Chapter 5
Cymru - Wales
Lucy
Twelve hours in Cardiff, and I’m already in love with the Welsh.
They’re so friendly. Despite my train from London being busy, the conductor helped me lift my overstuffed suitcase onto the platform.
I had to do it myself in Paddington. A young lad, spotting that I was in a rush, let me move ahead of him in the queue for a taxi and my rental host didn’t once complain about me being half an hour late to collect my keys – because of a sheep on the line, not me.
Once I got into the flat, it was a quick unpack and straight to bed, ready for an early start. The Uber I ordered for first thing in the morning arrived exactly on time, and as soon as the driver learned I was new to the city, he gave me the unofficial tour.
‘That prison over there, that’s Victorian, that is… You see that lake? That’s Roath, the first public park up yer… Now this long street. This is where all the rich people live. I’ll go easy, give you chance to have a good nose.’
The car slows to a roll. We crawl past large detached houses waiting behind wrought-iron gates and bare, spindly trees. The homes sit with at least a quarter acre of garden between them, spaced out as if worried their neighbour will gossip about them.
It’s exactly like the pictures. As soon as Cai’s address landed in my inbox, I was on Zoopla faster than a Topaz record shooting to number one. According to my Google search, all the big Welsh celebrities live on Cherry Tree Road. Rugby and football players. Politicians. And of course, Cai.
My bag creaks as I tighten my grip on the strap. Moving to Wales was a huge leap, but now I’m here, I’m looking forward to it. After speaking to his manager for over two hours the other day, I’m positive I’m the assistant they need. Just because Margaret wasn’t a great fit, doesn’t mean I won’t be.
Cai’s dipped in and out of my life, especially while he was dating Topaz, and we’ve always got on – dressing room incidents aside. He’s friendly, always up for a chat, and Margaret’s the only person with a bad thing to say about him. Three pros to one con.
Well, two cons if you count Rhys, and I don’t.
The driver turns in his seat once we’ve drifted to a stop.
‘We’re here, bach. But if you’ve come to stalk the poor guy, it weren’t me who dropped you off, okay? I ain’t losing my licence cos he got harassed. They’re cracking down on it.’
I peer out the window. Aside from a handful of grown men loitering at the gate – definitely paparazzi, not groupies if the cameras and cigs are anything to go by – the street is empty. It is early, though, barely eight. Maybe the Welsh enjoy a later start.
‘Thank you,’ I reply, ‘but I promise I’m here on official business.’
‘All right, I’ll put my trust in you, I will.
Here’s m’card if you ever need another lift.
Don’t forget to rate me high, bach, and I’ll do you one right back.
Needs the business. Too many bloody drivers in this city, there is.
’ He gives me a cheery wave as he pulls away from the pavement. ‘Ta-ra, cariad. See you soon, yeah?’
The group waiting at the gate zip into action, lifting their expensive-looking equipment to grab a shot.
As if a celebrity would roll up in a taxi and ring the doorbell.
I widen my smile even further in case they try for a picture anyway.
Nobody wants to be in the papers or on a website looking miserable.
A massive rolling gate towers between two red brick pillars, and I check the number on the plaque.
Number thirty-three. I memorised the address as soon as they sent it to me, and I checked it at least twice on the short ride over here, but I flip out my phone to compare.
The last thing I need is to disturb some big burly rugby player from their beauty sleep.
A text waits on my lock screen.
Felicity
Olly and Izzy wish Aunty Lucy a massive good luck in her new job today. We miss you already. Fucking smash it babes xxx
I don’t need the boost, but I’ll take it. I swipe the message away, and find the instructions the agency sent me last week. Access can be granted via an intercom on the left-hand pillar. The grey box stands out against the red brickwork. So far, so good.
It would have been much better if I could have visited before I started, but everything’s online nowadays.
Doesn’t matter; it’s amazing what detail you can find after a few hours of Googling.
When he bought the house, Cai did an exclusive interview with a magazine – one of only a handful of glimpses he’s given into his private life – so at least I have a rough idea of what to expect.
I’m excited to see it all in person. Which I won’t do if I carry on standing outside.
I press the buzzer.
‘Ballsy move,’ one of the paparazzi mutters, a cigarette dangling out the corner of his mouth.
A reed of a man wearing a highlighter-pink beanie nods. ‘Doubt anyone’s in. A car left an hour ago, and nobody’s returned since.’
