Nothing But Trouble Page 3

  ‘Now come on, sort me out, will you? I look like a total wreck.’

  The girls resumed their work as Lola sat in silence. She wondered why she didn’t seem to be able to make herself stop when it came to booze, yet she could always resist the temptation to take drugs, however drunk she was. She guessed she just had too many unhappy associations lodged deep in her memory – and whatever anyone said, nothing could dislodge them. She let out a long sigh.

  ‘Could somebody please pass me another Twinkle?’

  *

  Freddy looked at his watch. It was 9.40 and there was still no sign of Lola.

  ‘Ten minutes to air!’ blasted a voice in his ear. He reached for the control pack fastened to the back of his belt and turned down the volume. They’d set up the camera and lights on the raised platform where earlier in the evening Lola had delivered her speech. But this time she’d be standing with her back to the crowd so as not to attract attention and to give the best possible view of the party raging on behind her. Of course there was always the worry that drunken guests might spot the bright lights and start waving at the camera or, even worse, try to interrupt the interview. In his two years as a news correspondent, Freddy had already had to cope with every embarrassing eventuality. But on this occasion the interview area had been cordoned off – and was already being fringed by security.

  Just then he spotted Lola being escorted through the crowd by Harvey and Barbara. She was swigging from a can of Twinkle while a gaggle of girls fussed around her clothes, hair and make-up. She seemed a little bleary-eyed and was swaying slightly but, to Freddy at least, she still looked amazing.

  ‘Man, she is proper wavey,’ said Spike, standing next to him. ‘This is going to be off the hook.’

  Freddy felt a flicker of nerves take hold of him. He was always a bit agitated before a live broadcast: he couldn’t help thinking about all the things that could go wrong in front of millions of viewers. And tonight there was the added pressure of dealing with a drunk interviewee – one he happened to find exceptionally attractive. He really hoped neither of them went to pieces.

  Lola tottered onto the stage and gave him a bright smile. ‘Hiya,’ she beamed. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Urm, all right?’ he managed, trying his best to look relaxed. ‘I’m F-F-F-Freddy.’ Come on, champ, get it together!

  She didn’t seem to notice his nerves and peered at him through a drunken haze. This was going to be a challenge . . .

  ‘I’m Lola,’ she slurred, ‘and I’m shit-faced. Hic.’ She gave a little giggle. ‘Sorry darlin’, I’ve been downing Twinkles to try and sober up and now I can’t get rid of these hiccups.’

  ‘Two minutes to air!’ bellowed the voice in Freddy’s ear.

  ‘I hope I don’t mess up your interview,’ Lola went on. ‘Hic.’

  Is it my imagination or does she smell of Turkish Delight?

  ‘Oh don’t worry about it,’ he soothed. ‘I’m sure you’ll be cracking. I’ll steer us through and look after you, I promise.’

  She smiled at him and tilted her head to one side. ‘Oh Freddy, you’re so lovely!’

  ‘Lovely’! There it was again – that awful word. He’d wondered how long it would take to make an appearance. Girls always seemed to describe Freddy as ‘lovely’, never ‘sexy’. It usually meant they wanted to be friends rather than jump into bed with him. And it had already led to several romantic disappointments in his life – and lots of heartache. Of course he wasn’t seriously thinking that a hugely successful pop star like Lola Grant would want to jump into bed with him. But he couldn’t pretend that he found her anything other than out-of-this-world gorgeous.

  Big Phil stepped forward to fit Lola’s radio mic and once it was attached tested the sound levels.

  ‘One minute to air!’

  ‘OK we’re nearly on,’ said Freddy. ‘Good luck!’

  ‘Good luck!’ echoed Harvey and Barbara from the sidelines. ‘And don’t get carried away and say something you’ll regret later,’ added Harvey.

  ‘Carried away? Me?’ teased Lola. ‘Hic! By the way, Freddy, I love your accent. Where exactly in Wales are you from?’

  ‘Port Talbot,’ he shrugged. ‘It’s home and I love it but it’s not very exciting, I’m afraid.’

  She smirked at him. ‘Darlin’, have you ever been to Tooting?’

  ‘Thirty seconds to air!’

  Freddy readjusted his earpiece and smiled at her.

