I Knew You Were Trouble: A Jessie Jefferson Novel (33 page)

Davey has worked for me for years, so he knows when I’m not in the mood to talk. Once I’m inside the car, he leaves the screen up and the intercom set to private.
It’s not far to Chateau Marmont, where the premiere after-party is taking place. I know it well – it used to be one of my regular hangouts – but I can’t say I’m in any
rush to face the missus. My head is all over the place as I stare out of the darkened limo windows at LA, lit up like a Christmas tree in the valley far below. I feel like there’s a tiny
person inside my stomach, tying my intestines into a giant ball of knots.

When we’re nearing West Hollywood, my phone vibrates against my thigh. I dig it out of my pocket and tense at the sight of Nutmeg’s name on the caller I.D.

The device carries on buzzing in the palm of my hand, but I can’t bring myself to answer. I feel paralysed. Paralysed with fear. What can I say? I hope I figure it out when I see her,
because I haven’t got a freaking clue at the moment.

Her call goes through to voicemail, and at that moment, I totally despise myself. I’m such a coward. I suddenly have an overwhelming urge to drown my sorrows in a bottle of whisky.

No
.

I’ve been clean for almost two and a half years and I’m not going to screw it up now. A fag wouldn’t go amiss, but I’ve quit smoking, too, goddammit. When Meg was
pregnant with Phoenix she refused to kiss me because my breath made her queasy. That was incentive enough. It killed me not to kiss her. She’s the love of my life.

I wonder if she drank the champagne I arranged for her. She avoids alcohol when she’s around me, but I really wanted her to indulge herself tonight. She’s barely gone out since she
had our little boys.

Curious more than anything, I lean forward to open the mini-fridge, and sure enough, there’s a half-empty bottle of Perrier-Jouët Rosé inside. I’m happy for her, but then
my demons are back and I’m fighting a fresh urge to take a swig. Steeling myself, I swing the fridge door shut and slump into my seat.

What is my brown-eyed girl going to think of me? I feel downright nauseous. I love her so much. The thought of hurting her hurts
me
. She’s
got
to forgive me for this. But I
know it’s one of her worst nightmares come true. She’s always been worried that, one day, one of my groupies will come forward and say I’m the father of their child. I’ve
been careful over the years, but clearly not careful enough. Nowhere near freaking careful enough.

For a moment, my mind is filled with memories of Candy, the girl in question. She was only seventeen when we hooked up – and that was about seventeen years ago. I can picture her laughing,
her long dark hair damp with sweat as she’s bandied about in the moshpit. I remember her being at the front when we did our slow number, and I can see her looking up at me with those big,
caramel-coloured eyes of hers.

I saw her at the next concert, and the next, and the next… I wanted her, but she didn’t give herself to me easily, which surprised me. She certainly got my attention.

I’ve thought about her a little over the years. She wasn’t like so many of the others. I wouldn’t recognise most of them if I saw them on the street, but Candice, I remember. I
liked her. I liked her a lot. So I did what I always did and dicked her around when she tried to get closer to me.

I can’t believe she’s dead. Out of the blue, grief hits me like a wall. She was killed a few months ago, when a loose window fell on her from a four-storey height. She was casually
walking along the pavement…

What a terrible way to go. And she left behind an only child, a girl called Jessica, or Jessie, as she apparently likes to be known. Candy died on the exact day of Jessie’s fifteenth
birthday.

My chest feels constricted.
I have a daughter!
And she was completely clueless about me until a few days ago. Her stepdad thought it was time she knew the truth. He was the one who
contacted Wendel.

How could Candy have kept this to herself all these years? She had a baby girl –
my
baby girl – and she didn’t see fit to tell me?

So many emotions are swirling around inside me. I don’t know what to think.

My phone buzzes again – once – snapping me out of my thoughts. I have a voicemail – from Meg, at a guess. I put my phone up to my ear and listen.

‘Where the hell are you?’

Uh-oh, she’s angry with me.

‘Dana is here and I could really do with your support.’

Damn, my ex-girlfriend is there? She’d better not be harassing my Nutmeg…

‘I’m about to go and say hi to Joseph Strike…’

WHAT?!

‘…so get your arse here ASAP. ’

She ends the call.

What the…?!
Jealousy swiftly snakes its way into the emotions already wreaking havoc on my gut. Joseph Strike?
Really
, Nutmeg? If I get there and see her cosying up to that
actor bastard, I’ll go mad.

And then I remember what I have to tell her, and my boiling blood cools to Arctic temperatures.

She might have had a fling with him once, but she’s not interested in him anymore, I tell myself, as the rational part of my brain kicks in. She’s just upset about Dana. I put Meg
through enough shit over my drug-addict ex-girlfriend to last a lifetime. It’s no wonder she’s freaking out.

Needing a diversion, I press the button to bring the privacy screen down. I chat to Davey for the rest of the journey.

We arrive soon afterwards, and pull up right outside the venue. Davey opens the car door to clicks and flashes from the cameras of dozens of waiting paps. I can’t be
arsed to deal with the wolves tonight, so I ignore their shouts and head straight for the entrance. The party is in full swing and I can feel eyes on me as I make my way through the crowds,
searching for my girl. A few people I know try to stop me, but I brush them off.

‘I can’t talk right now,’ I tell them, one after the other. ‘I’m looking for Meg. Have you seen her?’

