Starstruck (20 page)

As
soon as Eddie and Luke are alone, we walk towards them. They’re looking right
at us and talking, and I can’t help but wonder if they’re talking about me.

‘Eddie,
you are a real trooper,’ I tell him.

‘I
try. Gotta keep the fans happy.’

I
introduce him to Charles. I don’t introduce Luke, it seems weird.

‘So
what’s happening tonight?’ I ask. ‘Are you guys partying here, or are we going
somewhere else?’

It
is a TFTR tradition that after every gig, we party. In fact, that’s the reason
they’re called Two For The Road, they’re total party animals.

‘We’re
just going to head back to the bus tonight. Probably drive through the night,’
Luke replies.

‘Really?’
I ask, astonished.

‘Eddie’s
leg is giving him shit, isn’t it mate?’ Luke nudges Eddie, who dutifully
replies.

 ‘Yeah,
my doctor told me not to push myself, so...’ his voice trails off.

‘Oh,
ok.’ I don’t really know what to say.

‘We’re
actually going to head off now, so we’ll see you next time,’ Luke tells me,
walking off without so much as a goodbye.

I
look at Eddie for some sort of explanation.

‘Well
you’ll have to come here and hug me, I’m an injured man.’

Forcing
a smile, I lean towards his and wrap my arms around his neck.

‘He’s
upset, he’ll get over it,’ he whispers in my ear.

‘Go
put your feet up, see you soon hopefully,’ I tell him, and I really hope I do
see him soon.

‘Shall
we get out of here then?’ I ask Charles, and he nods.

Once
we’re outside we start walking back in the direction of my flat.

‘They
were lying about calling it a night you know,’ I tell him, unable to disguise
my disappointment.

‘I
know, I guessed as much. It’s their loss, darling.’

I
sigh.

We
walk the rest of the way in silence, holding hands. I can’t believe Luke has
ruined this evening for me, whether he meant to or not. I ignore the little
voice in my head telling me that it’s all my fault.

We
stop outside my flat.

‘Well,
I’ll pop up and grab my bag and then head to my hotel.’

‘Where
are you staying?’ I ask.

He
laughs awkwardly as we get in the lift.

‘What?
Where are you staying?’

‘I
haven’t actually booked in anywhere,’ Charles admits. ‘I was sort of hoping I
could stay with you tonight.’

I
look at him surprised, and he gives me a cheeky smile.

Stepping
out of the lift, we walk towards my door and I mess around with my keys.

‘I
had a great time tonight, despite your angry male fan club,’ he tells me,
rubbing his hand up and down my back.

‘So
did I,’ I reply, finally getting my key inside the lock. He’s leaning on the
wall in a cool, don’t-give-a-shit manner as I turn to face him.

‘You
could stay here tonight if you wanted,’ I tell him and he moves his face much
closer to mine.

‘Really?’
he whispers.

‘Well,
I owe you for putting me up in London. So yes.’

Before
I have chance to change my mind, Charles kisses me passionately. After a few
minutes of kissing in the hallway, he picks me up, fireman-style, before
unlocking my door and carrying me through. The door closes behind us and we’re
in total darkness, apart from a little light shining in through the windows.

‘Where’s
the light switch?’ he laughs.

‘Over
there.’

‘You
do realise I can’t see where “over there” is don’t you?’

I
laugh, unable to offer any assistance slung over his shoulder.

‘Forget
it, bedroom is this way,’ he says, carefully walking through the dark living
room, which once again I am so thankful that I tidied.

As
Charles carries me through the bedroom door, he loses his footing. Luckily we
are next to my bed and both land on it in a heap.

This
feels weird – good weird though. I’m in my own bed, I’m sober and Charles...
well he’s just Charles. A really nice guy that I met and not some person from
some band. We start kissing again and it makes me realise something. Normal
guys are good at this stuff too.

This
morning I woke up next to Charles for the third time, and while it was a lot
less frightening than the first time, it was no less special than the second.
The difference this morning is that we didn’t just sleep together, we
slept
together.

I’m
still in bed, but Charles went for a shower not so long ago. If I’m being
honest, I did get up at 7am and put on a bit of make-up (just in case I looked
terrible) before creeping back to bed and waiting for him to wake up and see
what a natural beauty I am.

He
might have travelled two hundred miles to see me, but it was only a flying
visit and Charles is booked on a train back to London which leaves in a couple
of hours. Yes, it’s Saturday morning, but he has some big event tonight that he
has to attend. I wish he didn’t have to go, especially after last night got off
to a bit of a bumpy start. It ended a bit bumpy too, although for a much better
reason.

I
need to get out of bed and get some clothes on, having promise I’d walk Charles
to the train station (via Starbucks of course), but I just don’t want to get
up. The sooner I get up, the sooner we’ll leave and the sooner we leave, the
sooner I have to say goodbye.

Rolling
over I grab my phone from next to my bed. My hand slips and my phone falls on
the floor. Too lazy to get up, I dangle my upper body off the side of my bed
and reach out for my phone. I hold my position and glance at my phones screen.
One message received. It’s probably Emily wondering how last night went. I
click to read my message and thankfully my phone is still working despite
taking a tumble yet again, but the message isn’t from Emily, it’s from Dylan.

“Thanks
for everything last weekend. We’ll speak soon, I promise.”

I
cannot believe that this is the only contact I have had with Dylan since the
wedding and I can’t help but wonder if this has anything to do with Crystal. 

At
this point Charles walks back into the room wearing nothing but a towel.

‘You
alright there?’ he asks, laughing at me.

‘Oh
I’m fine, just dropped my phone. I had a text from Dylan, first one since the
wedding.’

