KELI

  The lobby of the St Kentigern had been a bustling hive of tourism and revelry when Keli had burst through the doors like her buttocks were on fire.

  Not even the prospect of seeing Ryan sodding Manning could dampen the wave of relief that she was riding. She wasn’t pregnant. There was no doubt that there would be a time in her life when she’d be ready and excited for the opposite to be true, but right now the exhilaration of seeing those words on that stick felt fan-flipping-tastic. She wasn’t going to have a tie to him for the rest of her life. She owed him nothing. Needed nothing from him.

  She never knew that emotional freedom could feel this good. And yes, it was going to be a long time before she had sex again, and no, she would never, ever make a mistake as stupid as the one she’d made that had put her in this position in the first place. From now on, there would be two condoms on standby at all times. And bubble-wrap pants. Nothing was getting through those suckers.

  It had struck her on the drive over that she could end this here. Walk away. Never see him or think about him again, but no. She’d made a commitment to Laurie and she wasn’t going to back down.

  It was a sentiment reinforced by Yvie when she’d called her with the update. There had been gasps at every piece of information. Not pregnant. Gasp. Then lots of happy sweary words. Actually, they were just normal sweary words, but the tone in which Yvie said them made it clear she was punching the air. Keli had gone on to tell her about the meeting with Laurie. Gasp. Recounted everything the other woman had told her. Gasp. Got to the bit about the plan to track him down. Gasp. Read out the text she’d just received from Laurie. Gasp. Then ended with the fact that she was on her way to meet Laurie at that very moment. Gasp.

  When Keli was done, Yvie checked she had the absorbed the correct information. ‘Hang on, let me get this straight. You’re going to meet this woman at the St Kentigern, because she has found out where this bloke is going to be tonight, and you are going to go find him and confront him? Together?’

  ‘That’s about it,’ Keli had confirmed, as she’d swerved the car off the motorway and onto the slip road that led directly into the west side of the city centre, just ten minutes away from the St Kentigern Hotel.

  Keli had heard a rustling in the background, movement, and Yvie’s words had faded in and out as if she was exerting herself while she was still on the phone.

  ‘Yvie, what are you doing?’

  ‘Pulling on my boots. I’m leaving now. I’ll be at the St Kentigern in fifteen minutes. There is no part of me that is going to miss this or let you do this without me.’

  Keli was beyond grateful and touched by the offer, but she wasn’t going to drag anyone else into her mess. Besides, there was a very vital component to this story that Yvie was not aware of, and it would shock the life out of her. Keli had made a point of telling no one Ryan’s identity, but she was past that now. To hell with his privacy. Bugger her promise to him that they would keep their relationship strictly private. After what he’d done to her and Laurie, he didn’t deserve it. Still, she resisted. ‘Yvie, I’ll be fine. Laurie will be with me and what’s the worst that can happen?’

  ‘You get arrested or shot. Or you somehow create a situation that leads to his demise and then you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison and I’ll have to come visit you every week. And, trust me, the thought of having my very generous curves manhandled in a search by a burly prison officer makes me so embarrassed my Spanx are curling up.’

  ‘Ouch,’ Keli had exclaimed.

  ‘Exactly. And anyway, Carlo won’t be back from the restaurant until after midnight, so I’m home alone and looking for mischief.’

  Keli had laughed. ‘Yvie Danton, I love you. Just so you know.’

  ‘Right back at you. Although I would have appreciated a bit more notice because getting these boots on is a workout.’

  ‘Apologies. Next time I decide to do something totally fricking insane and irrational, I’ll let you know in plenty of time.’

  ‘Fabulous. Okay, I’ll text you when I’m there. See you in ten.’

  Yvie and Carlo lived in Merchant City, a cosmopolitan, trendy area of Glasgow that had designer shops and some gorgeous bars and restaurants. Carlo’s dad had owned an Italian restaurant there for years and Carlo had worked there until he’d bought his own place. Keli had sent up a silent prayer of thanks that her pal was so close by, then another one for a parking space.

