Chapter 31

Eb and Tiffdon't say a word as they barge into the cubicle to join me. Eb kneels by my side as I retch another dry heave, and rubs my shoulder in silent comfort.

"Sorry," I manage to say.

"Sorry for what? I'd be chucking up myself if I was in your position."

"Same," Tiff says. "What a fucking tosser."

I know Connor is a tosser, but no matter how many times I think I've had the last gut punch from him, along comes another.

I finish retching and get myself into a sitting position with my back against the cubicle wall. I don't want to cry, I really don't. Connor doesn't deserve my tears. FUCK HIM.

Tiff joins me and Eb on the floor, and they squeeze one of my knees each, all of us crammed in here with the door still swinging wide. Another woman steps into the bathroom and gives us a double take, then a snidey side eye, shaking her head. She's got to be in her late fifties and made up to the max, and it rubs salt into the wound – taking me back to the days I felt like a girl who could never belong in a place like this.

I feel so fucking vulnerable, breathing deep in a last-ditch effort to get my composure back, but when Josh strolls into the ladies' and stands in the cubicle doorway with solid concern in his eyes, it's too much. I choke the tears back and end up in another dry heave. Then a-fucking-nother. The girls move away to give him space, and it's him who sits down beside me this time and rubs his hand up and down my back. I still have the sound of Connor's voice in my head, singing those dumb fucking lyrics. I can still see the video, with him sitting there strumming away, like he used to do in front of me. Every. Single. Day. And now, finally, the whole world is seeing it. Years of dreams finally coming true.

Josh's arm is strong around my shoulder, holding me tight as I finally break and retch and cry, wrecked. I'm probably snotting all over his suit jacket, but he doesn't care, just soothes me like I'm a young, broken teenager in his arms.

That's what I feel like, all over again.

"Time to go home," he says, when I finally manage to start breathing properly. He tears some toilet paper from the roll and hands it over, and the smeared makeup that lands on the tissue only confirms what a wreck I must look.

"You shouldn't have to see this," I tell him, embarrassed. "This is my bullshit with Connor, not your pathetic mess to handle. You shouldn't have to deal with this crap over my stupid ex, because I don't even love him anymore. I love you. It's just…"

I struggle for words.

How can I explain it?

I love the man sitting at my side more than I could ever say, and Connor is in the past, like a piece of shit I've been trying to scrape off my shoe, but he won't disappear. He keeps appearing in my path, jumping out like a nightmare.

"Trying to move on from someone doesn't mean they can't hurt you," Josh says. "They are still armed and loaded, with enough ammo to shoot you down." He kisses my head. "Come on, baby, let's get out of here. I've already made our excuses, don't worry."

I cringe again at the thought of them all discussing it at the table. Mack will probably be snort laughing, not that I give a fuck. Or I shouldn't. It's another stupid, painful memory that rises up from the depths, though. Being laughed at when I was at school, like I was a stupid, worthless freak, everyone discussing my life like it was a free-for-all.

This crowd aren't like that, though. Tiff and Eb would slam down anyone who tried to slate me, and I know it, just as I'd do the same for them.

Josh helps me to my feet and flushes the toilet. Luckily it was only wine I sicked up, not a main course and dessert. Small mercies.

I catch sight of myself in the big mirror, and let out a dry laugh. My eyeliner and mascara are all down my cheeks. I could be in The Crow. I try to wipe it away with tissues and it kind of works, at least enough to get out of here without every head in the place turning to stare at me.

"Ready?" Josh asks, and I nod as I take his hand.

A couple of women give horrified back steps on their way in when they see Josh in here with me, but he appeases them with a smile.

"My apologies, ladies. I'm leaving now."

"I needed him," I tell them. "I was, um, being ill."

They give nods as we pass them by, and I hurry as quickly as I can through the restaurant, down the stairs on a mission to get out of here and into a cab. I want to go home. Now. I need to be at home in my PJs, safe on the sofa and out of view.

It's only when we're in the cab I get a flare of regret.

Why did I let that prick wreck my time, again?

Why do I give a shit that he's singing a song about me, shaming me over bullshit that isn't even true?

Shock, yes. Fear, yes. But pain, really?

WHY?

I should be in the Mulberry, having fun, not wailing over a jackass who screwed me over, again.

"I'm not even going to bother mimicking the lip chew," Josh says, and I sigh.

"I feel like an idiot."

"Why?"

I shrug. "I hate the fact he can make me feel like this. He isn't worth it."

He brushes some stray hair behind my ear. "If I suddenly saw Amy crooning on a multi-million view video about me, and how I'd destroyed her soul, I wouldn't be feeling all that great myself, Ella."

"Especially if she was telling the world you were a hooker."

