Stuck On You Page 9

  ‘This emergency is starting to sound less urgent,’ I tell him. ‘Come on, tell me what was worth ruining my date for.’

  ‘It really is important,’ he says, getting back to business. ‘I was processing my pictures of Mackie and, well, they’re just awful. He doesn’t look like a wrongly accused man, he doesn’t look like a murderer. He just looks like some middle-aged bloke in his Sunday best. Just empty, boring images. They’re no use to me at all. I’m going to have to go back to the drawing board. Find a new subject.’

  I lie back on my bed and quietly laugh to myself.

  ‘Of course, you are,’ I say. ‘Of course, you are.’

  ‘OK, but time is running out,’ he says. ‘And there’s so much pressure on me, and the deadline is looming for the show…’

  Because we don’t cancel shows when we decide to abandon our projects, apparently, we leave them booked in and just start from scratch – even when they’re only two months away.

  ‘Can we have a brainstorming session?’ he asks. ‘Obviously I still have to do the wedding tomorrow, but we can catch the helicopter back as soon as possible after, get straight on with it. But if we could just come up with something…’

  I sigh.

  ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Sadie, you’re an angel,’ he tells me. ‘Let me order us some more biscuits, we’ll see what we can come up with. I am so relieved we’re always in this together.’

  That’s just the thing – although I can’t tell him yet, not until things are official – I don’t think we are in this together any more. I might have had a few doubts earlier but now I am absolutely sure I am doing the right thing. I need to take this new job and give my notice ASAP because Hunter was right: I’ll never have a normal life if I don’t.

  15

  I am both pleased and incredibly relieved to report that Angel and Ryan’s wedding went ahead without a blip, a blunder or a bloody murder. Well, so far anyway. With our plates cleared and the speeches taking place now, we’re about to transition from the formal sit-down to the more casual evening do. You never know, perhaps as people drink more, and start dancing, things might liven up – not that I want them to. A peaceful party suits me. I was a little worried that Hunter might say something to me or, even worse, say something to Damian, but he’s completely blanked me all day. Don’t get me wrong, I am upset that my work life is affecting my personal life, but, now that I’ve had a little time to think on it, I’m not all that bothered things didn’t work out between us. Well, other than a bold sense of fashion, I’m not sure how much we had in common. I doubt it would have worked out in the long run, but I was down for the short run. So to speak.

  I’m glad we didn’t wind up sitting on the same table today, and that the wedding is well under way now. This will all be over soon; we just need to keep going through the motions until all the wedding formalities are over and done with.

  Because everything is basically the Terry Mackie Show, you had better believe this wedding has been engineered around him being the headliner – there’s even a camera crew here, which makes me think they might be filming another instalment of ‘Til Death Do Us Part.

  Tradition be damned, even the order of the speeches has been rejigged to lead up to Mackie giving his ‘father of the bride’ speech last, so he can well and truly steal the show, I’d imagine.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please,’ he says into his microphone.

  Mackie wasn’t famous before all the, y’know, dead wives business, but he’s so completely at home with it now. He holds his mic like an old pro, with all the swagger of a Frank Sinatra tribute act, and he speaks with such self-assurance. It’s almost as though, if he says things with enough confidence, or insists things are true, then how could anyone possibly think he was lying?

  ‘Here we go, the main event,’ Damian whispers to me with a cheeky grin.

  I raise my eyebrows in response, turning straight back to the top table, not wanting to miss a moment of the action. Every second of this man is great TV.

  ‘I won’t waste any time introducing myself. I’m sure everyone here already knows who I am,’ Mackie starts. ‘If you don’t, well, congratulations on sneaking into such an expensive meal, and maybe pick up a newspaper once in a while.’

  That polite wave of laughter you always get during speeches crashes around the room. Well, it’s rare speech jokes are actually funny, isn’t’ it?

  ‘I want to thank you all for coming to my Angel’s wedding today,’ he continues. ‘It’s been such a wonderful day so far, welcoming Ryan into our crazy little family, handing over my little girl to him, threatening him with unthinkable things if he doesn’t take good care of her.’

