Nothing But Trouble Page 2

  Layla Lloyd was the only celebrity guest who didn’t appear on camera. The glamour-model-turned-fashion-designer had recently seen her popularity plummet since splitting up with her fourth husband, a bricklayer and occasional stripper who’d won the hearts of the nation after coming second in a reality TV show set on a sewage plant in Barrow. With her fashion empire teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, she’d clearly come to the party to bask in any stray rays escaping from Lola’s spotlight.

  ‘What’s she doing here?’ Harvey asked Barbara.

  ‘Sorry,’ she grimaced. ‘My call − bit of a guilty pleasure, I’m afraid.’

  He rolled his eyes and smiled. He and Barbara had worked together since Lola’s debut single was released two years ago, and not only did he respect her professionalism but he was also very fond of her as a person. He could forgive her this one indiscretion, especially since her girlfriend of five years had just left her for a chubby cake baker from Cambridge. But that didn’t mean he wanted any of Layla’s tawdry reputation rubbing off on his artist. Before she had a chance to sidle up for a photo, he steered Lola away towards a group of fans who’d won a competition to meet her at the party.

  From the moment she said hi they swooped.

  ‘Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s you!’ squeaked a girl who introduced herself as Pinkie.

  ‘You’re like my ultimate idol!’ gasped another with horrendous hair frizz.

  ‘I love you so so much!’ breathed a gay guy reeking of Jean Paul Gaultier.

  ‘Well, I love you all too,’ said Lola, totally calm and comfortable in their presence. ‘Come on, let’s all have a little drink, shall we?’

  The fans’ faces beamed like a row of lights on a Christmas tree.

  ‘Oh my God, it’s like my ultimate ambition to get pissed with you,’ said the one with the hair frizz.

  ‘Well, come on then,’ Lola smiled, summoning a waiter. ‘You know my motto . . .’

  ‘Let’s sip till we slip!’ they roared in unison.

  As he watched them fill their glasses, Harvey started to seriously worry that Lola would be blind drunk by the time of the interview. ‘Barb, do you really think we should be doing this news thing?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes! What’s the problem?’

  ‘Just look at her! She’s going to be shit-faced soon – she’s almost there already.’

  ‘Oh relax, everyone loves her when she’s pissed. It’s part of the Lola Grant brand. And it’ll be great publicity for the album.’

  ‘Yeah, but what about her self-respect? I don’t want her to say something she’ll regret later − or look back on and cringe.’

  ‘Well, I hate to tell you this, doll, but there’s no ducking out now; the interview’s live and they’ve reserved a slot in the programme for us. So unless you want to piss off the entire channel, we’ve got to go ahead.’

  Harvey took a deep breath.

  Is all the pressure making me worry too much?

  Should I just try to relax and enjoy the moment?

  Do I really have to keep thinking about the bigger picture?

  ‘OK,’ he conceded eventually. ‘What time’s it happening?’

  ‘Ten to ten. Right at the end of their programme.’

  He looked at his watch; it was nearly nine o’clock. He had just less than an hour to sober her up.

  *

  Lola looked at the phone thrust into her hand and tried to pull herself together.

  ‘Come on, doll,’ Barbara said, ‘we need you to send a quick tweet. Something that makes your fans feel like they’re at the party with you.’

  She nodded and did her best to focus on the keypad. But the letters began to swirl in front of her eyes in a kaleidoscopic haze.

  ‘Album party fierce,’ she typed. ‘Am very happy girl. But blatantly leathered and going on news in bit. Oops!’

  She tried to hashtag the word Trouble but kept hitting the wrong key. In the end she gave up and hit Send. Oh it’ll have to do.

  A waiter offered her a bowl of paella but she declined; she didn’t want food to slow her down. Eating is cheating, she reminded herself. Instead she held out her drink for a refill and felt another rush of joy.

