Let's Misbehave (22 page)

It was raining—when wasn’t it? She pulled out her umbrella, but it wouldn’t click open. “Bugger this,” she exclaimed, startling a passerby as she tossed the stubborn thing to the curb. What was a little water? Maybe it’d cleanse her sins.

She had to call the studio to let them know she’d been kicked out of the Summerhill home. Not wanting to make the call but figuring it was better than doing it in person, she pulled out the phone.

Marjorie picked up on the first ring, giddy. “Did you see the picture? It’s brilliant, and it’s all due to you.”

Holly stopped abruptly in the middle of the block, not caring when someone ran into her from behind and cursed at her. “What do you mean, it’s due to me?”

“You were the one who gave me the idea.” When Holly didn’t say anything, her boss continued impatiently. “By saying that Imogen wouldn’t flaunt her new relationship. Of course she wouldn’t! And of course it’d be at night when you weren’t there to catch her. So I sent a photographer to wait for something to happen.”

Holly put a hand to her head, biting her lip against the curse she wanted desperately to shout.

“It worked out great,” Marjorie effused. “I gave you credit, too, Holly, so the execs are appeased for the time being.”

She didn’t care about the execs. She hadn’t even ever talked to them. “Gigi fired me.”

“Whatever. We’ll get you going with another actor.”

She didn’t want another actor, but she nodded, her eyes closed. “I need to go. I’m getting soaked.”

“By all means, go home and take a bath,” her boss said generously. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Holly hung up, numb except for the guilt that had settled uncomfortably in her belly. She was halfway home when Jamie’s school called to say she needed to come collect Jamie.

“
Damn it
,” she screamed, not caring when an approaching couple gave her a wide berth. She changed coursed and went to see what her son had done now.

Jamie’s head popped up the moment he heard her footsteps walking down the hall. The look of fear in his eyes both made her sorry for him and want to string him up by his ankles.

She sat in the plastic chair next to him, staring, waiting.

Her son’s little face twisted in defence. “I didn’t mean any of it.”

“I know you didn’t.” She took his hand. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“I made a new friend this morning, and I brought him to school.”

She covered her face with her free hand, imagining the ‘new friend’ Jamie had made this time. Last time it was a sanitation worker. “Oh fu—”

“Mum!” He frowned.

“Don’t start about owing money, because I think I’ll have it over you.” She tried to calm herself, not wanting to yell at him more than was necessary. “Tell me about this new friend.”

Jamie lit up. “I found him on the street. He liked me right away, and he wanted to come to school with me.”

She was picturing the homeless man when Peter opened the door and said, “Come in, Holly.”

“Stay.” When Jamie opened his mouth to say something she gave him a look that shut his mouth right away. Then she joined Peter in his office.

Gesturing to the chair across his desk, Peter closed the door. “I feel like I should put a plaque on that seat, naming it for you.”

She groaned. “Who did he bring to school, and how bad was it?”

“Not a who, a what.” Peter sat on the edge of his desk, laughter in his eyes. “He brought a rat.”

“A rat?” She blinked. “That’s his new friend?”

“Well, really more of an employee, because Jamie said the rat was his sous-chef until he proved himself.”

She dropped her head, covering her eyes. “I’m never letting him watch a movie ever again. Or TV. Or anything that’ll give him ideas.”

Peter chuckled, taking her hand and holding it in his. “Do you want to know the best part of the story?”

“Bringing a rat to class wasn’t the punch line?”

“The punch line didn’t happen until lunch. Somehow he managed to keep the rat a secret until they were eating. Apparently the food excited the rodent, who jumped out of Jamie’s pocket and onto Lucy Wilson’s head.”

She covered her mouth, not sure whether to laugh or cry.

“But that wasn’t the worst of it,” Peter said. “To add insult to injury, Lucy’s friend Jeannie startled and knocked her juice onto Lucy’s brand new dress, which made Lucy go into hysterics, so her mother had to be called. Have you met Mrs. Wilson?”

Holly shook her head.

“Can you imagine the Queen of Hearts, only more severe?”

“Bollocks.” She pointed at Peter. “Don’t you dare tell Jamie about my language. I think I’m allowed in this case.”

