Shopaholic to the Stars

SIXTEEN

It’s fine. It’s all good. We’ll get used to this.

I’m sure every family finds it tricky at first, having a bodyguard.

It only took twenty-four hours to fix myself up with a security team. The company couldn’t have been more helpful, and they totally understood that I need extra protection now I’m in the public eye. After a bit of discussion we decided that I maybe didn’t need an armed twenty-four-hour squad, but I could start with what they call ‘Mid-Level Protection’. My team began work this morning, and so far they’ve been brilliant. There’s Jeff and Mitchell, who are both dressed in dark suits and shades. And there’s Echo the German shepherd dog, who was trained in Russia, apparently. We’ve had a briefing meeting to discuss my requirements, and we’ve discussed my itinerary for the day. Now Mitchell is touring the house with Echo in order to check the ‘ongoing security of the premises’, while Jeff sits in the kitchen in order to provide ‘personal integrity reinforcement’.

The only thing is, it’s a bit awkward having Jeff in the kitchen at breakfast. He just sits there at the side of the room and looks unsmilingly at everyone, and mutters things into his headset. But we’ll have to get used to it, now we’re a celebrity family.

There’s still no word from Dad, beyond a text he sent Mum late yesterday, saying:

Landed fine in LA. Have some things to take care of.

Remember to water the roses. Graham xxx

Remember to water the roses. I mean, honestly. Mum nearly had a fit. I’ve already spoken to her today on the phone, and I’ve got lots of messages to pass on to Dad, should I see him. (Most would result in instant divorce, so I think I might forget about those.) I just hope he’s OK. I mean, I know he’s a grown man, but I can’t help worrying. What ‘things’ is he taking care of? Why hasn’t he told Mum? What’s the big secret?

I pour myself some coffee, and offer the coffee pot to Tarquin, but he doesn’t notice. He’s munching a piece of toast and listening to his iPod, which is his new thing. He says he has to start the day with an hour of guided meditation, and it drives Suze mad.

‘Tarkie!’ She pokes him. ‘I said, I might meet my agent this afternoon. Can you pick the children up?’

Tarkie gives her a blank look and takes another bite of toast. He looks so different these days. He’s tanned, and his hair is cropped really close to his head (Suze hates that too) and he’s wearing a soft grey T-shirt with a logo of the sun on it. I’ve seen them in the gift shop at Golden Peace. There’s a special course called Turn to the Sun, and lots of merchandise to go with it, only I don’t know what it’s all about, because I never did it.

It has to be said, I’m just a tad less into Golden Peace than I was. I think I’ve grown out of it. It’s a natural process: you gain everything you can from a place and then you move on. I mean, I’m totally cured of shopping now, so what’s the point of going back? (Plus the gift shop is online, so if I need anything from it I can just log on.)

‘Tarkie!’ Suze rips an earbud out of Tarkie’s ear, and he flinches in irritation.

‘Suze, I need to concentrate,’ he says, and pushes his chair back with a scraping sound.

‘You don’t! What does that thing say anyway? “Stop listening to your wife”? “Stop engaging with the real world”?’

Tarkie glares at her. ‘It’s a tailor-made meditation recorded by Bryce. He says my psyche is battered by the world and I need to retreat.’

‘I’ll batter him,’ mutters Suze.

‘Why are you so negative?’ Tarkie clutches his head. ‘Suze, you’re toxic. Finally I’m getting my head together and you have to … to … to sabotage me.’

‘I’m not sabotaging you!’ Suze yells. ‘Don’t you dare call me toxic! Who brought you to LA in the first place? Who said you needed a break? Me!’

Tarkie isn’t paying any attention to her, I realize. He’s focusing on a far corner of the kitchen, breathing deeply.

‘Tarkie?’ Suze waves a hand in front of his face. ‘Tar-quin.’

‘Bryce said this would happen,’ he says as though to himself. ‘People outside the method are afraid of it.’

‘What method?’ expostulates Suze.

‘You need to strip yourself bare to build yourself back up again,’ says Tarquin, as though the very fact of having to explain it pains him. ‘You need to strip away every level. Do you know how many levels we all have?’ He rounds on Suze. ‘Do you realize how much work I still have to do?’

‘You’ve done enough work,’ says Suze savagely.

‘No I haven’t! You’re obstructing me!’ He sweeps the whole kitchen with his gaze. ‘You’re all obstructing me!’ He shoves his earbud back in his ear, swivels on his heel and stalks out of the room.

I’m open-mouthed in astonishment. I’ve never seen Tarkie so antagonistic. He was practically snarling at Suze. I mean, in some ways it’s great, because for a long time I’ve felt he was too timid. On the other hand, Suze looks like she wants to murder him. No, correction: she now looks like she wants to murder me.

She turns on me. ‘This is all your fault.’

‘My fault?’

‘You introduced him to that place! You introduced him to Bryce! Now he’s calling me “toxic”! His own wife! He won’t talk to me, he won’t listen, he just moons around with that wretched iPod, God knows what it’s saying to him …’

‘It’s probably just saying really positive, helpful stuff,’ I say defensively. ‘I mean, I went to zillions of classes at Golden Peace and I’m fine.’

‘You’re not vulnerable like Tarkie!’ snaps Suze. ‘Honestly, Bex, I could kill you!’

Instantly Jeff is on his feet.

‘Are we having some trouble here?’ He advances on Suze, reaching for his holster thing. (It’s not a gun. It’s a baton.)

Suze stares at him in disbelief.

‘Are you threatening me? Bex, is this for real?’

‘Just checking we don’t have any trouble, ma’am,’ says Jeff implacably. ‘Rebecca, are you OK?’

‘Fine, thanks,’ I say, embarrassed. ‘It’s OK, Jeff.’

