Alison Kervin - A WAG Abroad

My dressing area is still there, with its cerise-coloured walls and leopardskin carpet, and the hangers and drawers lined in velvet. There’s loads of space in there and little velvet, leopardskin pouches for shoes, and stands for boots and handbags. I’m still trying to catch my breath after sitting so close to Jamie, so I sit down heavily on the bed and pull out the little gold map case from my hotpants.

I open it up and try to work out where our house is. There! I put a gold star right on top of us, then I pull out my piece of paper with Victoria and David’s address on. OK… Beverly Hills, Beverly Hills. Whaaaaattt? Hollywood Hills and Beverly Hills are two completely different places. They’re separate hills entirely. Holy fuck. We’re living on the wrong hill. I drop the map and jump up.

‘Dean,’ I say, shrieking through the house as I hobble down the stairs, taking them three at a time and moving with reckless speed. ‘Dean!’

‘What is it?’ he says, coming out to meet me.

‘This house is all wrong,’ I say.

‘No it’s not. It’s lovely.’

‘Dean, it’s all wrong . We can’t live here, we have to move. Immediately. We have to, Sugar Lump.’

‘I don’t understand, love. It’s all done out just like the Luton house was. What’s the problem? If you don’t like something, can’t you just call Lisaa and get it changed, like you did when the chandeliers in the hallway weren’t sparkly enough? Do you remember that, love? You sent the poor woman back to India to get more jewels. Then there was the time you wanted pink marble benches and Lisaa managed to find them in China.’

‘No, Dean, the problem isn’t the house. It’s the place. I got my hills muddled up. I thought Victoria and David lived in Hollywood Hills but they live in Beverly Hills. Oh, Dean, it was my dream to live next to them and to see them every day. I can’t believe it. It’s too awful for words.’

‘How far away is Beverly Hills?’ asks Dean. ‘I bet it’s just round the corner.’

‘It’s four and a half acrylic nails away. I measured it, Dean. How many miles to a nail, do you think?’

‘I don’t really know,’ he says. ‘Jamie might.’

Jamie! Of course, he’s bound to know.

‘Jamie, Jamie,’ I start howling, as I run into the sitting room. ‘How far’s Beverly Hills from here?’

‘About half an hour’s drive,’ he says. ‘Why? Do you want to go there?’

‘Yes, urgently,’ I say. ‘I need to go now. Quickly. As soon as possible. I need to see where the Beckhams live. It’s of the utmost importance. If they don’t live where they should live, we’re going to have to move. Unless they will move instead … No, I think it’s going to have to be us. They were here first. I’m not an unreasonable woman.’

‘OK,’ he says, a little confused, but getting to his feet nonetheless.

‘See you later,’ I say to Dean. ‘Keep your fingers crossed that it’s not too far because if it is we’re moving the whole damn house, and I have a feeling that this big house is going to be hellishly difficult to shift.’

I’m in the car, next to Jamie, and even though he’s gorgeous and I could hardly take my eyes off him before, I’m concentrating on nothing but Victoria now. How could this have happened? It’s unbelievable.

‘I know the Beckhams well, you know,’ says Jamie.

‘What did you just say? Pull over!’

He looks at me. ‘I know them well. I didn’t say anything earlier in case you thought I was being showy or something, but, yeah. You know – me and Victoria, we’re pals.’

‘Pals? My God. I think she’s the most wonderful person on earth. I’d die if I could meet her. I think she’s perfect.’

I’m struggling to breathe all over again. This is so exciting.

‘I used to be her driver.’

‘No!’

‘Yep,’ he replies. ‘Their personal chauffeur. I’ll introduce you some day, if you like. Not today – it would be rude to go barging in there – but someday soon.’

‘Oh my God, yes!’ I cry, leaping up and almost breaking my ribs on the seat belt. ‘Yes, yes, yes. Oh God, yes.’

I take a huge swig from the Cristal bottle wedged between my orange thighs and smile happily. Meeting Victoria is the one remaining goal in my life. For years I’ve dreamt of meeting her. I mean, I’ve seen her before … there was that time when I almost got arrested after following her from Beckingham Palace. I don’t think I’ll tell Muscley Jamie about that, though, in case he thinks I’m mad.

‘Right. This is Beverly Hills. What did you say the name of the road was? I’ve forgotten.’

I read out the address to him as we drive past magnificent double-fronted detached houses. They’re all imposing, square buildings, very new-looking with squeaky-clean windows and perfect gardens. There’s something pleasant about that, but something a bit odd, too, because it makes the place feel sterile and unreal. It’s as if all the houses are too perfect to be real and that they’ll blow away in the first gust of wind. Where Dean and I live in a posh part of Luton there are loads of different types of houses on the same street. Some look like large cottages, others like mansions. They’re all massive, impressive and eye-wateringly expensive, but each house has its own little history. They’re all unique. Not like here where they all look the same. Aaaaahhhhhh … except for that one.

‘This is it!’ I scream, making poor Jamie jump out of his skin. ‘Oh, look. It’s just like all the pictures I’ve seen – only bigger, obviously, or it would be a tiny house that I could fit in my handbag.’

I leap out of the car with considerable athleticism for a woman in bone-crunchingly high heels and walk towards the Beckhams’ large white mansion. You can’t see it properly from the outside because there’s a huge wooden fence protecting it from prying eyes. I have to get nearer.

‘Where are you going?’ asks Jamie, alarmed.

‘I want to get as close as possible,’ I say, breathing deeply. ‘You can sense her presence, can’t you?’

Jamie parks and runs after me. By the time he reaches me I’m standing by the gate with my body pushed up against it, sniffing deeply. I can see that the other side of the gate there’s a driveway up to a more substantial metal gate, controlled by a security guard.

‘Can I help you guys?’ asks a uniformed officer.

They have two security guards? Wow, that’s impressive.

‘We’re just going,’ says Jamie. ‘Sorry, we were lost. We’re just off now.’

‘What’s she doing?’ asks the guard, pointing at me as I stand completely flat against the gate, inhaling deeply and trying not to squeal with excitement.

‘I’m a gate inspector,’ I say.

‘Gate inspector? I’ve never met one before. What do you do?’

‘I inspect gates,’ I tell him. ‘On behalf of the government. I just need to stand here a moment longer.’

‘Do you have a pass or anything?’ asks the man.

‘I do,’ I tell him, ‘but I’ve left it in my Marc Jacobs bag. I wasn’t thinking when I came out, and I brought the Prada by mistake.’

The security guard glances at Jamie with a look which says ‘take her away now or I’ll have her sectioned’.

‘We’re going,’ says Jamie, leading me back to the car.

‘Sir, I’m glad to tell you that your gate has passed the test. Everything is fine. Thank you for your time,’ I shout.

The security officer looks alarmed, as well he might, but not quite as shocked as Jamie, who is now driving away as fast as he can.

‘I touched the gate,’ I tell him. ‘And look at this …’

While I was standing there I dragged my fingernails down the gate and filled them with splinters of wood. I pick it all out and hold it in my hand. A look of astonishment has crept across Jamie’s handsome features.