"Hmm." He pauses. "I wouldn't give too much of a toss about that, actually. She could tell whoever she wanted that I fuck people for a living, but if she was hyper melancholic about how I'd screwed her over, lying like a bitch, that's another matter."

"Really?" I look at him. "You wouldn't give a shit who knew?"

He doesn't so much as bat an eyelid. "No." He strokes my hair again. "Are you ashamed of it?"

His question cuts through my pain enough for me to ponder it. Am I? No. Not day to day. Richard Jacobs had me feeling like crap, embarrassing me and trying to use it for his advantage, but did it work? No. The jerks outside my old place, jeering at me on their bikes like assholes – did it work? No. It wouldn't do anymore. I'd give them a middle finger and laugh it off, maybe even flash them a tit and say it was out of their price range.

There is one area that is very, very different, though. One area that gives me chills at the thought. Actually shudders.

My parents.

What if they hear his fucking song?

Josh feels me stiffen up.

"What?" he asks.

"Mum and Dad," I say. "What if they hear it?"

"I don't know," he replies. "That depends on whether you ever plan to tell them what you do for a living."

Josh's family are so different to mine. It was hell sitting across their dining table, looking at Connor playing loved up with Carly, but meeting them, and seeing the openness between them, and from the things Josh has told me. They welcome honesty. Nonjudgement. Being able to be your true self and embracing that.

But my parents are too, aren't they? They've always loved me for me. A weird, gothic dreamer, following Connor along the imaginary dream road, that turned into reality. What a joke.

Would they still love me if they knew I was a hooker?

I get another shudder when I think of how proud they were of my high end job in PR. The thought of that being taken away makes me feel sick. Again.

"Maybe it's too early," Josh says. "It's not all that easy for people to tell their nearest and dearest in the main. A lot of entertainers never do."

"I might not get a choice though, might I?" I look at him. "Connor's gone viral. My parents might hear it for themselves."

"Are they likely to be browsing social media?"

"Not really."

"How about keeping an eye on music news in the UK?"

"Probably not. But it's Connor, isn't it? If they so much as caught wind of it, they'd be on it like a rocket. And at this rate, they're going to find out, aren't they? If he makes it big, they will know about it, next week, next year, who knows, but they will. One day they will hear that song."

Josh stays silent. He knows it's true.

We pull into Belgravia, and I realise that the cab driver has likely been listening to every word, but I don't give a shit. A good sign in the mini scheme of things.

I weigh it up, still churned to all hell as Josh and I walk through the courtyard, and as much as it pains me, I'd rather my parents hear it from me, myself.

But not yet.

I want to tell them in person, face to face, eye to eye. Where they can see the changes in me, right there in front of them. Where I can tell them about my genuine happiness, without them clicking end call and running off sobbing in horror.

They touch down at Heathrow airport in three weeks' time. Date signed, sealed and soon to be delivered.

I just pray Connor's success stays hidden from them until then. I get a shiver at the prospect of him telling them himself, like a fucking asshole. But then I remember, he doesn't have the luxury. He's with Carly, and he won't rock that boat. That was made clear at Josh's parents' place.

Thank fuck for that.

We get up to the apartment and it's such a relief to be back home.

"I'll grab us a coffee," Josh says.

"Thanks, you're the best."

He chances a smirk. "Even better than the rock icon to be? I would be flattered, if he wasn't such a prize-winning dumbass."

I adore his humour. It takes the edge off the pain a little. I kick off my heels and throw myself down on the sofa without a care for my bruised butt.

He's joined me with our coffees when I've summoned my own self resolve enough to cement my plan.

"I'm going to tell Mum and Dad, but I want to do it when they're here. It's too personal to do it on video call."

Josh nods. "Ok. I should probably head out and visit Tiff while you make the announcement, or your dad might be chasing me around the apartment with the bread knife. I'm an easy scapegoat."

"You're not going to be a scapegoat. The choice has always been mine. If I hadn't made the choice, I would never have met you."

"Yes. They might not see it quite like that, though."

"It's the truth, and I'm going to be honest about it. I am who I am. I'm not the girl I was, weak and lonely, putting Connor before myself. They don't know about half of it anyway," I admit. "They have no idea how skint or hard up I was here in London. They have no idea how he dicked around networking while I was struggling for every penny we had. They'd never have accepted it if they did."

Josh sighs. "That's quite a revelation you have to tell them."

"Yeah. I should have done it sooner. But I wasn't being honest with myself, either. I had no self-esteem of my own that I could draw on to stand up for more."

"I've got every faith in you," Josh says. "I'm sure they will have, too."

