The Mighty Storm (10 page)

I step through the door, deciding against inviting him in for a drink. He probably lives in a mansion. I don
’
t want him looking around my tiny flat.

I lock up and follow him down the path.

“
Nice place.” He nods back at the house that hosts my flat.

“
Thanks … wow, is this yours?” I ask as he approaches a silver Aston Martin DBS.

He grins and unlocks it with the key fob. “Loaner, but I do have one back home.”

Loaner
?
I
’
d be lucky if I
’
d be able to loan a scooter.

And once again, I
’
m reminded of how very different our lives are.

“
Isn
’
t this James Bonds car?” I ask, as I slide into the supple leather seat, putting my seatbelt on.

“
Well, not this specific one, no
–
but I have driven his.”

I slide him a look. “Show off,” I smile.

“
Oh, you have no idea.” He winks at me, leaving my stomach to free-fall off into the next galaxy.

We pull away, roaring off down my small street, in his very flashy car.

“
So where are we going?” I ask, still trying to recover myself from his earlier comment.

“
It
’
s a surprise.”

“
A surprise?” I turn to look at him.

He slides me a look, a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah a surprise, you remember those
–
they usually happen on birthdays, that kind of thing.”

“
But it
’
s not my birthday.”

“
Yeah, well I
’
ve missed twelve of them, so I
’
ve got quite a few surprises to make up for.”

I really don
’
t know what to say to that, so for once, I keep quiet.

I look out of the window and notice a black Land Rover that is driving pretty close to the back of the car.

Turning my head, I look over my shoulder at the car. It
’
s tinted and I can
’
t see in the window. I hope it
’
s not paparazzi following him. Don
’
t they usually drive big smog chuggers like that?

“
That car
’
s pretty close behind,” I say, tilting my head back in its direction, trying to alert him.

Jake
’
s eyes flick to his rear-view and then back to me.

“
It
’
s Dave, my security guy.”

“
Oh. Does he go everywhere with you?”

“
Yeah … well everywhere, except the bathroom.” He slides his grinning eyes in my direction.

“
Why is he riding back there and not in the car with us.”

“
Because I wanted to be alone with you.”

“
Oh.”

Oh.

My nerves have instantly gone haywire. I could really do with another glass of wine.

Actually, I feel the need to drink every time he looks at me. I have a feeling I
’
m going to get very drunk tonight.

I look out of the window again, watching the buildings of London, thinking how surreal this is. Last night I was out getting drunk in Mandarin’s with Simone, ragged nerves over interviewing Jake, wondering if he would remember me, and now I
’
m here in his fancy James Bond car, and he
’
s driving me to my surprise night out.

Jake Wethers, my old best friend, one-time love of my life, biggest rock star and most sought after man in the world, and he is sitting inches away from me. I could reach my hand out and touch him.

I won
’
t though, cause that would be pretty weird.

Actually, things don
’
t get much weirder than this.

We
’
re in Convent Garden when Jake pulls the car up and parks it on the main road just outside a Pizza Hut. His security guy pulls up behind.

“
I don
’
t think you can park here,” I say looking around at the no parking signs

“
Don
’
t worry, come on.” He climbs out of the car. I guess when you
’
re him you can do whatever you want.

I climb out of the car and notice there
’
s a guy standing outside the entrance to the Pizza Hut staring at us. My first thought is he must recognise Jake, but then I realise it
’
s Stuart, Jake
’
s PA.

“
Hey,” Jake says to him. “All ready?”

“
Yep.” Stuart nods.

Jake tosses the car keys to him. “I
’
ll call you when we
’
re done.”

“
No worries, have a good night … hello again, Trudy,” Stuart says as he walks past us.

“
Hi,” I say, offering him a smile.

Stuart hops in the James Bond car and promptly drives away.

“
Come on,” Jake says, taking hold of my hand.

My skin tingles at his touch again. He
’
s so much more tactile than he used to be, I notice.

He walks me to the entrance of the Pizza Hut.

I stop and look up at the sign, then back to Jake.

“
We
’
re going to Pizza Hut?” I grin.

He remembers.

That was what he meant in the car with the comment about my birthdays.

Every birthday we would come here, it was kind of a tradition with us
–
and who doesn
’
t love Pizza Hut, right?

I can
’
t believe he remembers. I feel all warm and squishy inside, and also a little overdressed.

He smiles back at me, it reaches all the way to his beautiful blue eyes. “Like I said, I
’
ve got twelve birthdays to make up for. I know it
’
s not the one we used to go to in Manchester, but I figured you wouldn
’
t
want to drive all the way up there
, so this was the next best thing. After you ...” he gestures for me to pass him.

