Page 36

Chapter Nineteen

I ’m sitting in the nail salon with admiring the mini works of art Selina, the nail technician, has crafted on my fingernails.

A whirl of tiny stars, a little tribute to the show, glitters across my fingers against a backdrop of twinkly, inky blue.

Selina has moved on to my pedicure now and I text the girls a quick pic of my mani.

Layla’s reply is lightning fast.

Gorgeous, babe. But we want to know where your hands have really been? What’s happening with Sebastian?

Madison is not far behind her.

Does Loverboy Leo know about Sebby? I wanna know who’s the best in the sack, and don’t pretend you’re going to keep it all official with your Bonking in Buckinghamshire boyfriend!!!

I pause. I’ve not seen Leo since that day watching Disney together and he’s not even texted back to the last thing I sent. I guess that means he has seen my romance with Sebastian. I need to tell him it’s not real, but what if he just blanks me again?

“Selina,” I ask, deciding that a manicurist is basically like a priest. They must hear all sorts of confessions and I could do with some advice from someone who doesn’t know these guys that are messing with my mind. “What do you look for in a guy?”

She laughs. “Me? Nothing. I’m strictly ladies-only, sweetheart. But I’ll tell you this for nothing – men, women, straight, gay or anywhere in the middle, we all get distracted by that mad rush of lust. If you’re looking for more than that, then it’s easy – who could you imagine getting old with?”

I shudder, thinking how Damon once told me he was never going to shag anyone over a day over thirty-five, whatever age he was because “old birds were not his scene.” But then I can’t exactly picture growing old with Sebastian.

Not if he was going to grow up into his father – trying to bed girls half his age while his wife was in the house.

It’s not like Leo’s any better though – he never really talks about his family, apart from dropping hints that his parents were a bit crap.

Whereas I can’t imagine not introducing anyone I’m seeing to my mam and dad.

Although I’ve told my mam to stop looking at wedding hats every time I tell her I want to bring someone home.

Which is why tonight is going to be mad. I pick my phone up again.

Well, you two can see if Seb and I put on a good show tonight. We’re getting the train up north as soon as I’m done in the salon. Are you ready for a seriously big night out, girls?

Layla doesn’t even type a reply, just sends a picture of her on the train – the little table in front of her full of already-drunk gins-in-tins. Madison is clearly on a mission, too.

Marc won’t know what’s hit him. I’ve packed leather, lube and love-cuffs. But my mum’s just made me a packed lunch for the trip and saw what was in my bag so I’ve told her they’re presents for you.

Thanks, Mads. I must remember never to look her mam in the eye again.

“Do not flirt with my mam,” I’m saying, as we wait in the wind tunnel that is Manchester Piccadilly station for my parents to come and pick us up. Sebastian scowls at me and crosses his arms.

“You mean like you flirted with my dad?” He looks so out of place in his gilet, with his aubergine-purple drainpipe trousers and stupid pointed shoes that make his feet look three times longer than they actually are.

His hair is in a posh-boy’s quiff and he’s wearing Ray Bans even though it’s grey, windy and drizzling.

I hate him. Things have not been going well in our showmance since we attempted polo.

Funnily enough, he did not take kindly to the clearly fizzing energy between me and Tommy, and was huffy when the car came to collect us to take us home, shortly after the almost-incident with Tommy in the bathroom.

I don’t think he actually knows what nearly happened but still, I’m allowed, I’m a free woman.

“And? He’s a good-looking man. I don’t know how often I have to remind you, but this ,” I gesture to the pair of us. “Isn’t real.”

The photos of us playing polo went down a treat in the papers, they were splashed across all the major ones and my insider intel (Madison and Layla) have reliably informed me that Samantha is absolutely fuming about how much attention I’m getting.

Her antics have slowed down considerably, I’m not sure whether that’s because she’s not actually shagging anyone famous or because the papers have grown bored of her, but either way I’m delighted she’s stopped sending me texts about how she’s got the award in the bag.

Now I’ve got the money from NuYu I don’t need to obsess about trophies anymore.

I just need to focus on what’s best for my career.

