Page 8 of I Would Die for You

Despite his urgent calls, the car is only able to jerk forward a few inches at a time, stopped by the crowd, who are banging on the windows and laying themselves across the bonnet.

“Give them some room!” yells Amelia, pushing back, as ifshewere their bodyguard.

Cassie pushes back too, trying to get herself out of the way, but although her body is clear, as she leans into the crowd for support, she’s not quick enough with her foot, which disappears under a painfully slow-moving back tire.

Her face must say it all, her ability to make a sound lost to the pain that is wracking her body.

“Her foot!” yells Amelia into the tiny gap of the open window. “It’s under the car!”

The wheel rolls forward another half a turn and Cassie feels her exposed toes flattening against the man-made sole of her roman sandal.

“Are you OK?” asks Ben, sticking his head out.

Cassie doesn’t know what’s causing her to be more dumbstruck: the pain or the shock of having her idol talk to her.

She nods numbly as everyone around her screams for him, delighted to be given a clear view of their idol.

“Ben, I love you!” someone screeches in her ear.

“Fuck!” cries Cassie as the window is wound up and the car moves off.

“Oh my god!” shrieks Amelia. “Are you all right? Can you walk?”

Cassie grimaces as she takes a tentative step, the thumping throb reminding her of theTom and Jerrycartoons she used to watch.

“I… I don’t know,” she groans, as Amelia props her up and forcefully pushes her way through the crowd.

A few minutes later, as Cassie sits on a bench, she already knows that the shock of what happened far outweighs the actual damage. But a part of her feels she needs to keep up the charade, if only for the twenty or so girls who are crowding around her, eulogizing about how they wished it wastheirfoot Ben Edwards’s car had run over.

“Do you think it’s broken?” asks one.

“Does it matter?” quips another.

Cassie looks up with a pained expression.

“Well, you couldpretendthat it’s broken,” says the second girl breathlessly, warming to the theme. “And that you had to go to hospital.”

“Why would I do that?” asks Cassie, confused.

“Because it would be a surefire way of getting Ben’s attention. A friend of mine toldThe Sunthat one of Madonna’s bodyguards had pushed her into the road and she’d hit her head.”

Cassie leans in, her interest piqued. “And…?”

“And two days later, Madonna turned up at her house with a bouquet of flowers and two VIP tickets to her Wembley Stadium show next year.”

“Get out of here!” says Cassie. “You’ve got to be pulling my chain.”

The girl shakes her head. “God’s honest truth.”

Cassie’s stomach flips at the thought of Ben Edwards turning up on her doorstep, but the jittery sensation is short-lived. Because, as much as her mother would welcome him in with open arms, she already knows that her dad would most likely slam the door in his face.

She goes to get up and winces as her swollen toes attempt to take her weight.

“We need to get some ice on those,” says Amelia.

“My sister works just around the corner,” says Cassie. “She’ll have something.”

“OK, lead the way,” says Amelia, before laughing. “Oh, sorry—you can’t…”

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