As he takes his seat again, Ernie, Clementine and Wilfie come running into the kitchen. They adore the new bodyguard team. They’ve been following Mitchell around the garden and now they come to a halt in front of Jeff. Ernest is leading the way and Clementine is hanging back a little, her thumb in her mouth.

‘Where’s your dog?’ says Wilfie to Jeff.

‘Jeff doesn’t have a dog,’ I explain.

‘Sarabande at school has got a bodyguard all the time,’ says Ernest importantly. ‘Her father’s a billionaire. Her bodyguard is called Tyrell and he can do magic tricks.’

‘Well,’ says Suze tightly. ‘Lucky Sarabande.’

‘If people attack you, then your bodyguard stops them,’ adds Ernie knowledgeably. ‘Help! Jeff!’ He clutches at his throat. ‘I’m being attacked by aliens! Help!’

‘Help!’ chimes in Wilfie. He falls to the floor and starts writhing. ‘A snake is eating me! Save me! Jeff!’ He turns agonized eyes on Jeff. ‘Jeff! My legs have gone!’

‘Stop it, boys,’ says Suze, giggling. ‘Wilfie, get up.’

Jeff hasn’t moved a muscle. He looks supremely unamused. Now Wilfie gets up and surveys him closely.

‘Do you have special powers?’ he says. ‘Can you go invisible?’

‘Of course he can’t go invisible,’ says Ernie scathingly. ‘He can do kung fu. Ha-ya!’ He emits a high-pitched cry and starts doing kung fu moves all over the kitchen.

‘Can I sit on your knee?’ says Clementine, prodding Jeff’s leg. ‘Can you tell me a story? Why do you have a moustache? It looks like a caterpillar.’

‘Clemmie, do you want some orange juice?’ I say quickly. ‘Come and sit at the table.’ I’m about to pour her a glass when Jeff leaps to his feet. Before I know it, he’s at the door of the kitchen, barring the way and muttering urgently into his headset.

‘Sir, can I ask you to verify your identity?’ he’s saying. ‘Sir, could I ask you to remain there?’

‘I’m Luke Brandon,’ I hear Luke saying testily, outside the kitchen door. ‘I’m the master of the house. This is my daughter, Minnie.’

‘I don’t have you on my list, sir. Could you please step to one side?’

‘It’s OK!’ I call hurriedly. ‘He’s my husband!’

‘Rebecca, he’s not on the list.’ Jeff gives me a reproachful look. ‘We need everyone to be on the list.’

‘Sorry! I thought he went without saying.’

‘When it comes to personal security, no one goes without saying,’ says Jeff severely. ‘All right, sir, you may step forward.’

‘You didn’t put me on the list?’ As Luke enters the kitchen, holding Minnie’s hand, he’s goggling with disbelief. ‘You didn’t put me on the list?’

‘I meant to! I mean … I didn’t think I needed to.’

‘Becky, this is ludicrous. Two bodyguards?’

‘Sage recommended it,’ I say defiantly. ‘She said you can’t be too careful.’

‘Doggie!’ Minnie points joyfully at the window where Mitchell is leading Echo past, talking feverishly into his headset. ‘See doggie!’

‘You’re not going near that doggie,’ says Luke firmly. ‘Becky, that dog is going to maul Minnie.’

‘She won’t. She’s under control. She was trained in Russia,’ I add proudly.

‘I don’t care where she was trained! She’s an attack dog!’

The buzzer sounds and Jeff instantly stiffens.

‘I’ll take care of this.’ He mutters into his headset, ‘Mitch, do you read me? Secure Area A for delivery arrival. Repeat, secure Area A.’

As Jeff strides out of the kitchen, Luke and Suze exchange looks.

‘We can’t live like this.’ Luke pours himself a cup of coffee. ‘Becky, how long have you booked these clowns for?’

‘Don’t call them clowns! And I’ve booked them for a week.’

‘A week?’

‘Package for you.’ Jeff comes back into the kitchen, heaving a large crate with First Move Security Solutions on the side.

‘Security Solutions?’ Luke stares at the crate. ‘What’s this?’

‘It’s … er … some stuff I bought.’

‘Oh Christ.’ He closes his eyes. ‘What have you done now?’

‘You don’t need to sound like that! It was recommended by the experts!’ I reach for a knife and jemmy off the top of the crate. ‘They said I might like to consider investing in extra security for my family. So I bought …’

I hesitate as I peer into the crate, slightly losing my nerve. They look a bit more military than I was expecting.

‘What?’ demands Luke. ‘What did you buy?’

‘Body armour.’ I try to sound casual. ‘Just as a precaution. Loads of celebrities wear it.’

‘Body armour?’ Luke’s voice rises incredulously. ‘You mean, bullet-proof vests?’

‘Bullet-proof vests?’ Suze spits out her tea. ‘Bex, you didn’t!’

‘This one is for you.’ I pull out the Panther model in taupe, which I thought would really suit Suze.

‘I’m not wearing a bullet-proof vest!’ she says in horror. ‘Get that thing away from me!’

‘How much did these cost?’ Luke is holding up the Leopard model in khaki green, with a finger and thumb.

‘It doesn’t matter how much they cost,’ I say defensively. ‘Who can put a price on the safety of loved ones? And anyway, there was a special offer. Buy four garments and get a stun gun free.’

‘A stun gun?’ Luke recoils.

‘Every family should have a stun gun,’ I say, more confidently than I feel.

‘You’ve gone insane.’ Luke turns to Suze. ‘She’s insane.’

‘Luke, I’m not a civilian any more!’ I exclaim. ‘Life has changed! Don’t you understand that?’

I feel so frustrated. Why don’t they get it? Sage understands, and the man at the security company totally understood. In fact, he thought I should buy a door-frame X-ray scanner, too, and change all our locks to ‘panic hardware’.

‘Becky, my darling,’ says Luke kindly. ‘You are totally and utterly deluded, if you think—’

He breaks off as a frantic barking comes from outside. The next minute, Jeff is on his feet, listening furiously to his earpiece.