  Hopefully a joke. Everyone is laughing at least. The happy couple seem more than pleased with the show Mackie is putting on, and Jo isn’t cringing, as I imagine I would be.

  ‘What can I say about my Angel?’ Mackie rubs his chin thoughtfully as he pretends to wrack his brains. ‘She’s always brightened our lives – although that’s mostly because she never remembers to turn any lights off. Funny, intelligent, kind, good-looking – these are all traits I have passed on to her. And then there’s Ryan, my new son. I thought it might be good to give him a little advice – because I have been married four times, so that makes me a bit of an expert, I’m sure. First of all, a few ways to keep the peace… In any argument it is important to remember that one person will always be right – the other person will be you. And, you know, the wedding anniversary, that’s a big deal, especially to women, right? Well, the best way to remember it is to forget it once. You forget it once and you’ll never forget it again.’

  More laughs. What is it with speeches and the terrible, cliché jokes everyone feels as if they have to tell? They’re usually pretty old gags that rely on tired stereotypes, and they’re not actually that funny, but everyone feels obligated to laugh at them.

  ‘I’m glad you’re all enjoying my jokes. They say that brevity is the soul of wit – something I’ll get into further on page fifteen of my speech.’ Mackie pauses for his not-so-hard-earned laughs. ‘Now it’s time to put the jokes to one side, it’s time to get serious. Angel and Ryan, you are perfect for each other, a match made in heaven. You’ve found each other, fallen head over heels in love and, here you are, about to embark on the rest of your lives together.’

  The laughs have turned to awws now that Mackie has switched to something more sincere. Angel smiles widely as she squeezes Ryan’s hand. I swear, this moment, right now, might be the most honest and genuine Mackie has seemed.

  ‘It’s a rare thing, to find the right person for you,’ he continues. ‘And for them to love you back and, well, if you find someone like that, love them with all of your heart, love them to death!’

  The room falls deathly silent. I feel my eyes widen. Damian and I shoot each other a side glance. Suddenly he seems quite intense.

  ‘So, if you’ll all join me in raising a glass to Angel and Ryan,’ Mackie says, picking up his own glass of champagne. ‘To Angel and Ryan – may they be happy together. Until death do they part. Angel and Ryan!’

  As we all pick up our glasses and drink to the happy couple a cold shiver runs down my back.

  Now that the speeches are over, we’re all allowed to go back to talking amongst ourselves. With everyone free to move around it’s just me and Damian at our table.

  He turns to me excitedly.

  ‘OK, do you think he was threatening or advertising?’ Damian asks quietly. ‘Because that was absolutely wild.’

  ‘It was definitely close to the bone,’ I reply.

  ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you, you know when you let Mackie in yesterday, and you went out into the hallway?’ Damian says, leaning in as if he’s got something juicy to tell me. ‘He walks up to me, gives me one of his trademark handshakes. Then he pulls a knife from his pocket!’

  I feel my eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling.

  ‘A kni
fe?’

  ‘Yep. A Swiss army, multi-tool kind of knife, and he flicks a tool out…’ Damian pauses for dramatic effect. ‘I swear, my life flashed before my eyes, but it was just a USB drive. He was asking if I could put the photos we took on it. I thought it was seriously cool that it had a USB drive in it but, get this, he tells me it’s got biometric security – only his fingerprint can access the data on the drive. How cool is that? I want one – no, I need one. It would be more secure than carrying around any old thumb drive.’

  ‘It does make me wonder what he needs one for…’ I muse. ‘Honestly, I can’t wait to get out of here.’

  And I can’t wait to tell Adam all about this. He’s not going to believe it!

  ‘First thing in the morning,’ he reassures me. ‘I’m sorry about all this. I don’t know what I was thinking.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I reply. ‘Art is a funny thing. But, well, you’re supposed to be delivering at the end of the year, ready for your February preview, so… is that going to be possible?’

