Page 72 of I Knew You Were Trouble

I grimace, reaching for my laptop. ‘I thought you were over the whole kissing Danny Miller thing.’

‘No, I mean, I am, but…maaan, he is thecutest.’

‘You make him sound like a puppy. Which he definitely is not, by the way.’

Meredith lets out a hiccup. ‘I may have fooled around with him a bit.’

I lift my brow, worried for Meredith, despite the fact that I did the same thing with Aidan barely a few nights ago. I think about Vaughn Herrera, and what a disaster this is all rapidly turning into.

‘Just… be careful, Mer.’

I log in to my laptop, before plugging the USB from the camera into the side of the machine. It opens to a single video file. I double-click on it, fast-forwarding through the raw footage, realising Meredith has picked up absolutely everything that took place at the bar earlier, including Duncan and Miller squaring up to one another, the soundtrack crystal clear. I am also aware that Meredith is still slurring something about Miller behind me, yet the footage has me engrossed. I scroll through to the party, most of the picture indecipherable due to Meredith’s shorter stance, meaning no one is visible above shoulder level. The sound too is distorted in parts due to the heavy drum and bass playing in the background. It’s only when I scroll through further, almost to the end, that it seems Meredith has been sitting right opposite Miller at a low table. On the surface are little paper tabs that look like LSD, tablets that could be ecstacy. The music pulses. The imagery isn’t clear enough to tell, but whatever the case, the look on Miller’s face tells me that he’s high.

Beside me in the hotel room, Meredith is still swaying, but she remains silent during the playback.

‘I think I need to get to bed,’ she mutters when I stop the video. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘This is good stuff, Meredith. Thank you.’

She mumbles something unintelligible.

‘Are you okay getting back to your room?’ I ask.

Meredith walks away, but she stops and grips the wall for support. ‘I’m fine, I promise. Lexi, I just need to tell you… to say that…’

She falters, her head dropping down to her chest. She hiccups again.

‘Tell me what?’ I ask.

‘Nothing. It’s nothing. I had fun tonight is all. Goodnight, Lexi.’

Chapter Twenty

Paris, France

‘You are not serious.’

Less than a week later, we’re back in the Arctic climes of northern Europe, staying in yet another hotel. This one is called The Sinner, on Rue du Temple. Outside, it’s freezing. The hotel has a weirdly kinky vibe to it, classy yet edgy, with four-poster mahogany beds built into the wall. It’s the kind of hotel where I imagine Parisian husbands come to cheat on their wives. There are forty-one rooms altogether, the entire hotel booked for three nights by the tour’s band and crew.

In Rome, Ziggy continued the filming moratorium and banned me from taking any concert footage, keeping members of Rebel Heart separate on purpose and moving Duncan’s and my hotel booking to a shabbypensionenear the Colosseum. It felt like a punishment. I spent an evening interviewing crazed Italian fans queuing outside the Stadio Olimpico and eating pizza in a low-ceiled bistro overlooking the weed-ridden banks of the Tiber.

I’ve heard nothing from Aidan. I haven’t seen him. I know he’s annoyed with me for not telling him about my prior relationship with Duncan.

Now that we’re in Paris, and he’s staying in the same hotel, I have a good mind to go and ask the reception staff which room Freddie Mercury is in.

I’m staring out of the car window. Bodhi has pulled up to an airfield on the outskirts of Paris. I glare in disbelief at the sight of the commercial helicopter in front of me on the other side of the chain-link fence, the rotary blades already beginning to whir.

‘Very serious,’ J.B. answers me in the back of the vehicle. He is carrying a large bouquet of roses he picked up en route. He looks both smart and sexy in a suit and overcoat, minus a tie.

Bodhi doesn’t accompany us to the reception. Inside, a crew member brings us both a headset, testing out our comms. He gives us each a safety briefing, in both French and in English. I ask if I can film during the journey. He checks with the pilot, who is content.

J.B. leads me onto the chopper. I’ve never been in a helicopter before. The journey to Sorbiers, just outside Saint- Étienne in the Loire region, in the east of France – where J.B. is from – is going to take one hour and forty minutes. He’s paid for our entire return journey out of his own pocket.

In the air, over the roar of the blades, I gaze in wonder at the ground below, passing by in a grey-green haze. I try to push any thoughts of Aidan out of my mind, but he’s there, always. I hate the distance between us, and that things remain unsettled with him, and that, perhaps worse, neither of us has had a chance to fully explain.

‘Where will we be landing?’ I ask.

‘I told Audrey to come to our meeting place,’ J.B. says, the headset crackling. ‘It’s the point where her father’s fields meet the road. I used to sneak through the woods to see her when we were young. The pilot will set us down in the field.’

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