Starstruck (31 page)

‘Oooh!’
he interrupts me and gives me a wink.

‘Not
like that. I’m going to see Dylan, and we’re going to set the record straight
and then maybe we can get back to normal!’ I announce excitedly.

‘And
you’re sure this is the right thing to do?’

I
pause for a few seconds. Of course it is, and why wait? I’ll go first thing
tomorrow.

I
feel ashamed to admit it, but for a few moments this morning I actually enjoyed
my current situation a little too much. Yes, the same horrible situation I have
spent days crying over. I’ll tell you what happened and then you’ll understand
why I felt such a rush. Jake spent the night on my sofa so that he could help
me sneak past the few remaining paps. They must be working in shifts because there
are always a couple of them waiting for me – and all I did was allegedly bang
one of the most famous people in the country.

After
spending a couple of hours getting ready, I put on my over-sized sunglasses, grabbed
my case and got ready to make my escape. I know I’m only going for a few days,
but I had a rather emotional goodbye with Jake. He is the only person who has
been there for me through this, and I really do appreciate all that he has done
for me. He truly went above and beyond the call of duty today, by putting on my
bright pink dressing gown and creating a diversion on my balcony while I made
my escape. It must have worked because I made it to the train station, and here
I am, sitting on the train, completely unnoticed. See, this is what I’m talking
about, I feel almost disappointed that no one is recognising me.

The
train is surprisingly quiet, there are only four other people who can see me
from where they are sitting. There’s a rather intimidating looking goth couple
– the boy goth keeps looking at me and smiling and I am smiling back because
it’s not that long since my questionable teenage get-up bagged me a few funny
looks from the general public. People assumed I was a sixteen-year-old serial
killer rather than a teenage girl with a penchant for studded apparel. There’s
a little old woman blatantly staring at them over her battered Mills and Boon
book - she looks terrified. The person closest to me is a middle-aged man in a
suit and he’s fast asleep with his mouth wide open. I guess I’ve been lucky.
Dylan might be a mega-star, but I’m fairly sure I am sitting in a carriage with
the four people who are least likely to give a shit about pop music and
celebrity culture.

I
am bored out of my mind. It’s not that I’m not used to the journey, it’s just
normally I wouldn’t dream of tackling it without a Starbucks and huge pile of
magazines next to me. I couldn’t even look at WH Smiths in Leeds station, let
alone pop in and face my own face.

Taking
my fancy phone out of my handbag, I make the brave decision to check the social
networks. So far I have avoided them, but now that I’m bored curiosity is
getting the better of me. I log into Facebook. Clicking my messages I notice
quite a few of them are from people I don’t know, so I check my wall posts
instead. Most are nice, from friends asking how I am and so on. As I open Twitter,
I can’t believe my eyes – in the space of a few days my number of followers has
gone from a three-digit number to a five-digit number. I feel that rush again,
that pang of excitement. I resist the urge to tweet because these people could
just be waiting for me to say something so they can send me abuse. I’m sure
Dylan’s young, female following will have a few choice words for me. Not long
before the original Crystal scandal broke, some model Dylan had slept with sold
her story to a tabloid, saying he was a drunk and crap in bed. Her name was
DeeDee, and so Dilll’s fans took to Twitter to try and get the hash tag
#DieDieDeeDee in the trending topics and they succeeded, it was there for a
couple of days. I feel sick at the thought of them saying things like that
about me, especially when I don’t deserve it. That’s what this trip is for
though, I’m going to go see Dylan and we’re going to tell everyone that it
isn’t true. I look up from my phone to see goth boy smiling at me - again. I
smile back. What a freak.

Hello
London, Nicole Wilde has arrived! There’s a real spring in my step as I hop off
the train, I’ve just got a really good feeling about today. I’m going to clear
my name, I’m going to spend time with Luke and it’s going to be fun!

Luke
is meeting me here because I am notoriously bad at getting from A to B, and
with London being quite big I will almost certainly get lost.