‘Speaking
of Dylan...’ he gestures at my walls and I can only presume he’s referring to
my posters. I wait for him to say it though.

'You
have posters on your wall - how old are you?' he asks, mocking me slightly.

'25-year-olds
can't put posters up?'

'I
suppose they can... You've got quite the range of gentlemen up here. Robert
Pattinson?!'

'I
want him to bite me,' I reply rather matter-of-factly.

'Adam
Lambert?'

'Have
you heard him sing?'

'There's
one over there still rolled up, what's that one?'

'One
Direction - for research,' I insist.

‘And
then we have Dylan. Why do you have Dylan on your wall?'

'I
don’t, I have The Burnouts on my wall. The whole band.'

Is
that weird? Can't I be a friend and a fan? And why is he picking on me for
having the bedroom of a teenage girl? Fluffy cushions, fairy lights, swoon-some
men all over the walls - maybe I'm trying to make up for my teen years, I
didn't exactly have the teen dream bedroom then, it was more of a gothic
dungeon. Forget R-Patz and Glambert, I had the likes of Marilyn Manson and
Slipknot gracing my walls.

Charles
inspects my walls further.

‘Maybe
I’m a bit old for it all,’ I admit. ‘But my walls are just covered in memories,
stuff that I can look at, remember where they’re from and feel happy. You
should see my room at my parents’ house.’

He
walks over to my dressing table, examining my mirror.

‘That’s
a perfect example,’ I insist. ‘You see all those plectrums? They're all from
different guitarists I’ve met.’

I
have an impressive collection of plectrums and drumsticks considering I can’t
play an instrument. My plectrums are stuck neatly along the edges of my mirror,
and my drumsticks are in a plastic vase, arranged like flowers.

He
examines a drumstick and rolls his eyes.

‘Hey,
I’ll have you know that some of those belong to music royalty.’

‘I’d
stick them on eBay if I were you.’ He smiles, but I think he’s being serious.

‘So
what time is your train?’ I change the subject.

‘Oh,
so now you’re trying to get rid of me? Because I don’t approve of your little
Dylan King shrine?’ he teases. ‘And what’s this?’

‘Please
don’t touch that,’ I beg, seeing the photo album in his hands. It’s too late
though. I think the fact I begged him not to open it only made him want to look
even more because he flicks through it, regardless of my wishes.

I
should probably explain. You see, Dylan and I have been friends for a long time
now and I’ve travelled with him a lot. On tour you start traditions and you
have your in-jokes and Dylan and I have this thing... there’s only one way to
put it really, we go to different cities, we locate one of their “you are here”
maps and we hook our underwear on it, before posing for a few photos. These
days when I go to different cities with Dylan I’m careful not to wear my
expensive knickers because I know I’ll be ditching them at some point. It’s
funny to us – of course, no one knows it’s us, there isn’t another person on
this planet who knows about our little tradition – well, apart from Charles, as
of now.

‘You
realise this is a terrible idea, don’t you?’ he says, still flicking through.

‘It’s
just a bit of fun,’ I insist. ‘And no one ever sees, we’re not stupid.’

‘If
these got out, some poor bloke like me would have to try and clean up the mess,
and there is no positive spin to put on this. It’s a very disrespectful thing
to do, Nicole.’

Once
again, I’ve shown him what a walking talking PR disaster I really am. He’s
probably not crazy about the fact I take my underwear off around Dylan either.
I know we’re just friends, but if I were any other girl it would be like
throwing a steak into the lion enclosure at the zoo. Pounce!

‘I
should put some clothes on,’ I tell him, unsure what else to say.

‘If
I had my way, you’d never put clothes on.’

And
just like that, Charles is charming again. I smile. He must see me and imagine
all the different ways I could make his job a nightmare, it can’t be easy for
him.

Keen
to impress, I look for an outfit that I can put together quickly – it’s harder
than it sounds.

‘Mind
if I go make myself a drink?’ Charles asks after getting ready in a matter of
seconds.

‘No
problem, I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.’

40
minutes later, and we’re walking to the train station – a little bit faster
than I’d like in these shoes, but I think we’re running slightly late.

‘Before
we go, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,’ Charles tells me in
his serious voice.

‘Oh?’
I ask, worried and out of breath from the fast walking. It’s embarrassing how
unfit I am.

‘Don’t
look so worried!’

Oh,
but I am worried. After last night with Luke, and this morning with my, and I
quote, “Dylan Shrine”, I dread to think what he’s going to say. It’s pretty
sneaky of him to leave the awkward conversation until minutes before he jumps
on a train.

‘Will
you be my girlfriend?’

‘Yes,’
I say without a second thought.

‘Great!
That’s great.’

We
smile at each other, and I’m not sure anything could ruin this moment.

‘Shit,
my train,’ Charles blurts, checking his watch. He must be running seriously
late if he’s swearing, because I don’t notice him swearing very often, unlike
me, Nicole-fucking-Wilde.

‘We’re
going to have to run,’ he concludes. I give him a worried look.

‘What’s
wrong?’ he asks, and I nod towards my feet.

‘Ok,
I’m
going to have to run.’

My
heels are beautiful, but they’re not designed for running. To be honest, I’m
not sure they were designed with walking in mind either.

‘We’re
nearly there anyway. Go home and go back to bed for a bit... girlfriend.’

I
smile. It’s been a long time since anyone has called me that.

‘You’d
better get going then... boyfriend.’

Even
though he is running late, Charles drops his bags and kisses me.

‘Right,
now I have to dash but I’ll see you soon,’ he promises, before running off towards
the station.