Over then next few hours things went from bad to f***ing disastrous. I was just sitting on the floor in the hallway, unable to pull myself together enough to even phone Luke. I’d got the phone out but my hands were shaking uncontrollably and I couldn’t trust myself not to cry if I got through to him. It wasn’t so much Pete who had got to me, as the photographer. I mean, I could understand why Pete should be mad with me; I was quite surprised it hadn’t happened before, but then he always had been a bit slow to pick up on what was going on around him. I hadn’t realised he’d got a gun, but I wasn’t that surprised about that either, given some of the people he did business with sometimes. But how could anyone have behaved like that photographer? How could you just keep taking photographs of someone who’s lying on the pavement and not say anything? Not even offer to help? I mean I know he had to have his pictures, fair enough, it’s how the man earns his living. But once he had them in the bag, couldn’t he at least have helped me up and asked if I needed a cup of tea or something. I mean it’s not every day someone’s ex-boyfriend pulls a gun on them in the street. I suppose not having any hearts is how they are able to take pictures in war zones or in places where everyone is starving. Maybe that’s the only way you can stay sane when you are faced with mountains of dead bodies and starving babies. Maybe a fallen television celebrity comes into the same category of man-made disaster as far as they’re concerned.
If I was shocked by what had happened outside the house I was even more shocked when my phone started to ring. I didn’t recognise the first number and answered it with a trembling thumb. Didn’t recognise the voice either, a woman’s voice, all cooing and sympathetic, asking if I was okay, did I need help, was I hurt? Question after question.
‘Who are you?’I asked, my voice croaky.
She was only a bloody reporter, wasn’t she? How the hell had she managed to get to me so quickly? I don’t know if she’d talked to the photographer or the person with the video camera or what, but she seemed to know everything that had happened. I always try to be polite to reporters when they ask their really dumb questions, I mean they’ve got to earn their livings too, haven’t they? But I just couldn’t muster the strength to do the usual bright, cheeky, cockney sparrow act. Unable to think of anything to say and not wanting her to hear me crying I hung up. The phone rang again immediately; another number I didn’t recognise. The calls kept coming and I kept cancelling them, checking each number first in case it was Mum or Luke.
When the doorbell went I nearly leapt out of my skin. I stood up, my legs wobbling under me, and peered through the peephole. I didn’t recognise the face on the other side, so I just leant back against the wall again and waited. The doorbell kept going because they knew I was in there and the phone kept ringing. So many bells jangling my nerves, making me want to scream. I could hear voices as more of them arrived, then there was some shouting, like someone was getting angry and I recognised Mum’s voice. I put my eye back to the peephole. It was hard to work out what was going on in the darkness. There seemed to be a crowd and then Mum’s face was the one in focus and she was calling out to me.
‘Open the door, Baby, open the door, it’s me!’
The moment I opened it the flashes went off again and they all started shouting their questions as Mum elbowed her way in and slammed it shut behind her.
‘What the hell is going on there, Girl?’ she asked and I couldn’t hold the tears in any longer, just sobbing and sobbing, clinging onto her as she rocked me back and forth like she used to when I came home from school to tell her I was being bullied or someone had stolen my favourite toy, just holding me tight, swaying and murmuring soothing words.
After a few minutes her magic worked and I was able to let her go. She held my hand tightly, picking up her frayed, tartan plastic shopping basket with her other hand. ‘Let’s warm this pie up and put the kettle on,’ she said, leading me through to the kitchen.
I put the phone on silent, but I still couldn’t stop myself glancing at the screen every time it vibrated. By the time Luke’s number popped up I felt steady enough to talk to him.
‘Hi,’ his voice sounded agitated. ‘What’s going on? There are press all round the front door and they’re all asking about you and a shooting or something? Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, just managing to stop the tears from erupting again. ‘Mum’s here. Can you come over and get us. We can’t stay here, the place is surrounded.’
‘Sure. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll come to the back. Are there any of them there or are they all at the front?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t dared open the curtains because of the cameras.’
‘Okay, just wait there. I’ll call you when I get there.’
Half an hour later he rang again. ‘I’m just parking up. The coast seems to be clear round this side. Is the garden gate unlocked?’
‘I’ll do it.’ I said and hung up.
‘You stay where you are, Girl,’ Mum instructed when she saw me heading for the patio door. ‘I’ll let him in.’
She bustled past me and I listened for the sound of voices or cameras but there was nothing. As Luke came running in with Mum puffing behind he looked so worried and I loved him for that. He gave me a big hug while Mum quickly locked the door behind them.
‘What the f*** happened, the press are going mad?’
‘Pete, the guy I used to date, he turned up with a gun and started firing it off, and there was a photographer and someone videoing ...’
‘Jesus. Did you call the police?’
‘No, I don’t want the police.’
‘But he’s got a gun.’
