‘My mother has just had something of a mid-life crisis – for the fourth, or perhaps the fifth time. This time, she’s in the throes of a passionate affair with a yoga instructor and she’s headed off on a sort of old lady gap year,’ she began.
I blinked at her, impressed at the idea of her mum and the yoga teacher, but not knowing how this had anything to do with me.
‘Okaaaaay,’ I said
‘So, she convinced me to keep an eye on my grandmother,’ Natasha carried on. ‘Which is no hardship because I adore her, but I’ve got such a lot on, and it’s proving hard to get round to hers every day.’
She chewed her lip.
‘She’s quite sprightly, really, considering she’s almost ninety. She doesn’t need much looking after. Just someone who’s there, you know, if she needs something?’
‘Okaaaaay,’ I said again, still not understanding. ‘Oh, god. Do you mean me? I can’t look after an old lady.’
Natasha gripped my hand.
‘You can,’ she said. ‘She’s fine. She can look after herself, honestly. It’s not like you need to cook for her, or bathe her, or anything like that. Her house has a flat, in the basement. It’s really nice – I lived there myself when I was younger. One bedroom, lounge, blah, blah. So you wouldn’t even be living with her, not really. She just needs someone who’s there in case she has a fall.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not the right person. I’m too selfish to be an old woman’s companion.’
Natasha gripped my hand tighter.
‘Ow,’ I said. ‘Where is it?’
‘Clapham.’
I screwed my nose up.
‘I don’t like South London,’ I said.
‘It’s perfect,’ Phil commented. ‘There won’t be any paps down there. You’ll be left alone.’
He had a point, but that wasn’t enough to change my mind.
‘The rent’s cheap.’
‘How cheap?’
Natasha named a tiny figure that I could easily afford even if I didn’t work for the next six months, and Phil widened his eyes.
‘So I won’t need to bathe her?’ I said.
‘You probably won’t even see her,’ Natasha said. ‘She’s got loads of friends. I just need to know you’re going to be there overnight and that she can call on you if she needs to.’
‘I can only stay for a few weeks,’ I said, checking my phone to see if Babs had called back. ‘I’m going into the jungle, and who knows what could happen after that.’
‘My mother should be back by the New Year,’ Natasha said. ‘The timing is perfect.’
I knew when I was beaten.
‘Fine,’ I said, throwing my head back against the sofa. ‘Fine. Yes, I’ll move in.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Natasha said hopefully. Phil clapped his hands and I glared at him.
‘Tomorrow,’ I agreed wearily.
My phone rang and I snatched it up, hoping it was Babs with good news about the jungle. But it was Josie, a TV presenter who lived in the flat below Matty’s. She was probably calling for the gossip, I thought, cancelling the call. Immediately she rang again. I rejected the call once more. There was a pause, and Josie started calling again. I sighed.
‘I should take this,’ I said to Natasha and Phil. ‘Hi Josie.’
‘Amy, you need to get here,’ Josie said. ‘Matty’s putting all your stuff outside in the street. There are loads of tramps wearing your dresses and the paps are going crazy.’
‘WHAT?’ I shrieked. ‘Which dresses?’
‘I don’t know,’ Josie said. ‘Does it matter?’
‘I suppose not,’ I admitted. ‘I’m on my way.’
I ended the call and stood up, tossing my hair over my shoulders.
‘I have to go,’ I said, trying hard not to cry. ‘It seems that, not content with breaking my heart, Matty’s determined to make a fool of me in the papers too.’
Natasha delved into her huge tote bag and pulled out a piece of paper. She scribbled something on it, then delved again and found a set of keys.
‘Here,’ she said, shoving them at me. ‘This is the address and these are the keys. You can move in tonight if you like?’
Relief flooded me. And Phil, by the look on his face. Clearly he didn’t want to think about taking me – and all my belongings – back to his pristine flat for another night.
‘Thank you,’ I said, meaning it.
‘Will you be okay on your own?’ Phil said.
‘Oh, I’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘How much worse can things get?’
Ready to face the world – and the paparazzi – I twisted my hair into a ponytail, pulled on my baseball cap and picked up my sunglasses. Then I grabbed my bag and gave Phil a kiss.
‘Thanks for everything, buddy,’ I said. ‘I’ll give you a call later.’
I found a cab without any trouble and soon I was on my way to my old flat in Camden, feeling sick with nerves about what I’d find when I got there.
What I found was worse than I could have imagined. Matty had stuffed all my clothes into bin bags and then, by the look of it, chucked them all off the balcony of our – sorry, his – first-floor flat. Some of the bags had burst and so clothes were scattered across the drive. Pyjamas, underwear, jeans, dresses – they were all strewn on the paving stones and on the neighbours’ cars. One of my bras swung jauntily from the handlebars of Matty’s motorbike.
It was raining so everything was slightly soggy and, like Josie had said, word had obviously spread around Camden. Some giggling schoolgirls were rooting through the bin bag squealing in delight as they pulled out all my gorgeous clothes and shoved them into their backpacks. And the old bearded man who hung out at the tube station dancing to the music from the buskers was wearing one of my favourite dresses.
Aghast, I pushed my face up against the window of the cab.
‘That’s my soap awards dress,’ I wailed.
I opened the window a fraction and was wondering if I should shout something at someone when I heard a yell.
Matty was hanging out of the bedroom window. I gasped when I saw him. He was so handsome. I’d spent the last two days thinking of him as some kind of monster so it was strange to see him now looking so good. Seriously, seriously good. I almost wanted to rush over to him, kiss his beautiful face, tell him how sorry I was and beg him to take me back …
‘Take everything you want,’ he was yelling. ‘Help yourselves.’
Oh.
Of course there were three photographers busy capturing everything, plus a camera crew, obviously filming for Matty’s fly-on-the-wall show.
‘Keep driving,’ I shrieked. ‘Keep driving!’
The cab driver met my eyes in the mirror and nodded briskly. Next to me, on the pavement, the teenage girls dug into another bag, pulling out what seemed to be my favourite jeans and trainers.
I made a split-second decision.
‘Stop!’ I shouted.