Once A Bad Girl (20 page)

‘Mum, I didn’t come here to listen to you deny it. You’re a drunk. You’ve been a drunk for years. And I can’t keep looking the other way anymore.’

He listened for a moment as Marlene alternatively raged and cajoled, each mood swing accompanied by a long swig from her glass. White wine today. Three bottles so far, according to the maid, whom Josh had given the rest of the day off.

‘It’s none of your bloody business anyway,’ Marlene flung at him. ‘No law against it. Why shouldn’t I have the odd drink if I want to?’

‘Because it’s not the odd drink,’ Josh pointed out calmly. ‘If it was, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I want you to think seriously about one of these rehab centres.’

‘I knew the second I laid eyes on that little bitch that she was trouble.’ Marlene set her glass down with a sharp crack. ‘She was trying to take you away from me!’

‘Well, you don’t need to worry about that anymore. She left me.’

‘They always do. Look at your father.’

‘Dad left because he stopped drinking and you wouldn’t,’ Josh said, feeling suddenly, crushingly exhausted.

‘And what was Lacey’s excuse?’

‘Lottie, mum. Her name is Lottie.’ He stared at his mother. ‘Why can’t you remember that?’ And then he realised. ‘You can’t remember it. Can you. Your memory is shot.’ And for the first time in his life, he looked at his mother and saw not Marlene Blakemore, film star, but Marlene Blakemore, alcoholic. And he didn’t feel angry. He felt sad. Such a waste. ‘Why do you do it, mum? Why?’

‘I had to do a rape scene once,’ she sniffed. ‘Twenty-four people in the room, staring at me, watching. I was petrified. One of the makeup girls had a bottle of vodka in her handbag. She gave it to me.’ She fixed bright blue eyes on him. ‘I got the scene in one take.’

‘
China Queen
.’ He rubbed his hand over his face. ‘Dad directed that film.’

‘One of his best. The critics loved it. Everybody loved it.’ There was a glow about her, as she caught herself up in the memory.

‘I want you to go to rehab, mum.’

‘No.’

Josh got to his feet. ‘Then we’ve got nothing left to say.’ He kissed his mother on both cheeks. ‘I love you, mum, but I won’t watch you kill yourself. Not any more. You know where I am if you decide to do something about it.’

He left the apartment building and walked out onto the street. He’d spent a week in London dealing with the fallout from Lottie’s phone call to the rehab centre. At the moment, the media were playing along, mostly because he’d threatened to sue the clinic that had leaked the story and take out an injunction against any newspaper that printed anything that even hinted at Marlene’s problem. It had been stressful, expensive and time consuming.

And he was beginning to wonder if he’d done the right thing. Seven days away from Lottie had been seven days of hell. His life had gone back to normal, and he’d realised that normal for him was a cold, lonely, miserable existence, peppered with interruptions from an alcoholic parent. He’d thought about calling Lottie so many times, but he’d stopped himself. It had been agony.

There wasn’t laughter or warmth or bad coffee, or even much of a reason to get up in the morning. He couldn’t even be bothered to get out on his bike. He’d tried to tell himself that it was for the best, that Lottie could never fit into his life, that she was better off out of it, but convincing himself had been hard. Because Lottie had coped. She’d handled the press intrusion with dignity, even the incident in the bookshop, which he knew had shaken her.

Then a large brown envelope containing information about a small, very private rehab centre in the Scottish Highlands had landed on the mat, and for some reason he’d decided to take a quick look. And that had brought him back to Paris.

Rounding the corner, Josh shoved his hands into his pockets so that he wouldn’t feel how empty they were without Lottie’s to hold.

Marlene was never going to rehab. And the reason she was never going to rehab was because she had no intention of stopping drinking. Not even for him. He’d spent his entire life being the parent for his own mother. Protecting her. Mopping up her messes, literally on occasion. Enabling her.

Lottie had tried to help him find a way out. She’d gone into a freefall of panic and run scared when he’d found out, but, if he was totally honest with himself, he should have suggested rehab to his mother a long, long time ago. Maybe if he hadn’t been such a coward, he and Lottie would have had a chance.

Maybe if he stopped being such a coward, they still did. Palming his car keys, Josh made an abrupt about turn and started back towards his car. He had a lot to do. And not a moment to waste.