  ‘You know you’re blatantly much more handsome in real life than you are on the telly,’ she said.

  He felt his knees almost give way. ‘Really? Oh right. Thanks, like.’

  Is she flirting with me? Or is she just flashing me a bit of her pop-star charisma? He was confused. He’d interviewed plenty of pop stars in the past but none of them had told him he was handsome. But hadn’t she also just said he was ‘lovely’?

  ‘Ten seconds!’

  Freddy gave her a firm nod and then looked at the camera as he listened to the presenter Amanda Adams introduce him from the studio. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and hoped Lola couldn’t hear it. Come on Freddy, you can do this.

  ‘And cue!’

  ‘Yes, Amanda, I’m here in central London for the launch of Trouble, the new album by Lola Grant, who’s with me now.’ He turned from the camera to face his guest. ‘Lola, you must be thrilled by the response to the album.’

  ‘Hic. Yeah, sorry, I’ve got hiccups but it’s all brilliant. I’m totally made up.’

  ‘And we’ve just heard tonight that you’ve signed a record deal in America . . .’

  ‘Yeah, I know, isn’t it fierce? I’m going to promote the album over here, go on this massive tour and then hit the States. I’m really excited, hic. To be honest I think that’s why I got so pissed tonight.’

  From the corner of his eye Freddy could see Harvey visibly stiffen and shoot him a look of panic. He tried to steer them back onto safer ground.

  ‘Yes, well, urm, the party, urm, the theme of tonight’s party . . . Am I right in thinking it’s inspired by your latest single?’

  ‘Yeah, hic. Sorry, I’m so pissed. Yeah, it’s inspired by Lost in Love.’

  ‘Which is about a holiday romance, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah but to be honest it’s a bit more personal than that. Hic. You know, I probably shouldn’t tell you this but the song’s about my mum’s holiday to Spain when she was fifteen – when she came back up the duff with me.’

  Freddy was momentarily disarmed by her bluntness. ‘Oh, right. So it’s about her holiday romance rather than yours?’

  ‘Kind of. Hic. Although the truth is she’s never told me much about it so I had to make up most of the story. You know, I’ve always imagined she fell madly in love with some gorgeous Spaniard, but knowing my mum, she probably just had a knee-trembler with some total stranger round the back of a nightclub. Hic.’

  ‘This is sensational!’ the editor’s voice blasted into Freddy’s ear. ‘Keep it going – keep pounding her for more!’

  *

  Lola saw that Harvey had moved to stand behind Freddy and was waving at her to shut up, shaking his head furiously and miming the signal to ‘cut’. Oh what’s the problem? she thought. I’m only telling the truth . . .

  ‘So urm, you, urm, you never knew your dad then?’ Freddy asked.

  ‘No. And my mum’s never really told me much about him – except I’m pretty sure he must have been Spanish. Hic. The other thing I know is that, according to my grandma, when Mum came back from that holiday, that’s when her life hit the skids.’

  Freddy nodded sombrely. ‘You’ve talked openly in the past about your mum’s drug problem. Are you saying now that you think the two things could be linked?’

  ‘Blatantly, yeah. Hic.’

  ‘And how’s your relationship with your mum at the moment?’

  At this there was a thoughtful pause. Lola knew she shouldn’t say too much but with Freddy she felt safe. She wondered whether
she could ever fall in love with somebody like him. This is the kind of man who’d be good for me. But do I actually fancy him?

  ‘It’s difficult, to be honest, Freddy. I didn’t have the best time growing up, as I’m sure you know, so I still find it hard to forgive her. Hic. But at the same time she’s still my mum, you know?’

  He nodded. ‘So if she’s watching now, is there anything you’d like to say to her?’

  She bit her lip and took a second to reflect. ‘Just give up the crack, Mum,’ she said directly to the camera. ‘It’s a really nasty drug. And I hope we can be mates one day.’

  Freddy fell silent to give her words maximum impact.

  ‘Well, I’m afraid with that we’re going to have to leave you,’ he said, fiddling with his earpiece.

  ‘That’s all right, darlin’—’ She suddenly stopped and slapped her hand to her chest. ‘Ooh! My hiccups have gone! You’ve cured them, Freddy – you’re a hero!’

