The Accidental Life of Jessie Jefferson (16 page)

‘It’s alright,’ I say with a shrug, playing it down because that’s her speciality.

‘Get it,’ she says definitively.

‘I’ll see what else there is, first,’ I decide, in part to spite her.

‘OK,’ she says with a shrug. ‘But I’m asking the assistant to put it on hold.’

She knew I’d come back for it, and she was right. I wore the dress at my birthday party, the one she never showed up for.

I blink back tears as I stare at the girl in the mirror. I’m wearing a two-piece slim black skirt and fitted sleeveless top. The top bares my slightly-tanned midriff and has black lace trim around the hem, and the long skirt skims the floor with a slit all the way up to the top of my thigh. I’d have to wear heels. And I’d wear my hair up in a tousled bun with dark eye make-up. I can picture it perfectly. I dread to think how much this outfit costs, but Meg has forbidden me to look at the price tag. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I nearly choke when I see the digits.

‘Can I have a look?’ Meg’s voice snaps me out of it.

‘In a sec,’ I reply.

I know this is the one. This is the dress. I know that my mum would say, ‘Mmm, yes,’ or something like that, but that would be enough for me. I wish she were here. I miss her so much.

I try to swallow the lump in my throat and then open up the curtain to get Meg’s opinion.

‘Gorgeous,’ she says, shaking her head. I smile tentatively back at her.

Her comments from my first night here are still niggling away at me, but she seems to be making an effort. I guess Johnny must have spoken to her, like he said he would.

‘What do you think?’ she asks.

‘I love it,’ I practically whisper.

‘Me too. Do you want to try on anything else?’ Pause. ‘Or have you made up your mind?’ she asks with amusement.

‘I don’t think this outfit can be topped,’ I reply.

She laughs and closes the curtain. ‘Let’s go buy it, then.’

As I change back into my old clothes, I ask her a question through the curtain. ‘Why does Johnny call you Nutmeg?’

She laughs lightly. ‘God knows. My name’s Meg, but when I worked for him he just started calling me Nutmeg. Now he’s got it tattooed on his chest.’

‘I know. I saw when we went swimming.’

‘He’ll probably give you a nickname, soon,’ she says drily, and I wish I could see her face so I could read her expression.

‘I’ve already got a nickname. Jessie,’ I point out, coming back out of the changing room.

‘Of course. Short for Jessica.’ She smiles.

I stay standing where I am. ‘How did you come to work for Johnny, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘Not at all. I used to work for an architect as her PA, and then one of her clients . . . Oh! It was Wendel Rosgrove! You’ve met him.’

‘Yeah.’ I screw up my nose.

‘What?’ she asks with confusion.

‘I found him a bit intimidating,’ I reveal. That’s putting it nicely. I actually thought he was a bit of a wanker.

Meg gives me a conspiratorial look. ‘I agree with you, but luckily I don’t have much to do with him. Anyway, he told my boss that Johnny was looking for a new PA and she suggested me for the job.’

‘Wow. As easy as that.’

She laughs wryly and leans back against the wall, crossing her arms. ‘Nothing’s ever easy where Johnny’s concerned.’

‘Mmm. No, I suppose not.’ I gather up my things, ready to take them to the till.

‘I’m sorry about your mum,’ she says out of the blue and I stare at her with surprise. ‘I just wanted to . . . I just wanted to say that.’ She gives me an awkward smile.

‘Thanks,’ I reply quietly.

Meg shifts on her feet and I sense that she’s still got something to say. I tilt my head to one side, expectantly. ‘I’m also sorry I’ve been a bit off since you arrived,’ she gives me an apologetic look.

‘That’s OK,’ I tell her, even if she’s not entirely forgiven.

‘I used to worry that this would happen one day,’ she confides. ‘That Johnny’s past would come back to . . .’ Her voice cuts off abruptly before she can say ‘haunt us’. She squirms. ‘I don’t mean it to sound like a bad thing.’

‘Isn’t it?’ I stand up straighter, feeling emboldened. ‘I mean, aren’t I a bad thing in your opinion?’ If she wants to say so, she should say it to my face.

‘That’s what I’m trying to explain.’ She smiles meekly. ‘I’m not saying this isn’t hard for me. That would be a lie, because Johnny and I have already been through a lot and I actually thought we might be over all the hurdles, that we would get our happily ever after.’

‘I’m sorry to spoil it for you.’

