Chapter 19
Day Seven
I sit, still reeling from the knowledge. Somehow, across the years, in all those small encounters, Christian has built up feelings for me while I was oblivious. Did I just not see? Or did he hide them well? I scroll back through those times, replaying them in exquisite slow motion through a new lens, bringing them into sharper focus.
In the early days, behind the scenes of the Star Power show, there were almost daily hugs of congratulations and consolation. Did my innocent embraces and brief kisses brushed on his stubbly cheek offer him the hope of something more?
There was one night later on, when the band was really taking off. We were all together at an awards ceremony, Ollie the only one of the four guys whose family turned up in support. During the dinner before, Christian sat opposite me, and we talked across the table. All of us there hummed with anticipation, the air tingling with electricity. But it seems perhaps something else lay behind the intensity in Christian’s blue eyes, and his singular focus on me.
At the after party we all danced, a riotous celebration of their first big win. In the final slow dance, as the evening wound to a close, I laughed with Teddy, he so painfully shy back then, stepping all over my feet, and Christian teasingly nudged him aside, claiming he needed to save me from being crippled by his bandmate’s clumsiness. There are nuances to the memory of those minutes—his breath on my neck, a firm hand splayed on my lower back, a small contented sigh, and a shy kiss on the cheek as he thanked me for dancing with him—all rushing back in bright colours. In the glow of alcohol and with the lingering buzz of the band’s success pulsing in my veins, I’d thought nothing of it. But it wasn’t nothing. Not for him.
There was the record launch when Ollie insisted I come along. They imitated a U2 publicity stunt, playing unannounced on the roof of a city building. When the crowd got out of hand, and security started looking skyward, the guys abandoned their instruments to the crew. We raced down the stairs of a back fire escape, tumbling into their manager, Ewan’s tiny Citro?n, an unlikely getaway car, like a group of naughty kids, laughing and squealing. Teddy in the front seat beside Ewan, Garrett trying to make himself small in the centre of the back seat, Ollie falling in one rear door and pulling Kendra in after him and Christian doing the same on the other side, dragging me onto his knee. I can still feel the heat of his body beneath mine, the strong arm looped across my waist bracing me so I wasn’t flung all over the place by Ewan’s stunt driving.
And then last year at Ollie’s country house, that awful bank holiday weekend when we were all there—me with Jack. Jack and I argued, our relationship in its death throes. He sniped at me endlessly, over tiny ridiculous things, in what I now know was his pathetic attempt to make me the one to call time on it. Desperate to create an excuse for me to walk away before I found out what he and Paige were up to behind my back. I can still picture Christian’s look of disgust, the tense set of his jaw, him brushing past me in the hallway, in a whisper asking if I was OK. I wasn’t, but I’d lied, ashamed.
Over three years, we’ve spoken, touched, hugged, offered chaste kisses of greeting, yet all I saw was a rather distant but pleasant, polite guy; my brother’s friend. But Christian has seen more, and wanted more. This is another reason he chose me as his sanctuary. I swallow hard. A whirlwind of emotions swirls like I’m in a snow globe, plucked into the air by a giant hand and given a vigorous shake. I buy myself time, deflecting Loreena’s curiosity with a question.
“And he stopped them using the snares?” Christian feared with him gone, they’d go ahead anyway, even though Rachel believed otherwise.
“Yes, that too. Tell him it worked. They collected them all in. Issued everyone with a ‘bonus gift’ of some supermarket chicken and told us all to stick to fishing.”
“So, how come they kicked you out?” I ask.
She laughs. “No darling, they didn’t kick me out. I demanded to go. There was no way I’d stay and be a player in that charade so they could profit from it. I was so damn happy to leave.”
“But you were crying. You looked so sad.”
“Oh, that wasn’t about the leaving,” she scoffs. “Well, it kind of was. There were a few of the other contestants, the men, who were decent human beings. Not the sharpest tools on the shelf, but I can forgive stupid. I got a bit emotional, hearing they were sorry to see me go. Wasn’t expecting that . And, then, seeing the car there, the security staff—like a replay of the day before when Christian left. It hit home how awful they were to him—and me. The same shit happening again. With one important difference—those bastards don’t see me as a threat. Which gives me an advantage.”