‘Stay where you are,’ he says gruffly to me. ‘We have a situation.’ As he hurries out of the kitchen, I hear him ordering, ‘Describe the intruder.’

Situation? Intruder? My heart spasms in fear.

Well, if I’m honest, half in fear and half in triumph.

‘You see?’ I say to Luke. ‘You see? Minnie, darling, come here.’ I draw her protectively towards me, my voice quivering. She gazes up at me, her eyes huge and questioning, and I stroke her brow. ‘Children, stay away from the windows. We’ll be fine.’ I try to sound brave and positive. ‘Let’s just keep calm and sing “My Favourite Things”.’

We need a panic room. That’s what celebrities have. And maybe more dogs.

‘Is it a burglar?’ Clemmie starts to cry.

‘I’ll fight him,’ says Ernest boldly. ‘Ha-ya!’

‘Luke,’ I say quietly. ‘Get the stun gun out of the crate.’

‘Are you out of your mind?’ Luke rolls his eyes. He takes a piece of toast out of the toaster and calmly spreads butter on it, then takes a bite. I stare at him in indignant disbelief. Is he heartless? Doesn’t he care about our safety?

‘Let go!’ A male voice is shouting from outside. Oh my God, it’s the intruder. ‘Call off that dog! Call it off!’

‘Identify yourself!’ Mitchell’s voice is booming through the air, and Echo is barking more loudly than ever. I can’t help feeling terrified and exhilarated, all at the same time. This is like something off the TV!

‘The burglar’s here!’ Clementine bursts into fresh, terrified sobs, and after a nanosecond, Minnie joins in.

‘For God’s sake!’ says Suze, and glances balefully at me. ‘Happy now?’

‘Don’t blame me!’

‘He’ll get us!’ Clementine wails. ‘He’s coming!’

There’s the sound of scuffling coming from the hall and men’s shouts, then a thump and a furious exclamation from one man, who suddenly sounds just like—

Hang on a minute. That’s not—

‘Dad?’ I yell incredulously, just as Jeff and Mitchell appear at the kitchen door, manhandling my father as though they’re cops in a movie and he’s the double-crossing vice-president who was found trying to climb out of a window.

‘Becky!’

‘That’s my dad!’

‘Grandpa!’

‘We found this suspect prowling in the drive—’

‘I wasn’t prowling—’

‘Let go of him!’

We’re all speaking at once, and poor Wilfie has put his hands over his ears.

‘Let go of him!’ I yell again, above the hubbub. ‘He’s my father!’

Reluctantly, Mitchell lets go of Dad’s arm, which he had twisted behind his back. I mean, honestly. How could they think Dad was an intruder? You couldn’t see anyone less suspicious-looking than my dad. He’s wearing summer trousers and a blazer, and a panama hat, and he looks as though he’s about to go to a cricket match.

‘How’s my Minnie?’ he says in delight, as Minnie throws herself at him. ‘How’s my little sweetheart?’

‘Dad, what’s going on?’ I demand. ‘Why are you here? Mum’s so worried!’

‘Are you sure this is your dad?’ Mitchell says mistrustfully to me.

‘Of course I’m sure!’

‘Well, he’s not on the list.’ Jeff gives me his reproachful look again. ‘Rebecca, we need comprehensive information to work effectively.’

‘I didn’t know he was coming!’

‘So how did he access the drive? How did he open the gates?’ Jeff is still frowning suspiciously at Dad.

‘It’s the same code as the garage at home,’ says Dad cheerily. ‘I thought I’d chance it, and hey presto.’

‘I always use the same code,’ I explain to Jeff. ‘It’s the same as my pin number, too. And my mum’s. That way, we can get money out for each other. It’s really handy.’

‘You use the same code for everything?’ Jeff looks aghast. ‘Your mother has the same code? Rebecca, we talked about code safety.’

‘Oh, right,’ I say guiltily. ‘OK. I’ll change it. One of them. All of them.’

(I’m so not going to change anything. Four numbers is hard enough to remember as it is.)

‘Welcome, Graham.’ Luke is shaking Dad’s hand. ‘Would you like some breakfast? You’ll be staying with us, of course.’

‘If that’s all right.’

‘Dad, where’ve you been?’ I chime in impatiently. ‘What’s going on? Why are you in LA?’

There’s silence in the kitchen. Even Jeff and Mitchell look interested.

Dad gives me a guarded smile. ‘I just have some business to take care of. That’s all. I stayed at a hotel last night, and here I am.’

‘It’s Brent Lewis, isn’t it? Dad, what’s the mystery?’

‘No mystery,’ says Dad. ‘Simply …’ He hesitates. ‘Something I have to put right. Might I make myself a cup of tea?’ He reaches for the kettle and peers at it, puzzled. ‘Does this go on the stove?’

‘That’s how they do it in America,’ I explain. ‘They don’t understand electric kettles. But then, they don’t really understand tea, either. Here, I’ll do it.’ I fill the kettle with water, plonk it on the hob, then immediately text Mum: He’s here!!!

Dad has sat down at the table with Minnie on his lap, and is playing Incy Wincy Spider with her. Soon all the other children are clustering around too, and he doesn’t even notice me texting. A minute or two later, my phone rings, and it’s Mum.

‘Where is he?’ she demands shrilly. ‘What’s he doing? Does he know how worried I’ve been?’

‘I’m sure he does,’ I say hurriedly. ‘I’m sure he’s really sorry. There’ll be a brilliant explanation, I know it.’ Dad glances up, his expression blank, and I make vigorous hand gestures which are supposed to mean ‘It’s Mum!’

‘Well, put me on!’

‘Er, Dad,’ I say. ‘It’s Mum. She wants to talk to you.’ I hold out the phone gingerly and take a step backwards.

