LITMIR.BIZ

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the perfect job. And it had only taken me four days in LA to screw it all up. Wow, that must be some sort of record. Really, there was only one thing to do.

      ‘Hello?’

      ‘Hello, Dad, it’s Angela.’

      ‘Angela, love, it’s midnight, what’s wrong?’ Dad yawned. At least they clearly hadn’t seen the photos.

      ‘Sorry, I hadn’t thought about the time difference,’ I apologized, looking at the blinking clock on my nightstand. ‘Nothing’s wrong, I just wanted to have a quick word with Mum, is she up?’

      ‘She is now,’ he muttered.

      ‘What’s wrong? Angela, are you coming home?’ The classic motherly panic. ‘What’s happened?’

      ‘No, Mum,’ I said. ‘I just wanted to have a bit of a chat. I’m working in LA this week, aren’t I?’

      ‘I never know where you are from one day to the next,’ she sighed. ‘And you haven’t wanted a bit of a chat for months, let alone at midnight. So what’s wrong?’

      ‘It’s only four here, sorry, I wasn’t thinking,’ I said. How true was that?

      ‘No, thinking hasn’t been your strong point since you moved away, love,’ Mum agreed. ‘What’s wrong now?’

      She’d been awake for four minutes and she was already having a go at me. Why hadn’t I called her earlier?

      ‘Nothing really, I just wanted to call you about, well, some pictures,’ I tried to work out how to rephrase ‘the internet is crawling with suggestive photographs of your only child’ for my fifty-nine-year-old mother, but it just wouldn’t come out. Couldn’t think why. ‘I’m in some pictures.’

      ‘You’re in the pictures? Is that why you’re in LA; you’re going to be in a film?’

      ‘No, Mum, I’m interviewing someone, I’m not in a film.’ I closed my eyes. ‘It’s just someone took some photos of me and the person I’m interviewing, he’s an actor, and they’re saying that we’re…going out together.’

      ‘You’re going out with an actor?’ I heard running water and opening cupboards. If she was making tea, this could go on for a while. ‘I thought you were going out with that man with the guitar?’

      ‘I am going out with that man with the…oh, his name is Alex, Mum,’ I could actually really use a cup of tea. Or something stronger. ‘I’m not going out with the actor, I just wanted to let you know that the photos make it look like I am going out with him. But I’m not.’

      ‘Just a minute love, I’m making tea. I suppose all you drink is coffee now. Can’t beat a good cup of tea though, can you? Those Americans might make more sense if they all had a cup of tea for a change. Coffee gives me the jitters.’

      ‘Of course I still drink tea,’ I sighed. ‘And you can get tea here.’

      ‘Coffee gives your dad the runs, of course,’ she went on. ‘Now what’s all this about you going out with an actor?’

      ‘OK, let me start again.’ I sat up in bed. ‘I’m not going out with an actor but there are some photos on the internet that make it look like I am. And I don’t want you to get upset when you see them.’

      ‘Why would I get upset? And where on the internet, let me have a look,’ she slurped her tea. ‘Where are my glasses?’

      ‘You’ve got the internet?’ I crossed the room to my laptop. ‘When did you get a computer?’

      ‘Your dad’s been doing a course. I thought I’d be able to send you emails but I haven’t quite worked that out yet. Your dad’s been doing that Facebook thing though. All the pictures from Louisa’s weddings are up there, you know.’

      ‘Dad’s on Facebook?’ I asked, logging on and searching. Oh my, there he was. Not a good picture.

      ‘That’s the one. Now what’s the name of this website?’ she asked.

      ‘Mum, I don’t think you need to look at the pictures. I just wanted to let you—’

      ‘If I just Goggle you, will they come up?’ she interrupted.

      ‘If you what?’

      ‘Goggle, oh, it’s wonderful Angela, you just type in anything and it comes up,’ she went on. ‘I got this really lovely recipe for an apple crumble. It’s so much better than your Auntie Susan’s one. Oh, here you are, here’s your picture.’

      ‘No, that’ll be my blog, Mum.’ I was talking so quickly, I wasn’t sure what I was saying. I just could not cope with her seeing those pictures. ‘The pictures didn’t have my name on but I thought someone might see them and recognize me and tell—’

      ‘Well, it says it’s you,’ she carried on talking over me. ‘You and James Jacobs? I’m sure I’ve seen him in something; he’s very good looking, Angela.’

      ‘Wait, what website are you on?’ The photos had my name on them now? I typed my name into Google Images. And there I was. There we were.

      ‘They’re on lots of websites, Angela. Well, you do make a very good-looking couple.’ She sounded oddly proud. ‘When do we get to meet him?’

      ‘Mum, I’m not going out with James Jacobs,’ I repeated. ‘These photos aren’t real.’

      ‘That’s not you being carried into that big black car then?’

      ‘Well, yes, it is but not—’

      ‘And that’s not you coming out of the hotel?’

      ‘Yes but—’

      ‘That’s a lovely dress, Angela. If you’d dressed like that when you were living with Mark, he might never have left you for that tart from the tennis club. All those bloody jeans and sloppy jumpers…’

      ‘Mum!’ Really. Why did I call her?

      ‘Never mind, I dare say Mark will be feeling pretty silly when he sees that you’re going out with a film star, won’t he? Malcolm, what was that film we saw about the casino? Angela’s new boyfriend was in it,’ she shouted without taking the phone away from her mouth.

      Suitably deafened, I turned my attention to the first website that came up.

      Updated: We finally have confirmation on the identity of James Jacobs’s new lady love! She is none other than Angela Clark, fellow Brit, journo and, according to our sources, currently dating lead singer of New York rockers, Stills, Alex Reid. Way to trade up, journo girl. That said, we always thought Alex Reid was kind of a cutie; obviously no James Jacobs, but if he’s looking for someone to help him through the heartache, we are available…

      There, beside a new shot of James carrying me out of Teddy’s, this one showcasing my pants fabulously, was a picture of Alex, all bundled up, heading into Bedford Avenue subway station. I didn’t know if it was new or if it was old, but he looked gutted. ‘Oh shit,’ I breathed.

      ‘Angela, language.’

      ‘Mum, I’m sorry for waking you up,’ I said, rubbing my eyes. No time for a nap now. ‘I’ve got to make some calls. I’ll give you a ring later.’

      ‘OK love. And I shouldn’t worry about those pictures. You know what they say, today’s newspaper is tomorrow’s fish and chip wrapping. Just try not to show your pants in the next ones. Speak to you soon.’

      ‘There had better not be any next ones,’ I muttered to myself, hanging up and redialling. I hated it when my mother was right.

      ‘Alex, it’s me…’ Seriously, would I never ever learn to think about what I was going to say on voicemail before I called? ‘I know you said not to call but I had to. Can you call me please? I just want to speak to you; these photos are just stupid. I spoke to

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