Just Say Yes Page 4

  Unlike most reality shows, the victors were allowed home for part of the week. Nick suspected the studio couldn’t afford the staff to keep them there every night. Lucy’s theory was that the contestants were being secretly watched by the crew while they were “at large,” as Sir Denby put it.

  “That’s just your suspicious nature,” laughed Nick as she told him of her theory one Friday evening. He’d got into the habit of visiting his family for dinner before heading over to Lucy’s flat where he’d spend the night. That was all he had time for apart from the odd phone call and Lucy tried very hard to understand. After all, she kept reminding herself, they still barely knew each other. She understood that the show had to come first, even though it took its toll on him. After the first sacking, he virtually crawled into her flat.

  “This isn’t going to be easy,” he’d said as they’d lain in bed at five in the morning, too fired up to sleep, eating bacon sandwiches.

  “No. I never expected it to be.”

  “But I need to do this. All my life I’ve felt I’ve been waiting for this chance. It’s like I’ve been sleepwalking through everything until now. As if I’ve never lived up to what I promised.”

  “You don’t have to live up to anything,” mumbled Lucy through a mouthful of bacon sandwich. “No one expects you to take over the planet.”

  He smiled and touched her cheek. “Ah, Lucy. You are so sweet. You have no idea. Did you know what my dad gave me for my twenty-first birthday?”

  “A train set?”

  “The telephone number of an old school friend of his who ran a food-processing factory. They made frozen fries.”

  “Happy Birthday to you…” she sang, thinking he was joking.

  “Yeah. He told me if I hadn’t made it onto the board by the time I was thirty, I’d never get anywhere, so I went for the interview and, despite trying very hard to come across as a complete idiot, I got a job as junior manager in the lab.”

  “Maybe your dad was just trying to look after you,” she said, thinking of what she’d received from her dad on her own twenty-first birthday. It had been a card asking her to contact him. She’d thrown it in the bin. She and her mother hadn’t spoken to him for three years and after her lack of response to the card, she guessed he’d given up. He’d brought it on himself—as she’d told herself a thousand times.

  “But he must have meant well. Lots of fathers don’t bother with their kids at all.”

  He shook his head. “I wish he hadn’t bothered with me. He almost ruined my life. I stayed in that bloody factory for nearly six years until I’d had enough. One day, while we were having a meeting to work out how to reduce the size of the crinkle cut range by ten percent without the customers noticing, I finally saw sense. I mean, what kind of existence is that?”

  The kind that a lot of people have to lead if they’re lucky, thought Lucy. “It could be worse,” she said a little impatiently. “You might have had to work in the factory, making the fries. It’s not glamorous, but it’s real life.”

  Nick shook his head. “I don’t want real life. I want more. Much more.”

  “I know,” she said, laying her plate on the duvet and stroking the hairs on his arm. It was useless trying to persuade him that she’d have respected him even if he wasn’t aiming for the top—maybe even more.

  He let out a laugh. “I told them to shove their fries where the sun doesn’t shine and I left. The next week I was working in the sandwich bar and Dad threatened to disinherit me.”

  “Now I know you’re joking. Threatening you with disinheritance sounds like something from a Victorian novel.”

  “My father is like someone from Victorian times. He meant what he said. He told me I’d humiliated him and I wouldn’t get any more help until I’d seen sense and got a proper job again.”

  “But surely your mum and dad are proud of you now?”

  “Oh, the old man’s come round a bit recently, but he still thinks I’m a fool. This is my last chance, Lucy. It has to work. I have to win.”

  His face was taut with tension. No matter that he’d had a comfortable, even privileged upbringing. Lucy could see it would never be enough and, in one way, she genuinely admired his passion. You had to reach for your dream whatever it was. Maybe she shouldn’t be settling for her marketing assistant’s role. Maybe she should fire herself up and go for what she really wanted. Whatever that was.

  “Nick? Are you still here?” she asked, seeing him staring into space.