  The truth was, Lola still experienced a little thrill every time she was served a free drink. And she couldn’t help feeling overawed by glamorous parties – especially when they were being thrown in her honour. Sure, she’d been in the music business for a few years now so she was getting used to it. But before that she’d spent more than twenty years struggling to get by, and as a child had grown up with so little money that most meals had consisted of bags of crisps, Pot Noodles or, if she was lucky, jam sandwiches. She still had clear memories of her mum dragging her down to the jobcentre every other Thursday to pick up her dole money, stopping off at her dealer’s on the way home so she could spend the next few days utterly annihilated. Of course, when things became really bad Lola would be packed off to care homes or foster parents, while her mum was sent to understaffed treatment centres or put on half-hearted rehab programmes. But sooner or later, she’d always be sent back to a home which stank of unhappiness – and sooner or later her mum would go back to spending all their money on drugs.

  Lola sighed and took another swig of her drink. Even though free booze still had the ability to make her feel special, at the same time being at this kind of party always felt a bit wrong. And that only made her want to drink more to obliterate the feeling.

  She turned to Barbara but saw that she was transfixed by the spectacle of a now seriously dishevelled Layla Lloyd showing off her latest boob job to an obviously aroused Slam Carter. At least security were still concentrating on their job so she could have a quiet minute on her own to gather her thoughts. She gulped down more sangria and felt a shudder of fear.

  There was no question that right now Lola’s career was exactly the way she wanted it. But this only made her feel eerily uneasy. It wasn’t the usual imposter syndrome that people talked about, when they felt like a fraud once they’d become the person they’d always wanted to be. No, this was something slightly different. It was almost as if she felt like she didn’t deserve her success. And because happiness was still a relatively unusual experience for her, it made her feel awkward and anxious. More than anything, it made her worry that someone was going to come and snatch it away from her. Or that she’d snatch it away from herself by making some kind of huge mistake and messing it up.

  Oh this is all a bit much, she thought. I’m not sure I really know how to be this happy.

  She told herself to stop overanalysing things and have another drink. She looked around for a waiter and called one over.

  ‘Top me up please, darlin’.’

  As she watched the deep red liquid fill her glass, she realized that there was no more pretending to Harvey that she’d only had one. Come to think of it, where was Harvey? She hadn’t seen him for ages. It wasn’t like him to leave her side, especially not at a time like this.

  Where the hell’s he got to?

  *

  On the other side of the swimming pool Harvey was grappling his way through the crowd towards a young man who’d caught his eye. He wasn’t his usual type but there was something about him that he found really attractive. Gym-toned, black and wearing a baseball cap teamed with the latest street fashions, he must have only been about twenty-five – a good ten years younger than Harvey. Does that make it indecent? he wondered. Right now he didn’t care; he couldn’t take his eyes off him.

  He edged forwards but it was proving more and more difficult to negotiate the increasingly drunk and unruly crowd. The style and sparkle of earlier in the evening had been stripped away to reveal a bedraggled and undignified heap of humanity. A skinny waitress almost crashed into him, not realizing she had a cigarette butt attached to her cheek and one half of her bikini bottoms wedged up her bum. And he saw the rough blondes he’d spotted earlier looking like they were going to wet themselves with laughter as some slime-bucket of a man l
eered over them, unaware that the pool water had made his underpants totally see-through. Harvey couldn’t help wondering if this was the kind of state he’d ended up in when he used to get drunk, and suddenly remembered why he’d given up the booze. Thank God I’m over all that, he told himself.

  Just as he was finally approaching the guy in the baseball cap he spotted Freddy Jones emerge from the crowd and start talking to him. When the guy took out a pad and wrote something down, Harvey realized that he must be Freddy’s work colleague. Straight away he spotted the chance to introduce himself.

  ‘All right, lads?’ he said, moving in. ‘I’m Harvey Sparks, Lola’s manager.’

  ‘Oh right,’ said Freddy, holding out his hand, ‘good to meet you. Freddy Jones, Channel 3 News.’

  ‘I know,’ smiled Harvey, trying not to stare at the black guy. ‘And you must be?’

  ‘I’m Spike,’ he said, ‘Freddy’s producer.’

  ‘Well, good to meet you, Spike.’