  Oh what am I doing flirting with him? He’s lovely but there’s no way it’d work – I’d only get bored and balls it up by having a fling with some bad boy. She consoled herself that she could always blame her flirting on the booze and told herself to cut it out before she went too far. But the funny thing was, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  Freddy smiled at her bashfully. ‘That’s my pleasure, Lola. And enjoy the rest of your evening.’

  ‘Oh I will,’ she sparkled. ‘I’ve been dying to jump in that pool all night and there’s nothing stopping me now!’ As she took off her mic and picked her way down from the stage, she tossed her sunglasses over to him. ‘Here, look after these for me, darlin’!’

  Well I’ve got to find some way of seeing him again. At least when I’m sober . . .

  Freddy caught the sunglasses just as he was turning to face the camera to hand back to the studio.

  ‘Well, this is Freddy Jones with Lola Grant – a woman I’m sure we’ll be hearing a lot more from over the next few months.’ And then, right behind him, there was an almighty splash.

  Lola gave a loud whoop as she bobbed to the surface of the water. All around her people began to giggle and gasp as they realized the biggest pop star in the country had just thrown herself fully clothed into a swimming pool on live TV. As she wiped the water from her eyes, she could just about make out Freddy gesturing behind him and winding up his chat to camera by saying something about her knowing how to make a splash.

  Oh you’d better believe it, she thought as she leapt up into the air and shook the water from her hair. And if you think that’s making a splash, you ain’t seen nothing yet . . .

  2

  At the kitchen table of her flat in Camberwell, Gloria Montero was trying to persuade her daughter to eat a pot of yoghurt.

  ‘Come on, honey. It’s strawberry – your favourite.’

  ‘But I’m not hungry, Mummy,’ Chanelle sulked. ‘I don’t want it!’

  Gloria let out a long sigh. This kind of performance was fast becoming routine and had already gone on for half an hour this morning.

  ‘Please, Chanelle,’ she tried again. ‘One more spoonful for Mummy?’

  Chanelle shook her head, turned away and began playing with her favourite princess doll. Gloria gave up. She had better things to do with her time than shovel food into the mouth of an unappreciative four-year-old. She finished the yoghurt herself, quickly checking that her own mum wasn’t watching from her position at the sink, where she was powering through the washing-up.

  ‘Good girl!’ Gloria warbled, loud enough for her mum to hear. ‘My Chanelle is such a good girl!’

  ‘You know, I hope you’re feeding that girl properly,’ her mum called out over her shoulder, plonking the dishes down onto the draining rack. ‘She’s been looking a bit thin lately.’

  God, what was it with her mum? She’d only arrived five minutes ago, already she’d complained about the kitchen looking like a pigsty and now she was telling her she didn’t know how to feed her daughter. Gloria was just about to tell her to shut up when she remembered she needed her mum to look after Chanelle today – and would be relying on her a lot more for childcare now that she’d been hired to sing backing vocals for Lola Grant.

  ‘Yeah, I suppose she has been a bit off her food lately,’ she managed. ‘But I wouldn’t worry about it, she seems perfectly happy.’

  Gloria looked at Chanelle dressing up her doll and smiled to herself. She was so innocent, so full of hope. Gloria had been like that once too. Although it seemed like a long time ago now.

  ‘Well, I hope she’s getting her five a day,’ her mum clattered on. ‘You know, I used to make sure you and your brother ate an apple and an orange every morning.’

  Oh give me a break! I gave her a few Jaffa Cakes last night – and I always smother her chips in tomato ketchup. And all right, Gloria knew she wasn’t the perfect mother but at least she was trying her best – and holding everything together really hadn’t been easy for the last few years. Although hopefully it would be getting a bit easier now she was starting her new job. She might even be able to afford to finally get the washing machine fixed. She looked at the heap of laundry piling up next to it and realized she’d forgotten to go to the launderette yet again. Never mind. If she sucked up to her mum enough this morning she might go for her later.

  ‘Oh yeah, I’m really strict about that, Mum,’ she lied. ‘Which reminds me, there’s a box of strawberries in the fridge for lunch today.’ Yeah, and let’s see how you get on forcing them down her!

  Her mum pulled the plug out of the sink and snapped off her washing-up gloves. She turned to face Gloria with her usual wintry smile. ‘Well, at least this place is looking a bit cleaner.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks, Mum.’ Now get off my back!

