a ground-floor maisonette. ‘I thought you were a penniless artist?’
‘I never said I was penniless,’ he said, fiddling with a Macbook and then Googling The Look website. Jenny and Jeff finally made it out of the lift and appeared in the doorway, making up for lost time, fast.
‘Clearly,’ I said. The whole place reeked of Alex. The original artwork from the band’s albums hung in frames on the white walls, cracked leather sofas, huge CD collection taking up practically a whole wall, and a tiny kitchenette that looked like the place takeaway cartons came to die. ‘It’s gorgeous, Alex.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, looking up from the computer. ‘My brother is in real estate so it’s really his find. We bought it a few years ago when prices across here were nothing. The page is loading, come see.’
I dropped onto the sofa beside him and peeked out from behind his shoulder as the different elements of the page flashed into life. The Look main banner, the navigation bar. And finally, the text box flashed into life.
‘Jenny, come and look!’ I squealed, clutching Alex’s arms and reading. It was surreal! ‘I can’t believe this.’
‘The Adventures of Angela: Twenty-six-year-old Angela is the latest recruit to our ever-growing glamorous group of bloggers. Read all about her New York adventures, only at TheLook.com …’ Alex read out loud.
‘Stop it, stop it,’ I wailed, proud and embarrassed and scared all at once. ‘Seriously, you don’t need to read it ever. It’s just – really, you don’t need to read it. Please?’
‘Twenty-six, huh? I’d have said twenty-five tops.’ He turned and smiled. ‘It sounds great. Now can I read it or not?’
‘Not?’ I winced as he started anyway.
Jenny prised herself away from Jeff just long enough for the two of them to come and look at the page. ‘I’m so proud of you, doll,’ she said, hugging me again. I couldn’t help but notice the traces of her perfume were now long gone but Jeff’s post-gig ‘glow’ was all over her. ‘Don’t be embarrassed! This is great!’
‘I couldn’t have done it without you and Erin,’ I said, hugging back. ‘I know I shouldn’t be embarrassed, it’s just so out there. I just keep trying to think about all the things I’ve written in the diary and then trying not to think that they’re going to be on a website for everyone to read.’ For Alex and Tyler to read, I added silently.
‘Everyone knows not to take these things so seriously,’ Jenny said, easing herself back towards the sofa, where Jeff was waiting with open arms and, oh look at that, an erection. ‘Everyone totally reads it as fiction.’
‘Do you think so?’ I asked Alex, nibbling at my little fingernail. I hadn’t bitten my nails since Louisa had made me use some horrible-tasting stuff, a month before the wedding.
‘Yeah, she’s right,’ he said, gently brushing his free hand up and down my back. ‘Besides, what’s it matter what strangers read?’
‘Strangers, school teachers, my mum,’ I said out loud, but silently repeating Jenny’s comment about guitarists while his fingers played up and down my spine. We’re taking it slowly, I reminded myself. We’re taking it slowly. ‘It’s not all strangers, is it?’
‘I guess not, but anyone who knows you will know what’s real and what isn’t,’ he said, finally turning back to me. ‘You want me to print it out?’
‘No, that would be too cheesy,’ I said, trying to tear my eyes away from the screen. ‘Actually, maybe we should. Just in case they take it down again in the morning.’
Alex laughed, pressed print and placed the laptop on the low coffee table in front of us. ‘You think they’re going to make it back to Jeff’s place?’ he asked, looking over at Jenny and her ‘ex’ furiously kissing. It was more or less impossible to work out which denim-clad limb belonged to which person.
‘I don’t know.’ It was like a car crash, I couldn’t stop looking, but I knew that I really shouldn’t be. ‘How far away is it?’
‘Across the hall.’ Alex stood up and lowered the lights. I wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. ‘I really hope they make it, that couch isn’t going to take much more.’
He held out his hand, which I gladly took. It was either leave the room now or settle in with some popcorn for the live action porno. Really, people paid a lot of money to see what we were getting for free. Whether we liked it or not.
‘I vote we leave them to it,’ Alex pulled me gently towards a dark doorway. ‘I don’t think we’re going to be playing late-night Boggle.’
The dark doorway led to his bedroom. A rumpled, but made, futon took centre stage, accessorized by an acoustic guitar, another stereo and an open wardrobe, packed full of faded T-shirts and leather jackets. Weirdly, hiding at the very end, was a suit. I supposed everyone had to have one. The low windowsill was lined with candles and I noted that without exception, they all had fresh wicks, so either Alex went through a lot of candles or they had been laid on for my benefit. I wasn’t sure if it was too sweet or too smooth, a potential throwback to his serial shagging days. I lingered in the doorway while he turned on the stereo.
‘We might not be able to see them in here, but I don’t really want to hear them, either.’ He took a matchbook from a tall thin chest of drawers by the bed and started lighting the candles. I was starting to err towards too smooth.
‘Yeah,’ I replied, my eyes being drawn back to the bed again and again. On what I assumed was Alex’s side was a big stack of well-read books, biographies, classics, newer cult stuff. Was he really a reader or were they just more props?
‘Angela, I didn’t bring you in here to …’ he trailed off and stood awkwardly by the window. I realized I was clinging on to the doorframe for dear life. ‘You can come in, I’m not going to attack you.’
I laughed softly, at myself, and moved over to the bed, perching on the very edge. ‘Sorry, I know. I should just go home,’ I said, looking at my shoes. They were edged in black crap from the gig. Now all I could think about was whether or not I’d trekked it all round Alex’s apartment. ‘Jenny’s safe and everything.’
‘I don’t want you to go home,’ Alex joined me on the foot of the bed, ‘but if you want me to call you a cab, I will. Or you can stay, we can talk a while and I promise I’ll keep my hands where you can see them.’
He looked so sweet, so earnest and held out his hands, palm up. How could someone who had crashed up and down the stage, writhing around a guitar and thrashing into his microphone stand so many times I was sure he’d have bruises, become this tender, soft guy in just a couple of hours? Was this all part of the act? There’s only one way to find out, I thought, taking one of the hands in mine.
‘You’re going to have to do most of the talking,’ I said, lurching backwards and leaning on an elbow. ‘I’m actually shattered.’
‘Not a problem,’ he smiled, giving my hand a squeeze and then rolling over onto his side. ‘I can go all night.’
I burst out laughing. ‘Did you really just say that?’ I asked, punching him in the shoulder.
‘You know what I mean.’ He laughed, rubbing his