Unfortunately, because everyone seems so into the #Sebgelica ‘romance’, the whole ‘from two different worlds’ angle, our managers have agreed it should continue a bit longer and it would make a great ‘photo op’ if we’re now spotted in my world.

So I’ve planned a big night out, up North.

What’s even better is the whole gang are coming, it’s going to be a proper reunion!

Even Damon said yes. A fact that makes me want to run to the bathroom and vomit if I dwell on it too much, so I’m trying to push it to the back of my mind.

Particularly as I can’t figure out if the nerves are down to me wanting to see him, or to punch him.

One person I definitely want to punch is Sebastian, who is now over-the-top shivering.

What a pussy! I’m not even wearing a coat.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t stay in a hotel,” he whines. “Look there’s one there, one there and one there.” He points at the various chain hotels lining the street outside the station. “Obvious shit-holes, but preferable to where we’re going.”

“Excuse me? We’re going to my parents’ house. As my mam wants to host you! And that’s how you act? God, your rudeness astounds me.”

When Mam heard that Sebastian was coming, she insisted that he stay at ours.

I kept saying we could book a hotel, that his management would foot the bill, or even that he could stay in one and I could sleep in my own bed.

But Mam insisted it would be “criminal” for her not to host and “what if word gets back to his mother that we didn’t offer,” and no matter how much I tried to explain that people in Sebastian’s world don’t think the same way we do, her mind would not be budged.

Still, despite my hatred for the man, I am excited to show him my city, my people and how, up here, we’re actually nice to each other.

Shop keepers say “hello” and call you “love” and make silly little jokes that aren’t that funny but you laugh at them anyway.

There’s no airs and graces but when I think of home, it’s a happy place where we don’t take ourselves too seriously, but also a place where strangers smile at each other and where, even if you’re down to the last pennies in your bank account, you’ll still offer someone a pint and they’ll do the same in return.

“Toot, toot,” Mam yells out the window, she just needs to circle round to collect us.

When we hurry over to the car she rushes out to give Sebastian a bear hug, while Dad takes his bag off of him.

Sebastian is, admittedly, a gentleman and shakes Dad’s hand, before telling Mam he’s looking forward to seeing her home and agrees that, yes, he is absolutely gagging for a brew.

(Even though I know he’s not actually the biggest tea drinker. He’s more of an oat latte man.)

We pile in the back and begin the drive through the streets to my home.

Torn by Natalie Imbruglia is blasting on the radio and Mam is singing along, and I feel oddly happy.

When we get back to ours, Dad and Sebastian are ahead of us (Sebastian can actually talk for England about the war, so Dad is chuffed) and Mam whispers, “I don’t know why everyone calls him such a hunk, even Damien was more friendly, and this lad, he’s not a patch on your Leo. ”

How many ways can Mam drive me nuts in one sentence? She has taken to deliberately not saying Damon’s name correctly. “He’s not my Leo, Mam, and Sebastian’s not mine either, remember? It’s fake.”

“It sure looked real in those polo pictures,” she says. “Believe me, I know when my daughter is smiling her true smile. That was your real self. Unlike those gooey grins you wasted on you know who.”

I pretend to her I don’t know what she’s talking about, that I am just a really good actress, when inside I secretly do understand what she means.

There were a few moments on that day, when Sebastian was slagging me off for not knowing the polo rules, and messing up and making fun of me, where I’d laugh and he’d grab me, knowing the cameras were nearby, and fling me back, movie-star style before kissing me.

And, even though I knew why he was doing it, there was no denying that his lips felt good against mine, and that he really could make me laugh.

But a few staged kisses and the odd actually funny joke does not make up for the fact that the majority of the time he’s a snobby, arrogant knobhead with questionable taste in clothes.

We settle in the living room and Mam makes cups of tea that she brings through with biscuits, and she frowns at me, noticing I’ve not taken one. “I’m all for being healthy, love, but it’s healthy to enjoy a biscuit or two,” she says.

“Can’t be without life’s little pleasures,” Dad agrees, shoving a whole jammy dodger in his gob.

“I’ve got to be in the tiniest of dresses tonight, and be photographed Mam, so I can’t be having biscuits.” I say.

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll leave it but you’re getting too thin, my love.”