I'll Be Home For Christmas

‘Yeah, he’s nice, but he’s funny too. Real funny, the guy has a wicked sense of humour. And he’s talented. I can’t sing – I can dance a little and I look good – but Cooper? He’s the whole package. He always wanted to write his own songs, get into better material, but the way the band was marketed held him back. Now he’s going solo, he’ll fly – and his new stuff is awesome. I’ve heard some of it, and you can believe the hype. If he’s asking you to get involved, I’d say go for it. It’s a hell of a chance. Plus, I can tell you two would hit it off.’

Neale sat down on the other side of me, squashing me between the two of them. His legs were vibrating like somebody had wound him up – a clockwork stylist.

‘Plus, you know, think of the nights out!’ Neale said. ‘And the parties! And the outfits!’

If you’d asked me that morning, none of that would have sounded attractive. That morning, I was distressed at the thought of spending even one night away from Daniel and our life together. That morning, the idea of jetting off to the States was a worry, not an opportunity.

Now, though, I was beginning to see things slightly differently. Even setting aside everything that had happened with Jack and Vogue, which had really unsettled me, I’d also had a brilliant night out with these two. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a complete drink-yourself-daft, get-home-with-the-milkman blow out like this.

When I had to, I attended showbiz parties and events – it was part of my job, and I did enjoy it a lot of the time. But it was work – there was pressure to look a certain way, behave a certain way, to not flash my gusset or vomit in a gutter. And behind it all, there was always part of me that just wanted to bin it all off and go home to Daniel, and my other life.

Tonight, though, hadn’t been like that. It had just been fun, pure and simple. Being out with Neale, who I could trust with my life, and JB, who was all kinds of hilarious, was different. It was even, I had to admit to myself, more fun than being with Daniel.

I love my Daniel to bits, don’t get me wrong, but he’s not a party animal. He’s a stay-at-home creature. That’s the way he’s always been, and he isn’t going to change. I wouldn’t want him to change – but maybe, if I’m entirely honest, I did also kind of miss this sort of thing. The daftness of it all. The spontaneity of it. The sheer unadulterated pleasure of a crazy night out with real friends – especially ones who weren’t, at any stage, ever, going to try to stick their hand up my top.

Usually, on my nights away from Daniel, I’m sad. I sit in my flat, after whatever event I’ve been to, and I miss him like crazy. We spend hours talking on the phone or on Skype, and I never feel totally happy until we’re together again. Tonight hadn’t been like that – in fact I’d barely thought about him, or even looked at my phone.

Partly because I was just having so much fun, and partly because when I did think about him, there was a tiny little ‘ick’ feeling making itself present. I wasn’t used to that – we barely even argued, me and Daniel, we were usually so happy and settled together. But no matter how many times I told myself he hadn’t done anything wrong by not mentioning the Jack thing to me, the tiny little ‘ick’ was still there, tinging my thought processes.

The only thing to do in a situation like that, I’ve found, is to get so drunk you don’t have any thought processes at all – and this had been the perfect way of doing that. Plus, you know, I had managed to get the scoop on Cooper Black, and his levels of showbiz twattery – which were, it seemed, superbly low for a man who’d essentially grown up in the spotlight of the music industry, adored and moulded since he was fifteen.

Still, even acknowledging the ‘ick’ had made me feel a bit uncomfortable – and also reminded me that it was almost 5 a.m., and that I hadn’t called Daniel like I’d said I would. That was bad. He didn’t deserve the silent treatment. I needed to get back to my flat and grab a few hours’ sleep before I phoned him and tried to set this right.

I drained the last of my tequila, and turned to Neale. ‘I’m going to get off now,’ I said.

‘Oh Lord, me too! He’s only got his knickers left!’

I followed his gaze to the darts board, and saw JB fail to score yet again as his dart thudded to the ground. He turned towards us, and gave Neale the kind of lazy grin that promised every sin known to man, and then some. I couldn’t help but laugh, and gave my friend a quick cuddle. I had no idea what was going to happen with those two, but I was definitely the spare wheel tonight.

I gathered my belongings – bag, phone, the inflatable hammer we’d somehow acquired during our evening’s adventures – and stood up to leave.

Despite his distracted state, Neale still managed to grab my hand, and issued a strict warning about making sure I got straight into a cab, and didn’t talk to strangers on the way home.

‘Thanks,’ I said, leaning down to kiss the velveteen fuzz of his cropped hair. ‘See you tomorrow.’

By the time I got back to my flat, I was about 50 per cent sober. The cabbie had been chatty, and reminded me so much of my dad I almost had a drunk-girl weep as we bounced over London potholes and braked to avoid hen parties crossing the road in zigzags. I signed his receipt pad for his daughter, and posed for the obligatory selfie, aware that I had now become the star in one of those familiar ‘back of my cab. . .’ stories that I’d grown up hearing. I was just glad I hadn’t puked out of the window, or tripped over the kerb as I got out in front of my building.