‘Jane,’ says Dad, as he takes the phone. ‘Now, Jane. Jane, listen. Jane.’

I can hear Mum’s tinny voice coming through the phone in a constant, high-pitched stream. Dad clearly can’t get a word in.

Suze raises her eyebrows at me and I shrug back helplessly. I’ve never felt at quite such a loss.

‘You mustn’t concern yourself,’ Dad is saying. ‘I’ve told you, it’s simply an issue with a couple of old friends.’ He pours boiling water into the teapot. ‘No, I’m not coming home on the next flight! I must do this.’ He sounds suddenly resolute.

I look questioningly at Luke, who also shrugs. This is driving me mad.

‘She wants to talk to you, darling,’ says Dad, handing the phone back to me. He seems quite unruffled by Mum’s tirade.

‘Why won’t he tell me what he’s doing?’ Mum’s voice blasts in my ear. ‘He keeps saying he’s got “something to sort out” with that Brent Lewis. I’ve Googled him, you know. Can’t find anything. You said he lives in a trailer. Did you actually meet him?’

‘No.’ I glance at Dad, who’s sipping tea now.

‘Well, keep an eye on Dad.’

‘I will.’

‘And I’m coming out, as soon as I can make arrangements. It would be the same time as the church bazaar.’ Mum gives a gusty sigh. ‘I preferred the guitar lessons to this. At least he did them in the garage.’

As I put the phone down, I turn to Dad and see that he’s looking at my necklace with a kind of rueful expression. It’s the Alexis Bittar one that he got me with his BB.

‘I love this,’ I say, touching it. ‘I wear it all the time.’

‘Do you, darling? That’s good.’ He smiles, but there’s something wrong in his smile. I want to scream. What is up?

He finishes his tea, then gets to his feet.

‘I must be off.’

‘But you’ve only just got here! Where are you going? To Brent’s trailer? Did you call his sister?’

‘Becky, it’s my business.’ He sounds final. ‘I’ll be back later.’

Nobody says anything until he’s left the kitchen – then everyone seems to breathe out.

‘What is he doing?’ I almost squeak with frustration.

‘Like he said,’ Luke comments, ‘that’s his business. Why don’t you leave him to it? Come on, poppet,’ he adds to Minnie. ‘Teeth. Come on, you lot,’ he adds to the Cleath-Stuarts. ‘You can all do your teeth too.’

‘Thanks, Luke,’ says Suze gratefully. As the children all pile out of the kitchen with Luke, Suze gives the most almighty sigh. She’s staring out of the window, and I can see a little frown between her brows that wasn’t there before.

‘Are you OK?’

‘I’m tired of LA,’ she says. ‘It’s not good for us.’

I stare at her in astonishment. ‘Yes it is! Look at you! You’re working as an extra, and Tarquin’s a total VIP, and you’re all thin and tanned, and—’

‘It’s not good for us as a family.’ She cuts me off. ‘In England, yes, we had loads of headaches, but we dealt with them together. I feel like I’m losing Tarkie.’ Her voice suddenly wobbles. ‘Bex, I don’t know him any more.’

To my horror, her eyes are welling up with tears.

‘Suze!’ I rush over and give her a hug. ‘You mustn’t worry! He’s just going through a funny patch. He’s finding himself.’

‘But he doesn’t talk to me! He looks at me as though I’m the enemy!’ Suze gives a shaky sigh. ‘Bex, when the children are at school, d’you feel like going for a walk and just chatting? We could go to Runyon Canyon, maybe have lunch …’

‘Suze, I would,’ I say regretfully. ‘But I’ve got to go shopping for Sage’s outfit.’

An odd flicker passes over Suze’s face. ‘Right.’ She breathes out. ‘Of course. You have to go shopping.’

‘It’s not shopping for me!’ I say, stung. ‘I have my TV segment coming up! I have to source pieces for Sage! I have to go to vintage shops and build up some relationships! It’s a massive job. Suze, this is my big chance. This is it!’

‘Of course it is,’ she says, in a tone I can’t quite read.

‘Another time?’

‘Another time.’ She nods, and gets up from the table.

I’m left alone in the kitchen with Jeff, and I glance over at him. He’s sitting in silence, staring implacably ahead, but even so, I feel judged.

‘I do have to go shopping,’ I say defensively. ‘This is my big chance to be a Hollywood stylist.’

Jeff says nothing. But I know he’s judging me. They’re all judging me.

This is what it’s like to be a celebrity. Your family don’t understand. No one understands. No wonder they say it’s lonely at the top.

On the plus side, it turns out that shopping for a movie star is the perfect way to shop. I just wish I’d known a movie star before.

There’s the most fab vintage shop on Melrose Avenue, and the owner, Marnie, is absolutely on my wavelength. By mid-morning, I’ve been on the fastest, most efficient shopping spree of my life. I’ve bought three new clutch bags, two stoles and a vintage diamanté headdress. I’ve got three evening coats on hold, and five dresses, and this fantastic velvet cloak, which, if Sage doesn’t want, I am totally getting for myself.

I’ve also bought myself a couple of tiny things – just a sequined evening dress and a few pairs of shoes, because I’ll need them for my new lifestyle. I even used my notebook from Golden Peace, just to make sure I wasn’t shopping in an unhealthy way. In answer to the question, ‘Why am I shopping?’ I wrote, ‘Because I am a celebrity stylist now.’ I mean, you can’t argue with that.

When I head out of the shop, the blacked-out SUV is waiting by the kerb. Mitchell is standing to attention, his shades glinting in the sun, and Jeff escorts me to the SUV door. I can see some shoppers looking at me curiously, and I put my hand up to shield my face, just like a proper A-lister.