‘Hey, misery guts. Drag yourself out of your pit of sorrow and come and look at this.’

Lottie groaned. ‘No! Leave me alone!’ She set her left foot on the hot tap and turned it with her toes. A gush of piping hot water scalded her shins. Ever since her return home a week ago, Rachel had made it her mission to fill every spare minute of her day with girly pampering sessions, chick flicks and ice cream. She’d put on two pounds, but it had at least forced her to get out of bed in the morning and put on clean clothes.

‘Seriously. You want to see this.’

‘It better not be a naked man, Rach.’ Deciding that she wouldn’t get any peace until she’d seen whatever it was, Lottie turned off the tap, slapped her hands on the edge of the bath, and heaved herself up.

‘Hurry up!’

‘Keep your hair on!’ Lottie wrapped herself in a towel and dashed into the living room. The TV was on. Rachel pointed the remote at the screen and turned up the volume.

‘Oh my god.’ Lottie pressed a hand to her face and sank down onto the sofa. ‘What is he doing?’

There, on the six o’clock news, was Josh, stood on the doorstep of his house in Kensington, looking absolutely gorgeous in a dark-blue suit and matching tie. He held a sheet of white paper in one unsteady hand, and he was reading from it. ‘As I’m sure you are aware, for the past few days the internet has been rife with speculation concerning my mother’s rumoured alcohol addiction. I can confirm that she has had difficulties with alcohol for a number of years, and that we are currently considering all treatment possibilities. I would ask that her privacy be respected at this difficult time.’

The segment cut away, back to the reporters in the studio who immediately began debating this shocking revelation as though it were of vital importance to the survival of the nation.

Lottie shot to her feet. ‘I’ve got to see him.’ She scrambled into her bedroom, dropped the towel and pulled on a t-shirt and shorts. The fabric clung to her wet skin, but she fought it into place, shoved her feet into battered trainers, and sprinted to the front door, pausing long enough to grab her bag and her keys.

Rachel hugged her briefly, then opened the door and shoved her out of it. ‘Go get him, Lottie. He needs you.’

Lottie hugged her back. ‘I need him too.’

She glanced over Rachel’s shoulder, back at the bombsite of a flat. ‘Do me a favour before you go?’

‘Anything.’

‘Get rid of those for me.’ Lottie pointed to the bookshelf which held her self-help books. ‘They’re all useless.’

Then she set off down the street at a run. She was on the tube before it occurred to her that she could have simply rung him rather than sprinting halfway across London to try to see him, but now she was too far underground to get a signal. There was nothing she could do but count down the stations, chew her nails and hope.

She didn’t know what she was going to say, or how he would react when he saw her. All she knew was that he had to be seriously hurting. He’d just revealed his mother’s addiction to the world. The last thing he needed right now was to be alone. And if he said he wanted to be alone, she’d just have to change his mind.

Finally the train stopped at Kensington High Street Station, and Lottie leapt off. She hit the stairs at a run, and only stopped running when the road got in her way. ‘Come on, come on!’ she muttered under her breath, until finally the traffic slammed to a halt and the little green man lit up.

And then she was there. On Josh’s street. His house speared up out of the pavement, just as white, as beautiful as it had been the first time she’d seen it. Her heart pounded, her entire body filled with an urgency that made her shake. She powered her way through the journalists still littering the pavement, climbed over the two sat on the bottom of the steps, not caring where she put her feet.

Then she pounded on the door with both fists, oblivious to the flashing of cameras behind her. ‘Josh!’ she screamed. ‘Open this bloody door right now!’

The door swung open and she tumbled forwards, crashing straight into a hard, warm body, so familiar, so beautiful. ‘Josh.’

She heard a bang as he kicked the door closed. ‘Careful now,’ he said. ‘People will think you’re falling for me.’

‘They can think what they like,’ she gasped, as the sprint from the tube station finally caught up with her. Legs shaking, she fought to catch her breath. It seemed to take forever. There was so much she wanted to say, and she didn’t want to waste a single moment. ‘I saw you on the news.’ In this position she could only see his feet. She needed to see his face. Ignoring the pain in her side, Lottie straightened up, putting one hand on his shoulder for support.

He looked at her for one long, painful moment. ‘I asked her to go to rehab. She said no.’