When I was signed to Starmaker, I had a big place with views over the city, all paid for by the record label. It was plush and luxurious but completely lacking in soul or anything that made it feel like home. These days, I rented a much smaller but also much nicer place in West London. There was still a doorman – I needed the security, and my dad had insisted – but it’s all a lot less fake and grand.

I fumbled with the key a bit as I let myself in – I was still about 50 per cent drunk after all – and also struggled to get my inflatable hammer through the door. It took a while for the logistical part of my brain, which is never to the forefront to be honest, to realize I had to turn it lengthways rather than widthways, to squash it through.

The first thing that hit me when I closed the door behind me was the smell. It smelled of toast, which immediately made my mouth water. Then I noticed the fact that the lights were off in the living room, and I always leave them on – some kind of hangover from the days when I lived in a much less desirable part of a city, and always wanted to give the impression there was someone home.

I dropped my bag, and hefted my inflatable hammer, taking up a street fighter pose. Or as much of a street fighter pose as you can manage in six-inch heels after eight hours of drinking. I kind of knew the hammer wasn’t actually much help – it wasn’t Thor’s, after all – but it did make me feel a bit better as I tiptoed through the darkened living room, and into the kitchen.

Yep, I was right – someone had been making toast in here. That calmed me down – it seemed very unlikely that a burglar had crept in and popped a couple of slices of wholemeal under the grill while he cased the joint. What calmed me down even more was the fact that the butter was still out – which meant it was probably Daniel.

Much as he is nigh on perfect, he does still suffer from some male traits – like leaving everything scattered over the kitchen counter whenever he’s used it.

I popped the pack back in the fridge – I was my mother’s daughter after all – and crept back through to the living room to check my phone. Sure enough, there were seven missed calls, from both his landline at the farmhouse, and from his mobile.

I was instantly flooded with guilt and regret. I’d been a mean girl, retreating into my shell just because things hadn’t been perfect. It was silly and immature and not the way I wanted to behave. I was suddenly so glad he was here, and slipped off my stupidly high sandals and walked into the bedroom.

He was just a lump under the duvet, but as soon as I entered the room, he shuffled around and sat up. His chest was bare and his blond hair was sticking out at all kinds of strange angles, and he looked totally edible. I froze for a second, feeling ashamed of myself, and also wondering if he was properly awake, because he was looking very confused.

‘Nice hammer,’ he said, squinting at me and wiping his blue eyes clear of sleep.

‘Oh!’ I said, throwing it to the floor. ‘I’d forgotten I had it. . .’

He pulled the covers back, and patted the other side of the bed in invitation. I didn’t need asking more than once, and immediately climbed in and snuggled up against him. We were both quiet for a few moments, settling into the familiar shape of each other’s body, my head laid against his chest, his lips kissing the top of my hair. It felt so good – so natural, and safe, and right, to be back home in more ways than one.

‘Good night?’ he asked, his hands stroking my shoulder reassuringly. I realized that I needed the reassurance – that I had been worried about seeing him again. About whether we’d done any permanent damage, intentionally or not.

‘Great night. I was out with Neale and . . . a friend of his. We played strip darts. Well, they did. I retained my dignity.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. I’ve seen you play darts, I think that pub down the road from our college still has holes in the wall to prove it. You OK? I got worried when I didn’t hear back from you, so I headed here. I needed to tell you in person how sorry I am, about the Jack thing. I know—’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said, interrupting him, squeezing him tight. ‘None of it matters. I’m just glad you’re here. I didn’t feel right without you.’

‘It does matter, and I need to say it. You know I’d never intend to hurt you, but on top of you seeing Jack like you did, which must have been a shock, you were left feeling like I’d somehow let you down. And I had – even if I did what I thought at the time was the right thing. We shouldn’t have secrets from each other. It’s like keeping secrets from yourself, isn’t it?’

I nodded, and held on to him even harder. He was right – and he hadn’t been the only one keeping secrets, had he? I hadn’t planned on raising the Cooper Black issue tonight – or possibly ever, depending on what I decided to do – but suddenly I felt like I should. I realized that keeping it from him had been eating away at me, and definitely contributing more to the ‘ick’ feeling than I’d given it credit for.

Daniel and I have something special, and hiding things was disrespectful to that. My mum and dad had survived decades, three kids, and a lifetime of hard work – and they’d done it together. If I wanted the same kind of relationship they had, I couldn’t just ignore the difficult stuff and bury my head in the sand. Or even a bottle of tequila.

