Watching Willow Watts (25 page)

‘
Yes, well, now that the business has
a sizeable profit, I figured it might be all right to rest on my laurels a bit.’

‘
Sizeable profit?’ How much could the shop have made from that tat?

‘
You’ll never believe it, but once the stock is gone, we’ll have cleared almost nine thousand pounds,’ her dad said proudly. ‘I never thought I’d see the day when the business generated that much revenue in a couple weeks.’

‘
Nine thousand pounds?’ Willow shook her head, sure she hadn’t heard correctly.

‘
Yes, the mark-up on those goods is incredible. And we refilled the stock order a few times, too.’

‘
That’s brilliant, Dad,’ Willow said, still unable to believe they’d made so much – it was almost the full amount of the debt! The shop
had
been way busier than usual, but things had been so crazy she hadn’t noticed the extra deliveries. Maybe she could stop being Marilyn sooner than she’d thought. ‘I’ll be home on Sunday and we can celebrate then.’

‘
You should celebrate tonight, dear,’ her father said. ‘Go out and enjoy London.’

‘
Yes, maybe I should.’ She
willed herself to sound enthusiastic, even though enjoying London was the last thing she was doing.

Big Ben started chiming down
toward eleven o’clock, and Willow said goodbye and hung up. The suite was silent and empty, and even though every muscle was aching, Willow just wanted to get
out
. She was beginning to feel like a prisoner here.

Padding into the loo
, Willow scrubbed her face free of its Marilyn-mask and wiggled out of the day’s tight sheath. Ah, bliss. Jay made her sleep in a tight silk nightdress (in case a hotel fire left her exposed to the staff and other guests), so even in her dreams she felt bound up. Staring in the mirror, she could see the poor diet of the past few weeks – all the donuts, greasy food and cakes – was beginning to take effect. Her hips were rounded now in a way they never had been, and yes, she actually had cleavage of her own! That was
one
good thing about being Marilyn.

Rummaging in her case, she unearthed the baggy pair of jeans she’d managed to hide under the rest
of her Marilyn paraphernalia, along with an old black T-shirt. Holding the tee up to her nose, she breathed in the scent of her house as a wave of homesickness washed over her. Who’d have thought she’d be in The Savoy, in the middle of London, and missing Belcherton? Jamming the shirt over her head, she kicked on her trainers, twisted her platinum curls up into a ponytail, and headed out into the London night.

She wandered across the piazza at Covent Garden, then down to Leicester Square and through the crowds to Piccadilly. Then, as if on automatic pilot, she found herself on Lexington Street and in front of – she blinked – Andrew Edmonds, the cosy restaurant where she’d dined with Alex the night before her mother had died. Peering through the window, she could see nothing had changed: the close tables flickered with candles and diners packed the tiny space.

Memories pressed against her brain, demanding entry, and tonight Willow d
idn’t have the energy to try to block them out.

It had been a regular weeknight, and Willow was finishing up her shift at Liberty’s when Alex appeared, cradling a bottle of champagne. He’d laughingly swung her around the shop, pulled her in for a kiss, then popped the cork and poured everyone in the shop a glass – customers included.

‘
What’s the occasion?’ Willow had asked as the bubbles tickled the back of her throat.

‘
I’ve been made a junior partner at the firm!’ Alex took a swig of champagne, beaming from every pore.

‘
That’s brilliant! Congratulations.’ Willow squeezed his waist. She knew how much he wanted this; how hard he’d worked toward it. It was a real step up.

‘
So I’ve booked
a celebratory dinner tonight, just you and me,’ he said, grinning down at her. ‘Think you can bunk off early?’

Willow
glanced over at Joanne, who nodded and smiled. ‘Go on! Give me enough champagne, and I’ll agree to anything.’

The two of them had walked the short distance to the restaurant, Alex excitedly chattering about all the new projects he’d work on now. They’d lingered over dinner until the sky darkened and the restaurant felt like a bubble, where anything was possible and London was theirs. Alex had gripped her hand as they’d gone back to his flat to celebrate some more.

And then, the next morning just as the sun was rising, her father had called with the news that her mum was gone. And everything had changed.

Tears spilled down Willow’s cheeks and a man standing in the doorway holding a menu backed away hastily.

‘
Everything okay, love?’ he asked, pretending not to notice as she wiped her face. Thank God she’d taken off all the make-up. Willow forced herself to look away from the window and continue up the street, but it wasn’t as easy to move away from her glimpse into the past. Back then, everything had seemed shiny and new. Now, life felt dull and flat, and all the events of the past few weeks had only weighed her down more.

She’d
done the right thing, going back home for her father. Never in a million years would she regret that decision. And it had seemed like the right thing – the only thing – taking on Marilyn to sort out the shop. It might have been a good solution for the business, but she was starting to hate it. No, scratch that, she
did
hate it.

But the shop now had nine-thousand pounds, right? When this week was finished, how much would she have made? Could it top a thousand pounds, giving her enough to pay off the whole debt? Dad could relax as long as he wanted, and she . . . well, maybe now it was time to start finding a way back to her hopes and dreams. Her London life was in the past, and it was too late for her and Alex. The future wouldn’t be anywhere nearly as lucrative as if she’d stuck with Marilyn. But none of that mattered. It would be as Willow, with the things that were important to her. All she had to do was figure out how much she’d have by the end of the week, and her life could begin again.

But how
she could find that out? Willow ducked around a horde of drunk rugby players, mind racing. Jay always had venue managers sign something before each performance; she’d seen him tuck the document away into a thick manila folder. Those papers
must
have her fee on there. Maybe that folder was somewhere in their suite?

