interest in me and my family, so we have to watch out. You’re entering a whole new world now, Jools, and in this world there is a code of conduct. We’ll have to concoct some sort of love story and you’ll have to be able to retell it on demand to anyone who will listen, including the press.’
The press? Shit. Jools didn’t particularly like the idea of being in the public eye – at least, not without going on a major starvation detox. Her stomach rumbled again – this time with nerves. Surely it would be extremely difficult to sell any new life story to the people who had known her since she was young.
Like Mel.
What on earth would Mel say if the press questioned her? She was so angry at Jools she might tell the truth. Then Rodney would demand his money back, and she would be homeless once again. Only this time, Skuttle might not take her in. Why would he? She’d pretty much deserted him.
‘ What if someone finds out about us?’
‘ People will believe what you tell them to, Jools.’ Rodney was back-combing his hair with one hand, and trying to negotiate a corner with the other. ‘That’s the first rule of politics. And the second rule of politics is to pay off whoever refuses to believe you.’
Interesting. Jools had assumed the first rule of politics was to flip a non-existent second home. This bloke was even dodgier than her, and that was saying something. Then again, he didn’t know about the debts, the fire, or her letch of a father.
Maybe now was the best time to let Rodney in on her chequered past. Even though she was terrified it might be the end of their arrangement, she’d always (okay, sometimes) thought honesty was the best policy – not that it had served her well with Mel. But she didn’t want to be the centre of any potential scandals down the line – and judging by Rodney’s desperation to marry her, she sensed he didn’t want to be, either.
‘ There are some things I should tell you about me,’ she said, trying not to look at him.
‘ Let me guess, you‘ve got a few credit card debts?’
‘ Well, more than a few but that’s not . . . ’
‘ Look, as long as you’re not committing bigamy by marrying me, I don’t really care what you’ve done in the past. People forget.’
Mrs Pho was extremely unlikely to forget, thought Jools, and she tried again. ‘But you see, I had this business and . . . ’
‘ You went broke. So what? That puts you in the same league as half the self-employed in this city. It’s just good tax practice to go bankrupt occasionally.’
‘ Well, some people weren’t exactly happy with the way things turned out.’
‘ Relax, will you. People are greedy and can be easily appeased. It’s simple: I need a wife, you fit the bill, so just don’t act up and we’ll be fine.’
As hungry as she was, Jools smiled. For the first time in a very long while, she felt things might be actually alright.
‘ Now,’ Rodney said as they pulled up to Percys with a screech, ‘the only thing you need to concern yourself with is getting rid of that toxic body odour, and that moustache.’
Her hand sprang to her top lip. God, living with Skuttle she had forgotten all about the rudiments of feminine hygiene. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to kiss her. Who would? Upper lip bum fluff was hardly going to entice a man, even a homeless one.
Rodney reached over Jools and opened her door for her. ‘Go on, they’re waiting for you. I’ve got an account, so buy whatever the personal shopper tells you and toss what you’re wearing in the bin. Just give them my name and tell them you’re the woman I rang them about.’
Jools crept out of the car, clutching her bag of meagre belongings to her chest. Standing there on Oxford Street she felt like a garden gnome in a sea of Vogue models.
‘ Jools!’ Rodney pointed to the bag in her hand. ‘You won’t need any of that. Tell them in there to burn the lot, will you. I can’t have a stinking pile of festering hobo
The press? Shit. Jools didn’t particularly like the idea of being in the public eye – at least, not without going on a major starvation detox. Her stomach rumbled again – this time with nerves. Surely it would be extremely difficult to sell any new life story to the people who had known her since she was young.
Like Mel.
What on earth would Mel say if the press questioned her? She was so angry at Jools she might tell the truth. Then Rodney would demand his money back, and she would be homeless once again. Only this time, Skuttle might not take her in. Why would he? She’d pretty much deserted him.
‘ What if someone finds out about us?’
‘ People will believe what you tell them to, Jools.’ Rodney was back-combing his hair with one hand, and trying to negotiate a corner with the other. ‘That’s the first rule of politics. And the second rule of politics is to pay off whoever refuses to believe you.’
Interesting. Jools had assumed the first rule of politics was to flip a non-existent second home. This bloke was even dodgier than her, and that was saying something. Then again, he didn’t know about the debts, the fire, or her letch of a father.
Maybe now was the best time to let Rodney in on her chequered past. Even though she was terrified it might be the end of their arrangement, she’d always (okay, sometimes) thought honesty was the best policy – not that it had served her well with Mel. But she didn’t want to be the centre of any potential scandals down the line – and judging by Rodney’s desperation to marry her, she sensed he didn’t want to be, either.
‘ There are some things I should tell you about me,’ she said, trying not to look at him.
‘ Let me guess, you‘ve got a few credit card debts?’
‘ Well, more than a few but that’s not . . . ’
‘ Look, as long as you’re not committing bigamy by marrying me, I don’t really care what you’ve done in the past. People forget.’
Mrs Pho was extremely unlikely to forget, thought Jools, and she tried again. ‘But you see, I had this business and . . . ’
‘ You went broke. So what? That puts you in the same league as half the self-employed in this city. It’s just good tax practice to go bankrupt occasionally.’
‘ Well, some people weren’t exactly happy with the way things turned out.’
‘ Relax, will you. People are greedy and can be easily appeased. It’s simple: I need a wife, you fit the bill, so just don’t act up and we’ll be fine.’
As hungry as she was, Jools smiled. For the first time in a very long while, she felt things might be actually alright.
‘ Now,’ Rodney said as they pulled up to Percys with a screech, ‘the only thing you need to concern yourself with is getting rid of that toxic body odour, and that moustache.’
Her hand sprang to her top lip. God, living with Skuttle she had forgotten all about the rudiments of feminine hygiene. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to kiss her. Who would? Upper lip bum fluff was hardly going to entice a man, even a homeless one.
Rodney reached over Jools and opened her door for her. ‘Go on, they’re waiting for you. I’ve got an account, so buy whatever the personal shopper tells you and toss what you’re wearing in the bin. Just give them my name and tell them you’re the woman I rang them about.’
Jools crept out of the car, clutching her bag of meagre belongings to her chest. Standing there on Oxford Street she felt like a garden gnome in a sea of Vogue models.
‘ Jools!’ Rodney pointed to the bag in her hand. ‘You won’t need any of that. Tell them in there to burn the lot, will you. I can’t have a stinking pile of festering hobo
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