Chapter Seventeen
T he next morning, as my eyes opened, the memory of last night began to fill the room. Jimi was lodged in my consciousness.
I tried to bat away the thought of him, trying to turn my mind instead to thinking about Rob waking up in our flat. the familiar shaft of morning light above the curtains no doubt bothering him as usual.
Rob and I were really good at Saturdays.
We would rise late, often after sex. One of us would bring mugs of tea back to bed, we’d bake frozen croissants, get dressed, ignore all the washing-up in the sink and go for a walk around Portobello Road, perusing market stalls crammed with oddities, and pick things out for our fantasy future home.
His mum still lived in Holland Park, and Rob grew up in the heart of wealthy West London, so he knew the streets really well.
It was so attractive when I first met him, because his family were part of the original Notting Hill Set.
He could always get a table at Osteria Basilico, knew the Oxfam shop where you could bag an authentic designer bag if you were lucky, and exactly what time was best to beat the queue at the small Portuguese bakery selling pastel de natas that melted on your tongue.
Sometimes we would buy a second-hand book each from the quaint back-room bookstore near Ladbroke Grove and take them to the Windsor Castle pub, ideally finding a table by the fire to settle in for a couple of hours.
I didn’t question whether I was a twenty-something living a fifty-something life, because we were so comfortable with each other, and I was content with that.
At least I thought I was – until I met Jimi.
There was something so intriguing about him, perhaps it was the contrast to the life I knew.
Yet when I tried to piece together the details of last night, my memory was sketchy.
Had he called me beautiful in a way that meant something?
Blair had given me the impression he was a lothario, so why did this feel so good?
Am I imagining the connection between us?
I gulped down the glass of water next to my bed and popped two pills, but it didn’t feel as though they would make much of a difference. Short of injecting paracetamol into my eyeballs, I knew this hangover was going nowhere today.
I went to lift my phone, but my arms didn’t seem to want to respond.
A few twinges from the Pilates reformer had turned into full-scale delayed onset muscle soreness.
Keeping my arms close to my sides, I slid my finger from WhatsApp, where there was still nothing from Rob – although, I was almost past expecting him to call – to the phone icon, where I saw a missed call from Vicky.
Then I scrolled on to Instagram, noticing a high number of new followers to my profile, which had admittedly lain dormant since I’d moved in with Mandy, because I was so heavily restricted from posting anything by the NDA I signed.
Sitting up straighter, I noticed I was tagged in a reel which had been reposted hundreds of times.
It was from last night, and I was dancing in the foreground, with Mandy behind me, dancing on the coffee table barefoot, carefree.
A number of the images had a red ring scrawled around Mandy’s middle.
The same question was circulating widely.
Baby news for Mandy???
Is our Queen expecting?
That looks like a bump to me!
Baby Baby Baby!
I hadn’t noticed last night, or even during the photoshoot, but it did look as though there was, perhaps, a slight roundness to her middle. But it was negligible at most and could easily be the angle.
My immediate thought was how horrible it must be to have this kind of scrutiny over your body. In the online world it seemed even your own body was public property. It wasn’t right, especially if all you wanted was to become pregnant.
Poor Mandy. I wondered whether she had looked at Instagram yet this morning.
I was still pondering this thought when my phone rang.
‘Finally! I’ve been trying you all night!’ Vicky said.
‘Babe, you do realise it’s only seven a.m. here. I’ve not even had five hours’ sleep.’
‘It’s gone midnight here. I’ve been match-sticking my eyes open, I was so keen to speak to you. After that text you sent, I’ve been desperate for an update.’
‘What text?’ A foreboding feeling melted over my delicate, hungover body.
‘The one saying that you were about to do something you might regret with a hot guy from Miami? Did you really think I could just switch off my phone and go to sleep on that kind of cliffhanger?’
‘Oh. Sorry. I don’t remember sending that.’
‘Spill then – did you or didn’t you do something you might regret?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Oh, how disappointing. Who is this Miami hottie then?’
‘He’s called Jimi, he’s Jose’s brother. He’s ridiculously fit. We hung out a bit last night, but now I’m feeling stupid for fancying him and I can’t really remember what happened.’
‘Why stupid?’
‘Because he’s from Miami, a DJ, and a PT, he wears a white puffa jacket and he’s got “I’m not the kind of guy you should fancy” written all over his face. Plus – and you know this – I’m in a relationship!’
