Cause Celeb by Helen Fielding Page A

touching one of your concoctions, Richard, I’ve been had before. I’ll have a Scotch if you’ve got one.” Then he came straight over to me and kissed me on the lips. “Sweetheart, I’m really sorry, I just got caught, how awful for you. Has Jenner been looking after you? Richard, how dare you put her on this insane chair?”
    He took my hand and helped me to my feet. When I stood up, I noticed that I was drunk. Fortunately Richard had whisked Oliver away so perhaps he hadn’t noticed. I stood rooted to the spot, terrified.
    Someone announced dinner. There was a display of wriggling and leaping as the guests extracted themselves from the chairs and set off in the same direction. We were all going to have to go down another spiral staircase to the next layer.
    My brain was starting to revolve now, really quite fast. Trying to control a rising panic attack, I concentrated very hard on the stairs, counting the treads. As long as I didn’t fall over or say anything then no one would know. There were many round tables with white tablecloths. I got into my chair, somehow. There was a white hexagonal plate in front of me with a tiny bird on it, trussed up with one of its eggs next to it. Oliver was at the other side of the table. He was next to Jenner’s girlfriend. She seemed to be about twelve. She was beautiful, all dressed in black, and talking to Ken Garside, the movie director who had made the film about the drains.
    I stared at them, trying to focus my eyes. Snatches of their conversation drifted over. Her voice was a Miss London singsong with every sentence dropping to the same note.
    â€œWhat? No? Ree- ly? ” Apparently something disgusting was happening, drainwise, downstairs and Things kept being released into the swimming pool. “It’s reelye bad, you know. D’you think we should, like, take the whole pool out?”
    She seemed to feel that Ken Garside should know all about plumbing because of the drain movie. He looked very puzzled. I drank some water, hoping it would clear my head, but instead it set my stomach off. I felt a shift inside, followed by a wave of nausea.
    Oliver had rescued Ken Garside from the drain discussion and was talking to Annalene about Jenner’s film. “Seriously, Annalene . . . very, very impressed . . . get away from this old bastard . . . spread your wings.” I couldn’t understand why he was being so enthusiastic. The girl was really wooden and stupid. The film was total rubbish, but I could hear him enthusing: “Definitive. . . seminal . . . key.”
    The chap sitting on the other side of me touched my arm, making me jump.
    â€œCould you pass the butter, please? Hi, I’m Liam.” I knew. He was another celebrity.
    â€œHello. I’m Rosie.” I concentrated hard on passing the butter.
    â€œAre you OK?”
    â€œYes, thank you, I’m fine.” I wasn’t fine. I squinted at the Irish actor. He had been in a film the year before about the IRA. There were interviews with him in the papers saying, “I can’t take this sex appeal stuff seriously,” and extolling the virtues of married life. He used to be pictured with his two babies and a sensible-looking wife whom he’d been with since school. Recently there had been stories about him having an affair with a model. He’d been pictured putting two fingers up and telling the photographers to fuck off.
    â€œDo you know lots of these folks here?”
    â€œNo, no.”
    By now, I really didn’t want anyone to talk to me. It simply wasn’t wise. If I could just stare quietly at a piece of bread then all would be well.
    â€œMe neither,” he said. “I’ve never fockin’ met any of them before. I’ve never met Richard Jenner. He just rang me up. It’s fockin’ mad.”
    â€œWhy did you come, then?” I said, trying to get my brain to