‘Pete’s okay, he just fired it into the air. He’s made his point; he won’t be back. I should have told him weeks ago. It’s my fault. I messed him about. I don’t want to get him in trouble with the police.’
Luke opened his mouth to argue then thought better of it. Mum had stood back respectfully to let us talk. I introduced them and Luke shook her hand and I swear to God she almost curtsied. What was that about? Sometimes I wonder about that woman.
‘So we need to get you out of here,’ he said, taking charge of the situation like it was some sort of SAS operation. ‘Where can we drop you, Mrs McBride?’
‘Joyce, you call me Joyce,’ she giggled. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine here, you two get going.’
‘Don’t be stupid Mum, we’re not leaving you here,’ I argued. ‘You’re coming with us.’
‘Oh, just take me to a tube station somewhere, that will be fine.’
It wasn’t worth arguing with her when she was in one of her ‘humble little me’ moods.
‘Where are you parked?’ I asked.
‘Just outside. We need to go quickly before they work out there’s a back door.’
Leaving all the lights on, only pausing to lock the patio door as we went, we ran down the garden and out into the deserted street behind. Luke’s Range Rover was waiting, gleaming under a streetlight. As we hurried towards it I heard a camera going off and a few seconds later there were flashes and shouts and the sounds of running feet. We’d been spotted and the hunt was back on.
Luke opened the doors with a remote key and we dived in, Mum panting for breath as she hauled herself up onto the backseat. Luke already had the engine running and the car was jumping forward before she had even got her door shut and just as two cars came screaming round the corner in pursuit, flanked by what looked like half a dozen motorbikes and scooters, all carrying photographers and film cameras.
‘Do your belt up,’ Luke shouted and I felt the sort of fear I imagine you get in airplanes when the captain tells you to fasten your seatbelt.
I was scared shitless, but I have to say it was a bit of a turn-on watching Luke throwing the car round corners at God alone knows what speeds. It was a side of him I’d never seen before, taking command of the situation and I really liked it. I mean, I’m a pretty stroppy tart most of the time, but sometimes it’s nice to feel that someone else is just taking care of things for you. I can’t believe I’ve just written that, but it’s true.
Mum was alternating between muttering prayers and shaking her fists at the bikes and scooters whenever they managed to get close to the windows, their passengers firing off pictures. The cars were stuck well behind and Luke was soon able to lose them. I can’t believe that any of the photographers had a clue what the story was they were following up, they must just have been told there had been an incident involving celebrities and guns and that was enough to get them pulling on their crash hats.
Must be an exciting life being a paparazzi, I suppose, a bit like fox hunting or rat catching or something. They always look like they’re having a pretty good time of it, but then I suppose I don’t see all the hours they put in waiting around in the rain for something to happen. They always look happy when they see me because they know it’s likely to be an earner for them.
God knows how we didn’t get pulled over by the police, which would have given them another lovely photo-opportunity, because Luke went mad; the wrong-way up a one-way street, skidding round corners on what felt like two wheels, the whole Starsky and Hutch thing. It was probably only five minutes before he had managed to shake them all off, but it felt like a f***ing lifetime.
‘You all right, Mum?’ I asked when he finally slowed down to a normal speed and I was able to let go of the straps and turn round.
‘A little shaken up, maybe,’ she grinned cheerfully and I felt so proud of her for her sweet, accepting nature.
‘Sorry about that, Joyce,’ Luke said. ‘I think I should take Steff somewhere safe for a bit, while we work out what’s going on. Do you want to come too? There’ll be plenty of room and you’re more than welcome.’
‘Noooo,’ she said, sounding a bit regretful I thought. ‘I need to get back home. He doesn’t like me to not be there when he gets back at night. Just drop me at a tube station.’
She wouldn’t be talked out of it and I felt horribly sad watching her walking away into the tube, still clutching her shopping bag, giving us a wave as she went. I felt like I was abandoning her in some way – stupid, I know, but that’s what it felt like.
‘So, where are we going?’ I asked with a bit of a forced cheerfulness as we drove off.
‘I thought we should get out of London, hide away in the country for a few days,’ he said. ‘We’ll go to my parents, there’s plenty of room there.’
His parents? F***. I wasn’t ready for that.
‘We can’t just turn up,’ I protested.
‘No, really, it’ll be fine,’ he assured me, squeezing my hand.
‘I haven’t got a sponge bag or anything.’
‘They do have shops in the country,’ he laughed.
I was going to have to take his word for that. I’d never actually been there myself. I’d seen it on telly and there never seemed to be many shops in sight, just moor lands or mountains or whatever, just flocks of sheep and windy little roads without pavements. I wasn’t at all sure this was a good idea. If I hadn’t been so completely in love with Luke by then I don’t know that I would have agreed to being whisked away into the dark like that, not knowing what was waiting at our destination.