  ‘What up.’

  They held each other’s gaze and Harvey felt a tremor of nervous energy bounce between them. He couldn’t help wondering if Spike felt it too.

  ‘Well, we’re all set, like,’ interrupted Freddy, ‘and we’ve just checked and everything’s working fine.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ asked Harvey.

  ‘The interview? We’ve gone through all the details with Barbara and we’re basically ready to go.’

  ‘Oh right, sorry, the interview.’ Harvey was entranced by Spike; he wasn’t sure he’d ever met anyone quite so attractive. His heavily tattooed arms and gold tooth gave him an air of toughness but it was softened by a sweet, gentle smile which brought Harvey out in goose bumps.

  ‘So are you still cool to bring her over about 9.40?’ asked Spike.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, all good. She’s really looking forward to it.’ He thought it best not to mention that she was completely off her face. Then he remembered that he was supposed to be sobering her up. ‘Actually, I’ll just go and check up on her. But let me give you my number in case there are any problems.’

  He took out a card and before Freddy had the chance to take it handed it to Spike. Was that too obvious?

  ‘Genuine,’ said Spike, flashing him another of his spellbinding smiles.

  Harvey suddenly came over all light-headed. Maybe he does feel the same way as I do . . .

  ‘Well, I’d better go,’ he managed. ‘I’ll, urm, I’ll see you later.’

  ‘For real,’ nodded Spike.

  Harvey turned around and felt slightly out of breath. He filled his lungs with air and told himself not to start acting like a lovesick teenager. Come on, lad, you’re a bit old for all that. And you’ve got a job to do, remember?

  He stood on his tiptoes and looked around for Lola. It was usually easy to find the artist at an album launch as they were always surrounded by an excited cluster of people trying to push their way to an introduction. But he couldn’t spot her anywhere and he’d only slipped away ten minutes ago. He told himself not to worry; she was with Barbara and the security team so would be safe from any harm. Except the harm she might inflict on herself . . .

  His phone beeped to say he had a Twitter alert and he took it out to see Lola’s latest posting.

  ‘Am very happy girl,’ he read. ‘But blatantly leathered and going on news in bit. Oops!’

  His heart plummeted. That tweet had just gone out to over half a million followers – and if they hadn’t been planning to already, now they’d all be watching Channel 3 News.

  *

  Lola crashed out of the party and into a corridor leading to the toilets and her green room. She hurtled straight into a haughty-looking blonde who was shovelling an unfeasibly large spoonful of ice cream into her mouth while she thought no one was looking.

  ‘You dizzy bitch!’ screeched the girl, wiping the ice cream from her chin. ‘You want to watch where you’re fucking going!’

  ‘Sorry darlin’,’ croaked Lola, ‘I’m really sorry.’

  The girl’s scowl snapped into a smile as she realized who she was talking to. ‘No, I’m sorry!’ she gushed. ‘I had no idea it was you, Lola. Honestly, I’m such a big fan!’

  Lola did her best to smile before she staggered on, almost tripping over a tearful Bunny Love who was slumped against the wall confiding in a friend that she hadn’t had sex since her boyfriend ran off with a Bulgarian masseuse three years ago – and she wasn’t even sure she could remember how to do it.

  ‘Sorry!’ squeaked Lola again before Barbara appeared, linked her arm and guided her over to the green room.

  How the hell did I get so pissed? She could remember having a laugh with the competition winners but as usual she hadn’t known when to stop. She wasn’t even sure she was enjoying being drunk anymore.

  Inside the green room, her hairdresser, make-up artist and stylist were standing in a huddle waiting to begin work. Harvey always called them the Style Council but right now she was too drunk to remember why. Was it something to do with some band from the Eighties?

  ‘Hiya girls,’ she groaned, collapsing onto the sofa.

  Before they had time to reply, Harvey burst through the door.

  ‘Lola! Are you OK?’

  ‘Yeah, course I am, darlin’, I’m just pissed, that’s all. And I couldn’t half do with a lie-down.’