‘Listen, babe, I know you. I know you would never intentionally hurt a fly. But you haven’t said much about Rob recently – how is he?’
‘I wish I knew. We’ve barely spoken since I’ve been in here. He doesn’t call me back. So, things have been a bit crap since I moved into this house.’
‘Excuse me while I fall asleep,’ she said, yawning, ‘I can see why you’re looking for some excitement.’
‘Jimi has been a welcome distraction to be honest. In fact, I can’t stop thinking about him.’
‘It sounds like you fancy the boxers off him.’
‘What am I going to do about it?’
‘Life is short, Amber Green.’
‘But he’s probably a massive player.’
‘Or maybe he’s not? Having a spark with someone is special.’
‘Is it? Aren’t there lots of people you could spark with? The real test is whether you act on it or not.’
‘So do you want to act on it?’
‘Hmm.’
‘Well, that tells me everything I need to know. If you were technically available, would you?’ Vicky asked pointedly.
‘I guess so. But I’m not.’
‘Well, all you’ve done is moan about Rob and gush about Jimi. Maybe you and Rob need a break?’
‘A break ?’
It sounded so big. Massive. Crushing. I mean, it’s not as if it hadn’t crossed my mind until now. But a break?
‘That’s what I said. You’re not married, are you?’
‘I think you’d know if we were.’
‘And it’s not as if you have children,’ Vicky added.
‘Sometimes it feels as though we’ve been married for twenty years,’ I said morosely.
‘You could have couples’ counselling,’ she replied.
‘To be honest it feels premature to be thinking about relationship counselling when we’re only two years in.’
‘I think you know the answer, babe,’ Vicky said. ‘Remember, it’s not really a biggie, people have breaks and get back together all the time. Or they don’t.’
‘But we live together.’
‘You rent together.’
‘But we’re thinking about buying together. That’s half the reason I took this contract, to help save for our deposit.’
‘Circumstances change. Maybe this is the test you need.’
‘You can be so callous. What about supporting Rob when he’s going through a low patch?’
‘If he’d let you! But anyway, ask yourself not what Rob’s going to do, but what you want to do. What do you need , Amber?’
‘I need an orgasm.’ We both giggled.
‘You can get that without a man!’ Vicky replied.
‘Do you think Jimi’s been put into this house to test me?’ I asked.
‘Perhaps. I know what I’d do.’
‘So do I.’
‘And that’s precisely why you drunk-texted me last night. You wanted permission.’
‘I didn’t!’
‘You so did!’
‘I’m just going to avoid him today. He’s a bad influence.’
‘Yeah, good luck with that. I need to go to bed now. Text me if there are any juicy updates. Love you, babe.’
‘Love you too.’
Vicky had got me thinking, I wasn’t imagining a distance between Rob and me, there really was a gulf.
We still hadn’t ironed out why he was messaging his ex either.
Irrespective of Jimi, maybe we do need a break?
I tried to think about how I would feel about not having Rob to go home to when I finished the contract with Mandy, and it didn’t fill me with the same kind of fear it once would have done.
Maybe it wasn’t just in my head, maybe Rob and I really were drifting apart.
After breakfast, Jose called us all together in the lounge, which had been magically cleared up from last night, presumably by Philippa and her cleaning elves. When we assembled, in varying states of hangover, he cleared his throat and delivered the news.
‘West Wittering,’ he said, ‘is going to have to wait. Amber, Jimi, you need to pack – we’ve swapped that idea for a flying visit to West Hollywood.
Just the four of us. The car leaves at five a.m. tomorrow.
Amber, you and Jimi will ride together, and we’ll meet you in the lounge at T5.
The flight details should be in your email already. ’
Registering the fact that my face looked like I’d just seen Jimi walk into the room naked, Jose looked up and caught my eye. ‘All okay, Amber? You have your passport, right?’
‘Um, yes.’ I stole a look at Jimi, and he smiled back at me.
I was so startled I hadn’t even properly registered that Jose’s reference to ‘the lounge’ meant we weren’t flying economy, which ordinarily would have been reason to instigate a conga around the room.
Instead, the thought of being in close proximity to Jimi in a car and on a plane and in LA made me feel a mix of panic and exhilaration.
‘What’s the plan over there?’ I tried to act cool, looking towards Julie-Ann for an answer.
But she looked worse for wear, her normally poker-straight hair was flicking out and if I wasn’t mistaken, she was in the same sequinned skirt she’d been wearing last night, with a hoodie on top which I was sure I’d seen on Coco before.