I need a drink,’ I blurted, waving my empty beer bottle in front of my face.

‘Okay,’ Matt said, his easy grin unperturbed. ‘Another Star?’

‘No,’ I said, flirtatiously challenging. ‘Something else. You choose.’

I twisted around and put my empty beer bottle in the alcove by my head. As I turned back to face him, Matt lurched towards me, his eyes wide. I flinched backwards – was he really going to
try to kiss me now? In front of everyone? But instead he pushed past me and caught the beer bottle just before it hit the floor.

‘Reflexes of a ninja!’ he exclaimed, straightening himself up, and pushing his hair out of his eyes. He’d moved closer to catch the falling bottle, but he didn’t move
away from me now that he had it.

‘Impressive stuff,’ I said, my heart beating faster. ‘No wonder they made you head of marketing with skills like that.’

‘Oh I don’t put my ninja skills on my CV,’ said Matt. ‘I only show them to a select few.’

‘Then I’m honoured.’

‘Okay. To the bar. No Star. Are you saying you’re ready to move onto the hard stuff?’ Matt asked, raising an eyebrow. He was only saved from being off-puttingly cheesy by the
spark of amusement in his eyes that told me he wasn’t taking any of this too seriously.

Two can play at that game.

‘Oh definitely,’ I replied, holding his gaze. ‘The harder the better, frankly.’

‘Wait there,’ said Matt. He’d only been gone a second when he returned, catching hold of my chin with the fingers of one hand and tilting my face up towards his. ‘Promise
me you’ll wait?’

His conspiratorial grin was infectious. I felt drawn in to a secret exchange. ‘I promise.’

‘Good,’ he said, ‘because when I come back I’m going to kiss you, Kate Bailey.’

When I thought about it afterwards, it was the best line I’d ever heard. And of course it was a line. He’d stated his intention with the certain knowledge that if I was there when he
got back from the bar, I was up for being kissed. And if I wasn’t there – well, he’d have saved himself an embarrassing turn-down.

My head felt giddy, as if I’d had far more than one bottle of beer.
Did
I want to kiss Matt Martell? Only this morning he’d been nothing more than the annoying new boy who
sent me too many emails. But now . . . He winked at me from the bar.

‘Hey, Kate,’ Chris appeared at my side, grabbing hold of my upper arm. ‘’Scuse me for interrupting your little conversation, but there’s a whisky over at our table
with your name on it.’

‘Oh,’ I turned to face him. I was embarrassingly aware that I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. A smile that had nothing to do with him. ‘I’m okay, thanks.
Matt’s getting me a drink.’

‘Yeah,’ said Chris, frowning darkly. ‘Matt.’

‘What?’ I asked crossly. It was a bit late for Chris to start getting jealous. It wasn’t like he’d made any effort until he saw Matt chatting me up. Chris’s eyes
flicked over to Matt, and then back to me.

‘Look, Kate, no offence,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘But that Matt Martell’s a total wanker. He flirts with everyone, but you know he’s going out with Ailsa
Logan, right?’

‘Ailsa Logan?’ I echoed. This must be a mistake.

‘Yeah,’ said Danny, appearing at my other shoulder. ‘Ailsa Logan off
Rise & Shine
. That fit TV bird.’

‘Are you sure?’ I said. ‘He said he didn’t have a girlfriend.’

The two cameramen exchanged a glance.

Chris scoffed. ‘Well, he wouldn’t, would he? But I saw pictures of them together at the British Television Awards just last week. It was in the paper on the plane over.’

I felt my cheeks flame with anger. As the queen of location flings, I should have recognized a kindred spirit. What happens on location stays on location, right? But a girl has to have
standards. I’d never knowingly slept with someone who was in a relationship, and I wasn’t about to start now.

Over at the bar Matt had worked his way to the front, his broad shoulders forcing a space in the crowd. He turned to look over his shoulder at me. When he saw that I was flanked by two burly
cameramen, he looked puzzled and raised a hand in a hesitant half wave.

‘The nerve of him,’ said Danny, linking his arm with mine.

‘That bastard,’ said Chris, taking my other arm.

I couldn’t disagree.

And I let them lead me away from Matt Martell and straight into a welcoming vat of appalling Nigerian whisky.

I can’t deny that I am intrigued to meet the mysterious Ben. Although I suppose he’s only mysterious to me, since Mum and Dad must have met him plenty of times.
It’s the first time a boyfriend of Prue’s has taken an interest in the business, and for my parents to have allowed him to get involved they must think it’s a serious
relationship. They’ve been running the business ever since Dad gave up being a roadie when Prue was born; I don’t think she understands that they’d already lived a big life by the
time they came to Lyme. Their ambitions for excitement had been fulfilled by years of travelling and hanging out with rock stars. They moved to Dorset for the quiet life. I guess I got a little
taste of the travel and glamour – I was six by the time we moved here, when they were looking for schools and stability. Prue, on the other hand, has known nothing but the quiet life, so she
can’t help but try to push Baileys’ into the limelight all the time.

The back door is still open and I can hear noises from next door’s garden; Eddy’s granny must be up too. I’m wary of calling to her over the garden fence, since I have no wish
to see her topple backwards off a ladder again. But the noises in the garden sound high-pitched, excited, not the usual mild chatter of an old lady talking to herself. I pour hot water into the
cafetière and leave it to sit while I step outside.

‘No,
you’re
the nasty queen and
I
am the princess,’ declares a voice that very definitely does not belong to Mrs Curtis.

‘I don’t
want
to be the nasty queen, I am going to be the prince who is going to save the princess,’ someone else answers.

‘You can’t be a
prince
, stupid, you’re a
girl
.’

‘Then I’m going to be a
princess
who saves the princess.’

‘It doesn’t work like that, the princess has to be saved by a
prince
.’

‘Says who?’

‘Says everyone, actually, and anyway I don’t want to be saved by you – I’m the oldest.’

‘Girls?’ says a man’s voice from inside next door. Eddy’s, I realize.

‘Daddy,’ the younger voice pleads. ‘Daddy, we can both be princesses, can’t we?’

I hear Eddy step out into the garden.

‘You’re both my princesses, Grace, course you are,’ he says, affectionate but dismissive, not realizing the sisterly argument at stake.

How strange that Eddy should have children. Proper school-aged children, not the tiny, squalling babies that some of my friends have lately produced, but little girls who are old enough to have
fights and opinions. Eddy, who used to scrawl band names on his school bag in biro, who used to drive a battered orange VW beetle with a bent wire coat hanger for an aerial, whose party piece was
rolling a spliff with one hand. This is the Eddy Curtis that I knew; and now he’s a father. A proper grown-up. I didn’t even know he was married.

‘Ow, stop it,’ shrieks one of the girls, and Minnie, startled, begins to bark.

‘A dog!’ exclaims Eddy’s younger daughter, Grace, I think.

‘Kate?’ Eddy calls over the fence. ‘Kate, sorry, it’s really early, did we wake you?’

‘Hi Eddy,’ I call back. ‘You didn’t wake me, I was already up, honestly.’