Katie Oliver - Love And Liability

Of course she hadn’t.

“Still, she seems okay,” Kate added doubtfully. “She helped me get this job, after all.”

“She’s a posh little princess. She wouldn’t know hardship if it bit her on the arse.”

Kate opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. “My dad and Nat’s grandfather are partners,” Holly had said off-handedly, as if co-owning a major British department store were nothing special.

And even though she liked Holly, Kate felt, not for the first time, a tiny knife-twist of jealousy.

It wasn’t fair that while she struggled to make ends meet, borrowing money occasionally from a payday lender to cover her bills, Holly James worked, probably as a lark, so she could buy the latest handbag or an extra pair of designer shoes.

“Holly’s not posh,” Kate said, but her words lacked conviction. “Her family’s well off, that’s all. She can’t help that.”

“Perhaps not,” Sasha agreed, “but nor should her family name allow her any special considerations. Valery already thinks Holly’s ‘promising’ and ‘full of good ideas’.” She snorted. “Full of herself, more like.”

“But you’re Valery’s assistant, not Holly. You’ve nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” Sasha assured her smugly. “Once this interview with Henry Barrington hits the stands, Holly bloody James will find herself booted out of BritTEEN so fast her knickers will catch fire.”

Chapter 8

“Oh, shit,” Holly mumbled as she sat up in bed and groped on the table for her mobile. She squinted at the number on her screen and groaned.

Her father was the last person she wanted to talk to this morning. Because just now, it felt as though a DJ was spinning house music right inside her head.

Maybe she’d had one too many vodka and grapefruits last night.

“Hi, Dad.” She blinked against the sunshine streaming through a gap in the curtains. “What’s up?”

“Your mother asked me to call and invite you down to Oxfordshire this weekend. We’re having a few of the neighbours round for a dinner party.”

She winced. “Oh. Okay. I suppose I could.”

“Don’t sound so enthused.”

“I am enthused,” Holly told him as she went into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. “I’m not quite awake yet.”

“It’s nearly noon. Out late clubbing, were you?”

“I wish.” Holly took down a cup. “No, I was working.”

“You work the longest hours for the lowest pay of anyone I know—”

“Don’t start, Dad. Please?”

He sighed. “She’s invited John and Enid to stay the weekend as well. You remember — they lived next door when you were small.”

She didn’t, not really. “Right.”

“I can count on you, then? I’d like to spend some time with you over something other than a chequebook.”

John and Enid. Holly frowned. They had two sons, both grown. One was married, and the other was in banking or insurance or something equally boring.

She scanned the calendar on her mobile. “There’s nothing important going on. What time?”

“Shall we say seven? Get there a bit earlier and we can have a drink beforehand.”

“Great, I’ll see you on Friday.” As she ended the call Holly tried to picture John and Enid’s sons, and failed. One worked in the City and the other was…an architect? Actuary? Something with an ‘A’…

She plunked a tea bag in her cup and went back to her bedroom, noticing as she did that Kate’s door was firmly shut, and sat down at the desk. Her laptop was still open. She jiggled the mouse and the screen sprang to life.

She checked her email to see if there’d been any further response from Sasha about Alex’s interview, but there was nothing. Holly frowned. She knew she’d sent it. Perhaps she’d just have a quick look to make absolutely sure…

Yes, there it was. She’d sent the interview to Sasha late on Friday evening. Twice.

Holly frowned. Odd, that; she’d sent it once, not twice. Oh, well — her email must be acting wonky again. Or she’d hit ‘send’ twice. That was what drinking two vodka-and-grapefruits while you worked did to you, she supposed…

“Make me some tea, love, eh?”

She looked up to see Mick leaning against the doorway in his boxers. He usually didn’t stir before mid-afternoon.

“You’re up early. Rehearsal today?”

Blearily he nodded and followed her back into the kitchen. He sat slumped at the table as she found a mug and fixed his tea.

“You didn’t come to bed,” she added, keeping her voice carefully neutral.

“I passed out on the sofa when I came in this morning. I didn’t want to wake you.” He wrapped his hands round the mug she handed him. “I thought you’d come down the pub last night.”

Holly finished her tea and set the cup in the sink. “I told you, I couldn’t. I had to work.”

“Oh, yeah, work. Right. That’s all you ever do, innit, putting in all those hours for that stupid teen rag.”

“ BritTEEN isn’t stupid,” she said defensively, having had this argument before. “We have a high pass-along rate, and our readership is second only to Bliss —”

He thrust his chair back. “I’ve heard it all before, haven’t I? I got things to do. I’ll see you later.”

Holly turned from the sink to face him. “No, you won’t.” She was suddenly furious, fed up with Mick and his dismissive attitude. He’d never taken her job at BritTEEN seriously; he’d never taken her seriously. “Go ahead and leave. But don’t bother coming back.”

He stood there in his boxers, his blue hair standing straight up like a rooster’s comb, and stared at her in bafflement.

“What are you on about? That time of the month, is it?”

As quickly as it came, her anger left. You have to care to be angry, Holly reflected guiltily, and she didn’t care enough about Mick any more to be bothered.

She grabbed her bag, feeling sad and deflated. Another relationship bites the dust . What she desperately needed was some retail therapy. “Look, I’m going out. Please be gone by the time I get back.”

“Right, then,” Mick said, and scowled. “Fine. It’s past time I moved out, anyway.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” She brushed past him and went out of the door.

And she didn’t say goodbye.

When Holly returned to the flat that afternoon, her arms laden with shopping bags, Mick, along with his lads’ magazines, amplifiers, and bass guitars, was gone, and so was Kate. An extravagant bouquet of white roses sat in the middle of the kitchen table. The flowers smelled heavenly and must’ve cost a fortune.

She picked up the tiny envelope with a frown. Had Mick sent them? She snorted. Not likely. He hadn’t a romantic bone in his body. Besides, he only ever spent money on motorcycle parts and bass guitars. Holly lifted the envelope flap with her newly French-manicured fingertip and slid out the card.

By way of apology for being such a rude git,

Alex

P.S. — Found one semi-squashed packet of Mentos under my desk. Believe it belongs to you. Will return soonest.

Holly smiled.

The front door banged open and Kate came in. “Ooh, they’re gorgeous, aren’t they?” she breathed as she heaved a bag of groceries from her hip onto the counter. “Bloke delivered them just before I went out. Good thing I was here. Who’re they from, anyway?”

Before Holly could answer, her mobile rang. The number was unfamiliar. “Hello,” she said cautiously.

“Did you get the flowers?” Alex asked.

“Yes, thanks. They’re beautiful.” She walked into her bedroom — Kate was unabashedly eavesdropping — and shut the door. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”