  ‘Well you’ll have to wait a bit longer for that, I’m afraid – you’re live on Channel 3 in half an hour.’

  She let out a moan and buried her head in a cushion. ‘Half an hour? How did that happen?’

  ‘Never mind that now, let’s just concentrate on getting you ready – and sobering you up. Here.’

  He held out a can of Twinkle.

  ‘Come on, get it down you. I know it tastes like suntan lotion but you might as well get used to drinking it. And hopefully the sugar will sober you up.’

  She nodded and reluctantly took the can.

  ‘Now is there anything else I can get you?’

  He waited while she glugged it down, trying not to grimace at its sickly sweetness.

  ‘Actually,’ she said, wiping her mouth, ‘you know what I really fancy?’

  He smiled, already guessing what she was going to say. ‘Turkish Delight?’

  ‘Oh Harvey, I’d love some!’

  ‘Well it’s a good job I brought a secret stash, isn’t it?’ He rolled his eyes at her fondly. ‘I’ll go and get it – just you concentrate on sobering up. And girls, work your magic!’

  He left the room, closely followed by Barbara who announced that she was going to check on the film crew. As the door clicked shut Lola stumbled over to the dressing table and looked at herself in the mirror. She realized her eye make-up was smudged and she had a false eyelash stuck on the end of her nose. She let out another groan.

  ‘Girls, I’m completely shit-faced.’

  ‘Oh don’t worry about it!’ they all raced to reassure her.

  ‘You’d never be able to tell!’

  ‘Honestly, you look totes amazing!’

  She could always rely on Belle, Scarlett and Trixie to pump her with affirmation – even when it was deplorably undeserved. The three of them had worked for her since she’d first signed to her record company and were hard core good-time girls who’d often make her eyes water with stories of their wild partying. But they knew how to enhance her appearance in record time – and along the way massage her morale.

  ‘You’re going to be just fine,’ soothed Belle, a statuesque black girl known as the best hairdresser in the business.

  ‘You just need tidying up a bit, that’s all,’ reassured Scarlett, a beautiful blonde who used make-up like magic.

  ‘You know, if you really want to perk up we could give you something stronger than a Twinkle,’ breathed Trixie, a cute Chinese girl who could make even Mariah Carey look stylish.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ asked Lola. ‘What’s that?’

  The three girls stepped back and looked at each other conspiratorially.
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br />   ‘A little bump of coke,’ whispered Trixie. ‘Ruby Marlow does it all the time.’

  Straight away Lola’s smile dropped. Didn’t they realize her entire childhood had been ruined by drugs? It wasn’t as if she’d ever tried to hide it; she’d done enough interviews on the subject and was always making speeches for anti-drugs charities. But she didn’t want to come across as a boring kill-joy so did her best to sound polite. ‘Sorry, girls, but you know coke’s not really my thing.’

  ‘Yeah but you could always try a little bump . . .’

  Lola sat up firmly. Suddenly she was six years old again, watching in horror as her mum maniacally bounced around the kitchen on a crack high, only to zonk out with depression for hours afterwards. The feeling of revulsion was just as strong now as it had been all those years ago. But she tried hard not to snap. ‘No, sorry girls but you know I’m totally anti-drugs. Can you imagine what everyone would say if I went on live TV coked out of my mind?’

  ‘Yeah, but we’re not talking about you getting coked out of your mind,’ breezed Belle. ‘And coke’s nowhere near as strong as crack.’

  ‘Big time!’ agreed Trixie. ‘It’s in a completely different league.’

  ‘And a nice little bump might stop you looking so pissed,’ suggested Scarlett.

  ‘But I thought you said I didn’t look pissed?’

  The three of them were flummoxed.

  ‘No . . . but we’re just trying to make you look as good as possible, that’s all,’ ventured Scarlett. ‘We only want what’s best for you, Lola.’

  Lola held up her hand as if she didn’t want to discuss it anymore. ‘Trust me, girls, what’s best for me isn’t to start cramming a load of coke up my conk – however pissed I am.’

  There was a tense silence and the three girls looked down awkwardly.