A screech of tyres on tarmac and another Range Rover pulled into the ground. My heart fluttered and pounded as the driver’s door opened. Jason stepped down, face like thunder and dark eyes hidden behind darker glasses. He managed a wave to the small crowd, but showed little intention of stopping. I skirted along the fence as he made his way towards the entrance, pitching my voice just loud enough to sound above the others.
“Jason! Jason, over here!”
My dirty bad stranger stopped dead. My heart stopped, too.
Jason
I turned on the spot, scouring the crowd. Surely not?
But there she was. Hair hidden under a fluffy purple beret, and her dainty little fingers up to the fence as she stared over. I took off my shades, taking careless steps forwards. My Gemma was smiling. She was smiling so bright it lit up the grey fucking morning. I stopped for a moment, glancing over my shoulder. Bastard photographers were waiting, all out to cause me grief. They wouldn’t take this moment from me, though. No fucking way.
I met the fence a little way down from Gemma, taking some time to sign autographs before heading towards her. She had her fingers hooked through the wire, so close I could smell her perfume. Just the other side of the fence, but it was way too far.
My voice was low, barely more than a whisper. “I hardly recognised you, good disguise.”
“I needed to see you. This is pretty drastic, I know. I tried calling.”
“I’ve been having some problems, switched my phone off for a while.”
“I know.” She pushed her fingertips further through the gaps and instinctively I leaned closer before checking myself. Too many people.
She must have read my mind, raising her voice to be heard. “Please could you sign this for me? I’m a big fan. Probably your biggest.”
Her smile, oh fuck, her smile. She pushed the notebook through the fence and closed her eyes as my fingertips brushed hers. I held on just a heartbeat as I took the pen from her, as long as I dared. “Who shall I sign this to?”
“Mr Bingo. Don’t ask.”
“Mr Bingo?” I repeated. She had me smiling, just a ghost, but more than I’d smiled all weekend.
“I’ve marked out a page for you, if you could sign there, too, please.” Her beautiful eyes sparkled, willing me to turn the pages. I flicked through, holding my breath as I found a note.
I was wrong. Really, really wrong.
I’m sorry, Jason.
I can handle the crappy tabloids, I can handle people talking, I can handle being the fat girl with the fit guy.
I’m sure I could even handle being a footballer’s wife.
I miss you. xx
My voice was choked. I had to cough to clear it. “You’ve nothing to apologise for.”
Tears in her beautiful eyes knocked my breath. “I made a mistake. I was scared.”
“You should have been scared,” I whispered. “It was horrible, Gemma, all of it. I’d never have put you through it if I’d have known.”
“It’s over,” she breathed. “We’re out the other side.”
But I wasn’t. I’d made an agreement with that bitch, April. Given her twelve months in exchange for a fifty-fifty split, just as long as we got another season out of the Singers, and so long as her Cherry Electric reunion tour happened. This shit could even kick-start a new album for her. How fucking sweet.
“I miss you,” I said. “I miss your laugh. I miss your smile.”
“I miss your touch,” she said. “I miss you, all of you. Everything we had. Everything we could have had.”
“What about domesticity? I thought that was a no go?”
She shot me a smile. “Never say never.”
But I had said never, I’d said never when I’d promised April another year. I was already booked in with PR, ready to get our shit sorted.
“Come to me,” she said. “Please. Tonight.”
It broke my fucking heart to say no. “I can’t. PR meeting.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I see. No problem, maybe a different night?”
I pressed my face as close to hers as I dared, scribbling any old shit in the notebook. “April wants twelve months, then she’ll split the house. I said yes. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
Her expression dropped like a stone, eyes watery. “Of course, I understand. I’m sorry, I should’ve thought.”
My words were harsher than I’d intended. “You don’t understand. I’m a walking corpse, just trying to keep hold of something.”
“Keep hold of me.”
“I wish, Gemma, how I wish.” The crowd was dispersing, time up. “I’ve got to go.”