  “Hell, yes. Hey—I know it’s early and I should get some sleep, but…”

  She reached for him and the last thing she heard was the plate thudding onto the floor. That was one of the last times they had a chance to make love because, after that, even their weekends seemed to be taken up with Hot Shots business. Lucy went along to the studio to see a couple of the rehearsals, but their meetings became hurriedly snatched as the excitement built and the press attention mounted.

  She’d understood when he hadn’t been able to turn up for her birthday dinner. Instead, he’d arrived at the office midmorning in a rickshaw while the TV crew snatched a breakfast in Love Bites. Letitia had been highly amused but Mr. Lawson had said he hoped “her fame would not get in the way of efficient working practices.”

  Then there were the papers. Halfway through the Hot Shots run, Nick’s face began to appear in the national press. Lucy thanked her lucky stars she was neither gorgeous, thin, fat, nor weird enough to attract more than the attention of a few local newspapers back in her hometown. Being ignored was fine by her. Nobody from the nationals phoned her up, so she tried to get on with her job. As long as no one bothered her mum or delved into her past, she convinced herself she was OK.

  Week by agonizing week came and went and, somehow, Nick survived as the Hot Shots final approached its climax. The pressure grew and then one day everything exploded. It had all started when Nick had wanted her to go along to a party but Lucy had needed to visit her mum who’d had a minor operation. When she’d said no, he’d got so annoyed that he’d grabbed a vase she’d been left by her gran and hurled it through the air in frustration. It was an ugly glass thing that she hadn’t realized how much she’d liked until she’d seen it flying through the air and smashing against the fridge. The moment he’d done it, he’d started to apologize, but it was too late. He bent down and started to gather the pieces together.

  “Leave it!” she snapped, but he continued picking up the glass shards as if she hadn’t spoken.

  “Nick, stop this minute.”

  “I’m really—”

  “No, you’re not sorry! You wouldn’t have done it if you were.”

  He let the glass slide from his hand back onto the tiles before standing up.

  “I want you to go.”

  “Luce, don’t be silly.”

  “Get out!” she shrieked.

  His mouth twitched and his face darkened, then he shrugged. “Fine. If that’s what you really want.”

  She heard him collect his jacket, open the door, and thump down the stairs. She was shaking with adrenaline but was too angry to cry, so she set to, clearing up the mess. It was dark before she heard footsteps on the stairs again.

  “Bugger off!” she said, as the door buzzed.

  There was a short silence, followed by a small voice. “Are you sure you mean that, darling?”

  She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed to hear Charlie’s voice on the other side of the door.

  “Sorry, Charlie, I thought you were someone else,” she said, letting him in. He kissed her cheek. “Excuse me for prying, but I was just wondering if the frolicking was getting a teeny bit out of hand. I heard a racket earlier then I saw Nick racing out of here like a scalded cat. I don’t like to pry but I had to see how you were.”

  Lucy tried a grin. “It’s OK. Just a lovers’ tiff.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She thought of the glass vase now wrapped in paper in the bin and finally had to bite back the tears. “Yes. I’m sure.”

  “Do you want me to make you a cup of tea anyway?”

  She and Charlie had demolished a packet of Ginger Nuts when the door buzzed briefly again. Lucy set her mug down on the table.

  “Lucy, it’s me,” came Nick’s low voice.

  “Are you going to answer that?” asked Charlie as she stayed in her seat, wondering whether to let him in.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Do you want me to open it?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ll do it.”

  “Lucy! Are you in there? I’ve got something for you,” she heard Nick call as she reached the door. He was standing in the corridor, clutching a brown paper bag in his hands, his face flushed. “I’ve been round every flea market and junk shop in north London,” he said breathlessly. “And I know this isn’t quite the same, but it’s the best I could do at short notice. I am really, really sorry for losing my temper.”

  “I’ll be going then, Lucy, love,” said Charlie, picking up his messenger bag from the kitchen floor as Nick shuffled in.

  “Hello, Nick. Nice to meet you again.”

  A shadow of embarrassment crossed Nick’s face. “Hello, mate. Sorry about the noise.”