  Her wish had been immediately granted, as she’d slipped into a space, just a couple along from where she’d parked earlier. She’d jumped out, taken a deep breath, then ran up the imposing stone steps to the entrance of the grand building.

  Now inside, there were people milling around everywhere. Checking in. Checking out. Men in suits and ladies in fancy outfits going into the bar. Blokes in shorts and women in leggings and trainers sitting in the lobby chairs reading guidebooks to give them inspiration for the next day’s trips.

  Keli scanned the whole area. No sign. She texted Laurie, who immediately replied.

  Room 202 – come up.

  Keli fired back.

  Just waiting for a friend, be up in ten.

  It didn’t even take that long before Yvie breezed through the door behind her. ‘There was an Uber right outside the house,’ she explained. ‘Is it wrong that I’m excited by this and living vicariously through your misfortune?’

  Keli hugged her. ‘Absolutely. But I’d do the same for you. This is why we’re friends.’

  She checked Laurie’s text again for the room number, then they made their way there – lift to the second floor, turn right and the room was two doors along.

  Laurie opened it on the first knock. Keli had wondered if it would be awkward, or if there would be any embarrassment, but there was none. She introduced Yvie to Laurie, who seemed perfectly happy to have another person along for the ride.

  ‘Wow, this room is amazing,’ Yvie said with very obvious approval. ‘If you two want to go ahead, I’ll just stay here, watch TV on the biggest bed on earth and eat Pringles from the minibar.’

  Keli nudged her. ‘Focus, my friend. Mission first.’ She steered her over to the two chairs at the table by the window, while Laurie wrapped her long legs under her on the edge of the bed next to them.

  ‘So, can I just check if there’s a plan? Are you going to speak to him? Public shaming? Just so I know when to run,’ Yvie asked.

  Laurie answered for them. ‘I think I just want him to see us. I want him to know that he’s caught. That we know. That we could use the information at any point to wreck him. Not that I would, but I just can’t stand to see him glide through life thinking that he can do anything he pleases to people and get away with it. To be honest, that’s the way it’s been for him for years.’

  Yvie seemed happy with that explanation, so Keli got things moving. ‘Okay, so where is he going to be tonight and how do we know?’

  Laurie reached for the iPad. ‘He sent a text earlier to a photographer that we know. It lays it all out.’

  Keli saw Yvie’s confusion and knew she’d have to tell her, but Laurie had put the iPad on the table and she had an overwhelming compulsion to read it first.

  Her eyes scanned down the words in the blue box on the right-hand side of the screen. They were in inverted commas, as if they’d been taken from a speech or an article, but as she read on, Keli realised that they were something else. Facts. Explanations. Hints. The bones of an article that any celebrity journalist would be able to spin into a story. More than that, they could twist it into a narrative that made the main character look like the greatest kind of guy.

  It read…

  Hi mate, we’ll be there just after eight. I’ll be driving the Ferrari, so you’ll be able to get a good shot of me getting out of the car. Here’s the script you can use later, after you get the shots.

  Rex Marino was spotted tonight at the Oyster Lounge in Glasgow, attending the VIP dinner for close friends of Odette Devine, the elderly actress recently bumped from The Clydeside.

  Marino was accompanied by Tress Walker, the set designer on the show. Sources say that Ms Walker’s husband was killed in a tragic car accident on this date last year, leaving her to bring up their baby son alone. Marino has put his personal life on hold to support her through this difficult time.

  ‘It’s typical of him,’ a friend close to the actor stated. ‘Despite his fame, he’s the most decent guy you could ever meet and he’s always the first one to drop everything to help anyone who needs him.’

  Rumours have been circulating that Marino will be the next star to leave The Clydeside, but in his case, it’ll be for Hollywood. It has long been rumoured that he is being tipped to join the Seb Dunhill spy thriller franchise, following the reported retirement of Zander Leith.

  When asked, Marino would not confirm or deny the rumours, saying, ‘I have several offers in the pipeline so it’s just a case of deciding what direction is the best fit for me. I’m excited about what the future holds.’

