The Mighty Storm (4 page)

“
That I wouldn
’
t.”

“
Look, he
’
ll understand, Will
’
s a very understanding man.” I take another bite of my biscuit and drop crumbs all over my T-shirt. I brush them off. “Tonight isn
’
t a big deal, we were only having dinner. Seriously, you and I will go out and celebrate
–
I
’
ll call Will now.”

Honestly, I could do with the distraction of alcohol tonight because my nerves are fraught over the whole Jake interview thing, and Simone is my very best drinking partner.

“
You
’
re sure?”

“
I
’
m definitely sure.” I grin.

“
Then you are definitely on.”

Putting my coffee down, I lean over and retrieve my phone from my bag.

I have a text waiting from Vicky:

Good luck tomorrow, darling girl. Come straight to my office when you
’
re done with Jake, I want ALL the details ;)

A winky, smiley face. Christ, she
’
s making it sound like a bloody date.

A white hot thrill shoots through me at the very thought.

Jesus, Tru, sort yourself out.

A: Jake is way out of your league, and always was.

B: It actually is just an interview.

And C: You have a very lovely boyfriend by the name of Will. The one who you
’
re about to cancel on.

I lean back on the sofa and speed dial Will
’
s number.

“
Hey baby,” he coos down the phone. “You okay?”

“
I
’
m fine … I was just wondering, would you be majorly pissed if I cancelled tonight? It
’
s just that Simone found out today she landed that big client she
’
s been working on for months and also that they are promoting her to Ad Exec! So I thought I should take her out to celebrate.”

“
Of course I don
’
t mind. Go out, enjoy yourself. And tell Simone congratulations from me. Rain check for tomorrow night, darling?”

“
Definitely.”

“
Love you.”

“
You too.”

I hang up, tossing my phone on the table.

“
Get your best on,” I say, grinning across at Simone. “Because tonight, you and I are celebrating.”

I take a quick shower, washing my hair. I blow dry it, and run my straighteners over, smoothing it out.

My hair is dark, thick, naturally curly … basically unruly. I wear it long to try and drag the curl down. I inherited my wild hair from my mum. She
’
s Puerto-Rican. My dad is English.

And no, before you ask, I don
’
t look anything like J-Lo. I wish. Well maybe except for my ass, it
’
s about as big as hers.

My mum and dad met while he was touring America with The Rifts. My mum was in her first year of university. She
’
d moved to San Francisco from Puerto Rico to go to university. It was a big thing for her and her family; she was the first to ever go to university.

My dad was doing a gig at her university, and it was love at first sight. They spent the four days that my dad was in San Francisco together.

After my dad left to carry on with the tour they kept in touch. Then six weeks later my mum found out she was pregnant with me.

She was only eighteen at the time, my dad twenty-three, with their whole future in front of them.

Dad went back to San Francisco and they had a choice to make.

They said getting rid of me was never an option for either of them, so one of them had to give something up.

It was either my dad
’
s music or my mum
’
s university degree.

Mum gave her degree up.

She told my dad that being a mother was now the only important thing to her, as she
’
d lost her own mama when she was very young.

She broke the news to her dad, and he went ballistic. He gave her an ultimatum. It was either me and my dad, or her family back home.

She chose us.

He disowned her. Her whole family cut her off.

So she left San Francisco and her dream behind and went on tour with my dad and the band to follow his.

They tried to make it work on the road, but a baby on tour is just not possible, so eventually my dad made the decision to leave the band. They moved back to the England, to Manchester where my dad is from and got married.

For the first two years of my life we all lived with my Gran and Granddad at their house, until mum and dad could afford their own house.

And that was when I moved next door to Jake.

Sometimes I feel like I ruined my dad
’
s chances of hitting the big time, and took away my mum
’
s chance of a career. Neither of them have ever made me feel that way, not once, and I know they would be angry if I even think it. But mostly I feel that way about my dad. I just know how much he loves music and how hard it must have been for him to give it up.

I sweep some mascara over my lashes, dust on my gold eye-shadow, it goes best with my brown eyes, and put some pale pink gloss onto my lips. Then I decide on my black maxi dress. I slip my feet into my silver kitten heels, and pick up my chainmail handbag, putting my money and lip gloss in it.

I give myself one last look in the mirror. Not bad, Tru. Not perfect, but not bad.

I meet Simone out in the hall.

“
You look gorgeous,” I say. She
’
s wearing a short, light blue puff ball dress.

She wiggles her hips. “Right back at ya, sexy.”

“
And you call me a dork.” I shake my head, laughing at her. “You got your keys?”

She dangles them in the air.

“
Right lets go then.”

Simone locks up and we walk out into the night air, heading for our local haunt, and most awesome cocktail bar, Mandarin’s.

It
’
s surprisingly packed for a Thursday night. We get a pitcher of margarita’s
and grab a free table.

I pour drinks into both our glasses.

Lifting mine, I say, “To my gorgeous and very smart friend, may you run the company one day.”