Rushing down the pavement
back toward the hotel, she pictured people’s reactions when she told them the new Marilyn was no more. Simpson would be disappointed, for sure – and the ladies of Better Belcherton, who’d miss the banana loaf profits. The Marilyn festival wouldn’t happen, but Jay had mentioned something about insurance money. And Jay, well . . . Willow shook her head, imagining his sad, brown eyes. Would he be upset because of the money he’d miss out on, or because he’d miss spending as much time with her? The way he’d been acting lately, she’d almost think it was the money.

But she’d deal with that when it happened, she told herself, hurrying along the crowded street. First things first: make sure the debt could be paid.

Her maths weren’t great but she knew this m
uch: any sum greater than one-thousand pounds equalled no more Marilyn.

CHAPTER
NINETEEN

BACK IN THE SUITE
of rooms at The Savoy, Willow wondered where to begin searching for the folder. Slowly and methodically, she did a round of the large sitting room. Yanking open every drawer, her heart dropped each time it was empty.

She
wandered into the bedroom, her gaze falling on the bedside table. Maybe in there? Holding her breath, she eased open the drawer.

Oh, good, s
he’d found it. And there was her old mobile, too! Setting the phone on the bed, Willow pulled out the messy file of papers and sat down, flipping through random receipts. Hang on – was that her contract with Jay? Suddenly, she realised he’d never actually given her a copy. Jay had said it was standard, but Willow didn’t know what a standard agency contract entailed. She’d take a quick peek now, just to see if there was anything in there to do with contract termination.

Flipping through the pages
of boring legal stuff, a sentence leaped out at her as if it was printed in fiery red.

The client agrees to this contract for a period
of ten years, and to perform and undertake all reasonable engagements and requests for said period. Early termination will result in a financial penalty in the amount of five-hundred thousand pounds, or the equivalent of earnings lost (based on a yearly projected average), whichever is higher.

What?

Willow blinked
. That couldn’t mean what she thought – she must have read it wrong. Forcing herself to breathe, she scanned the words again. But there was no doubt: she was locked into being Marilyn for the next ten years, or she’d take a hit she knew she couldn’t afford.

God
.
Ten years? Her head throbbed, breath coming in fast pants. Anger curled inside and she got to her feet, wanting to lash out at something, anything. How could she have missed such a critical point? And how could Jay have done this to her?

Her mind flashed back to that day at the pub. She’d been so eager to sign the contract after spotting the Marilyn souvenirs in the shop – and Jay had seemed so trustworthy – that even though all the contract details weren’t crystal clear, she’d scrawled her name. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, she’d thought. They were both on the same page.

Surely
everything hadn’t been an act? The way he’d looked into her eyes . . . held her hand . . .
slept
with her! Could someone really be so low? Her stomach shifted uncomfortably and Willow rushed into the loo, reaching the side of the shiny porcelain toilet just in time.

She crouched over, beads of sweat breaking out on her brow, and heaved again. Shaking with fury and disgust, she realised the only thing Jay
had
cared about was profiting off her. Pieces slid into place as she recalled his harsh words back at the festival when she’d nearly fainted; how he’d almost driven her into the ground this week ‘building the brand’. She’d known for a while something was wrong between them, but it had been easier to ignore it than deal with the doubts creeping in.

Images of her parading around the world as Marilyn, day after day and night after night,
ran through her head and she heaved again, even though nothing remained. She couldn’t do that. She just couldn’t!

The noise of a
key card being inserted into the door made her jump. Rushing into the bedroom, she grabbed the phone and the contract off the bed and shoved them into her pocket. Then she jammed the folder back in the drawer, slamming it closed just as Jay came inside. Until she figured out what to do, it was better if he didn’t know what she’d found.

‘
Hey, baby
,’ Jay said, pulling off his tie and hanging his suit jacket in the closet. Willow pushed down the anger and disgust and plastered a smile on her face, even though she felt like spewing all over his pristine blazer. Shame she had nothing left inside.

‘
Y
ou’re looking kind of rough. Everything okay? And why are you wearing
that
?’ Jay gestured toward her loose jeans and T-shirt, then disappeared into the en suite. Willow trudged out to the lounge, trying to act normally despite every fibre throbbing with rage. A few minutes later, she heard Jay’s heavy snores.

Thank God he was asleep. And thank
God
he hadn’t tried to sleep with her. She’d have wiped the charming smile off his fake face if he had. What was that word Paula had used to describe him?
Horndog
.

Paula!
If Jay had sunk as low as sleeping with Willow to keep her on side, it was a definite possibility Paula
had
been telling the truth. Willow winced, remembering her angry words. Well, she didn’t need to wait until Belcherton to make up with her friend – she’d ring right this second. Fingers crossed Paula would be able to forgive her.

Taking the mobile from her pocket,
Willow cocked her ears to make sure Jay was still snoring. Then she crept back over to the loo, made herself comfortable on the toilet seat, and dialled her best friend.

One ring.

Two rings.

Please answer, Willow chanted in her head.
Please!
If ever there was a time she needed her friend, it was now.

‘
Hello?’ Paula’s voice was sleepy.

T
hank God. ‘Paula! It’s me.’

‘
Oh, hi
.’ Paula’s tone changed abruptly and Willow swallowed hard, wanting to kick herself for trusting Jay over her friend.

‘
Look, Paula, I’m so sorry,’ Willow
said quickly. ‘I shouldn’t have doubted you. You were right, Jay’s a total scumbag.’