As
soon as I have my caramel macchiato (aren’t my priorities fantastic?), I make
my way to our arranged meeting point and wait. The station is so busy but no
one gives anyone a second look. Thinking about it, this would make a fantastic
hiding place.

My
phone rings - it’s Luke. He’s slept in and won’t be able to come and meet me.
Apparently he needs a shower and to wash his hair, otherwise he might be
photographed looking dirty. I guess now he’s famous even he is worried about
what people think.

‘If
you wanna get the Tube...’

‘I
don’t
want to get the Tube, no Tube,’ I insist.

‘It’s
the quickest and the cheapest way.’ He laughs at me, silly northerner that I most
likely am.

‘I
don’t care, what if it gets stuck?’

‘It
won’t get stuck!’

‘It
might! I watch the news, young man.’

‘Oh
Nicole,’ he laughs and then sighs, he’s defeated and he knows it. ‘You do make
me laugh. Right, go outside and get a taxi.’

‘Ok,
stay on the line though,’ I make my way outside, somehow managing to hold my
case, phone
and
coffee.

‘Right,
I have a taxi.’

‘Ok,
you want to come to -’ he starts telling me the address.

‘Whoa,
whoa, whoa, stop right there,’ I tell him. I tap the driver on the shoulder.
‘Excuse me, could you speak to my dad and he’ll tell you where to take me.’

I
hear Luke laugh as I hand the phone over. The driver dutifully takes my phone
and talks to my “dad”.

‘Hello?...
Oh yes... right... of course.... oh, thank you.’ He laughs and I imagine what
Luke is saying to make him laugh.

The
driver gets out and hands me my phone.

‘Come
on,’ he says grabbing my case and putting it in the back of the car. ‘Let’s get
you where you need to go.’

I
shuffle awkwardly into the car and when the driver gets back in I see him look
at my in his rear view mirror.

‘First
time in London is it?’ he asks.

‘No,
I come here a lot actually,’ I admit.

‘Bloke
said you were from Yorkshire.’

‘I
thought he might have.’

‘How
do you get around in Yorkshire then?’ he asks.

‘On
horseback usually,’ I say, deadpan.

He
looks at me in the mirror again and then laughs, hopefully realising that I was
joking.

The
car comes to a standstill at the traffic lights.

‘This
would have been a lot quicker by Tube you know.’

‘So
people tell me,’ I reply, mildly annoyed at Londoners and their bloody Tube
agenda. ‘But if I got the Tube, then you wouldn’t get my money, would you?’

‘Under
strict instruction not to take money off you, your fella will be waiting.’

‘Oh.’
Well that’s nice of him.

Eventually
the car comes to a standstill.

‘Here
we are, darlin’. Bet that was faster than horseback, eh?’

I
jump out the car, dragging my own case out behind me.

‘Hello,’
I hear Luke’s voice behind me.

‘Daddy!’
I call out, throwing my arms around him, fully aware the jig is up because he
is clearly way too young to have fathered me.

 ‘Cheers
mate,’ he says to the taxi driver who thanks him very enthusiastically – that
must have been one hell of a tip.

‘Your
bird’s funny,’ he tells Luke with a chuckle before driving off.

Still
messing with my suitcase (trying to get the handle thingy to go up so I can
drag it along properly) I feel Luke’s hands on my hips.

‘Allo,
my bird,’ he says in a put-on cockney accent.

I
turn around. ‘Hello my...’ I am stopped in my tracks, words escape me.

He
laughs and flashes me that cute smile that makes me go weak at the knees. It is
Luke, but different.

‘Luke,
you look terrible,’ I eventually, and rather untactfully, blurt out.

‘Ha!
Well I told you I needed a shower, if you think I look bad you should smell
me.’ He laughs, grabbing his sunglasses from the top of his head and putting
them on to cover his dark and bloodshot eyes. He looks tired, messy and like he
hasn’t had a decent meal in months - and yet it’s only a few weeks since I saw
him last. I’ve never seen him look so pale.

