style="font-size:15px;"> ‘Easy and, I’m sorry to say, not that original,’ I mirrored his stretch and pulled my hair back into a ponytail before letting it fall back down. ‘I’m not bothered. My turn.’
‘I don’t think so.’ James shook his head. ‘Do you think I didn’t notice you freaking out when those girls were looking at us outside the yoghurt place? And even though I’ve told you about a million times that your job is safe, you’re still worrying about the interview, about the magazine. So don’t tell me you’re not bothered.’
‘You didn’t tell me I had to be honest.’ I pulled a stray strand of hair out of my lip gloss. I would never be a lady. ‘You just said I had to answer your question and I answered.’
‘OK then. Your turn.’
‘Right,’ I said, surprised. I hadn’t really expected to get off that lightly but I wasn’t about to push my luck. ‘Three things you can’t be without when you’re travelling.’
‘A small donkey, Michael Caine and toenail clippers.’ James stared back at me, completely serious. ‘My turn.’
‘You’re not funny.’
‘The fifty million people that saw my last movie would disagree with you.’
‘I’m writing that down if you don’t give me a serious answer.’
‘You give me one then.’
I sighed. ‘Fine. I am a little bit bothered.’
‘Thank you. Now tell me why?’
‘Why? It would be easier for you to tell me why you aren’t more bothered. How does the whole thing not faze you? Even if this happens to you every single day, twice a day even, I don’t understand how you can just laugh it all off and expect everyone else to do the same.’
James leaned over, brushing my hair behind my ear.
‘Because it’s not real,’ he said quietly. ‘I know those photos aren’t real, the people I love know they’re not real; it’s all just another character. Even this interview, as much fun as it is and as much as I’m loving hanging out with you, what goes in the magazine will end up being an interview with a character we create. The questions you ask me aren’t supposed to find out about the real me, not the cold, hard facts. They’re supposed to find out things your readers want to know, about the James Jacobs they’ve seen in all those stupid romcoms I’ve done.’
I didn’t really know what to say. He wasn’t wrong.
‘Angela, it doesn’t matter if everyone outside this club thinks we’re at it like rabbits in here, we know we’re not and that’s what matters. And no one with half a brain believes what they see on celebrity websites.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I thought too.’ I chewed on the end of my pen, looking back at the bar. ‘Can we get a drink?’
‘Someone thinks the photos are real.’
Despite the fact it would mortify my mother, I clambered underneath the bar and poured myself a drink. ‘Yeah.’
‘Is it your mum?’
Oh my God, I hadn’t even thought about that. I doubled the shot. ‘Not yet.’
‘The boyfriend?’
‘The boyfriend.’ I poured a Diet Coke on top of the vodka but there was only room for a third of the bottle.
‘I can’t believe he called you a liar.’ James followed me over to the bar.
‘What?’ I mixed my drink without a straw. ‘He didn’t say that.’
‘He thinks the photos are real,’ he said. ‘And you said they weren’t, so I’m fairly sure that means he called you a liar.’
‘Not exactly.’ I took a long swig, pulled a face and added some more Coke. ‘He was just a bit—well, not very happy about it. Which is completely understandable.’
‘But you told him nothing was happening and he didn’t believe you?’ James pressed on, settling on a bar stool. ‘Beer for me, please.’
‘Great, now I’m a barmaid,’ I muttered, grabbing a Corona from the fridge. ‘I told him they weren’t what they looked like. That doesn’t mean he didn’t believe me. He was just a bit annoyed. His ex cheated on him so, you know, it’s hard for him to trust people sometimes.’
‘But you’re not his ex,’ James squeezed a chunk of lime into his beer. ‘And you haven’t cheated on him.’
‘No but, well, I was dating someone else when we met, but no I haven’t cheated on him. On anyone. Ever.’ I slipped a napkin under his bottle. At least I’d have experience in bar work for when I lost my job at The Look. ‘I would never cheat on Alex.’ I looked up confidently. ‘I would never cheat on him.’
‘Then he’s got no right to make you feel bad about some paparazzi shots,’ James reasoned. ‘He should just take your word for it and think himself lucky that he has such an amazing girlfriend.’
‘I wouldn’t go so far as amazing.’ I sipped my drink. ‘Just common or garden perfect would do it.’
‘Do you always make jokes about yourself?’ James set his bottle back on the bar. ‘Because you are amazing, you know. And your boyfriend should never make you doubt that.’
‘I don’t make jokes about myself and I’m not amazing.’ The bar was so quiet, I could hear my heart thudding. This didn’t feel as though it was essential to the interview. ‘Really. Anyway, I have more questions for you.’
‘You’re cute, you’re clever, you’re funny, you clearly love this idiot even though he doesn’t deserve it,’ James carried on, pushing the lime right down the neck of the bottle. ‘If you were my girlfriend, I would never let you be miserable. Ever.’
‘I don’t know,’ I said, examining my fingernails. ‘I don’t think anyone can make me feel better about the fact that I’ll never be America’s Next Top Model.’
‘Yeah, you don’t ever make jokes about yourself,’ James replied.
The longer we sat in silence, the more awkward it became.
‘Has he ever cheated on you?’ he asked. ‘The boyfriend?’
‘No. Of course not,’ I said quickly. ‘He wouldn’t.’
James studied me silently while he drank his beer.
‘Can we get back to the interview?’ I asked, my stomach dropping.
‘Because if you were my girlfriend—’ James started again.
‘The interview?’ I interrupted. Too much. This was just too much.
‘My video iPod, running shoes and a copy of The Great Gatsby.’ He knocked back the rest of his beer.
I