  Charlie smiled graciously. “What’s fine with Lucy is fine by me. I’ll be here if you need me,” he whispered, brushing his lips across Lucy’s face. “Farewell for now.”

  After he’d left, Lucy took the paper bag from Nick but didn’t open it.

  “Aren’t you going to look inside?” he said, sounding disappointed.

  “Maybe later.”

  “It’s almost the same,” he murmured. “Not quite, but I did my best.”

  “It’s the thought that counts, my gran would probably have said.”

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nbsp; “I should never have blown up in that way.” He held out the bag. “I’m in uncharted territory here, Lucy. The pressure’s making me freak out, but taking all the crap out on you is unforgivable. Look, why don’t you let me make you some supper?”

  Lucy stared at the worried expression on his face, knowing that part of her was enjoying seeing him suffer.

  “Or we can just open a bottle of wine and sit and talk things through,” he offered when she didn’t answer.

  “Right now, I think I’d rather just have sex.”

  The relief on his face was almost comical, then she felt the rasp of stubble against her skin as he kissed her, tentatively and hopefully. Already she was thinking of them being in bed together, relishing their passionate “making up,” and forgetting everything in the heat of the moment.

  “Sex it is, then,” he whispered as they headed for her room.

  The next morning at work, a huge bouquet of roses arrived, impressing even Letitia. But they hadn’t impressed Fiona. When Lucy had told her about Nick’s behavior later that week, her friend had snorted in derision.

  “You’re just jealous because you’re on your own,” Lucy had retorted, finally stung by Fiona’s jibes. To which Fiona had replied: “I’d rather die alone and be eaten by Hengist than put up with Mr. Sodding Wonderful.”

  After that, Lucy had stormed out of Fiona’s flat.

  The weeks stretched out and there was still no phone call from Fiona, no exploratory text or test-the-water email. Lucy began to worry. They’d had spats before, of course, even rows that had ended in one of them walking out, but nothing that had ever lasted this long.

  But she wasn’t going to be the one to make the first move. No way.

  Chapter 6

  One Saturday morning Lucy was dawdling her way round the grocery store. Nick was doing a photo shoot and had promised he’d make it to the flat for dinner. She was fairly sure he meant it and was just loading some Häagen-Dazs into her basket when she heard a voice from the pet supplies aisle.

  “Luce, is that you?”

  Peering round the end of a dog chew display, Lucy saw the unmistakable profile of Fiona. They had to meet one day soon, and maybe Tesco’s was as good a place as any. At least it was public, so they could hardly start chucking tins of Pedigree Chum at each other.

  “Lucy, it is you, isn’t it?”

  “Hi, Fiona.”

  It was too late to hide, even if she’d really wanted to. Fiona had abandoned her shopping cart and was headed toward her. They stopped about a foot from each other, like gunslingers at the OK Corral.

  “I knew it was you,” she said as Lucy clutched the handles of her basket defiantly. Fiona was staring at her and frowning and Lucy guessed what was coming next. “What on earth have you done to your hair?”

  “I thought it was time for a change,” said Lucy firmly.

  Fiona’s silence said everything.

  “Stop looking at me like that. This is my natural color, Fi!”

  “No need to explain yourself to me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Fine, then,” said Fiona with a sniff.

  Privately, Lucy admitted that her new hairstyle must come as a surprise to Fiona. She’d had it jet black with purple highlights for a year until changing it to a nondescript brown bob.

  Fiona narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I suppose it was his idea.”

  “No, it was not his idea!” hissed Lucy indignantly.

  Two pensioners turned and tutted so Lucy beckoned Fiona deeper into the dog-food aisle and lowered her voice. “It was not Nick’s idea, actually. I decided to dye it. I thought it was more appropriate for work.”

  Fiona still looked doubtful.

  Lucy was worried they really would end up hurling canned goods at each other if one of them didn’t back down, and she’d genuinely missed Fiona, not to mention Hengist. Her little flat didn’t seem the same without the stray dog hairs and wet-dog smell.