Peter rubbed her hand. “So do you want the good or bad news first?”

“There’s good news, too? Then give me the bad, so I have something to look forward to.”

Smiling, he said, “You’re cute, you know that?”

For a brief moment, her awful day faded in the light of his smile. But then reality caught up with her when Peter said, “I have to expel Jamie from school.”

“Bloody hell.” She dropped her head into her hand.

“I wish I didn’t, but his track record the past few weeks has been worse than usual, and Mrs. Wilson is heading the lynch mob.” Peter lifted her chin. “Ask for the good news now.”

“Okay.” She nodded, not sure anything could be
that
good. “Give it to me.”

“Jamie got accepted into the Athenaeum. I talked to the board and asked them to take him on early and they agreed. He can start Monday, as soon as the paperwork is taken care of.”

By paperwork, she knew he also meant the payment.

How was she going to make this work? She wasn’t sure she’d have a job once Marjorie called back.

She swallowed fear and looked at Peter. “What are our other options?”

Peter’s forehead furrowed. “I thought we’d agreed that this was the best option for Jamie. He’ll be in a school where the teachers will challenge him to think and create, to focus his brilliance into positive channels. It’ll be the best thing for him.”

“I get that, but what are my other options?”

“We—”

“There’s no ‘we’ here.” She heard how shrill she sounded but couldn’t help it. She pulled her hand free of Peter’s and hugged herself. “
I’m
responsible for Jamie. In the end, I’m the one who has to be able to figure out how to afford this and food and clothing for him.”

Peter crossed his arms, too, looking more like a headteacher than he ever had. “I thought we agreed that it wasn’t that way,” he said.

Even his voice was stern, and it made her sad. “We didn’t agree on anything.”

The way he looked at her broke her heart. She leaned forward to say she was sorry, to tell him to hold her, to do something.

But he retreated a polite distance. “You said that you had the money for it.”

The bonus from work.

She bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to use that money unless there was a dire emergency. It was more blood money now than ever, since she’d destroyed Gigi’s future.

She knew Beatrice had been making a point when she’d said that, but Holly didn’t doubt that by doing her job she’d done Gigi lasting harm. And that made her feel wretched.

“Well?” Peter asked.

“I’ll see.” She stood and turned, feeling his eyes on her back.

“You’re amazing, Holly.”

She stopped abruptly and looked over her shoulder. “Sorry?”

Peter nodded. “You’re smart, beautiful, and funny. You give so much to Jamie. You sacrifice your own happiness for him.”

“You don’t make that sound like a good thing.”

He shrugged. “What sort of example does it set for him? That he can’t ever count on anyone? That he has to be completely alone?”

“I’m not—” She shut her mouth, unable to finish the protest that was obviously not true.

“Even you don’t believe that, Holly. It’s good to be independent, but the real trick is to know when you genuinely need help, and who to trust to give it to you.” He stood up and took her by the arms. “I want to be that man.”

She opened her mouth, but she had no words. She nodded as she left his office, the bitter taste of isolation in her mouth.

Chapter Twenty-four

The melody flowed around him.

Merrick’s fingers played it softly, letting it surround him. It enveloped him, audible solace in the absence of Imogen’s presence.

Damn her for not wanting him.

He hunched over the keys, feeling the music grow with the anger that swelled in his chest. It mixed with the melody, morphing into something ominous.

Until the anger ran out and all that was left was sadness.

He hadn’t felt this sad since Michaela died—this apathetic. Since Imogen’s text, he’d found it hard to care about anything. Even the safety act. Kane had been using the latest article to malign him, telling anyone who’d listen that Merrick was back to his cheating ways. But Merrick couldn’t bring himself to care about that—not when he had another gaping hole in his heart.

He hadn’t realized how much Imogen had changed his life in the past couple weeks of their affair.

“Ricky,” Valerie called from downstairs.

He gritted his teeth, his hands pounding at the keys. He heard her footsteps on the stairs and braced himself for her onslaught.

But there was none.

He glanced up and saw her standing in the open doorway, her mouth open. She stared at him like she saw a ghost.