He
grabs my case in one hand, and my hand in the other.

‘This
way.’ He leads me towards a huge apartment building.

‘Wow!
You live
here
? Who knew you guys were doing so well,’ I tease.

On
the way up in the lift I try to imagine what it’s like inside his apartment. I
know I am only seconds away from finding out, but I really hope it’s as
beautiful as I’m imagining.

‘Wow!’
I exclaim as he opens the door.

‘You
like?’ he asks. ‘I tidied up a little because I knew you were coming.’

He
kicks the few remaining pieces of junk out of site.

‘This
place is beautiful, Luke.’

‘Thanks.
Listen, make yourself at home, I’m going to jump in the shower.’

He
disappears into another room and once the door is closed behind him I twirl around,
taking in my surroundings. This place is like a dream, it makes my shitty
little flat look so... shitty! As you walk through the door you are greeted
first by the huge kitchen, it looks untouched and I can’t imagine he uses it
very much. Currently I am standing in the middle of the living room. It’s a
typical lad pad, leather recliners, huge TV, games consoles, pool table. It must
be so much fun living here, it must kill him having to leave this place to live
on the tour bus for weeks at a time.

There
are hundreds of framed photos on the walls, all of which are of the band,
photos from tour and stuff. As I make my way across the room looking at them, I
am taken aback by my own face staring back at me. It’s the picture of me and
Luke that Carla took, the one that caused all the trouble with Charles. It’s
actually a really beautiful photo and it captures the two of us perfectly. I
wish I could go back in time to that night. It’s not that long ago, and it’s
before everything went wrong. I’d go back and stop myself getting so drunk, I’d
stop Carla taking photos of me – or at the very least I’d ask her not to upload
them, and then I’d be able to stop myself getting papped with Dylan. Things
would be fine with Charles, and Dylan would go back to playing happily families
with Crystal. It’s funny how things work out sometimes, it only takes a handful
of events to reshape lives so drastically.

The
door to the balcony is unlocked so I step outside and take in the scenery. He
has a perfect view of the o2 Arena just across the river.

‘Looks
even better from up here doesn’t it,’ I hear Luke say behind me. He steps out
onto the balcony with me. Despite it being a cold November day he’s out here in
nothing but a pair of jeans, with his hair still wet. My eyes instantly look
towards his body and although I quickly force myself to hold eye contact I can
feel them trying to glance down, like they have a mind of their own. The eyes
want what the eyes want.

‘It
really is beautiful,’ I say, glancing out over the river, anything to stop me
perving.

‘So
do I look much better now?’ he asks.

‘Much,’
I assure him. He doesn’t really, he looks terrible, but I can’t say that to him
again. I cast my mind back to tour, to the drugs, I really hope that isn’t the
reason he looks so rough.

‘You
look worried.’ He leans on the railing next to me. ‘Then again, I’d be worried
if the country thought I was a marriage wrecker.’

‘Well
hopefully I’m going to get that sorted.’

‘Hopefully.
In the meantime, feel free to stay with me for as long as you like, I’ve got
some time off, I can show you the sights.’

‘Oh,
I’m sure you will show me the sights.’ I give him a cheeky smile.

‘It
just so happens I’m one of London’s biggest attractions, haven’t you heard?’

‘Hey
mister, step out onto the street with me, we’ll see who gets the paparazzi all
up in their face first.’

‘You
not enjoying you five minutes then?’ he asks me, placing his hand over mine.

‘I’ve
always wanted to be famous you know,’ I tell him.

‘I
think most people do these days.’

‘Yeah,
but not famous for anything in particular.’ I laugh at how ridiculous this must
sound. ‘I don’t want to be famous for my writing or anything like that, I just
want the lifestyle. I look at people like Paris Hilton and I wanna be like that
- not really famous for anything in particular.’