My heart is buzzing around my chest at his thoughtfulness. I walk past him and make my way down the stairs.

Jake is the only guy I know who would pick me up in an Aston Martin DBS then bring me to Pizza Hut. And that
’
s why I love him.

I mean, of course I don
’
t love him
–
love him. I just used to love him when I was younger.

Anyway, the Covent Garden one is a little smarter than the usual Pizza Huts
’.
Especially the one we used to go to in Manchester, at least from the outside. For starters, it
’
s underground and you have to take the stairs to reach it, but once you get inside it
’
s just a regular Pizza Hut and I love it.

I
’
m greeted at the bottom of the stairs by a waiter. The instant he sees Jake, nerves and awe light his eyes up.

I feel sorry for him, as it must be a shock when the biggest rock star in the world turns up unannounced in your place of work. I mean Pizza Hut is not where you
’
d usually expect to see Jake Wethers.

It
’
d pretty hard not to be overawed but I think he does okay overall. He doesn
’
t ask for Jake
’
s autograph which is a good start, because I totally would have.

As I glance around, I see the restaurant is empty.

Surprising, but lucky as I
’
m pretty sure Jake would have got hassled non-stop for autographs in here. Hopefully, it will stay quiet while we
’
re here.

The waiter shows us over to a booth table. I slide into my seat, Jake sits opposite me.

His legs are long under the table. I bump his leg with my foot.

“
Sorry.”

He smiles at me.

It squirms its way through me. I feel like I
’
m a teenager all over again.

“
Can I get you some drinks?” the waiter asks handing us our menus.

Jake looks at me.

“
Beer,
”
I say.

“
Two buds,” Jake orders.

The waiter disappears to get our drinks while I stare at Jake, surprised.

“
What?” he asks, seeing my staring.

“
Um … nothing.” My face flames.

“
No, go on,” he urges, leaning forward, he rests his arms on the table.

“
Well, I just thought you didn
’
t drink anymore
–
you know
–
rehab
.” I say the word quietly, like it
’
s a really inappropriate word to be saying.

He lets out a laugh. “
Drinking
was never the problem, Tru.”

“
Oh.”

He leans back in his seat. “That
’
s the press for you. But still, everything in moderation for me nowadays. Except drugs
–
they
’
re completely off the menu of course, but my cigarettes have increased.”

“
When did you start smoking?” I ask, wondering if it was after he got clean as a replacement for the drugs, as he never was interested in smoking when we were teenagers.

He scrunches up his face in thought. “When I started in the band.”

A while then.

“
Bad habit.”

“
It is,” he agrees. “But not as bad as being an addict.”

I instantly tense.

He smiles. “Relax, Tru. It
’
s not the worst thing in the world I
’
ve ever said, and my drug counsellor says I
’
m supposed to be open about these things.”

Okay…

“
Was it horrible?”

“
What? Rehab.”

“
No
–
but I can
’
t imagine that was a great place to be. I meant being an addict.”

How can he be so together and so successful, but have been a drug addict? It doesn
’
t feel like the two should go together. But somehow in him, they did. I guess everyone has a weakness.

He starts to drum his fingers on the table. “When it was good it was great, and when it was bad
–
it was really fuckin
’
bad. I reached the point when all the highs
–
which were basically every day for me, were all bad. And that was when it was time to get clean.”

“
I
’
m glad you
’
re clean,” I say.

“
Me too,” he smiles.

The waiter comes over with our beers.

“
Are you both ready to order, or do you need more time?”

“
Oh, sorry, I haven
’
t even looked at my menu, yet,” I say opening it up.

“
Give us another five minutes,
man
.”

“
So what were you thinking?” I ask looking down at the menu.

“
Pizza.
”

I glance up at his smiling face.

“
Ha, ha, funny. They do serve pasta and salad here as well you know.” I pull my tongue out at him.

“
I remember.”

I get the impression he remembers so much more than I could have hoped.

“
Do you want to share?” I ask.

“
Are you still greedy?”

“
I was never greedy!” I say feigning outrage.

“
You ate like a guy,” he laughs.

“
Are you saying I was fat, Jake Wethers?” I quirk my eyebrow at him.

“
No. You were always a skinny
little thing
, I could never actually figure out where it all went.”

“
My ass. It still does.”

“
From what I remember of your ass it was always nice, I
’
ll have to check it out later
–
I
’
ll let you know what I think.”

“
So you didn
’
t already check it out coming down the stairs?”

I can
’
t believe I just said that!

It
’
s him, he seems to bring out a new found flirty, naughty side of me.