A fairly close assessment. He thought dispassionately about how he must look—his hair standing on end, his shirt unbuttoned and untucked. He was sure she saw the open bottle of whiskey on top of the piano, a healthy amount already consumed. He could feel her gaze pause on the knickers next to the bottle—the pair he’d taken off Imogen in the janitor’s closet, that he’d searched all his coat pockets for.

But he didn’t care what judgments Valerie made. “You’re congratulating yourself,” he said bitterly, banging out the song.

“What do you mean?”

He didn’t look up even though he felt her come closer. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Me slipping back into Ricky Hazard’s skin?”

She sat next to him and rested her forehead against his shoulder. “That’s not what I wanted.”

He snorted.

“It’s not,” she said hoarsely.

Right. He attacked the piano, taking his frustrations out on the instrument that knew him well enough to yield to him.

Valerie raised her head. “I’ve never heard this before.”

Because it was new, flowing from his emotions. The music hadn’t stopped since the night Imogen had texted him to say they shouldn’t see each other any longer. It was like a dam had unleashed and everything he’d felt since Michaela’s death rushed out of him.

“Punish me by not talking to me, fine.” She stood up. “But I know you can hear me.”

He played louder.

“Not going to work, Ricky,” Valerie shouted above the music. “I came to say something, and I’m not leaving until I say it.”

“Then say it,” he growled, turning around and glaring at her.

The absence of the piano’s voice resonated unnaturally in the room.

Valerie stood in front of him and touched his head. “I saw the picture of you and Imogen. I know how that must have hurt your safety act, and I’m sorry about that.”

“Forgive me if I’m skeptical about that.”

She yanked his head up by his hair. “You’re a fool if you think I don’t want that bill passed.”

“Ouch. Val.” He tried to dislodge her hand.

But she wouldn’t let go. “I don’t want you to be Ricky Hazard again, you idiot. I only want you to be true to who you are. You’re a politician now, I understand that. It’s important to you. But you don’t need to act like a different person. You don’t need to hide all the best parts of you.”

“Like my tattoos?” he asked sarcastically.

“Exactly.” She tugged on his hair. “Your tattoos tell your history, and you hide them like they’re something to be ashamed about.”

He touched the one at his collar. He wasn’t ashamed of them.

Val got in his face. “Ever since you met Imogen, you’ve been more true to yourself. You aren’t going to be the crazy Ricky Hazard anymore. He had to grow up. But that doesn’t mean you can’t still show some of his best qualities.”

“I didn’t realize he had any good qualities,” he muttered.

“That’s because you’re an idiot. He was loyal, and fun, and loving, and creative.” She let go of his hair. “And he played the sort of music that could make your soul weep for its beauty.”

He lowered his head, his arms propped on his knees.

“I feel like I’ve found my best friend again,” Val said softly. “I hope you give him a chance to live. He was pretty great.”

He listened to her leave the room, her steps uncharacteristically somber. The front door closed softly, entombing him once again.

Alone.

Chapter Twenty-five

“I told you, Imogen, Sherman won’t return my calls,” Betty said. “Do you know what that says to me?”

“What?” Gigi asked as she walked into the orangery.

“He’s not interested. Just let this go.”

She growled in frustration. Then she noticed her mother, who sat on a settee with her feet tucked under her, writing in some sort of journal. She held a finger up to her mum and said to her manager, “I don’t want to let this go. I’m perfect for this movie. I just want to be given a chance.”

“They already had auditions, Imogen, and they offered the part to Delilah Jones.”

She stopped walking, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

Then she opened her eyes and shook her head. Breathing to calm yourself was overrated. What would really help? Punching Delilah in the face.

“Imogen, you’re getting worked up for nothing. Do Craig’s movie for now, and then I’ll see if I can’t get you a snootier project next.” Betty said something muffled and then came back. “Listen, babe, I’ve got to jump. Think about it. We’ll talk later.”

Gigi tossed her phone on a chair and kicked off her shoes to curl up across from her mother.

Jacqueline closed her book and capped the pen. “That conversation didn’t sound like it went the way you wanted.”

“Life isn’t going the way I want it.”