As I get into the SUV, surrounded by bags, I feel elated. I’m totally on track with my new career! The only slight worry I have is that my Breakfast Show USA segment is tomorrow, and I still haven’t heard from them what sort of styling they want. How can I prepare a fashion piece if I don’t have a brief? I’ve left a zillion messages for Aran about this already, but I decide to try him again anyway, and this time he picks up.

‘Oh hi, Aran,’ I say. ‘Listen, did you ever hear back from Breakfast Show USA about what sort of clothes I should prepare? Because it’s tomorrow! I need to get some pieces together!’

‘Oh!’ Aran laughs. ‘My bad. Yes, I meant to tell you. They say don’t worry about the clothes. They’ll take care of all that. Your job is just to go on the show and talk.’

Don’t worry about the clothes? I stare blankly at the phone. How can I not worry about the clothes when I’m the stylist?

‘But how will that work? How will I prepare?’

‘Becky, you’ll be great,’ says Aran. ‘You can comment on the clothes, engage in some general chat, get your personality across.’

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Well, OK. Thanks.’

I ring off, still puzzled. This is all very weird. But maybe they do things differently in the States. In fact, maybe I should do some research. I zap on the TV to see if there are any fashion items I can watch, and flick through the channels, until an image suddenly stops me. For a moment I can’t even make sense of what I’m seeing.

It’s a fuzzy picture of Lois’s house in the dark. There’s an ambulance flashing in her driveway and paramedics wheeling a hospital gurney and the headline is BREAKING NEWS: Lois in suicide bid?

Suicide?

Suicide bid?

Oh God, oh God, oh God …

My heart thumping, I turn the volume up and lean forward anxiously to hear the voice-over.

‘There are unconfirmed reports that Lois Kellerton was rushed to the hospital last night, in what one commentator described as “the desperate act of a desperate star”. Over to our reporter Faye Ireland.’

The picture switches to a reporter standing outside what I recognize as Lois’s house, talking gravely into a microphone.

‘Neighbours confirm that at around midnight last night, an ambulance was summoned to the house, and one witness saw Lois Kellerton being placed in the ambulance, on a gurney. Some time in the early hours of the morning, Lois Kellerton appeared to return to the house and has not been seen since.’ The screen shows a fuzzy, long-lens picture of a girl covered in a sheet being bundled into the house. ‘Friends have been worried about the state of mind of the award-winning actress, since her apparent exposure as a thief.’ The picture flashes to the familiar sight of Lois at the ASAs, crumpling in shock on the stage. ‘Ms Kellerton’s spokesman refused to comment on these latest troubling events. Back to the studio.’

‘And now to sports …’ says a woman in a purple dress, and I switch off. I’m quivering all over. I never thought in a million years anything like this would happen. I never imagined – I never expected—

I mean, it isn’t my fault.

It isn’t. It really isn’t.

Is it?

On impulse, I dial Sage’s number. Of all people, she must know how I feel. In fact, she must feel even worse.

‘Sage,’ I say, as soon as she answers. ‘Did you see the news about Lois?’

‘Oh.’ She sounds unconcerned. ‘That.’

‘Sage, we did that to her!’ My voice is trembling. ‘I can’t believe it’s gone so far. Have you been to see her or called her or anything?’

‘See that maniac?’ Sage retorts. ‘You have to be kidding!’

‘But shouldn’t we do something? Like … I don’t know. Go and apologize?’

‘No,’ says Sage flatly. ‘Not happening.’

‘Just “no”?’

‘This is her problem, Becky. She’ll sort it out. I gotta go.’ And she rings off.

Sage sounds so sure of herself. But I can’t feel like that. Doubts are crawling all over me like insects. I can’t bear it. I want to do something. I have to do something. Make amends.

But how can I make amends?

I close my eyes, thinking hard for a moment, then open them and whip out my phone. I still have April Tremont’s number and she answers after the second ring.

‘Rebecca?’

She doesn’t exactly sound delighted to hear from me.

‘Um, hi, April,’ I say nervously. ‘Sorry to bother you. It’s just, I saw the news about Lois. I feel terrible about everything that happened and I’d really like to apologize to Lois and somehow make amends. Maybe help her. Or something …’ I tail off lamely.

‘Help her?’ April’s voice is so sarcastic, it makes me wince. ‘You helped enough already, don’t you think?’

‘I know you’re her friend,’ I say humbly. ‘You must think I’m an awful person. But you have to know, I never realized it would turn out like this, I never meant to expose her. And I wondered if you could help me get to see her, maybe? To say sorry?’

‘Lois isn’t talking to anyone,’ says April curtly. ‘I’ve phoned a million times but she won’t reply. And even if she were, you’re the last person I’d bring along. Yes, she needs help. She’s needed help for a long time, if you ask me. But not from opportunistic users like you.’

‘I’m not an opportunistic user!’ I say in horror.

‘Don’t tell me you’re not doing nicely from this,’ snaps April, and rings off.

I stare at my phone, my cheeks hot, feeling as though I’ve been slapped. As I lift my eyes, I see Jeff’s thick neck ahead of me and feel a fresh twinge of shame. Here’s me, riding along in an SUV with bodyguards and shopping bags, my career transformed. And there’s Lois, being rushed to hospital.

Jeff hasn’t said a word all this time, but I know he’s been listening. And judging me again. I can see it from the muscles in his neck.

‘I’m not opportunistic,’ I say defensively. ‘I could have sold the story weeks ago, couldn’t I? But I didn’t. It’s not my fault Sage blabbed. And I’ve wanted to be a Hollywood stylist for ever. Can you blame me if I leap at the chance? It doesn’t mean I’m opportunistic.’

Again Jeff is silent. But I know what he’s thinking.

‘Well, what can I do now?’ I say, almost angrily. ‘If April won’t take me to see Lois, then it’s impossible! I can’t say sorry, or offer help, or anything. I don’t even know where she—’

I break off. I’m remembering something that April said, when we were sitting in her trailer. We’ve both lived on Doheny Road for ever.

