Abbey Clancy - I'll Be Home For Christmas

I was furious. And confused. And pissed off – I thought that Vogue had always been honest with me. Now I was starting to suspect the exact opposite.

I closed the door quietly behind him – refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing an angry slam – and turned to face Vogue.

Vogue is black, gorgeous and generously proportioned. She’s almost six feet tall and rocking Naomi Campbell meets Marilyn Monroe vibe. Usually, in the office, she’s make-up free and dressed down – and still looks stunning. Today, I noticed, she was in full slap, wearing her green contacts, and dressed to kill in leather trousers and high-heeled boots. I was guessing that she hadn’t chosen that outfit to impress the builders. Frankly, they were impressed by anybody with boobs.

Now, I can be – how do I phrase this politely? – a bit on the slow side occasionally. My family have told me that I’m too gullible. Too trusting. That I always see the good side of people, even when they don’t have one. My brother Luke has a theory that I’d invite Jack the Ripper into the house for a cup of tea if he looked like he needed cheering up.

But even I had to face facts: there was something going on here, and it wasn’t going to be something I liked.

‘Come in, please,’ said Vogue, gesturing to me to sit next to her. I could tell from her body language that she was tense and upset, which is unusual – she’s mostly astonishingly laid-back.

I couldn’t bring myself to sit on the couch where he’d been sitting, so instead pulled a chair round from behind her desk.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked, tapping my toes on the wooden floor. I was obviously pretty tense and upset as well. It was like a virus – and Jack Duncan was Patient Zero. ‘Why was he here? And why were you drooling over him?’

‘I wasn’t drooling!’ she replied, although the slightly sheepish look on her face told me she knew she had been. I just raised an eyebrow, and waited for her to carry on.

She took a deep breath, puffing it out so hard her cheeks expanded, and gazed over towards the window. It was as though she didn’t even want to meet my eyes while she talked. This, I knew, was going to be bad.

‘Babe, look. . .I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this for a while. I know I should have spoken to you earlier, but you know what it’s like – we’re both so busy we barely have time to breathe. Between my crazy schedule and yours, we just haven’t seen each other. . .’

‘We went for sushi last Friday,’ I pointed out. ‘We were together for two hours pretending we liked raw tuna and drinking wine.’

She held her head in her hands, and for a moment I thought she was crying. Obviously, if I’d heard a sniffle, my tough-girl act would have softened, but when she finally emerged, she just looked determined.

‘I know. You’re right. I’m just making excuses, aren’t I? I need to be honest now.’

‘That,’ I replied, crossing my arms across my chest in what I realized was a classic defensive posture, ‘would be nice. Now, what was he doing here?’

‘I’m giving him a job,’ she said simply. I opened my mouth to respond, but found that I had no words. Which was a good thing, as she immediately shushed me anyway.

‘No, let me finish before you go off on one – I’m giving him a job because I need the help, and because he’s good. You know he’s good. He discovered me, he discovered you, as well as loads of the others at Starmaker. Whatever you might think about him – and I know none of it’s good – he is one of the best when it comes to spotting new talent. And we need that. I need that. I’m rushed off my feet here, there’s so much to do – all the stuff I’d never even expected. Did you know I need a HR policy? How much Health and Safety crap there is? That I have to have meetings with insurance companies, and lawyers, and accountants? There’s just too much for one person right now!’

I bit my lip, and made myself think about what she was saying. She had been getting swamped, I knew, with the demands of setting up a new business. I suppose I’d been happily focusing on the creative side of things, and she’d been dealing with everything else. In all honesty, I’d not stopped to consider how stressful, and just plain boring, all of that probably was. But still. . .

‘OK,’ I replied. ‘I get that. But you’ve never really complained. You’ve never asked for help. I could do more.’

‘Honey, I know you mean well, but you’re not really the HR policy type, are you? And I don’t mean that as an insult, before you get your knickers in a twist! I just . . . I’m drowning, all right? And I know your single did well, and I’m sure your album will too, but we need more. If we’re going to be taken seriously in this game, we need more – I need someone out there, scouting for us. I need someone to be my eyes and ears at gigs and events and bloody kids’ parties – and Jack has a way of finding gold dust in the most unlikely of places. You know that! And without new signings, we’re going to shrivel up and die – you’re great, Jess, but you’re not enough. Not long-term. Jack. . .well, Jack can help me with the long term. I know he can.’

I was momentarily silent, staring at her and wondering how she could have kept a secret like this from me. Then I reminded myself that I was keeping a secret of my own – one that suddenly didn’t feel all that shameful.

‘I’m just . . . shocked,’ I said, eventually, watching as she messed with the rings on her fingers, turning them nervously round and round, over and over again. ‘You’ve genuinely never hinted at anything like this. This place – well, it was supposed to be different, wasn’t it? It was supposed to be better. We were supposed to treat people well, and be fair, and . . . not screw people! Either literally or ethically!’

‘It will be better!’ she replied, sounding frustrated. ‘It is better! I’ve talked it all through with Jack, and he knows the score. He knows what we’re trying to achieve, and that we won’t take any bullshit. He’s keen – really keen – to make a change. He’s different now, honest. What happened. . .well, it affected him, it really did. It made him think about the way he was behaving, and the way he was living his life, and he wants to be different . . . he wants to be better as well. And I genuinely believe he deserves a second chance.’

It’s hard to tell, with Vogue, when she’s blushing. She’s such a confident woman, I’ve rarely seen her embarrassed – angry, drunk, amused, euphoric, all of those things. But not often embarrassed. Right then, though, I could tell she was. She was flustered and nervous and obviously feeling desperately uncomfortable, no matter how hard that speech had tried to convince me otherwise. And I suspected I knew why.

‘And what about you, Vogue? Paulette? What will Jack Duncan be doing for you? It’s not just his professional talent that’s getting a second chance with you, is it?’

She looked up at me, finally meeting my eyes, and trying very hard to look defiant. She didn’t quite pull it off but it was a valiant effort.

‘No,’ she eventually said, biting a chunk out of her lip as she tried to continue. ‘No, it’s not. We’re giving it another go. I know that’s not what you expected to hear, and I know it’s a tricky situation. . .’

‘ Tricky ?’ I said, my voice rising about three octaves. ‘Tricky? You really think that’s the right word? For you getting back together with the man who broke both our hearts? The man who fooled us both? The man who jumped from my bed to yours, entirely possibly on the same day? I think that’s a bit more than tricky! And I think you’re completely mad for even considering it.’