‘And you know that for a fact, do you?’
Does she think I’m lying? Or that I’m simply stupid?
We pull up outside the studio and Dennis gets out of the car. I can already hear the camera shutters from those men that follow me everywhere.
‘Yes, Mauve, I do. I’ve known Benji for years and everyone has known for a while that their marriage is struggling, but the press have nothing except some rumours.’
‘And that he was going to file for a divorce is definitely true and he wasn’t just saying that to get you into bed?’
‘Hedidn’tget me into bed,’ I insist. It was a harmless kiss at a party and then we left separately. As was delicately pointed out to me on Instagram, he has achild. ‘And even if he did just tell me that, how is any of this my fault?’
I get out of the car and follow Dennis into the building, leaving Mauve in the car with Kareem to find a parking spot.
‘Hey,’ my voice echoes in the high ceilings of the building. The hoarseness is back, and I have to clear my throat again. ‘I’m here forEric Lancaster’s Laughs.’
‘No problem. Ms Martin?’ the receptionist asks.
This talk show appearance is poorly timed with whathappened last night and what the world seems to think I did, but my publicist and best friend, Jess, will have it fixed for me. She’ll have a plan whether I can clear my name on Eric’s show or ignore it until it goes away.
‘Sorry, I’m a bit late,’ I smile politely.
I’m not late. Not really. Only two minutes after the agreed time, but something deep inside me will always think I’m late unless I’m five minutes early. I guess it goes back to being a teenager and desperately trying to make it in an industry which wasn’t exactly welcoming to the kid from the council estate.
I freeze when I spot a flash of brunette curls at the top of the stairs, designer stubble looking right back at me. If James hadn’t already done my make-up, I’d want to rub my eyes. To make sure that I’m not seeing things. I turn back to the receptionist, but she swims in and out of focus.
I smooth the dress over my stomach. The Versace is beautiful: scoop neckline and a short skirt, gold hardware detailing the straps, loose in all the right places, tighter in others. It was the first of three options my stylist offered, and I didn’t want to have to choose anything. To make any more decisions.
‘Oh, you’re fine. It’s barely past the hour,’ the receptionist says, her voice muffled by my heart hammering in my ears.
Luc Nicholls and his familiar brown curls walk down the stairs, scanning his card against the gates to let him out. Dennis clocks him and Luc smiles, Dennis grunting back in acknowledgement. A friendly greeting by Dennis’s standards.
I face away from Luc, clearing my throat before turning back. His eyebrows draw up, one corner of his mouth lifting more prominently than the other.
Now, the only thing I can think is,What are you doing here?
‘Luc.’ I gulp down a steadying breath.
My heart somehow pounds more than thirty seconds ago. I turn around and spot Kareem escorting Mauve along a lineof people queuing to get into the studio. She’s signing autographs, probably promising to pass on messages to me that she’s never going to remember.
It must be stressful having a daughter like me, I guess. A complete mess. So uncaring that she doesn’t care that her mother has lost both her parents and her husband in a few years because the daughter is all too concerned with how they’re her grandparents and dad.
‘It’s so lovely to see you, Sienna.’ Luc opens his arms and pulls me into a stiff, one-armed hug. My overly hairsprayed hair crunches against his arm and I cringe. ‘What’s it been… ten years?’
‘What are you doing here?’ I fiddle with the skin around my fingernails without looking at my hands.
‘I guess I technically work here.’
‘You don’t work onBlood and Wateranymore?’
It makes something ping deep in my stomach that I don’t know what he does for work anymore, that so much time has passed that he could have had three different jobs or lived abroad for a bit, got married, and I’d never know.
He shakes his head, back straight. ‘I write forHostile Minds.’
My jaw drops. ‘No way! I love that show.’
There’s some evidence that I need to sit and watch the credits more often, rather than using them as my phone breaks while binge watching.
Luc steps back and something in my brain fizzes. The floor shifts under me and, for mere seconds, it’s like I’ve floated up out of my body to watch myself from ten years ago. The way Luc, as the most junior writer at the time onEric Lancaster’s Laughs, had rushed through the barriers to collect me from reception when the runner was off sick. I’d introduced myself and then my cheeks flushed. ‘You know, just in case you thought he was Sienna,’ I’d added, gesturing to Dennis.