  “Oh, sod it!” said Fiona, suddenly hugging her. “I’ve missed you, Luce. I’ve hated us falling out, but I just hate seeing you with a guy who doesn’t deserve you. I suppose I’m the one who should be holding out the olive branch, or should it be dog chews?”

  Lucy sighed with relief. “Dog chews, definitely. Shall we go for a double espresso?”

  Fiona pulled a face. “Sod the coffee. Is there anywhere to get a decent G&T around here?”

  Lucy deposited her ice cream haul in the frozen pea section while Fiona abandoned her shopping cart, and they headed for the TexMex Diner on the retail park. Over a plate of nachos and the screeching of a toddler’s birthday party, they sat down to make an awkward peace. Fiona kept taking birdlike sips of her G&T, by which Lucy guessed she must be feeling nervous. “It’s no use me lying. You know I think Nick Laurentis is an unreliable, sex-mad, selfish git who’ll break your heart.”

  “Say what you really think, Fi.”

  “I am. That’s why we’re friends. Someone has to save you from yourself.”

  “And what is myself?” asked Lucy, slurping her strawberry daiquiri as though it were going out of fashion.

  “A gullible, trusting, loved-up idiot.”

  “I’m not loved up.”

  “Sexed-up, then.”

  “Our relationship is based on a lot more than sex.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, and—not that it’s any of your business—even if it was just based on sex, is that so wrong?”

  “No. I think a relationship based on sex is an excellent idea and I’d try it myself if I could find some buff young guy to be shallow with. But it’s only right if both partners have the same expectations.”

  “How do you know we don’t?” said Lucy quietly.

  “Just a hunch.”

  “So you think I’m expecting more from this arrangement than Nick is?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’d hate to see him using you, Luce. I mean, how often does he take you out? How often has he let you down?”

  “OK, I’ll admit he’s been a tiny bit unreliable at times but, Fi, we have such a great time when we’re together and you’re forgetting, this is his chance of a lifetime. I mean, a lot of guys wouldn’t want to be saddled with a relationship at all. I’m perfectly happy to go along with it and soon it will all be over anyway, and then we can get back to real life.”

  “What if he wins?”

  Lucy hesitated. Hadn’t she turned that scenario over in her head a hundred times? She had no idea what would happen if Nick did win, other than that their lives would be even more manic and bizarre than they were now.

  “We’ll deal with it,” she said firmly.

  “And if he loses?” said Fiona from over the top of her glass.

  Ah, that was even more difficult, thought Lucy. Nick wouldn’t hear talk of defeat or negative thinking these days. She didn’t want to be the one to pick up the pieces if he got voted out, but she’d have to, of course. She’d have no choice.

  “I’ll handle it. Now listen, Fi. I won’t discuss Nick any further. Tell me what you’ve been up to in the past six weeks. How many victims have you killed off this week and have you managed to get that Welsh guy from the health club to show you his lotus position yet?”

  Later, as Lucy finally reached home, she couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable over her conversation with Fiona. She wasn’t sure what she wanted from her relationship with Nick other than a chance to find out. Nick had swept her off her feet and she’d been enjoying the whole drama too much to stop and analyze it. Why shouldn’t she just enjoy herself? After all, Nick was never boring, utterly gorgeous, and startlingly creative in bed. Yet, other times, when he was stressed or just couldn’t get what he wanted quickly enough, he would just lose it and blow up. The problem was that she hadn’t really got to know him before this whole bizarre TV thing kicked off. She couldn’t tell whether he was volatile because of the extraordinary situation he was in or whether he was like that anyway. She still felt she didn’t know the real Nick.

  But did that really matter?

  Did she even know the real her anymore? Fiona had been spot-on about one thing. It had been Nick’s idea to change her striking color to something more “mainstream.” Just in case I do win, he’d said, and the papers wanted to take pictures of her. That prospect had filled her with horror but she could see some logic in the hair thing. Her boss at Able & Lawson was always giving her funny looks. Maybe it was time she went for something a little more “corporate.”