As I got to the last page, the tension seemed to leave my body in one big gust of breath. I closed my eyes, and smiled as I leant against the wall outside the newsagents. Maybe they hadn’t managed to get any good photos of us together last night. When the flashes had started, I’d immediately put my hand up to shield my eyes from the light, so maybe I was covering my face or something. Then another thought hit me – maybe it was too late for them to be able to get the article in today’s paper. Maybe they missed the deadline to send it to print; maybe it would be in tomorrow’s instead. I groaned in frustration. I hated not knowing. No doubt this would cause me another night of missed sleep.
Swearing under my breath, I headed back to my flat.
Rory looked at me curiously when I walked in. “Well?” he asked, looking puzzled.
“Huh?” Oh, crap, he doesn’t know anything, does he? Was it on the TV instead?
“The milk, Emma!” He laughed, looking at me like I had lost my mind. “You went out to get milk?”
I glanced down at my empty hands and silently cursed myself for not buying a pint to tie in with my lies. “They were sold out?” I suggested weakly, but it sounded more like a question.
He laughed and rolled his eyes. “Right, I’m leaving for school. Remember, I’m going to the library to finish my project after school so I’ll be late home,” he said, kissing Sasha on top of her head.
“Okay. I’ll leave your dinner on the side if you’re not back,” I said absentmindedly, already starting to think about Carson and the papers again. Rory smiled and headed out the door just as Sasha threw her beaker onto the floor to get my attention. I smiled and looked back at my beautiful baby girl. “What shall we do today? It’s just you and me; Mummy’s got no classes today. We could go to the park?” I suggested.
She immediately held her arms up to me. “Pak!” she screamed excitedly.
THE REST OF THE WEEK PASSED much the same. Every day I would run down to the shop after giving Rory a stupid excuse and I would scan the paper, only to find nothing in there at all. With every passing day, I felt a little less scared about it. If they were going to print something they would have done it by now; they obviously thought this wasn’t a very good story to run with.
On Friday night, I did my hair as usual, pulled on a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms and a black hoodie of Rory’s and then made the fifteen-minute walk to work. As I was walking down the road, I noticed two people leaning against a car outside the club. Frowning, I put my head down as usual so as not to attract unwanted attention. My hand instinctively tightened around my can of pepper spray in my pocket. Sometimes, clients like to wait outside the club for opening time. I’d been grabbed once outside. Luckily, one of the bouncers had arrived at the same time as me and had pushed him off me, but it always made me a little more wary of people hanging around outside there.
I gulped and stole a glance at them, quickening my approach so I could get inside before anything happened. When I was about fifteen-feet from the entrance, both men sprang away from the car. I fought back the urge to scream as I almost jumped out of my skin. Instead of grabbing me, like I was expecting, a light started flashing as someone called my name over and over, trying to get my attention.
Oh, God, the reporters are at the club?
“Emma! Is Carson coming to the club tonight? How long have you been together? What do your parents think of you dating a celebrity? Are you in love with him? What do you think about him seeing other girls?” The questioning was relentless as I sprinted the distance to the club, with them keeping pace alongside me.
I burst through the doors and leant against the wall, panting for breath. They didn’t follow me in. In a way, I wish they would have because then I could ask Jerry, one of the bouncers, to escort them away from the club with a not-so-friendly warning. After finally calming my heart rate, I pushed away from the wall and headed upstairs to see Jason. I needed to get hold of Carson and tell him not to come here tonight. If they waited outside on the off-chance of him coming then they would get pictures of him entering the club, and that wouldn’t exactly look too good for him.
I spotted Jason and immediately went to him. He smiled as I walked in, obviously completely unaware to the little scene outside. “Jason, do you have Carson’s number?”
He frowned and shook his head. “No. Why would I?”
“Don’t you have to fill in paperwork to be a member?” I asked, looking at him hopefully. But I already knew the answer to that from when I was doing paperwork at the other club – clients didn’t have to give personal details to have a membership, as long as they paid their annual fee.
“We don’t hold that kind of information, Emma. You know that. Why, what’s up?”
I groaned and put my head down on the bar. “I need to speak to him! There are reporters outside. I think they’re going to wait there for him or something.”
He touched my arm to get my attention. “Why would they do that?”
I groaned and told him everything that happened the weekend before: how Rodger Harris came to the club and asked a load of questions, how I didn’t know he was a reporter, how Carson and I had our photo taken outside Lloyds. He just listened with a thoughtful expression on his face the whole time.
“Okay, so we have no way of contacting Mr Matthews to tell him not to come. He never gave you an emergency number? He’s never texted you or anything?” he asked.