“How come you two teamed up so well?” I’m curious. Christian hasn’t really explained why he sat there with such a smug smile when they announced Loreena would be his official partner. “Opposites attract?”
The moment the words are out, I cringe a little, thinking I’ve offered this woman a back-handed insult. However, she takes no offence and laughs, that throaty rasp the nation knows spilling out.
“No,” she chuckles, “and it wasn’t me going all cougar on him either. Although it was fun pretending.” Her eyes spark with wicked glee at the memory.
I smile. “You did a good job convincing a few million people otherwise.” She’s a brilliant actor. Anyone watching that show would fully believe her goal was to sink those red claws into Christian’s young body.
Now, seeing her and Tommy together—her love for the stocky rough around the edges guy with his incongruous Cockney accent and designer leisure wear is on full display here in their home; and his adoration and tender concern for the surprisingly serene and kind woman in front of me is indisputable—I have no doubt Loreena had no need or desire to ensnare Christian.
“Oh, of course I was drawn to him,” she says. “And him to me. But not like that. You see, while we might appear very different, Christian and I are the same. We recognised that in each other. The world sees both of us in a certain way. They want to label us, judge us, and find us wanting, so they can feel justified in saying hurtful things about us. They get to say things they’d never say to our faces, and no one calls them out on it. I’m no psychologist, but I think most people need an outlet for all the nastiness inside them. Society expects us to hide it. Be nice, polite, respectful. But with celebrities, particularly ones who are portrayed as behaving badly—well, they’re fair game.”
I nod and shuffle a little in the seat, feeling the warmth of shame rising in my cheeks. Loreena is exactly right. I know, because I’ve been one of those people. Judged her, judged Christian, and all the others paraded across our screens and in the newspapers. From Loreena’s sympathetic gaze, I suspect she understands the reason for my discomfort. Shouldn’t I be the one offering sympathy here?
“I’m sorry,” I stumble over the words. “I…”
She extends a hand across mine. “It’s fine,” she says. “And I’ll be the first to admit I bring some of it on myself.” There’s that hint of wicked fun in the upturn of her mouth. “But he doesn’t. It’s not fair.” Her smile falls, a wistful shadow dimming her eyes, like a cloud marring the blue of a summer sky. “Anyway,” she says briskly, gathering herself a little straighter in her chair, summoning a brighter tone. “Let me tell you how we ended up here.”
Loreena explains how things rolled out on the show. I know most of it, but it’s safer to pretend ignorance. If I have to live the lie, swear Christian told me nothing, she’ll be a useful witness, who can back me in the claim that everything I know about Wild For The Win came from her .
She howls with delight at the producers unwittingly throwing her and Christian together. But there’s a fleeting sadness in her eyes as she suggests what everyone knows—from the beginning, it was obvious one of them would have won the prize. Her charity, a women’s refuge, is one she’s supported for a long time and she’ll donate to them, anyway. There’s no doubt, judging by this house, Tommy and Loreena are seriously wealthy. Through their ability to give generously, the refuge won’t be short of money over the holiday season. Sadly, Christmas isn’t a time of peace and harmony for everyone, rather one where family violence escalates, so it’s much needed. Although, it’s because of Loreena’s connection to the refuge that the implication in last night’s episode, that Christian hurt her enrages her even more.
“That they’d fabricate a story about something like that…it’s so wrong.” She shakes her head with a frustrated huff, blue eyes blazing. “You see, if I say nothing, Christian has to live with everyone thinking he’s a bad man, not the gentle, caring guy we know. But, if I come out and claim it’s not true…well, some people are going to say I lied—accusing him and then backing off for fear of being caught out in the lie. It feeds the myth that women make false accusations.” There’s an angry set to her mouth, her face flushed with indignation. “You know I’ve spent a lot of time at the refuge. I’ve sat with these women, heard their stories. So many are too frightened to speak up; often they’re scared no one will believe them. Things like the kind of stunt those bastards pulled on nationwide TV perpetuate that fear.”
