“I suppose.”
I hover awkwardly in the doorway, wondering how to wind this conversation up. I feel like we should maybe hug or something. That’s what would happen if this was a movie.
But my life isn’t a movie.
And that’s never been more apparent than it is now.
Chapter 38
Iwake up the next morning to gray skies, and no messages from Jett.
There is, however, a huge number of people standing outside my house, and, instead of the usual Jett Carter fans, who disappeared as soon as the news broke that he’d left town, the huge cameras they’re all clutching are a sure sign that the paparazzi have found their way back to Heather Bay.
Fantastic. Now I can’t even leave the house without having my photo taken.
Not that I particularly want to leave the house, mind you. My ‘early night’ ended up being just an excuse to cry myself to sleep, and now that the floodgates have opened, I can’t seem to figure out how to slam them shut again.
I guess I’m going to have to give up my claim of being the woman who never cries, then.
I had intended to get Mum to call Jack Buchanan this morning to talk to him about the possibility of him buying us out of the distillery, but I’m feeling so low I end up just lurking in my room, peeking out of the window every now and then to see if the photographers are still there. Which they always, always are.
After a couple of hours, the front door opens, and Mum totters out in a pair of high heels and approaches the paps. I watch in horror as she appears to address them for a few minutes, to the accompaniment of a lot of shouted questions, then I see Scarlett peel away from the rest of the group — presumably heading back to the office to file whatever story she’s going to make up next.
Mum strikes a few poses on the footpath, then turns and comes back into the house, where I meet her in the hallway.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, as if the photographers might somehow hear me. “What did they want?”
That’s a stupid question, obviously. I know they want to follow up on the “fake relationship” story, and probably to paint me as a real-life Lady Macbeth, getting Jett into trouble with my scheming ways. And judging by the look on Mum’s face, I’m right.
“Oh, you know,” she says vaguely, examining her reflection in the hall mirror. “They wanted to talk to you about Jett. I gave them a good telling off, though,” she adds, looking at me for approval. “Told them to stop tormenting you, and let you grieve in peace.”
“Grieve?” I wail. “You told them I was grieving? Mum!”
“Well, you are, aren’t you?” she shrugs. “You’re grieving your relationship. I understand, sweetheart. Oh, here, I almost forgot: Scarlett asked me to give you this.”
She reaches into her pocked and hands me a folded up piece of paper that’s been ripped out of a notebook. “Call me,” it says. “I can help.” Then there’s a number which I assume is Scarlett’s, and which I take a small amount of satisfaction in tossing straight into the bin.
There. That’ll show her.
Once that’s done, though, I’m at a loss. I have no job, no friends… no real life to speak of. I could call Summer, I suppose. Now that the truth’s come out about me and Jett, I guess there’s nothing stopping me. But it’ll still be the middle of the night in L.A., and…
I squeeze my eyes shut tight to stop the thoughts that come rushing in about L.A., where Jett will surely be by now. I wonder what he’s doing? Did he go straight to bed, to sleep off the jet-lag? Or is he lying awake, unable to sleep? Is he thinking about me, or is he texting Violet, telling her he’s back home, and he can’t wait to see her? Maybe she’s even with him. Maybe—
“Lexie!”
Mum snaps her fingers in my face to get my attention, and I open my eyes again to find her standing in front of me, holding Scarlett’s note, which she’s fished out of the bin.
“Maybe you should call her?” she says, as if this is a totally reasonable suggestion. “See what she has to say? She was ever so nice to me when I was in hospital, you know. She even came to see me a couple of times. Not to interview me, you understand. She just said she thought I could use the company. I think she was a bit lonely, actually. I think—”
“I’m not phoning her, Mum,” I interrupt, handing back the note. “Scarlett’s ruined my entire life. You must see that? Because of her, Jett thinks he can’t trust me. He thinks I was just using him for the money, or to get famous or whatever.”
“Well, you’re certainly famous now,” Mum says brightly, completely missing the point. “Everyone will know the name Lexie Steele after this. You’ve really put Heather Bay on the map.”
“Yeah, and I don’t expect anyone’s going to be thanking me for that,” I mutter as she wanders off to the kitchen, leaving the phone number on the hall table. “It turns out fame’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
I turn to go back upstairs. Before I do, though, I take Scarlett’s note and put it back into the bin, where it belongs.
And that’s where it’ll stay.