  Just then her mum spotted the overflowing bin and pulled a face as if she’d swallowed some out-of-date orange juice. ‘My God, Gloria, look at the state of this!’

  Gloria tried not to roll her eyes as her mum made a big show of emptying the rubbish into a black bin-liner, picking out takeaway cartons and tutting loudly. ‘Posh Spice? Is that some kind of curry house?’

  Yeah, all right, Mum, you know I can’t cook! Now give it a rest!

  As she listened to her mum launch into a long lecture about E-numbers and the dangers of eating too much salt, Gloria consoled herself with the thought that she’d lied to her about the start time for today’s rehearsal. In fact, it wasn’t really a rehearsal at all but more of a meeting, the first time Gloria and the rest of the band would be getting together with Lola. It wasn’t happening till late afternoon but she’d told her mum she was needed in the morning so she could nip into her favourite beauty salon to have her hair and nails done. She knew she couldn’t afford it but today was a day she’d been dreading – and she really needed to be feeling her best to get through it.

  She switched on the TV, hoping to drown out the sound of her mum’s nagging. As a personality-free blonde she’d always found annoying ran through the latest showbiz news, she sat back down and gave Chanelle a kiss on the head.

  ‘But the big news of the day,’ announced the presenter, ‘is last night’s launch party for Lola Grant’s new album . . .’

  ‘Turn it up a bit, Gloria,’ her mum chirped, tying up the bin bag and dumping it by the door. ‘Look, Chanelle, that woman on the telly is your mummy’s new boss.’

  Oh, thanks Mum. Rub it in, why don’t you?

  ‘But I thought Mummy was a singer?’ Chanelle asked, looking up from her doll.

  ‘She is, sweetheart, she’s a backing singer.’

  Yeah and she’d been a damn good solo singer too – not that anyone remembered. In fact, the only person who listened to her music now was Chanelle when Gloria put it on at full blast and the two of them danced around the table having a kitchen disco.

  ‘What’s a backing singer, Mummy?’ Chanelle asked.

  Gloria stroked her hair and smiled. She couldn’t bring herself to explain; she couldn’t bear the thought of dis
appointing her daughter.

  ‘Wait a minute and I’ll tell you,’ butted in her mum. ‘Just let me watch this first.’

  The three of them fell silent and listened to the report on Lola’s album launch, which Gloria hadn’t even known was taking place, let alone been invited to. Talk about putting her in her place. After two torturous minutes the report ended by repeating a clip of Lola jumping into a swimming pool live on Channel 3 News, which for some reason Gloria’s mum and daughter found hilarious. Gloria couldn’t bear to watch it and stood up to switch off the TV.

  ‘What did you do that for?’ asked her mum.

  ‘I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘No, well,’ she sighed, ‘I guess today can’t be easy.’

  You can say that again.

  ‘Well, try not to be too miserable, Gloria. I’m sure it’s not going to be as bad as you think. You never know, you might even like your new job.’

  Yeah but I’m pretty sure I’d have liked my old one better.

  ‘And, you know, it’s a shame your solo career didn’t work out but maybe you’ll be better suited to being a backing singer. Not everyone’s cut out to be a star, you know.’

  Gloria couldn’t listen to her anymore. ‘Look, Mum, I don’t want to talk about it.’ She picked up the kettle and began filling it with water from the screechingly loud tap.

  ‘And you’ve got to admit,’ her mum wheedled on in the background, ‘that Lola does look like a laugh. I bet you two will get on really well.’

  Yeah, Mum, for your information we always did.

  She turned off the tap and switched on the kettle.

  What would it be like seeing Lola again after everything that had happened? She had no idea. But she guessed she’d be finding out later.

  *

  ‘How do you feel about chest hair?’

  Lola looked at Barbara and rolled her eyes. It was going to be a long morning. It was only 9 a.m. and already she’d been interviewed live on Britain’s most popular radio show, chatting brightly to the DJ as if she’d just dropped in for the fun of it. Now she was ensconced on a sofa in Barbara’s office doing a round of print and online interviews with a succession of hungry-eyed journalists, each of them eager to make the most of their allotted ten minutes and come away with a different set of quotes from their rivals – which meant that their questions were becoming increasingly random.