She pauses a moment, one arm folded across her chest, propping her chin on the other, and her mouth lifts in a smile. “I’m ashamed to admit, when I watched the episode last night, it made me want to dish out a bit of violence of my own,” she says with a coy dip of her head. “But Tommy told me to settle down. And he’s right—there are better ways. Money is their god, and that’s where we’re going to hit them. Right where it will hurt them most.”
“We?” I ask. “You and Tommy.”
“No.” She spreads her palms wide. “What can I do? I’m stuck here. You and Tommy.”
I nod. I’d thought if I was to help Christian, I’d be fighting this on my own. Now it seems I’ll have an ally. That’s a relief, especially as it’s a man who looks like he’s the veteran of a few fights. Tommy Bunt certainly didn’t achieve all he has by being timid.
“My lawyer friend came by last night and took a look at the agreement Christian signed. She thinks it only prevents him from blowing the whistle on them. That they can’t touch him legally if the information about what he did comes from someone else. Like you.”
She smirks, nodding. “Tommy’s going to be pissed. He paid his lawyer a large amount of money to come to the same conclusion. It seems, in the hurry to bundle us off out of there, they didn’t cover all their bases.”
As if he’s heard his name, Tommy arrives with a fresh pot of tea and a plate heaped with neat triangular sandwiches. He settles into an armchair, a twin of the one Loreena’s in. They’re an unlikely king and queen, side by side on their thrones.
“Right,” he says, keen blue eyes darting between us. “Whatcha thinking, ladies?”
Two hours go by, and as I stand to leave, there’s a wrench as if I’m parting from old friends. I want to spend more time with these two; and it seems I will be with Tommy at least, as we fire off texts to lawyers, mine to Rachel, and his to a man named Jeremy. The plan is for the four of us to meet to plot strategy tomorrow.
Raymond, who oddly doubles as a makeshift butler as well as Tommy’s spy, greets me at the front door with my coat in hand. I button it tight, ready to face the bleak outside, where the day has disappeared, and the late afternoon sky hangs heavy with cloud. Loreena waits, Tommy the shorter of the pair hovering behind her. As I sling my bag over my shoulder, she steps in, embracing me in a hug so hard I can barely breathe; my face crushed against her ample breasts, her hands clasped around my head. I breathe in the heavy spice of her perfume, a sultry oriental fragrance, so like the sexy bedroom-eyed Loreena she presents to the world, it might have been crafted for her. Standing back, she gives me a smug smile.
“Did he tell you about the song?” One immaculate brow arches, and I can see she’s fizzing like a fresh glass of champagne.
“The song?”
“Untouchable. Is that right? His favourite.”
I nod. “Yeah, he wrote that one.”
She leans in and whispers it against my ear, a secret just for me.
“He wrote it for you, darling.”
“No,” I say, pulling back with a frown, shaking my head in disbelief. “He wrote that three years ago. I mean, I hardly knew him.”
“Oh, but he knew you, Haley,” she says.
‘Untouchable’. The song only Christian sings. The lyrics framed on his bedroom wall. For me. About me. I don’t argue with the truth now it’s in front of me. The pieces of the puzzle of Christian Steele’s feelings for me have fallen into place this afternoon, while my own lay scattered haphazardly; my mind in disarray, challenging me to make sense of this picture. It’s complicated, even before I begin to consider the weight of the fact he’s my brother’s best friend.
As I coax the engine to life, with its decadent purr rumbling through the portico, Tommy and Loreena stand side by side on the front steps. They offer cheery waves as if they’re seeing me off after a tea party, not a secret meeting of the resistance. Things could still get ugly, but after our conversation, my anxiety has subsided. Hope we could actually win this war surges in me, knowing Tommy and Loreena are in our corner. In our corner. Christian’s and mine. It’s strange how easily the ‘he’ has become ‘we’. And this half of the ‘we’ has put him through unnecessary worry today.
Guilt drives me to pull over just before I get to the road and I send a response to his earlier frantic texts. I try to sound casual, like nothing much has happened, hoping he’ll forgive my recklessness when I later confess what I’ve already done for him, and what I’m about to do.