I sigh and tip my head back. "I just have to pray they make it to Heathrow before they hear Connor's song." The thoughts whir, but they become obvious, just like that. I'm doing it again. Playing a passive bystander and praying for the best, like there is nothing I can do about it.

But I can.

I can talk to the piece of shit myself, and tell him to keep his fucking mouth shut about my identity, or I'll use every ounce of ammunition I have to strike him back. If he wants Carly, and her twin flame love and her contacts and whatever else he needs from her, then he can keep me the fuck out of it.

I'm going to do everything I can to make sure my parents aren't going to hear about my part in Connor's song.

I grab my phone from my handbag and Josh raises his eyebrows.

"That was a quick turnaround. Are you going to call them right now?"

"No," I say. "There's someone else I'm going to speak to first. Fuck the hurt, and the humiliation that means nothing whatsoever. Time to go to the source. To the asshole himself." I unblock Connor's number.

"Shall I leave?" Josh says, pointing to the bedroom. "Give you some privacy?"

I shake my head. "No need. You're welcome to stay, if you want to. There's nothing I want to say to him, I wouldn't happily say in front of you. Who knows," I say as I click call. "I might even congratulate the prick. At least my seven years of trying to help him make it weren't entirely for nothing."

I expect Connor's phone to ring to voicemail or for the call to be cancelled once he sees my name onscreen. I can't imagine he'll be all that keen to speak to me while he's partying somewhere with Carly with a glass of champagne in his hand, or whatever the fuck he's doing.

I'm wrong though, I hear the call connect within seconds. There's a vague humdrum of voices and club sounds in the background, as I figured.

"Ella?! I was about to try you, on another number, have you heard my –"

I interrupt his flow, my voice curt and strong, all hint of hurt dried up to nothing. All that remains is rage. But I don't shout and scream, because he doesn't deserve the reaction. He doesn't deserve anything from me.

"Yes, I've heard your song. Seems the rest of the universe has too, haven't they? You've hit it pretty fucking big, from what I can gather. Such a shame your ex broke your heart by being a hooker, isn't it? Shame you cheated on her and left her in the dirt before she did it. Oh, but you left that part out, right? What an oversight."

The noise in the background goes quiet, and then there is silence, just his breaths. He must be stepping outside somewhere. Away from Carly, most likely.

"Can't you see what's happening here?" he says, and there is no arrogance in his voice, or celebratory cheer at all. It takes me right back to the days when we were young. My gut lurches because he sounds so fresh. So… in love. "I made it because of you, just like I always knew I would. Always. No matter what happened in the meantime, and all the bullshit we went through, we got the outcome we needed. Both of us." He pauses, and I'm about to speak until he keeps going. "It's about us again now. Together. We can live the dream. We can travel the world. We can do every single thing we ever wanted."

"Wait, Connor –"

"You won't need to be a hooker anymore, and I won't need to be swanning around crappy assed clubs, trying to make contacts to climb the ladder, we can be us again. Me and you. Just like we were always meant to be."

I'm dumbfounded by his words, trying to digest them as he carries on.

"Don't you see? It's fate? We spent so many years dreaming, but destiny sometimes takes a weird route, doesn't it? Yeah, sure, we had a few years of pain, but it was worth it. It will be worth it, I swear. I swear it on my life, Ells."

I scoff at him, because oh, how I'd have believed him, once upon a time. Part of me still does. The teenager who worshipped him and everything he ever said. But now I just laugh at the absurdity. I feel ice cold at his words.

"Twin flames, right?"

"It's not a fucking joke. I mean it."

I can't help but snap at him. "You're a prick, Connor, an absolute prick, and you can make it to the top of the whole fucking world if you like, it won't make jack shit difference to me. Sing to the high fucking heavens that I'm a hooker, I don't care. Just don't tell my parents, you understand? If you're going to grace me with one scrap of respect after all the utter hell you caused, then grace me with that. I'd rather tell them myself, thanks."

I wait for his response, my fingers shaking around my phone. I'm so angry. Angry at him, at myself, at the way he's going to back off like a pathetic little worm now I've threatened his stuck-up career.

"What the fuck? Really?" He sighs. "I don't want to hurt your parents, Ells. Jesus. Of course I don't. I love them, too. I love us. The only girl I ever wanted was you. Right from the start. It was always you. That never changed, and it never will. Not once. Not ever."

My head spins with his arrogance.

"Oh, really? Better tell your girlfriend that then, don't you think? Before you start declaring your undying love to me, yet again. Make sure you milk her of all her contacts first, though."

"Tell Carly, you mean? Eh?" he says, sounding shocked. "I already did. You must know we're over already."

My blood runs cold as I look at Josh.

"What do you mean? You left her?"

"Yeah, of course I left her. I left her after seeing you at the dinner table, before I even wrote the song."