‘The sign by there says you can only go in if you’ve got an appointment,’ a round man adds.
‘Yeah, love,’ Cigarette Man cuts in. ‘They don’t welcome fans up yer.’
‘Well, it’s a good job I’m not a fan,’ I reply with a smile so wide, my cheeks ache.
‘Hello?’ A scratchy, disjointed voice finally pipes up.
I lean down so my head is level with the speaker, igniting a round of jeers from behind me.
As if they’ve never seen a fat girl in a pencil skirt.
I take a big breath. First impressions are everything.
This job is going to be different. If it’s not, Felicity will crucify me and I’ll definitely have to tell my dads how much I’ve messed up.
‘Good morning. It’s Lucy Taylor. I have an appointment with Gethin Williams at eight.’
‘Ah, Lucy. Brilliant. A little early, but we’re ready for you. Come in. Come in. I’ll meet you at the front door.’
The intercom clicks off. The gate swings open. Okay, I can do this. New job. New attitude. I pull in a deep breath and strike a power pose. Hands on hips, chest puffed out, head held high.
I’m ready.
‘Oh, lads, watch out for this one. Bonkers, she is.’
‘Cameras ready. She might do something fun.’
I let their jokes slide over me and crunch onto the sandy-coloured stones.
Cai’s isn’t the biggest house on the street, but it’s a huge step-up from my studio flat in Spitalfields and Topaz’s Chelsea townhouse.
Neatly-trimmed privet hedges line the path to the house, stretching all the way to the edge, where the greenery gives way to bare branches of what I think might be a Wisteria.
The vines threaten to overtake the whole house, creeping from the left, twisting around the pillars of the porch before continuing their domination of the right side of the red brickwork.
The door itself is plain – standard white PVC at the top of two short steps.
A stained-glass porthole smiles at me from above the doorway.
Aside from the Wisteria and the three-car garage, the house is perfectly symmetrical. A bay window sits either side of the porch, trimmed with boxwood bushes.
The door opens with a soft whoosh. Behind it waits a tall, darkly handsome middle-aged man with the best moustache I’ve ever seen.
Gethin. Cai’s label-appointed manager. Runs the place like a tight ship, if Cai’s grumbling is anything to go by. He’s tidy-looking, his designer suit crease-free and cut tight to his slim body. Tailored only for him. He extends a hand to me as soon as I’m at the top of the steps.
‘Gethin Williams. Lovely to finally meet you in person, Lucy.’
His handshake is firm and immediately reassuring. I’m going to enjoy working with him. ‘It’s nice to meet you, too.’
‘Please, come on in.’ He opens the door wider for me, revealing the world’s most beautiful foyer.
The floor is a maze of colour Victorian tiles.
Streaks of early sun light up the thick hand-painted Chinoiserie wallpaper.
Lemon and jasmine fill my deep inhale, although there are no candles or diffusers to be seen.
The sills and shelves are full of Wedgewood vases, stuffed with dried amaranth flowers.
A grand staircase occupies most of the floorspace. Sweeping bannisters accompany plush carpet as it climbs towards a mezzanine. Rooms and corridors head off in every direction.
‘You can leave your bag at the coat stand. No need to lug all of that around the house. This way, please.’ He leads me along an art-covered corridor, and I follow him as slowly as I can get away with. The collection is eclectic, with no theme, but they all fit together so well.
‘Cai bought this house after his first single went platinum,’ he tells me once he’s noticed my gawping.
‘Despite my pleas, he refused an interior designer, choosing to decorate the place in a way that reflects his personality.’ I know this already – the article said as much – but I nod along anyway.
‘I couldn’t argue with him, since he allowed me to convert the west wing into our offices.
It makes sense for us all to work from the same place when we’re not on the road.
Means we can plan things better. We work at pace here. ’
I tear my gaze from an abstract portrait of Cai performing to hurry after Gethin. ‘That’s perfect for me. Quick and efficient is my specialty. And the house is lovely.’
‘Cai takes a laid-back approach to his work,’ he continues, stopping halfway down the corridor.
‘It can be a little too relaxed sometimes. Which is why we’ve brought you on board.
Not that he’s difficult at all.’ He opens an office door, gesturing for me to head in first. ‘I gather you’ve already met him? ’
‘My last job was working with Topaz.’