Abbey Clancy - I'll Be Home For Christmas

She nodded, because nothing I’d said could possibly have come as a surprise to her. This was why she’d avoided telling me for so long – because she knew exactly how I was going to react.

‘I know you think that. And I don’t blame you. But it’s easy for you to say – you were only with him for a few months, and went straight from him to falling in love with Daniel. And I’m happy for you, I really am. It was different for me, and at the end of the day, babe, even though I know you’ve got my best interests at heart, that you want to protect me, it’s my life. It’s my life, and my decision, and if it’s all a terrible mistake then it’s mine to make. Do you get that?’

She was starting to sound a bit angry now – and Vogue angry is a sight to behold. I hoped that at least part of her was angry at herself, because she knew on some level that what I was saying was right. She just really, really didn’t want to hear it.

I stood up, and brushed down my top as though there were crumbs on it, just to give me something to do with my hands. I was so upset, I could feel the tears starting to build in the back of my eyes. I always cry when I’m angry – it’s a really annoying habit, because it makes me look weak and vulnerable when I’m actually feeling self-righteous and strong.

‘I get that,’ I said quietly, and turned to leave. ‘And you’re right, it’s your life. But it’s also my career – so I’d ask you to keep him away from me, all right?’

I didn’t give her the chance to reply. I just did my best flounce out of the room, and finally gave in to the urge to slam the door.

*

I spent the next ten minutes in the ladies’, crying my eyes out. The loos hadn’t been renovated at all, and still vaguely smelled of sweat and perfume and baby oil from the women who used to use them.

I locked myself into one of the stalls, and just let it all out. By the time I’d finished, my eyes were red and swollen, and my hands were shaking with emotion. I wasn’t sure which was worrying me most – the fact that Jack Duncan, and everything he represented, was slithering like a snake into our new Garden of Eden, or that my friend was making a huge mistake in her love life.

They were both pretty shitty situations, and making it all so much worse was the fact that she’d been hiding it from me. I didn’t know how long this had been going on, but it already felt like Jack was making his mark – as soon as he’d arrived on the scene, the deception had started. Maybe some of that was down to me – Vogue was scared of telling me because she knew I’d blow my top. Maybe if I’d been less of an emotional melting pot and more of a calm listening ear, she’d have felt able to confide in me earlier. Maybe not. Who knows?

Either way, I felt devastated. Like the rug had been pulled from beneath my feet. Like the future was now a very uncertain road, to be crossed late at night after six pints of lager.

I splashed cold water on my face, and stared at myself in the cracked mirror. There were still bright red lipstick kisses all around the edges from its previous customers.

I looked like a pufferfish, but I didn’t suppose that mattered. But I felt like a zombie, which mattered more.

After a few deep breaths, I decided I had to talk to Daniel. He was one of the most calm, steady and sensible people I knew. Maybe that’s why we worked so well together – I could get overexcited at an episode of Coronation Street , but he was always on a level. He’d hear me out, and let me cry, and then say something so utterly sensible and sane and perfect that I’d feel better about the world immediately.

I didn’t see the point in going back to Patty’s lair, where I wouldn’t be able to hear myself think for all the baby-sacrificing, so instead I found myself a quiet corner in the little courtyard garden outside.

It’s not huge – not in this part of London – but big enough for a table and chairs, and a few boxes of flowers. The noise from the street is pretty minimal, and it’s an unexpectedly calm spot.

Usually it’s occupied by at least one builder on a fag break, but it was blessedly empty when I emerged into the sunlight, clutching my phone and sniffling.

Daniel answered on the first ring, which told me two things: that he’d finished his chores around the farm (collecting eggs from the chickens and feeding our Billy goat, who we’d named Gandalf because he looked so wise and intelligent); and that he hadn’t yet started work (finding new and funky samples to use on a track by Vella, one of the new artists he was working with).

‘Good morning, gorgeous,’ he said immediately, and I couldn’t help but smile. Honestly, the fact that he could make me smile even when I felt so awful was enough to warm my insides.

‘I love you,’ I replied. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

‘I do. Because you bought me that T-shirt that has it printed all over the front: Jessy Hearts Daniel. I’m wearing it today. Gandalf was very taken with it. You OK? You sound a bit . . . damp. Have you been crying?’

‘Erm. . .yeah.’ He knows me too well.

‘Did Patty throw a dart at your face?’

‘No! I confiscated her darts after the last time!’

‘OK. Have you been thinking about that scene in The Lion King where Simba realizes his dad isn’t going to wake up?’

‘No, but now I am, and it’s not helping. It’s Vogue, Daniel. She’s back with Jack. And she’s given him a bloody job – here! I just can’t believe it . . . and I’m so angry . . . and I’m not just angry, I’m worried . . . about her, and about us, and about everything!’

The words rushed out of my mouth so fast they sounded a bit blurry even to me, so I completely understood when Daniel didn’t respond immediately.

After a few seconds, he finally spoke. But all he said was one word: ‘Ah.’

It’s a short word, and possibly not even a word at all, more of a sound or an exclamation, but it told me a lot.

Because while Daniel knows me inside out, I also know him inside out – and an ‘ah’ like the one he’d just murmured isn’t a simple thing. For a start, he didn’t sound shocked. He didn’t freak out, or swear, or drop the phone in surprise. He just said one quiet little ‘ah’. This was not the reaction I would have expected from Daniel, who, while not the kind of bloke who has fights or causes scenes, despises Jack Duncan with a quiet passion. Partly for what he did to me, partly for the way he conducts himself in business.

That one little ‘ah’, and the silence that followed it, told me this: Daniel already knew. That the huge shock I’d just had wasn’t as much of a shock to him. That it wasn’t only Vogue who’d kept this revelation to herself.

‘You already knew,’ I said, feeling somehow betrayed. I didn’t make it a question – I didn’t need to – I made it a statement of fact.

‘I didn’t know she’d decided,’ he replied, using the calm tone of voice he uses when he thinks I’m about to go ballistic. ‘I’d heard she’d been in talks with him, but just gossip. Nothing concrete. They’d been seen together a few times having meetings, and I knew he was looking to leave Starmaker. This was all grapevine stuff – nothing certain – and you know most of the grapevine stuff turns out to be crap.’

‘We both know you made that up to fuel your sick fantasies, but why, Daniel? Why didn’t you tell me? I just bumped into him upstairs! I could have done with some . . . I don’t know, warning?’

‘Well,’ he replied, and I could hear the sounds of the garden around him. He’d walked outside – probably barefoot, probably holding a mug of coffee – and I could hear the animals making animal noises in the background. I could picture him there, and usually that would immediately reassure me – but now . . . well, I felt a bit thrown, to be honest.