  I don’t want to freak him out but that is one hell of a tight turnaround. If there’s one thing I’ve realised it’s that the more talented you are, and the more famous you get, the more people will let you do whatever the hell you like. Lowly workers like me have to do everything asked of them, on time. Whereas people like Damian will be cut miles and miles of slack. Thing is, he doesn’t want it; he wants to stick to his deadlines, he wants to put things out when he says he will. He just feels all this pressure to be beyond amazing, which petrifies him into slow motion.

  ‘I’ve got one last try in me,’ he says. ‘Over Christmas, I’ll see.’

  ‘Well, just let me know what you need,’ I tell him instinctively. Then I remember that I’m quitting. Still, this will continue to be my problem while I work my notice, which thankfully is only two weeks. I did comment that this was quite short, back when I signed my contract, but apparently, it’s mostly for Damian’s benefit. If he can’t work with someone, he doesn’t have to wait long before he can swap them out for someone else – that way it doesn’t derail his work.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom would like you to join them on the dance floor,’ a voice booms through the PA system.

  As I glance over at the dance floor, which is fast filling up with people, I notice Hunter dancing with a leggy brunette, her arms locked tightly around his neck as he holds her close. He doesn’t waste any time, does he?

  ‘You wanna dance?’ I hear Damian say.

  I don’t know why I assumed he would be talking to anyone but me. He’s looking at me though.

  ‘What, me?’

  ‘Yes, you,’ he says with a laugh.

  ‘We don’t dance,’ I tell him, not that he doesn’t already know we’ve never danced together before.

  ‘Well, I’m sure Jo would let you cut in with Mackie,’ he jokes. ‘Look at her face. She almost looks like she wishes he’d kill her.’

  It’s true, Jo doesn’t look all that at ease in Mackie’s arms. Then again, he doesn’t look like a very good dancer. His smooth charm does not extend to his feet – not that it’s a competition, and not that I can do any better.

  I shudder at the thought of taking her place.

  ‘Come on, dance with me,’ he insists. ‘Let me take a night off from annoying you.’

  ‘Someone You Loved’ by Lewis Capaldi is playing, which is exactly what I would have guessed cool, young people like Angel and Ryan would choose for their first dance… That said, it’s not exactly a romantic song, is it? Still, with Lewis Capaldi’s gorgeous voice, the twinkling white lights from the disco ball hanging high above the dance floor, and just the general atmosphere of everyone taking to the floor with the person they love, it’s hard to resist joining in, basking in the romance – even if it is with my boss.

  ‘OK,’ I say. ‘Let’s do it.’

  Damian hops to his feet with a real spring in his step and extends a hand for me to take. He really looks the part today, in his black suit, with his hair neatly slicked back and his beard trimmed.

  ‘May I have this dance, miss?’ he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

  ‘Why, yes,’ I reply as I take his hand.

  Damian leads me into the centre of the dance floor. I reach up to place my arms on his shoulders, keeping him at arm's length, but he pulls me close with his hands on my hips. It’s strange, being so close to him. Not bad, just not usual.

  ‘You know, I really can’t thank you enough for coming with me,’ he says.

  ‘It’s literally my job,’ I point out.

  ‘I know,’ he replies with a laugh. ‘But don’t think I don’t notice that you always do it all without complaining.’

  ‘Did my predecessor not do that?’ I ask.

  ‘He wouldn’t dance with me,’ Damian jokes. ‘It’s weird, but I guess you’re the closest thing I have – or that I’ve had in a long time – to a stable relationship with a female. Just, please don’t think your hard work goes unrecognised. I know I must be a nightmare but, I don’t know, you just get me. So… thanks.’

  Damian doesn’t give me chance to say anything, he just pulls me close and dances with me. With my head pressed into his chest I can feel the warmth of his body and smell his delicious aftershave. I can’t resist snuggling in closer to him – probably just a combination of the mushy music and the free-flowing champagne but… still… it’s nice.

