‘Yeah. Six degrees of Kevin Bacon. It was nice to see him. When Simon says you’re looking well, it really means something. Know what I mean?’ She suddenly softened and I saw a reflection of the fear she always carried with her after her diagnosis.
But the moment passed, as did my misplaced jealousy of Simon. It was a good night, the first of many over the next few months. We’d meet in town or I’d go over to the hacienda and stay overnight. A couple of times she brought Jimmy down to Brighton and we had a typically English day at the seaside. She talked about her colleagues on the TV show, the people she was working with on her merchandising, Georgie and his team, Leanne in Spain and, of course, Jimmy. Choosing a school for him was high on her list of priorities and I lost count of the number of prospectuses and websites we looked at. But Simon never came up in conversation again.
The only time I ran into him after that was at Scarlett’s birthday party. Although she’d pretty much given up on the club scene, and in spite of her regular fulminations against the vile tabloid media, she understood that she still had to make her presence felt in the red-tops. So her birthday bash was in a new triple-decker bar on the South Bank with amazing views of the river from the roof terrace. As usual at Scarlett’s shindigs, I knew almost nobody except the journos, and I wasn’t in the mood for them that night. I found George leaning on the balustrade looking out at the river and the crowds walking past towards the South Bank complex and the London Eye. The music pulsed around us, quieter than it was on the dance floor below, but a presence nonetheless. ‘Lovely evening for it,’ George said.
‘Perfect venue,’ I agreed.
We stood in companionable silence for a bit, then he said, ‘You’ve been terrifically good for her, Stephanie. She’s a much improved piece of merchandise since you got your hands on her.’
‘You are dreadful, Georgie.’
‘It’s the truth, sweetie. Look around you. At least half of the people here are perfectly respectable. Most of us have never been on reality TV. Our ugly duckling has turned into a swan, I rather think.’
‘It’s all been her own doing.’
Before George could say more, Simon Graham moved alongside me. ‘Mind if I join you?’ he said, both hands on the stem of his glass in an anxious posture. He gave a quick, nervy smile. ‘I don’t know anybody else here,’ he added, throwing himself on our mercy.
‘Neither do we,’ George said.
‘Liar, half of them are your clients,’ I said.
‘That doesn’t mean I want to engage socially with them, Stephanie. I fear that I no longer number among the bright young things.’
‘I never did, Georgie.’ I smiled at Simon. ‘You’re welcome to hang out with the boring old farts, even though you are clearly not one of us.’ And in truth, he did look more of a piece with the other guests than us in his low- slung jeans and body-hugging black satin shirt.
Still, he stayed and we made genial, forgettable conversation about this and that for quarter of an hour or so, then Simon’s phone beeped. He dipped two long fingers into his tight pocket and pulled it free, then frowned. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go. Work, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s a pity,’ George said politely.
He gave a half-shrug. ‘Goes with the territory. Nice to see you both again.’ And he was off, weaving through the dancers and the drinkers and the talkers.
‘He seems like a nice bloke,’ I said.
‘If a little dull.’
‘There are worse things than dull.’
‘Indeed, Stephanie. And I suspect both of us have had rather too much of them. Personally, I think dull rather a fine quality in a doctor. It suggests a devotion to his work which always inspires confidence.’
‘Obviously worked on Scarlett,’ I said.
George raised his eyebrows in an arch expression. ‘Meaning what?’
‘Only that she invited him to her party.’
George chuckled. ‘I think she invited the entire contents of her phone contact list to her party.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Are you staying in town tonight?’
‘I’ve got a room at my club.’
Now his smile was wholehearted. ‘How very splendid. The University Women’s, I assume? Are you ready to let me drop you off on my way back to Chelsea?’
I was ready. Maybe if there had been a handsome copper around, I’d have contemplated dancing till dawn. But I was
out of luck on that score. Clearly his number hadn’t made it into Scarlett’s phone memory. We skirted the crowd, looking for Scarlett, fighting against the press of bodies and the growing volume of the music.
We found her near the top of the stairs leading to the dance floor, vaguely gyrating with a couple of fashion models. ‘We’re off,’ I said. ‘Great party.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. Are you having fun?’
‘I’m having a ball,’ she said, stepping away from the models and steering us towards the lift that would take us to the ground-floor exit. I noticed her wince as she turned.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked when we’d emerged from the crowd on to the landing. I gestured to her naked midriff. ‘You made a face.’
‘It’s nothing. I think I must have put my back out picking Jimmy up. It’s been bothering me the last couple of days. I’ve made an appointment with the osteopath. Little bugger’s getting too heavy.’ She pulled me into her arms and kissed me on the mouth. ‘You’re a total mother hen, Steph. You need to loosen up,’ she scolded me.
‘Be grateful somebody gives a toss about you, sweetie,’ George said as the lift arrived.
We all laughed. And I went home and thought nothing more about Scarlett’s back pain. More fool me.
42
I don’t buy the red-tops unless it’s for professional reasons. But I will glance at the headlines if someone on the train or in a cafe is hiding behind their paper. I’m only human, after all. And that’s how I learned my friend was dying.
In fairness to Scarlett, she wasn’t holding out on me. She’d only had the news confirmed the night before. She wasn’t ready to share with anyone yet. She certainly wasn’t ready for the whole bloody world to know she’d been diagnosed with terminal cancer.
The headlines screamed the story. SCARLETT’S DEATH SENTENCE. TV STAR HAS ONLY WEEKS TO LIVE. I’d only gone into Costa Coffee for a quick latte, but instead I’d been hit with the worst possible news.
I wanted to snatch the copy of the
I stood there on the street, the sun shining as if it had something to celebrate, and read the terrible news.
TV show host Scarlett Higgins has been diagnosed with terminal cancer. The former
