Page 1 of Clean Point

1

Scottie

Coming Of Age – Maisie Peters

(Almost) Two Years Later

I never much cared what the newspapers and gossip rags wrote about me, but the article exposing the threesome with the F1 drivers in Monaco … yeah, I cut that one out and framed it.

Monaco had been fun. All of Europe had been fun. Everywhere I went was sun soaked and carb heavy, with late nights and later mornings. But when that second winter in exile rolled in, I found myself longing for London again. I had ended up crashing at my mum’s house.

Kit Sinclair was a supermodel in the 90s, accidentally left knocked up after a one-night stand with Matteo. Barely eighteen, she was on her own, and at the start of a promising career. So, after a brief holiday to Switzerland, a baby, and an intensive version of the cabbage soup diet, she returned triumphant to the runway, leaving all parental rights in the hands of the oh so trustworthy Matteo.

‘Good morning, love,’ Mum yawned, tucking her short blonde hair behind her ear as she walked into the kitchen. ‘What’s making headlines today?’

I glanced at the iPad resting in front of me, featuring a photo of last night’s escapade: me being escorted out of a trendy SoHo nightclub, tightly linked with a Dutch prince. Or wait, was he Swedish?

‘Nothing new, really. Not worth looking at.’

‘I’m sure I’ll catch up later.’ She slid into the chair across from me, a luxurious silk dressing gown draped around her slender frame. Leaning forward, she delicately pinched a slice of toast from my plate, taking a minuscule bite akin to that of a bird, before placing it back.

I arched a brow at her. ‘I can make you your own if you’d like?’

‘No need,’ she dismissed me with a wave of her hand. ‘I’m heading out to Bellamy’s for lunch. Don’t want to spoil my appetite.’

I shrugged, not bothering to argue with her, before finishing up my own piece. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to reach out to her six months ago, when I discovered we were both in Paris for Fashion Week, courtesy of Page Six. Despite the absence of a relationship between us, I had always assumed it was her who didn’t want a connection.

But after tracking her down, and two bottles of French wine later, she’d finally told me the truth. Matteo had forced her to sign over parental rights, threatening to leak stories about her to the press. Her career was only beginning to heat up at that point, and the press was an entirely different beast in the 90s.

Mum had allowed him to take me away, still a teenager herself, believing it was best for her to disappear from my life. I had never felt the absence of a mum until these past few months, and now, I wondered how different my life might have been if she had been a part of it.

‘Oh, I forgot to say, a friend stopped by for you last night,’ she said casually, taking a sip of tea. My eyebrows furrowed as I tried to remember if I was expecting a visitor. I had never brought anyone here, always meeting in hotels or bars. Somewhere public where I could be seen in case I got up to something.

‘Who was it?’ I asked, curiosity tinged with a hint of caution.

She squinted for a moment as she seemingly wracked her brain for a name. ‘Jonathan?’

My heart clenched as the name hit me like a lightning bolt, throwing me back to that dark night almost two years ago. The last time I’d seen him. He’d called, but I’d blocked his number and tried to forget. He’d claimed to be innocent, but since he had been my coach, I didn’t know who I could trust.

‘Jon was here?’

Mum nodded, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. ‘Tall guy? Handsome? Could do with some Botox around here?’ She pointed to the side of her eyes. ‘Only a little, of course, don’t want to lose that hunky, weathered look altogether.’

I wasn’t sure about the wrinkles, but the rest sounded like him. ‘What did he want?’

‘To talk, I think? I told him he could stay. I certainly wouldn’t have minded. But I also didn’t know when you’d be back.’

‘Do you know if he’s …’

‘Coming back? I think so. He didn’t want to wait around, but he was eager to chat.’

I swore under my breath. I had no intention of ‘catching up’ with anyone from my old life, especially if they had a connection to Matteo. The only news he’d have of me would come from gossip rags. I swiftly carried my dishes to the sink, my mother’s eyes tracking my every move.

‘I’m going out of town,’ I said. ‘I have a Danish prince who offered to show me around Copenhagen.’

My mother responded with an exasperated eye roll. ‘Darling, been there and done that. Trust me, there’s not much excitement in Copenhagen, even with a prince by your side.’

I shot her a confused look before resolving. ‘Fine,’ I declared, my mind already racing. ‘I’m sure there’s plenty to do in Paris. I’ll catch the next train.’

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