I’ve only messaged Noah back once.
Leave it with me. Please don’t worry. I’ll make it go away. I’m so sorry x
There’s only one way to make it go away, of course. Flat, outraged denial.
‘The worst thing,’ Mara says, ‘is that it just looks like you’re coming out of a house. It doesn’t look like a hospice. Cheeky fucking gits.’
She’s right. Good Vibes doesn’t look like a hospice. Noah doesn’t look like a doctor. We’re just a happy couple, emerging from an evening at a “private residence”, which is indeed the tack thePosthas taken.
OO-ER HONOR!the headline screams.While Jackson James continues to get cosy on the road withVetco-star Leila Sherazi, his wife Honor Chapman was spotted exiting a private residence in Notting Hill late last night with a dishy stranger. Has she been doing some cosying up of her own?
I scroll down. ‘Oh, God. Oh, God.’
They have more photos. Fuck. They’re of Elaine’s house, that night I first met Noah. There’s a shot of me walking from my car to the house, and another of me entering the main front door on the upper ground floor. Below, they’ve also got photos of Noah going in the basement door. Presumably thepap that evening was just clicking randomly, but someone at thePosthas put two and two together.
The caption reads:It doesn’t look like this is the first time Honor’s hung out with her mystery man. Here they are last month, entering another private residence via two different doorways.
I have to hand it to them. Their ability to find incriminating evidence, even where there isn’t any, is uncanny.
God. Poor Noah. Poor Elaine. It’s mortifying.
‘The only approach here is righteous indignation,’ Mara tells me. ‘We lay the fuck into them. It’ll mean exposing the fact that your mum is ill, okay? But we make a statement to say that the photos were taken when you were leaving a private hospice, that your mother is receiving end-of-life care there, and that the gentleman you were with is her doctor and was comforting you during a difficult time for your family. It’ll totally turn public sympathy our way, and they’ll have no choice to retract.’
I hate it, but Mara’s right. It’s a case of throwing my family’s privacy under the bus, or throwing Noah—and my marriage—under. Besides, it’ll feel great to slap thePostwith some moral righteousness and force them to backtrack.
‘What about the other photos? They were taken at my friend Elaine’s house. Noah—the doctor—is her son.’
‘Even better. Is Elaine a public figure?’
‘Yeah, she’s an entrepreneur and a non-exec—she’s a high-profile businesswoman. We were all out in France staying at Elaine’s place last month. Jackson was there, and Noah.’
‘Fabulous. Ask Jackson if he’ll post a photo of him and Noah. Back to these pictures. Were there other people there that night?’
‘Plenty. Evelyn Macleod was there, and Astrid Carmichael.’
‘Fucking brilliant. We’ll make sure they’re happy to bename-checked and we’ll make a statement that you were at a social event at Noah’s family home. We can also buy the images of anyone else they papped that night entering the same address—if they got you, they got Evelyn. Any news outlets who pick this up will have to do a one-eighty so fast they’ll leave skid marks.’
I sigh. ‘Thanks Mara.’
‘Don’t mention it. Honor?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m only going to ask this once. Is there anything else I need to know about this situation?’
‘God, no.’ Years of dealing with Jackson’s crap have taught me how to hold a poker face.
‘Got it.’ Mara nods. ‘You’d better let Jackson know. I’ll prepare a statement. Give it a few hours, then later this morning we should arrange for you to be papped heading to work for a normal day.’
‘Do you think I’ll be able to make it to the hospice later? To see Mum?’
It’s not to see Mum. It’s to see Noah, who must be out of his mind, but Mara doesn’t need to know that.
‘Even better. If you turn up there, it’ll give every news outlet a chance to verify that the exterior of the building matches the shots from last night, and it’ll remind the public that you’re still focused on your mum’s wellbeing despite all this bullshit. And obviously, it sends a loud message that you’ve got nothing to hide. Laters.’
Thank God for Mara. She’s mopped up plenty of Jackson’s messes in the past, but this is the biggest scandal she’s had to deal with on my behalf. She’s a great person to have onside.
I slide a clean mug under the coffee machine and pick up my pen. I’m so tired I won’t remember anything unless I write it down.