‘Mitchell,’ I say, leaning forward. ‘Change of plan. I want to go to Doheny Road.’

It takes us about thirty minutes to reach Doheny Road, and as soon as we arrive it’s obvious which house is Lois’s. Journalists are camped outside the gates and prowling up and down the street, and I can see two vox-pop interviews going on. We pull up some way further on, outside a mansion that looks like a Greek temple.

‘Stay in the car, Rebecca,’ says Mitchell. ‘We need to survey the area.’

‘OK.’ I try to sound patient as they clunk the car doors shut and head towards Lois’s house, looking conspicuous in their dark suits. All this ‘surveying’ and ‘securing’ is starting to get on my nerves. Once you get over the novelty, having a bodyguard is a real pain.

I have to sit for ages while they scout around the whole neighbourhood. As they return to the car, their faces are even more sober than usual.

‘The building is currently compromised with the strong presence of media,’ says Mitchell. ‘We foresee a high-risk situation developing. We recommend you do not proceed.’

‘D’you mean not go into the house?’ I clarify.

‘We recommend you do not proceed.’ Mitchell nods. ‘At this time.’

‘But I want to proceed.’

‘Well, we recommend that you do not.’

I glance from Jeff to Mitchell. They look identically serious, with their dark glasses masking any expression they might have (which is probably non-existent to begin with).

‘I’m going to proceed,’ I say defiantly. ‘OK? I need to see Lois Kellerton. I can’t live with myself if I don’t at least try.’

‘Rebecca,’ says Mitchell sternly. ‘If you approach the front of the house, we cannot guarantee your security.’

‘It’s a situation,’ chimes in Jeff, nodding.

I look over their shoulders at the crowd of journalists. It is a bit of a mob. They might have a point.

‘Well, then, I’ll have to break in at the back,’ I say. ‘Will one of you give me a leg-up?’

Jeff and Mitchell exchange glances.

‘Rebecca,’ says Jeff. ‘Under the terms of our contract, we are not permitted to aid you, the client, in any endeavour deemed as law-breaking.’

‘You’re so square!’ I say in frustration. ‘Don’t you get bored, driving around in dark jackets and pretending everything’s serious all the time? Well, OK, I’ll do it by myself. And when I’m arrested, I’ll say: “Mitchell and Jeff had nothing to do with it, Officer.” Happy?’

I grab my bag, slither out of the car and start heading towards Lois’s house, my heels clicking on the road.

‘Rebecca, wait.’ Jeff’s voice follows me.

‘What now?’ I turn. ‘I know, you think I shouldn’t proceed. You’re worse than the bloody sat nav.’

‘Not that.’

‘What, then?’

He hesitates, then says in a low voice, ‘There’s a weak point in the fence by the pool house. CCTV just misses it. Try there.’

‘Thanks, Jeff!’ I beam at him and blow him a kiss.

Lois’s property is so huge, it takes ages to find my way to the back. As I hurry along a side road, I start feeling more and more nervous. I’ve never met anyone suicidal before. I mean, not really suicidal. Shouldn’t I have training or something? Anyway, too late now. I’ll just have to be really gentle. And uplifting and positive. And apologetic, obviously.

What if she blames me for everything?

I feel an uncomfortable twinge. I really, really want Lois to understand that I didn’t tell everyone. OK, I blabbed to Sage, but I told her to keep it a secret.

But what if Lois won’t see it? What if she screams at me? What if she picks up a knife and says she’s going to stab herself right there, in front of me, and I throw myself at her to save her but it’s too late? Oh God …

Feeling slightly ill with all these lurid thoughts, I force myself to keep going. At last I arrive at an eight-foot-high fence, with what must be the pool house on the other side. There’s no way I could climb over it on my own, but after walking back and forth a few times, I see what Jeff meant. Two of the slats are loose. I prise them to one side, exposing a gap. I peer at it incredulously. I’m meant to climb through that? What size does he think I am, minus 20?

But there’s no other option, so I bend down and start squeezing myself through the gap. I can feel the wood scraping my back, and my hair gets caught a few times, and for one awful moment I think I’ll be stuck there for ever. But at last I manage to pop through. (Simultaneously breaking another two slats. In fact, I’ve kind of wrecked this little area of fence. I expect Lois will sue me for that.)

The pool house is about the size of my parents’ house in Oxshott. The pool is pretty huge, too. Then there’s a kind of ornamental hanging garden which looks very weird and out of place and a lawn and a great big terrace with sofas and chairs and then, finally, the house. Which is vast, needless to say.

OK. What do I do now? I suddenly remember Jeff mentioning CCTV and it occurs to me that I’m probably being filmed right now. Argh. I need to move fast, before the attack dogs reach me. I hurry to one side of the plot and make my way cautiously towards the house. My heart is beating fast and I’m expecting to be stopped at any moment. But the way I see it, if I can just get to speak to Lois – even for a second – she’ll know I tried. She’ll know I was thinking of her.

Panting, I reach the terrace and crouch down behind a massive pot containing a fern. Five yards away are the French windows. They’re open. Do I just walk in? What if I freak her out?

Or maybe I should just write a note. Yes. Much better. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before. I’ll write a note and leave it on the terrace and creep away, and then she can read it in her own time. I rummage in my bag for my notebook and pen, which I’ve been using to make styling notes. I carefully tear out a page and write the date at the top.

Dear Lois

Oh God. What do I write? How do I put it?

I’m so, so sorry for everything that’s happened. But you must know, I was as shocked as you when Sage exposed you. I told her IN CONFIDENCE.

I underline the last two words several times, and am sitting back on my heels to take stock, when something attracts my attention. It’s a pair of sunglasses, lying on a chair. A pair of Missoni sunglasses. They’re pink and green and swirly and they look exactly like the ones I gave Sage yesterday morning.