Giggling, she chinks my glass.

I take a sip of my margarita. The alcohol runs down my throat, just the soother I needed.

“
So how are things at the magazine?” Simone asks.

I snort out a laugh.

Okay, here goes …

“
I
’
m um … interviewing Jake Wethers tomorrow.”

Her mouth opens in surprise, forming an
‘
O
’
.

“
Yep. Exactly.” I nod.

Then she screams, attracting us quite a few stares.

“
Sorry,” she says embarrassed.

I
’
m already laughing at her.

“
Okay,” she says calming down, fanning her face, “Any particular reason you
’
re only just telling me this now?”

“
Your promotion. We
’
re celebrating that tonight. I didn
’
t want talk of Jake overrunning it.”

“
Um…” She gives me a stupid look. “I
’
d rather be overrun by Jake Wethers than my promotion any day.” She flashes her eyes at me.

I roll mine.

“
So how did the interview come about? I
’
m guessing you didn’t set it up.”

“
Vicky did.”

“
How in the hell did she manage to land an interview with Jake? Did she use your name to get it?”

Her words flitter through my mind.

I shake my head. “She wouldn
’
t tell me how, but no, I don
’
t think so. Using my name wouldn
’
t have gotten her an interview with Jake anyway.”

Simone pulls the face she always pulls whenever the subject of Jake comes up and I imply he has no care for me nowadays.

Not that I talk about him regularly or anything.

“
I bet he
’
s gonna be so made up to see you. Does he know it
’
ll be you doing the interview?”

Does he?

“
I’m not sure,” I shrug. “His people will have my name, but I highly doubt he
’
ll be bothered about who
’
s interviewing him … and he won
’
t be made up, Simone, we haven
’
t seen each other for twelve years. He
’
ll have forgotten all about me.”

“
Yeah, sure he will,” she says taking another drink of her cocktail. “Because you always forget your first love.”

“
I wasn
’
t his first love!” I exclaim.

“
You were the beautiful girl next door,” she shrugs. “Of course you were his first love.”

I shake my head, despairingly at her.

“
Come on,” she says, smiling, topping my drink up, then her own. “Looks like we
’
re celebrating two things tonight after all.”

Oh God. What was I thinking getting drunk last night? Not my smartest plan. Not that I generally have many.

I was just so nervous at the thought of seeing Jake today. And the more I talked with Simone about it, the more I needed to drink.

When she pointed out that Jake probably won
’
t be expecting me if rock stars aren
’
t informed of who is interviewing them, and then when I walk in there it
will be
really uncomfortable and awkward … well, I kept on drinking more and more to dull the panic.

We practically drank Mandarin’s dry. Sang Journey (Don
’
t Stop Believing) on karaoke like we were auditioning for a part in Glee and then rolled home at 2am.

I
’
ve had six hours sleep; I
’
m seriously hung over and am currently travelling in on the Tube, feeling like I
’
m going to puke any second now.

One-part hangover … two-part nerves.

When I finally get off the Tube at
Hyde Park Corner, I grab a latte from Starbucks and guzzle it down, praying for it to clear my fuzzy head, as I make my way on foot to The Dorchester, where Jake is staying.

The closer I get to the hotel, the more my nerves increase in intensity. My stomach keeps clenching in panic.

No, stop it, Tru. You are a serious journalist and it’s just an interview. You’ve done loads of them. It doesn
’
t matter who he is, or that you used to love him.

Still do.

No I don
’
t.

Great, now I
’
m arguing with myself.

My phone beeps a text in my bag. It
’
s from Simone; she
’
d already left for work this morning before I
’
d even rolled out of bed. I have no clue how she’d managed it.

I open the text up:

Breathe. It
’
ll be fine. You
’
ll be talking stories from when you were kids before you know it :) Call me when you
’
re done. Love you x

I drop my phone back in my bag, glancing up I see I
’
ve reached The Dorchester. I drop my empty cup in the nearest bin, take my thin jacket off, and shove it into my oversized bag.

I
’
m wearing my black skater skirt, loose fitting grey T-shirt belted at the waist, and my favourite high-heeled, grey suede ankle boots. Not too flashy, not too casual, and I feel comfortable in them. They
’
re me. And right now I just need to feel comfortable.

I stare up at the towering hotel.

Okay, I can do this.

I take a deep breath in and walk toward the door.

The concierge opens it for me, and I find myself in the plush foyer.

I instantly feel out of place. Maybe I should have dressed a little more conservatively.

But this is how I always dress for work, and when I interview celebrities, but then I
’
ve never interviewed any one as famous as Jake, or none that I used to play kiss chase with when I five either.

Oh God. I am so totally shitting myself. And so totally out of my depth here.

I run my hands nervously down my skirt.

No, I can do this.

I lift my head high and walk toward to the reception desk.

The woman on the reception is very attractive, in that groomed kind of way I
’
ll never be able to achieve.