  ‘Bastard.’ Keli felt the first shock at the name of the other person in the story, then rage building with every line. The utter and complete bastard. No. Just no. Even if she wasn’t already about to rain hell on him, she’d be doing it now for messing with Tress and exploiting her grief and loss. ‘Tress is my friend. She works on The Clydeside too – that’s how I met Ryan in the first place. Oh shit, she knows nothing about any of this and she’s been through enough crap.’ Suddenly, her mum’s suggestion about a baseball bat seemed too lenient.

  Poor Tress. How the hell did she get wrapped up in this? The narcissistic prick was clearly using her for publicity, just as he used every single person he came into contact with. She could see that now. It was all about him. It had always been that way and everyone else was just a pawn in his plan.

  Yvie was still sitting at the table, reading the words on the iPad again. ‘Hang on, hang on. I don’t get it. Can someone explain to me what Rex Marino has to do with any of this?’

  ‘Rex Marino’s real name is Ryan Manning. That’s who I was seeing. Laurie’s boyfriend too.’ Keli conceded with a sigh.

  ‘Well shag me sideways,’ Yvie exhaled, incredulous.

  It felt strange saying that aloud, even though Keli had known from the moment she met him that he was Rex Marino, the actor. It was impossible not to, given that they were at a party for The Clydeside’s 40th Anniversary and there were posters of him everywhere. He’d told her his real name on their second or third date, and that’s how she’d known as soon as Laurie called this morning and used that name that she was genuine.

  So much made sense now. She’d thought he’d insisted they kept their relationship a secret because he was all about his professional image, but obviously it was because he was dating Laurie. Now, however, he was exploiting a night out with Tress because it made him look good and he could brush that off to Laurie as a work thing. This was next-level manipulative, calculated bastard.

  ‘How long will it take us to get to the Oyster Lounge from here?’ Laurie asked, getting to her feet, grabbing a jacket and her bag.

  Keli was right behind her, car keys in hand. ‘Ten minutes’ walk. But if we take the car, we’ll be there in five. Time to go let Mr Marino know he’s about to be the star of our show.’

  10 P.M. – MIDNIGHT

  29

  ODETTE

  Odette had heard the term ‘life flashing in front of her eyes’ many times. Now she understood it. Here it was – the truth, the whole truth and a few things that were absolutely nothing like the truth.

  The preview of the documentary opened with the camera on her most recent ex-husband, Mitchum Royce, with the narrator, Elliot, on the voiceover, saying, ‘Here is just one of the men that Odette tried to silence. Before making this documentary, we were forced to sign an agreement stating that none of Devine’s ex-husbands would be interviewed in the making of this programme. However, respected businessman, Mitchum Royce, has agreed to speak up, after discovering that his marriage to Devine wasn’t in fact legal.’

  The camera zoomed in on Mitchum, looking unshaven and dishevelled, a state that Odette knew for a fact was an act. The man was a former banker with wardrobes full of suits, and he’d spent thousands of pounds of her money in Savile Row when they were together. He’d also raided enough from her bank account to afford a fricking razor. ‘I gave up my career to support her and I tried my best, but she was a compulsive shopper,’ Royce began. ‘Spending my savings like she was Elton bloody John. She rinsed me dry and as soon as it was all gone, she was off and on to the next sucker.’

  A murmur went around the room, as jaws fell open and people began to nudge each other, to whisper and shoot sly glances in her direction.

  ‘That’s not true. He’s lying. He took everything from me,’ she said to no one, anyone.

  She searched the room for Calvin, but he’d nipped to the loo and he wasn’t back yet. The only person who seemed to be listening to her was Tress, who reached for her hand, and Odette heard her murmuring to Rex on the other side of her, ‘Rex, tell them to turn that off right now. This is a hatchet job. Make it stop.’

  Odette didn’t look, but she knew there was a smirk on his face by the tone of his voice. ‘Fuck that, this is priceless. We’ll be all over the papers tomorrow.’