  But as I move with him to the music, smiling to myself at his touching, heartfelt thank you for all my hard work (even though I know he’ll be driving me mad again tomorrow), reality hits me: I’m quitting my job. I’m not only leaving Damian in the lurch but I’m leaving him full stop. It’s going to be hard, and I feel so guilty now – it’s practically going to be like a break-up. As always, it’s going to be me pulling the trigger, calling time, breaking the news that things are ending. I just have no idea how I’m going to do it with Damian, especially when he’s going through such a hard time. I have to put myself first though – how often do dream jobs come along?

  ‘I couldn’t imagine doing stuff like this with anyone else,’ Damian whispers into my ear and his embrace gets tighter, just for a couple of seconds, but I really feel it.

  I try to say something back, but the guilt is catching in my throat.

  ‘I… I need to—’

  ‘Mind if I cut in?’ Lottie interrupts us.

  ‘Oh, erm, well,’ Damian babbles.

  ‘Sure, go for it,’ I insist.

  I don’t know why, because the last thing I want to do is hand him over to someone who is so clearly trying to manipulate him, but I feel as if I have to put a bit of distance between us.

  ‘Sadie,’ Damian starts, taking me by the hand as I try to walk away.

  I quickly pull my hand back.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll talk later,’ I assure him. I smile, to let him know everything is OK, even if it isn’t.

  I hurry back to my seat. Our table is still empty so I sit down on my own, scanning the table for my glass so I can top it up with the almost empty bottle of white wine that’s been sitting on the table for a little too long.

  I watch Lottie wrap herself around him like a snake, pushing herself up against him so she can whisper into his ear. I wonder what she’s saying to him. Bragging about an ad she did for gardening shears? Offering him some work experience maybe? Being a model and pretending not to have heard of Damian Banks doesn’t make you seem attractive; it makes you seem as though you don’t know the industry you work in. I don't even know why I care.

  A loud clatter snatches the attention of the room – myself included. I’m not watching Damian and Lottie any more, I’m glancing around to see what’s happened. The music stops and the lights get a little brighter.

  ‘Is she OK?’ a very worried-sounding DJ asks.

  ‘She’s fine, she’s fine,’ I hear Mackie’s not all that reassuring voice reply.

  I lean across the table to get a better look, only to see Jo on the floo
r, covered by a tablecloth, surrounded by plates and glasses.

  ‘Aren’t you clumsy?’ Mackie teases her – loud enough for everyone to hear – as he pulls her to her feet. ‘Sorry, everyone, please, get back to having fun.’

  I move my glance from poor Jo and Mackie back to Damian and Lottie, who are still holding each other as they stare.

  Thank God we’re going home tomorrow because I don’t know how much longer I can handle this. Any of this.

  16

  Oh, how great it is to be back in London. Cold, chaotic, Christmassy London.

  There are so many things about Christmas time in London that I never grow tired of, even now that I live and work here.

  Having grown up in a coastal town that loves all things Christmas, I am more than used to being submerged in the most wonderful time of year, but there are many massive differences between Christmas on the coast and Christmas in a big city like London. The lights, the music, the Christmas shoppers. It’s so frantic and somehow just so peaceful to walk amongst it all. It’s hard not to feel as if you’re in a movie, especially when you visit festive favourites like Hyde Park’s Winter Wonderland, and basically any part of Harrods. Damian is always asking me to ‘just pop to Harrods’ for something – I even had to pop in for painkillers once, though I know that he knows there is a pharmacy just down the road. I think he secretly just wanted a cronut too.

  For the full pretending-you’re-in-a-movie effect you’re going to want to walk down a busy street – ideally with bags, if you have them, weaving in and out of busy passers-by, having a few near misses, and all while Michael Bublé’s Christmas album plays through your headphones, to add some necessary non-diegetic sound to your Christmas scene. In an ideal world you’d bump into a movie star who’s just in town for the holidays (but who you will fall madly in love with) or your drink will be knocked out of your hand by some handsome but frazzled businessman who is being forced to close down a toy shop – and right before Christmas too! Of course, life isn’t like a movie at all though, so I manage to make it all the way to work, a sausage and egg McMuffin and a latte in hand, without so much as a hint of eye contact. That’s probably more London than any of the above.