They can’t be the same ones. Obviously they can’t be. But—

I stare at the sunglasses, totally baffled. One part of my brain is saying, ‘It’s a coincidence,’ and the other part is saying, ‘It can’t be a coincidence.’ At last I can’t bear it any longer. I have to see. I edge forward and grab the sunglasses off the chair – and there’s no doubt about it. They’re the ones I bought. They have the same rubbed-away bit on the gilt ‘M’ and a tiny chip on one arm.

What are they doing here? Did Sage send them to Lois? But why? And wouldn’t she have mentioned it on the phone earlier? And why would she send sunglasses to Lois, anyway?

My head spinning, I creep forward to put them back – and then freeze. Through the glass of the French windows I can see straight into Lois’s living room. There’s Lois, sitting on a sofa, laughing. And there’s Sage, sitting next to her, passing her a bowl of nachos.

My whole body feels paralysed with shock. Sage? In Lois’s house? But— but— but—

I mean—

That’s just—

I’ve leaned so far forward, trying to see, I suddenly lose my balance, and the sunglasses go clattering on to a glass table. Shit. Shit.

‘Who’s there?’ says Sage sharply, and comes to the French windows. ‘Oh my God, Becky?’

I stare helplessly up at her, unable to reply. I feel as though the world has turned upside down. A few minutes ago, Sage was telling me she didn’t want to see Lois. But she must have been in Lois’s house even while she was talking to me. What is going on? What?

‘Get in here,’ says Sage, glancing around. ‘There aren’t any press following you, are there? What did you do, break in?’

‘Yes,’ I say, getting to my feet, still dazed. ‘I made a bit of a mess of the fence. Maybe someone should see to that. Sorry,’ I add to Lois, who has followed Sage to the French windows. Lois doesn’t look the dishevelled mess I was expecting. She’s wearing long, pale-green wide-legged trousers and a black halter top and her hair is smoothed into a side ponytail. She’s also smoking, which is a bit of a shock. Lois Kellerton doesn’t smoke. I’ve read it in magazines a million times.

‘You look so freaked!’ Sage bursts into laughter as she closes the French windows behind me.

Finally I find my voice. ‘I am freaked! What do you expect?’

‘Poor Becky,’ Sage says kindly.

‘What … I mean …’ I don’t even know where to begin. ‘Don’t you …’

‘You thought we hated each other, right?’ says Sage.

‘Everyone thinks you hate each other!’ I expostulate. ‘Everyone in the world!’

‘Well, we kinda do.’ Sage pushes Lois, whose mouth turns up in a little smile.

‘Everything’s a game,’ she says. ‘We’re playing the game. The long game,’ she adds.

‘Lois’s really smart,’ chimes in Sage.

They’re both nodding, as though that explains everything.

‘I don’t get it,’ I say, feeling more bewildered than ever. ‘I just don’t. You have to start from the beginning.’

‘Oh well, the beginning.’ Lois leads me into the kitchen, where a huge oak table is covered in laptops, magazines, coffee cups and take-out boxes. I even see a box of Krispy Kremes, which makes me double-take. I thought Lois hated white sugar? ‘That would be when we were … what, ten?’

‘We were on Save the Kids together,’ Sage nods.

‘Then we had a big fight.’

‘But we made up.’

I’m totally lost. ‘Was that recently?’

‘No! We were, like, sixteen,’ says Sage. ‘I was so mad at Lois, I trashed her car. Remember?’

Lois shakes her head ruefully. She’s a lot more composed than Sage. In fact, I can’t stop staring at her. Her nails are perfect. Her hands aren’t shaking one little bit as she makes coffee. She doesn’t look anything like a suicidal head-case.

‘Did you really try to commit suicide?’ I blurt out, and she gives another secretive little smile.

‘Becky, none of this is real!’ says Sage. ‘Don’t you realize that? You’re in on it too now.’ She gives me a squeeze. ‘Lois will tell you what to do. She has the whole thing planned.’

‘What do you mean?’ I say in bewilderment. ‘What whole thing?’

‘Redemption,’ says Lois. ‘Reconciliation … forgiveness … Camberly.’ She pauses, then says it again with relish, ‘Camberly.’

‘Camberly.’ Sage nods. ‘We just heard. We’re doing it, the two of us. A special. It’s gonna be huge.’

‘Huge.’ Lois agrees.

‘They’re gonna plug it everywhere. The big truce. Sage and Lois confront each other.’ Sage’s eyes are sparkling. ‘Who’s not going to watch that? Lois has this whole remorseful-sinner thing going on, too. You’re going to wear white, yes?’ she adds to Lois.

‘White shift and flats.’ Lois confirms. ‘Penitent angel. They may get the store owner on, apparently. So I can apologize to him.’

‘That would be good TV,’ says Sage. ‘I’m gonna offer Lois help,’ she tells me. ‘And we’re both gonna cry. I need to talk to you about a dress,’ she adds. ‘Something innocent-looking. Maybe Marc Jacobs? Maybe, like, a soft pink?’

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. It’s like they’ve practically written a script. They probably will write a script.

‘Do the Camberly people know about this?’ I stutter. ‘That it’s all fake?’

‘No!’ Sage seems shocked. ‘Nobody knows. Lois even fired her media team to keep them out of the way, so they have no idea.’

‘I knew we had a big chance,’ says Lois. ‘But my people would never have gone along with it. They’re so conventional.’ She shakes her head impatiently.

‘So …’ I rub my head, trying to get things clear. ‘So you’re not really a shoplifter? But I caught you red-handed!’

‘That was an experiment,’ says Lois. She sits down at the table, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. ‘I wasn’t expecting to get caught. But it all worked out.’

‘Lois’s really imaginative,’ says Sage admiringly. ‘The feud was her idea. She came up with the cancer-victim line. She came up with the two green dresses. I mean, those were just tiny little ideas between ourselves. They didn’t get us huge attention. But now this suicide thing is on a whole new level. Genius. It’s put us right back on the front pages.’