When I find her, she’s standing near Kitty on the other side of the terrace. She looks so beautiful tonight, even more so than usual. She’s wearing a black mini-dress over skinny
black jeans and her blonde hair stands out against the dark outfit. I dig black on her. She appears happy, which is weird, considering the tone of her message, but at least she doesn’t seem
to be angry any more. Then she spots me and her eyes widen slightly, the small smile that was on her lips freezing in place. She says something to Kitty and begins walking towards me.

I keep getting stopped on my way over to her, which is damn annoying, but finally we reach each other.

‘Hey,’ she says.

‘Hi.’

I bend down and kiss her, sliding my hand into her hair and holding her to my chest. God, I need her so much. I can’t believe I’m about to crush her with my news.

She pulls away, looking up at me with a guarded expression on her face. ‘Did you get my message?’

‘Just now,’ I reply, frowning as I remember the crap she was spewing about Joseph Strike. Did she talk to him? Is that why she was looking so pleased with herself? ‘I was
already on my way when you called,’ I say, scanning the room. ‘Where is he?’ I ask when I fail to locate him.

‘I think he’s gone,’ she tells me. She looks guilty, which gets my back up.

‘Did you speak to him?’ I know I sound jealous – I freaking
am
jealous – but I’m damned if I can help it.

She blushes. Great. That’s a yes, then. I feel sick to my stomach.

‘I said hi, yeah,’ she replies defensively, staring up at me with defiant eyes. ‘Have you seen Dana?’ she asks in turn.

Bollocks. Forgot about her. I scan the room again and spy her pretty quickly, pausing for a second to check her over. Jeez, she looks a state. She’s been using again. You just can’t
help some people.

‘Mmm,’ I belatedly reply to Meg’s question, before dragging my eyes away from my crazy ex.

‘Do you want to speak to her?’ Meg asks, her voice wavering.

Aw, Nutmeg!
My heart goes out to her. Of course I don’t, baby.

‘No,’ I respond firmly, wanting to ease her pain. ‘I have nothing to say to her.’

I lean down again and give Meg a tender kiss, and then a fresh bout of nerves pulses through me, reminding me of what I need to do. ‘Can I take you home?’ I ask in her ear.

She glances over her shoulder. ‘Um… Kitty.’

‘She looks fine to me,’ I say. She’s flirting with some dark-haired dude. ‘I need to talk to you,’ I add quietly, nerves washing over me again.

Her eyes dart up to look at me.

‘What’s wrong?’ she demands, knowing instantly that
something
is.

‘I’ll tell you in the car,’ I reply.

‘Is it the boys?’

Jesus, I didn’t mean to freak her out. ‘No, no,’ I quickly assure her, placing my hands on her shoulders. ‘Everyone’s fine.’

She still looks worried, and she should be.

We say goodbye to Kitty and the bloke she’s with and get the hell out of there. Davey is still pulled up out the front, so we get in the limo quickly and he closes the door behind us. I
return the privacy screen to its closed position and usher Meg to the back of the car. We sit side-by-side and I shift to face her, reaching for her hands.

You’ve just got to say it…

Okay, okay.

Okay.

I take a deep breath, but I can’t look at her.

‘Wendel called me,’ I start.

‘Right…’ she replies uneasily.

I force myself to meet her wary brown eyes, but God, it hurts.

‘Just tell me,’ she encourages. She wants to know, now.

I push myself to continue, but as I speak, I can see the cogs of her brain whirring, ten to the dozen. ‘Wendel spoke to a man earlier today, claiming to be the stepfather of a girl who is
the daughter of one of my first fans. Her mother passed away recently. She never told her daughter who her real father was.’

I experience a pang as I watch her confusion transform into horror. She knows exactly where I’m going with this. I squeeze her hands tighter.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper, feeling like I could hurl at any given moment.

‘Tell me everything,’ she says flatly.

And so I bring her up to date, breaking into a cold sweat when I realise that her hands have gone limp in mine. She’s looking pale by the time I finish.

‘Do you remember her?’ she whispers. ‘Candy?’

I glance out the window and nod. ‘Yeah, I remember her.’

‘So it’s true?’ she says.

I swallow. Nothing is definite yet. Wendel wants Jessica – Jessie – to do a paternity test. Maybe Candy lied to Stuart, Jessie’s stepdad, back then. Maybe I’m not the
biological father. Maybe…

But no, I have a feeling about this. I shouldn’t give Meg false hope.

‘There’s a chance that it is,’ I reply.

‘But… But… What if she slept with someone else?’ It hurts to watch her clutching at straws. ‘What if the girl isn’t yours?’

‘That’s possible, of course. Wendel is arranging for a paternity test.’

To my dismay, she rips her hands away from me. I reach across to try to comfort her, but she shrugs me off. ‘Don’t touch me!’ she yells, flinching away from me.

I cover my face with my hands. I feel like the walls of the incredible life we had are crashing down around me. It’s all going to shit.

‘Don’t you feel sorry for yourself!’ she shouts suddenly, making me jolt. ‘I should have known this was going to happen when I married you!’

‘But you
did
marry me!’ I raise my voice at her, the anger masking my fear. ‘For better or for worse!’

And then her face crumples and I pull her to me and hold her against my chest, telling her I’m sorry, over and over again. ‘We’ll know as early as next week,’ I murmur,
as she sniffs. ‘It might be nothing to worry about.’

But even as I say it, I know it’s not true. I have a strong feeling that a teenage girl called Jessie is about to become a permanent feature in our lives.

I wonder what she’s like…