‘Jessie, you’re not listening to me,’ she says calmly. ‘What I’m trying to say is that, even though this came as a shock, I think you might be good for us. Good for Johnny.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘I’m kind of glad you’re here.’

We stare back at each other for a long few seconds, then she smiles. ‘Come on, the saleswoman will think we’re shoplifting.’

‘Nah, I did enough of that in Armani.’

‘What?’ she gasps.

‘Just kidding.’ Ha! Got her.

She rolls her eyes and whacks me on my arm. We’re stifling giggles as we leave the changing rooms.

The next two days pass by alarmingly quickly, and soon it’s Friday night and time for the party. I wear my hair in a fishtail plait in the end. Meg called in someone to do our hair and makeup and I’ve never felt more spoiled. The party is here in Bel Air in Michael Tremway’s enormous mansion, so it’s only a short ride in the limo to get there. Meg looks stunning in a golden-yellow Gucci dress with long floaty sleeves and a short hem which shows off her long legs. She’s wearing her hair down, a chunky costume jewellery necklace, and we’re both wearing black killer-heels. We went shoe shopping this morning, and yes, they are probably going to kill me by the end of the evening.

Johnny is wearing skinny black jeans with a metal-studded belt and a silver-grey shirt unbuttoned at the top. It’s a warm evening so he’s rolled up his sleeves and his tattoos are visible. For some reason I imagine Stu with tattoos like Johnny’s and the thought makes me smile.

Johnny leans across to open up the fridge. He pulls out a bottle of what looks like champagne. It’s called Perrier Jouet and has a pretty white flower decoration up the side. Isn’t Perrier mineral water?

‘Want one?’ he asks Meg with a raised eyebrow.

She eyes him cautiously. ‘No, it’s OK,’ she decides.

‘Nutmeg, it’s
fine
. You and Jessie can drink it.’

Doesn’t he drink alcohol? I know from Googling him that he’s been in and out of rehab for drug addiction, but these days he’s clean – let’s face it, Stu wouldn’t have let me come anywhere near him if he wasn’t. But I didn’t realise that he didn’t even drink.

‘Jessie’s only fifteen,’ Meg points out.

‘So?’ I chip in, a little annoyed. I’m gagging for some alcohol, especially if we’re going to a party. ‘I drink all the time at home.’

She doesn’t look convinced. Or maybe I’m misreading her and she doesn’t look impressed.

‘One glass won’t hurt. It’s a special occasion,’ Johnny says gently before turning to me. ‘Jessie? Do you want a glass of champagne?’

‘Yes, please!’ I’ve never had champagne before.

Meg also takes a glass, but Johnny grabs a can of Coke out of the fridge and cracks it open.

I take a large gulp of champagne and nearly cough and splutter it back up again. Jeez, it’s fizzy! I prefer cider, to be honest. This isn’t sweet enough. But it’s a drink so I knock it back as quickly as I can. No sooner have I finished it than we arrive. I look out of the car’s blackened glass windows to see crowds of people milling around on the pavement outside a high brick wall. Others are climbing out of limos, being papped by waiting photographers. Meg squeezes Johnny’s knee and then turns to me.

‘I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to protect your identity,’ she says, calmly. ‘We’ll do our best, but just try to enjoy tonight. If anyone asks, stick to the nanny story.’

‘OK,’ I concede. Why are they so reluctant to tell the world about me?

Before I can ask, the door opens and Davey stands back to let Meg climb out. Johnny and I still haven’t had a proper heart-to-heart. Which means I haven’t had a chance to ask him the questions that I really need answers for. On the couple of occasions I’ve brought up Mum, he seems uncomfortable. OK, so he might not remember her, and maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it in front of Meg, but he hasn’t exactly made an attempt to take me off somewhere, just the two of us. I went shopping with Meg on my own, but it’s Johnny who I want to develop a relationship with. What’s he playing at? Why isn’t he making more of an effort? Maybe he feels awkward. Tough! Life
is
awkward. Irritation spikes me out of nowhere.

Johnny steps out of the car to the flashes of paparazzi camera bulbs. I take a deep breath and try to calm down. I’m about to go to a Hollywood party! I should be excited. Tonight I need to channel fun-Jessie and try and forget all the other stuff. I wait for the flashes to follow him away from the limo, and then I move over to the door and, taking some comfort from Davey’s encouraging smile, I carefully climb out, hoping my killer stilettos don’t buckle underneath me.

