Remember My Name - Abbey Clancy MIRA

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met this man,’ I said quietly, not sure what their reaction would be, putting down my knife and fork when I realised my hands were shaking. ‘Who works in the music business.’

      ‘Let me guess,’ jumped in Luke straight away, ‘he wanted to take you away from it all? Make you a star? As long as you gave him a blow job first?’

      ‘Luke!’ said Mum, in her don’t-mess-with-me voice. The voice that could make any one of her kids freeze in the middle of whatever they were doing. Sure enough, Luke looked terrified, and suddenly became very interested in his chicken leg.

      Becky was staring at me over the table, frowning. Her skin looked slightly green, as if she was a space alien.

      ‘He does have a point, though, Mum,’ Becky said. ‘Let’s face it, Jessy is so gullible she’d believe anything.’

      I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t. There had been a few … incidents. Like the bloke who claimed to be a talent scout for a modelling agency, and asked me to take my top off as soon as I walked through the door of his studio. Like the ‘audition’ I’d gone to where all the star-struck girls were expected to perform while dressed up as Playboy bunnies. And my personal favourite, the guy I’d met at a kids’ party who’d booked me to sing at his wife’s fortieth—except the wife hadn’t been there. In fact, nobody had been there, apart from me, him, and a very brassy lady of the night who’d obviously been brought in to join the performance.

      Each time, they’d seemed genuine. Each time, I’d believed them. Mainly because I wanted to—I wanted to be respected, admired, discovered. I wanted to be a star—but unfortunately, the road to stardom was paved with perverts.

      I stayed quiet. It was depressing, really. Even my own family didn’t believe that someone could be genuinely interested in my talent. And they were probably right. I’d be a Disney Princess until I was too old, then I’d have to join an Abba tribute band.

      ‘Well,’ said my mum, realising that an uncomfortable silence had settled over the room, and that I was possibly on the verge of tears. ‘Jessy, you know how much we love you—and nobody knows better than us how hard you’ve worked at this. You’re beautiful, you’re talented, and you deserve a break. We all want that for you, hon. We just want you to be … careful, as well. We don’t want anyone to take advantage.’

      ‘What’s his name?’ asked Luke, whipping out his iPhone. I told him, almost scared to find out the truth. It would all just be another fairy tale bust to pieces if Jack hadn’t been what he said he was. I tried to stay positive—but sometimes even princesses get down in the dumps.

      We all waited while he Googled him, and looked on as he frowned and swiped over different pages on the screen. Eventually, he looked up and gave us all a big grin.

      ‘Bloody hell,’ he said, ‘looks like she’s hit the jackpot this time, folks. Jack Duncan, Starmaker Records. Thirty-three years old, and one of the rising stars of the music industry. He discovered Vogue—and now he’s interested in our Jessy!’

      Everyone was quiet for a moment, weighing up what he’d said. Considering the fact that it might not all be bullshit after all—that something could finally be happening for me.

      ‘Still,’ added Luke—his confidence back—just to spoil the moment, ‘it doesn’t mean he’s not after a blow job as well …’

       Chapter 4

      My dad gave me a lift home after dinner. Part of me had wanted to stay the night, but I needed to do some thinking. And it was always hard to think with my family around—they were just too noisy, bless ‘em. Everyone had an opinion, and everyone wanted you to listen to it at the same time. Even the lure of sleeping in the top bunk wasn’t quite enough to tempt me.

      So I’d climbed in the back of Dad’s black cab, and we’d lumped and bumped our way across the city centre, which was all lit up and looking gorgeous, milling with glamorous women and tipsy tourists and people of all ages out for a good time.

      We drove past the Albert Dock and up towards my end of town—which was slightly less glamorous, but a bit more affordable for a pair of struggling children’s entertainers. Plus, it was on the same road as a Lidl, which was quite a selling point.

      He pulled up outside the flat, and made his usual joke: ‘That’ll be twelve pounds fifty, please, queen.’

      He’d tried to charge me for lifts since I was twelve, and he never seemed to get tired of the gag. Instead, I climbed out, grabbed hold of my bag, and gave him his usual tip when he wound the window down—a big kiss on the cheek.

      ‘Bye, love!’ he shouted cheerily, waving me goodbye as he stopped traffic in both directions with a very anti-social three-point turn. Cabbies, eh?

      *

      When I walked back into the flat I shared with Ruby, I immediately knew that her boyfriend Keith was round. And I immediately knew they were getting jiggy with it in the bedroom.

      None of that makes me Sherlock Holmes—I could actually hear the headboard banging against the wall, and Ruby screaming her head off as Keith performed his manly duties. Uggh.

      I shuddered, and slammed the living room door as hard as I could to let them know I was home. There was a pause in the headboard banging, a few giggles, and then it started again. Charming.

      Our living room was open plan with our kitchen. And our dining room. And the utility room. In fact, there was just one quite small room, with a couch in front of the TV (one of the old ones with the fat backs), and the cooker and sink and fridge right behind. I was lying about the dining room—there isn’t one. We eat our noodles off trays on our laps, usually while we’re watching crap reality shows and slagging everyone off. It’s a very glitzy lifestyle.

      I threw my bag on the couch and put the kettle on to make a coffee. Opening the fridge, I found that Ruby had not only used the last of the milk, she’d put the empty carton back on the shelf. It sat there, mocking me, next to a piece of mouldy cheese and some eye drops I’d used for conjunctivitis two weeks ago.

      So much for the comforts of home, I thought, deciding that I should have stayed at Mum and Dad’s after all.

      The only other item in there was a bottle of Prosecco—one that Jocelyn’s mum had given us as thanks after the party. And possibly to stop us suing her for emotional trauma. I was amazed that Ruby and Keith hadn’t nabbed it and taken it into their love shack with them, and I grabbed hold of it quickly, just in case they remembered and appeared naked to claim it back.

      I opened the cupboard to get a glass, then remembered they were all in the dishwasher—the dishwasher that had broken last week, and we were still waiting for the landlord to get repaired. I didn’t dare look in there. It’d be like a scene from a sci-fi special, complete with new lifeforms. Instead, I popped the bottle open and retreated to my own room.

      It was only small, but I’d done my best with it. I’d repainted the crappy box-built furniture in a pretty pastel shade of light green, and the walls were plain and white to make it feel bigger. There wasn’t space for much, but I had a wardrobe, a dresser filled with all my make-up and hair stuff, the mirror spotted with Blu-tacked photos of friends and family. One of Mum and Dad, outside the Michael Bublé concert. One of Luke when he was six and still cute. One of me and Daniel, the night of the school concert … which seemed about a million years ago.

      My queen-sized bed was decorated with fairy lights draped around the wrought-iron headboard that made it look like there was a party going on when they were illuminated. Not that it had seen much action recently, I thought, not since Evan, and, despite having a couple of hot flushes when I was crushed up against Jack earlier that day, I intended to keep it that way. Life was simpler without men in it, even if a bed was a lot less fun without a man in it.

      I pulled off my clothes, suddenly exhausted,

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