  ‘You don’t mean that. Don’t let this happen to her.’ Tress wasn’t letting it go and Odette was touched that she was desperately trying to come to her defence.

  ‘Not my problem,’ he retorted with his trademark arrogance.

  ‘You’re an asshole,’ she heard Tress hiss in response, ‘and you can get your hand off my fucking thigh.’

  Odette barely even blinked. His response wasn’t a shock to her. He’d always been a smarmy little shit.

  One of the canteen ladies from The Clydeside studio spoke up, told Elliot to switch it off, but Elliot ignored her, letting it play on. Short of wrestling him to the ground, there was nothing much else she could do. She registered the irony that the studio execs, the cowardly bastards, just sat there, intrigued, while the only people who were sticking up for her so far were the ones with the good hearts, but without the power.

  At that moment, Calvin walked back in, saw Odette’s face, saw Mitchum on the screen, gauged the temperature of the room and jumped immediately to the absolutely correct conclusion. ‘Get that off, Elliot. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but get that off.’

  ‘Sit yourself down, Calvin. You’ll miss the best bit,’ Elliot sneered.

  Odette felt like she was in a parallel universe where nothing was as she thought. Mild-mannered Elliot now shot a look of malevolence towards her, and a realisation hit her like a thunderbolt. She recognised that expression. That mannerism. Not from him, but from someone else. It was something in the eyes. Something she’d seen before, a million years ago. Or rather, forty years ago to be exact.

  The image on the screen changed, and Odette was back, the light unflattering and her eyes bloodshot from crying. She knew when that was filmed. This afternoon. In her dressing room. After she’d spectacularly melted down at the end of her final scene.

  Elliot’s voice again, interviewing her, posing the question he’d asked her in their last session today. ‘Okay,’ he could be heard saying, ‘let’s wrap this up with one final question. I’ve read several different accounts of how you got the role on The Clydeside. I’d love to hear the true story straight from you.’

  On the screen, Odette gave a bashful smile and began recounting her well-rehearsed version of the truth. The voiceover returned, telling the audience that everything they were about to hear, was in fact a lie.

  ‘And now, for the first time,’ the voiceover went on, ‘you are about to learn the truth of the despicable things Odette Devine did to claim a career that should never have been hers.’

  Odette whimpered.

  A thunderous Calvin was marching towards the TV screen to switch it off, when a new face appeared.

  That’s when Odette knew she’d been right in her realisation from a few seconds ago. On the screen next to where Elliot was standing, their faces only a few feet apart, was a woman she recognised, and when they were side by side, the resemblance was so much more obvious. In fact, it was so strong, they could only be mother and son. It had to be.

  So this was it. Karma. Justice. This man was seeking revenge for what Olive Docherty had done to his mum. The truth was going to come out now and there was no way to stop it. May as well face it and the inevitable punishment that she rightly deserved.

  ‘Calvin, leave it,’ she barked, to the palpable astonishment of everyone in the room. Appalled glares shot in her direction, before eyes darted straight back to the TV, unwilling to miss a second of this. ‘Let it play,’ she told him, calmer this time.

  He spun around, his expression asking a silent question: Are you mad?

  Maybe she was. But she was tired too. Tired of the lies. Tired of waiting for it to catch up with her. Tired of wondering if every awful thing that happened to her was a result of some messed-up karma she’d brought on herself by her actions all those years ago. Tired of having nothing left to lose.

  What did it matter if the story came out? Let it happen. Her life was over anyway. Her money was gone. Her fame would be next. There was no family and very few friends. Sod it. Let them do their worst, because it was warranted. She had it coming. And maybe the woman who was on the screen in front of her deserved to have her moment in the spotlight. The one Odette had stolen from her four decades ago.

  ‘We should stop this,’ she heard one of the producers say to Carl, the director of the show. ‘There could be legal issues for the studio.’ Only interested in their own skins. Scumbags, every one of them.

  Carl brushed it off with, ‘Too late. Better that we know exactly what’s there so we can lock this down or milk it. This could be TV gold.’

  Odette had never wanted to kill anyone more, but it would have to wait.