As I look at Lois’s calm face, I feel revulsion. She actually faked a suicide attempt?

‘But how could you do that? People have been really worried about you!’

‘I know,’ says Lois. ‘That’s the point. The farther you fall, the more they love you when you bounce back.’ She sighs at my expression. ‘Look. It’s a competitive world. We need exposure. All the public craves is a good story. Don’t you love a good story? Don’t you read US Weekly?’

‘Well, yes, but—’

‘Do you think every word is true?’

‘Well, no, but—’

‘So what’s the difference?’

‘Well, some of it has to be true!’ I say hotly. ‘Otherwise what’s the point?’

‘Why? Does it matter? As long as we entertain our audience?’

I’m silenced for a while, thinking about all the stories Suze and I have read in the gossip magazines. Does it matter if they’re true or not? Like, I’ve always taken it as gospel truth that the cast of Our Time all hate one another. What if they don’t? What if Selma Diavo isn’t really a bitch? I’ve read about the stars for so long, I feel like I know them. I feel familiar with their worlds and their friends and their ups and their downs. I could probably write a thesis on Jennifer Aniston’s love life.

But the truth is, all I really know is images and headlines and ‘quotes’ from ‘sources’. Nothing real.

‘Wait a minute,’ I say, as something occurs to me. ‘If everyone thinks you’re a suicidal wreck, how will you get any work?’

‘Oh, I’ll get work,’ says Lois. ‘The offers are already coming in. Lots of shoplifting roles.’ She gives a sudden burst of laughter. ‘I’ll be punished and then I’ll be forgiven. That’s how Hollywood operates.’

She looks so relaxed, I feel a spurt of anger. Does she realize how worried I’ve been about her? And I don’t even know her! What about her friends? What about her parents?

Oh, actually, her parents are dead. And she doesn’t have any friends. (At least, that’s what National Enquirer said. But who can I believe any more?)

‘I thought you were about to have a breakdown,’ I say accusingly. ‘You were shaking … you were collapsing … you couldn’t even breathe …’

‘I’m an actor,’ says Lois with a shrug.

‘We’re actors.’ Sage nods. ‘We act.’

I cast my mind back to the Lois I caught shoplifting all those weeks ago – the timid wraith in the hoody. The trembling hands, the whispering voice, the flinching expression … That was acting? I mean, OK, I know I shouldn’t be surprised. Lois is one of the top actors in the world. But still. She looked so real. I almost want to ask her to do it again.

‘What about Luke?’ I turn to Sage. ‘Does he have any idea?’

‘I don’t think so,’ says Sage, after a pause. ‘Although he’s smart. He asked me straight out, was any of this fabricated? Of course I told him no. Has he said anything to you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘He mustn’t know,’ says Lois. ‘He mustn’t know anything. Every attempt to fool the American public needs a level of plausible deniability.’

‘The President’s Woman,’ chimes in Sage, and high-fives Lois.

I knew I’d heard Lois say that somewhere before. It was when she played the Vice-President and wore all those pinstripe suits.

‘Luke is our level of plausible deniability,’ she’s saying now. ‘He and Aran both. They’re credible, they’re trustworthy …’

‘Luke’s great,’ says Sage, turning to Lois. ‘When this has simmered down, you should totally hire him. He has, like, all these ideas for strategy. And he’s such a gentleman.’

‘But Sage …’ I don’t quite know how to put it. ‘Inventing a feud with Lois can’t be part of Luke’s strategy, surely?’

‘So I had to go a little off the path.’ She tosses her hair back. ‘It worked, didn’t it? You mustn’t tell him,’ she adds. ‘You know what he thinks I should be doing? Charity work. Like, some trip to Darfur.’ She makes a disparaging face. ‘I told him I was researching landmines today. In fact, you can back me up!’ Her face brightens. ‘Tell him you called me and I was totally on the internet looking at charity websites.’

‘I can’t lie to Luke!’ I say in horror.

‘Well, you can’t tell Luke,’ retorts Sage.

‘Becky, you’re in this now,’ says Lois sternly. ‘And if you’re in it, you’re in it.’

That’s a quote from one of her movies, too, but I can’t remember which one. The Mafia one, maybe?

‘We’ll give you a break in styling,’ she continues. ‘You can dress us both for events. You’ll make contacts, it’ll be the real deal. But you cannot tell anyone.’ Her eyes are flashing at me. She’s got up from her chair and looks suddenly quite intimidating, like she did when she played that partner in a law firm who was also a serial killer. ‘You cannot tell anyone,’ she repeats.

‘Right.’ I swallow.

‘If you do, we’ll trash you.’

I have no idea what she means by ‘trash’ but it can’t be good.

‘Right,’ I say again, nervously.

Lois has already turned away and is tapping at a laptop. ‘Lois and Sage to appear on Camberly,’ she reads aloud. ‘It’s up! You should go, Becky,’ she adds to me. ‘Call your driver. The guard will let him in and he can back the SUV right up to the door. The press won’t see you. That’s what Sage did yesterday. And if your driver asks, tell him I wasn’t available. I was too ill. That’ll get around.’

‘Drivers know everything,’ chimes in Sage. ‘Hey, look, we made Fox News!’

The two of them are totally engrossed in the laptop. There’s no point me sticking around.

‘Well … bye then,’ I say, and reach for my phone. A few minutes later Mitchell and Jeff arrive at the front door in the blacked-out SUV and I slide in seamlessly, just as Lois described. It’s like the house was designed for discreet exits. As we make our way out of the gates, journalists start banging on the sides of the SUV and flashing cameras, shouting ‘Lois! Lois!’ until we manage to break free and drive off.

They thought I was her. The world has gone nuts. My head is still spinning and the blood is pulsing in my ears. What just happened there? What?