‘You’re right,’ I said, ‘and there’s something else I need to tell you.’

I felt him tense slightly next to me, and realized how worrying that might sound to a boyfriend whose girl had gone AWOL for the night after an almost-fight.

‘No, nothing like that, I’d never! It’s a work thing, I suppose. I’ve had a proposal from Cooper Black.’

‘Oh. That’s a bit sudden. I can’t blame him for loving you, Jessy, but have you ever even met the guy?’

‘Not that kind of proposal, stupid!’ I replied, poking him in the ribs. He knew that, obviously – he was just trying to lighten the mood. Make things easier for me. One of the many reasons I loved him so very much.

‘He contacted me, and said he wants me to work with him. Do a feature slot on his new single. What do you think?’

Daniel was silent for a few moments – he’s not the kind of person to respond without thinking, unlike me. He’s far more measured and, I suspect, basically intelligent. I sometimes feel like I’m just a set of emotions on legs.

‘Well, I think it’s a great idea,’ he said eventually. I looked up from my nest on his chest, and saw that he was staring off into the distance, chewing his lip, and looking serious. He was thinking through the implications, so I jumped right in – I’d been thinking about them for a lot longer than he had, after all, so I had a head start.

‘I was worried about leaving you. And leaving Vogue. And leaving my family.’

He pondered it for a few more seconds, then said: ‘Well, why would you need to leave us? If it’s just a featuring, then you wouldn’t even need to do it with him, in the States. He could just send over the track and we could record your part at In Vogue, or at home. You’re finishing off your album anyway, so we’ll be practically living in the studio for the next few weeks. It’d be easy. You could do it in your pyjamas.’

‘You really think so?’ I asked, hopefully, propping myself up on one arm so I could see his face properly. Daniel is a terrible liar, which is very much to his credit, and I knew I’d be able to tell if he was bluffing. Happily, he just had his ‘figuring out the solution’ face on, not his ‘covering up bullshit’ face.

‘Yeah, of course. From what I’ve heard, he’s going to be massive. I know the people he’s been working with, and they’re quality. This could be the biggest single of the year, and if you have the chance to be part of it, you should.’

‘But what if it’s more?’ I asked, hearing all the tensions and underlying anxieties pour out in my voice. ‘What if I have to go there to do promo, or launches, or a tour? What if it all grows and grows and turns into a giant octopus that eats all my free time and takes me away from you? It only feels like we’ve been together for five minutes, and we’re just settling into life, and I don’t want to leave you all alone with Gandalf!’

He stared at me, at my frowning expression and hurried words, and did what any sensible person would – burst out laughing.

He sat up, and took my face between his hands, stroking my skin in a way that wasn’t just reassuring, but was starting to be quite distracting. Because, you know, my Daniel is also super-fit – and lying naked in my bed.

‘Jessy,’ he said, firmly, ‘I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I have enough belief in this relationship that I’m not even remotely scared by Cooper Black, or you spending time away, or by a giant octopus. Besides, I have a lot of stuff coming up as well. Vella’s asked me to do her whole album with her. She wants to come and stay at the studio, and get some musicians in, and lay the whole thing down live. That’s another thing I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.’

I had, I realized, been acting like a total knob. I’d been worrying myself sick about something that might never even happen, and even if it did happen, not having the faith in me and Daniel to feel OK about it. And I’d been so caught up in my own worries that it never even occurred to me that this was a challenge for him as well – he had his own career to think about, a brilliant career. The whole world didn’t revolve around me.

I’d been tearing myself up about a single I didn’t even have to leave the house to record, and he’d been worried that I’d mind about Vella – one of those funky soul diva types – effectively moving into my territory.

‘Will she stay in the barn with Gandalf?’ I asked, smiling at the thought.

‘I thought about that, but I think she’d be happier in the guest block, don’t you? And she’s cool. You’ll like her. Maybe we can invite Cooper Black over for dinner, and set them up with each other. . .’

I pondered that for a moment. It would possibly be the most showbizzy blind date known to man, assuming they could both cope with a few days in the English countryside. Cooper was from New York, and Vella, as far as I remembered, was from Berlin, so they might be a bit thrown off by the mud and the chickens. Still. It was an amusing idea.

‘Maybe,’ I replied, letting my hand drift from his bare chest to another bare place, beneath the sheets. He responded in an immediate and very flattering manner. ‘And maybe we should just stop thinking about Vella, and Cooper Black, and singles, and albums, and definitely Gandalf, and start thinking about ourselves.’

In one quick move, he had me lying flat on my back, and was undoing the buttons on my top.

‘Or maybe we should just stop thinking altogether. . .’ he whispered, kissing my neck in a way that had exactly that effect.

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