Chasing Daisy

hurriedly try to put a stop to his questioning. ‘No, you don’t know him.’
    ‘Is he famous?’ He sits up in his seat.
    ‘Oh, God, stop talking.’ I wave him away and then want to kick myself. As if he’s going to drop it now, you idiot!
    ‘Who?’ Will demands to know.
    ‘No one! Leave it! How did we get onto this subject, anyway? Let’s talk about you, again!’
    ‘Fuck that,’ he scoffs. ‘Just tell me.’
    ‘No, I can’t,’ I say.
    ‘Why, did you have to sign a confidentiality clause or something?’
    I waver.
    ‘You did, didn’t you?’ He slaps his hand on the table. ‘Oh bollocks, now I’m really curious.’
    I stare at him, mortified. I can’t believe I’ve let it get this far. After all this practice at lying!
    He looks at me through narrowed eyes. ‘Did you work for him?’
    ‘How the hell?’ I start. How did he figure that out?
    ‘You did! What did you do?’
    I pause, before answering truthfully. That much can’t hurt. ‘I was his personal assistant. But that’s ALL I’m saying.’ I determinedly take a gulp of my drink.
    ‘Never mind.’ He leans back and swigs from his beer bottle. ‘I’ll get it out of Holly later.’
    I laugh wryly and shake my head. ‘She doesn’t know.’
    ‘Bullshit.’ He plonks his bottle down on the table.
    ‘I’m not joking,’ I say. ‘And actually, she doesn’t even know this much so can you please not say anything?’
    He looks at me, trying to suss out whether or not I’m telling him the truth and eventually seems to decide that I am.
    ‘My lips are sealed,’ he says.
    ‘Thank you.’ I sigh. ‘God, that was stressful.’
    He laughs. I turn and scan the bar for Holly.
    ‘Still no sign?’ Will asks, looking too.
    ‘No. I can’t see her.’
    ‘Bet you’re wishing you came alone, now, aren’t you?’
    I look back at him and smile. ‘No, I’m still glad you’re here.’
    He regards me warmly for a moment. He has really nice lips . . .
    Suddenly he clears his throat and peers into his beer bottle. ‘Want another?’ He points to my drink.
    ‘I’ll go.’ I start to get up.
    ‘Bugger off,’ he says, frowning at me as he stands. ‘And no crap about you being a feminist, either. Same again?’
    I laugh and sit down. ‘Yes, please.’
    My eyes follow him as he heads off to the bar. A few people turn to stare as they realise who he is. There are a lot of race fans out on the town tonight, and a couple of them approach him asking for autographs. Will signs their caps and T-shirts quite happily, oblivious to me watching.
    I smile to myself. Famous people . . . But Will is a different kind of famous to . . . you know. I bet he would make a much nicer boyfriend. I suddenly recall quite clearly the pain of seeing the love of my life come onto another woman right in front of me. Hot tears prick my eyes, taking me by surprise. To my absolute horror, Will picks this time to return to the table.
    ‘What’s wrong?’ he asks in alarm.
    ‘Nothing, nothing!’ I laugh, embarrassed.
    ‘What is it?’ he persists.
    ‘Just having a nasty ex memory.’ I quickly swipe my thumbs underneath my eyes to catch the moisture before my rock chick look turns goth.
    ‘Oh. Sorry.’
    ‘It’s not your fault,’ I say, surreptitiously smearing the mascara from my thumbs onto my jeans.
    Will pauses, before saying, ‘Well he sounds like a twat, whoever he was.’
    I snicker in amusement.
    ‘I’ll never go and see any of his films ever again.’ He looks at me hopefully.
    ‘Nice try, buster,’ I joke.
    ‘Buy one of his albums?’ he tries again, raising an eyebrow.
    I just shake my head and purse my lips. He chuckles and taps his fingers on the table, eyeing me steadily. ‘I’m a bit of a shit for doing that to you,’ he says, dryly. ‘I get so pissed off when people pry into my love life.’
    ‘Who pries into your love life?’
    ‘The press do all the time. Laura’s always getting papped.’
    Urgh. Her again. ‘Is she? Why?’
    He gives me a baffled look.
    ‘Sorry, I don’t read the tabloids,’ I tell him, apologetically. ‘I genuinely don’t know why they’d bother her.’
    ‘Well, she’s kind of . . .’ his voice trails off so I prompt him.
    ‘Pretty?’ I feel sick as I ask it, and even sicker when he answers.
    ‘Yeah.’ He shrugs. ‘She’s into fashion and all that stuff.’
    Great. So she’s a stunning socialite. ‘Sounds like a Wayne and Coleen situation,’ I say, trying to sound light-hearted and