‘That’s her decision to make,’ Lottie told him gently. She wrapped her arms around her waist. ‘It’s not your fault. I’m sorry, Josh. I’m sorry I pushed you into all of this. But I don’t regret it.’

‘No,’ he said roughly. ‘You shouldn’t regret it. I’m sorry. I should have done it myself. Years ago. Maybe if I’d done it sooner, she’d have agreed to go. I don’t know. The weird thing is I feel relieved. Of all the things I thought I’d feel if anyone ever found out, that wasn’t one of them.’

He tucked his hands in his pockets, those beautiful blue eyes flicking to her then away. ‘Do you fancy a drink? Tea or something?’

‘Sure.’ Lottie followed him through into the kitchen, her nerves jangling. She’d rushed here in an adrenalin-fuelled fit of emotion, of longing, of need. The sheer awkwardness of the whole situation had caught her totally off guard. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The effort it took to not touch him was crippling. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t. ‘Josh,’ she called, coming to standstill in the hallway. ‘I…I miss you.’

The kitchen door swung open. ‘What did you say?’

‘I miss you.’ Lottie bit her bottom lip. ‘I want to be with you. If you don’t want me back, that’s okay. I’ll survive. But I can’t go on pretending it’s what I want. I deserve you. And…and I think you deserve me, too.’

Then he was with her, surrounding her, gathering her up into his arms and holding her so close she thought she might collapse from the joy of it. ‘All my life,’ he said, stroking his fingers across her cheek, ‘all my damn life I’ve been so bloody lonely. Waiting for someone who would see past my family, past all of it. Someone who would just see me. And then I met you. And you just about blew me away. You scare me, Charlotte Spencer.’

‘You scare me too. I’ve blamed myself for what happened to David for so long. But do you know what, Josh? I realised that I wanted to keep blaming myself. I was so terrified of making another mistake. But I’m always going to make mistakes. ‘

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I know. I’ve made more than enough of my own. I figured something out too, Lottie. About my mum, about her drinking, about the whole bloody mess.’ He looked at her, his eyes bright, his jaw tight. She saw him swallow. Whatever he was about to say, it was important. It was everything.

‘When she wouldn’t quit drinking, my dad walked out. He just packed a suitcase and flew back to the States. I never saw him again. I’ve spent my whole life afraid that if anyone else found out, they’d do the same thing. But you didn’t, Lottie. You stuck around. And you tried to fix it. But don’t think I’m ever going to let you pull another stunt like that again. Because I won’t. You want to do something, you talk to me about it first.’

Lottie nodded. ‘Agreed. And there is one thing I want to do more than anything.’

‘Which is?’

‘I want to kiss you.’

His mouth curved into a killer smile. ‘Then damn well do it.’

Lottie pushed up onto her tiptoes and crushed her lips against his. She angled her head, dug her fingers into his hair, and gave him all she had. He tasted wonderful, hot and sweet, as he groaned and touched his tongue to hers. A naughty, teasing little touch. Everything. Not nearly enough.

‘I want you,’ he rasped, pulling up the hem of her t-shirt, big, hungry hands finding her breasts. She whimpered with the pleasure of it, her whole body screaming out for more of him. ‘You’re mine, you understand that, Lottie? Mine.’ Her t-shirt hit the floor, then he worked her shorts over her hips and down to the floor. One hand curved over her bottom, holding her steady as he yanked down his zipper, and freed himself. He was big and hard and between her thighs, and then he was inside her. Claiming her.

She gave herself over to him with an honesty she’d never felt before, holding nothing back. Nothing existed but the two of them and the fierce, desperate move of his body into hers as they fought to reconnect, joining hands, mouths, bodies. He lowered her to the floor, hooked her legs over his forearms, and took her hard and fast and completely without finesse.

It was rough and primal and she loved it. She loved him. She felt him grow bigger, harder, hotter inside her, heard him groan, and knew he was almost there. Her climax slammed into her with the force of an earthquake a second after his began.

He lowered himself down until his forehead touched hers, and she wrapped trembling arms around him. His shirt was damp under her hands, his belt-buckle digging into her belly, the floor cold and hard beneath her back. She had never been more comfortable in her whole life.

‘Dammit,’ he said, nuzzling at her neck, still buried inside her. She could feel the pull of his penis as it started to soften. He lifted his head, caught her gaze. ‘No condom.’