Chapter 15

I can’t believe Johnny and Meg aren’t blinded by the flashes going off in their faces as they head towards the gates. I’m slightly lost in the crowd as I follow them, my head buzzing from that glass of champagne I drank way too quickly.

Meg looks over her shoulder at me once to check I’m still with them, but Johnny keeps his eyes trained forward. I have my ticket in my hand, and I’m assuming that they’re staying ahead of me in a deliberate attempt to keep my identity under wraps. I can’t help but feel disappointed, but hopefully they know what they’re doing.

My heart jumps as they make it through the gates, with nobody even checking their tickets. And why should they? Johnny and Meg are two of the most recognisable faces in showbiz. But what if I can’t get in? I’m a bit panicked as I join the small queue ahead of me. Obviously nobody moves aside for me, like they did for my famous father. Eventually I reach the front and hand over my ticket.

‘Name?’ a large and formidable-looking bouncer asks.

‘Jessie Pickerill,’ I tell him with a pounding heart.

He scans his list and seconds later, moves aside.

Meg and Johnny are waiting for me. She smiles brightly, but my eyes are drawn to his.

‘OK?’ he asks, one eyebrow raised.

‘Yeah,’ I reply, still on edge. And then I look around.

There’s so much to take in. The house is in the distance behind a gently sloping lawn, and on the lawn there is a vast array of colourful old-fashioned fairground rides: a carousel, Ferris wheel, flying chair-o-planes, a helter-skelter and teacups. I feel like I’m back on Santa Monica Pier, except these rides are in somebody’s
garden
!

The house in the distance is an enormous three-storey mansion made out of cream stone, with pillars all the way along the front. The winding path is lined with pink and white flowers and lit with real-fire torches, although it’s not dark, yet. I notice golf-kart-style buggies going to and from the house along the path. In a daze, I follow Johnny and Meg to the karts. There are no photographers inside the gates – at least, not that I know of – so I’m hoping I’ll relax soon. I wish I’d had another glass of champagne.

Just as I think that, I see serving girls in red and black 1950s dresses standing beside the karts holding wooden trays full of champagne glasses. Some of the liquid inside them is clear and fizzy, the others are coloured raspberry pink or pale orange. There are a few tall glasses of juice, too.

‘Champagne, Bellini and Rossini,’ the serving girl nearest to us reveals. I check out her reaction to Johnny. She keeps her cool, but her eyes watch him beneath lowered lashes as he leans across and takes a juice. She looks amazing – she could be an actress or a model with her red lipstick and dark hair tied up in a high ponytail.

‘I’ll take a Bellini, please.’ Meg helps herself, ignoring the girl’s obvious fascination with her husband. I wonder how she copes with it. I’d hate it if I were her.

‘What’s that?’ I ask Meg, nodding at the pale orange liquid in her glass.

‘Champagne and peach puree. The Rossini is Champagne and berry puree. Will your stepdad kill us if you have one more glass?’

‘Let him try,’ I scoff, reaching for a berry drink and taking a sip as I climb on to a waiting kart. Mmm, this tastes much better than that stuff in the car. Johnny and Meg sit behind me, facing backwards, him with his arm draped around her shoulder. He seems so into her, but surely she must feel insecure when so many women are obviously interested in him?

Pop music is blaring out of enormous loudspeakers all around the garden, but it doesn’t drown out the sound of screams and laughter coming from the fairground rides as we drive past them. I can smell popcorn and candy floss and spy a couple of hot dog stands, with servers dressed in 1950s-style striped red and white costumes and matching hats.

The kart doesn’t pull to a stop outside the house, but instead drives along beside it. We round the corner to the back garden and are greeted with the sight of a large oval-shaped swimming pool with two slides going into it on either side, and a fountain in the middle spurting out jets of crystal clear water. There are loads of people splashing about – mostly younger ones, from what I can see – and quite a few girls in bikinis and bare-chested guys in shorts lazing about on sunloungers dotted all around the pool. This makes Mike and Natalie’s party look laughable in comparison.

Beyond the swimming pool, the sprawling garden continues, and off in the distance I can see a log cabin set within silvery white tree trunks.

I can’t believe one person owns all of this. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.

Inside, the house continues to astound me. Two wide winding staircases curve up and away from the ground floor of a double-height, white marble-lined lobby. Impressive flower displays sit on top of what look like antique carved wooden side tables.