you’re… oh, my word!’
‘Pregnant? Is that the word your brain is scrambling for?’ I laugh and throw my arms around her. Not easy with a mountain between us.
She hugs me as best she can and then says, ‘But why the hell didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because I wanted to see your face! I couldn’t tell you before, could I, because you’ve been travelling around the world for the last hundred years, finding yourself, or whatever you young folk do.’
Demi narrows her eyes. ‘I went to work with Save the Children in India, for six months, and that was ages ago – before your wedding. And then to Greece working in a bar. Listen to you with the young folk? There’s three months between us.’
I do love winding her up, it’s so easy. I hold the door open and usher her in. ‘Well, I am soon to be a mother, so therefore much more mature than you, don’t you know?’
She takes a few steps inside and shakes her head, her eyes fixed on my belly. ‘I just can’t bloody believe it. You’re the last person I thought would get pregnant. And you are SO… massive!’
I ignore the first bit and say, ‘That’s because I’m having twins, a boy and a girl.’
‘Shut up! You’re not!’
‘Am.’
‘Wow! Are you happy about it all, then?’
I grin at the little furrow in her brow. ‘Do I look happy?’
‘Why yes… yes, you do,’ she says with a laugh.
‘Then that’s your answer. Now come through and I’ll get that bacon on.’
Soon the kitchen is full of breakfast smells and laughter. Demi is still as crazy as she ever was, and it’s a wonder I can cook at all, I’m giggling so much. Suddenly serious, she pulls herself up onto the countertop, looks round the room and spreads her arms wide.
‘My God, Holly, you have done incredibly well for a Cornish maid. This house is like, humongous; in fact, this kitchen is bigger than my entire flat! And the view from the living room over the ocean…’ She gives a wistful little sigh. ‘What I wouldn’t give.’
I nod. ‘It is very lovely and I am so lucky to have such a generous husband. Simon bought this place for me when I started to get homesick last year.’
Demi’s eyes grow round. ‘He must be a bloody millionaire then. Most guys buy their wives a bunch of flowers from the local garage.’
I laugh and crack an egg into the pan. ‘Perhaps not quite a millionaire,’ I say, though he probably is. I don’t know for definite as he keeps his finances close to his chest. ‘But, as you know, a London private consultant’s salary isn’t peanuts.’
She takes a sip of her tea and rolls her eyes. I think I catch a look of disdain in that eye-roll and crack another egg more forcefully. Demi and Simon have met just the once, at our wedding two years ago, and though my best friend had been polite and pleasant, I knew she didn’t like him. When I’d asked her what she thought of my new husband, she had been non-committal, just said she was glad I was happy and then gone off to get a drink. Afterwards, despite numerous invites to spend time with us in London, Demi had always come up with an excuse as to why she couldn’t make it. Then she’d gone off to Greece.
‘Why don’t you like Simon, Demi?’ I say as I tip the eggs onto a plate with the bacon.
She pulls her neck in and gives me a frown. ‘Eh? Who says I don’t like him? I’ve only met the guy the once.’
‘Exactly.’ I put the plates on the table and Demi jumps down from the countertop. ‘You never visited us and I know you inside out – I should, shouldn’t I? We have been friends since we were nine.’
Demi cuts the fresh white loaf and slathers thick butter across it. ‘Oh, this is still warm, Holly.’ She gives a groan of pleasure and stuffs more bread in her mouth. ‘I swear to God that Kendra’s bake the best bread in Cornwall. I bet if Terry Kendra went on Bake Off he’d win hands…’ Demi looks at my set face, swallows the bread and sighs. ‘Look, do we have to do this now, just as we’re about to enjoy this wonderful breakfast?’
My heart sinks. How bad can it be? ‘No… not if you…’
‘It’s just that he’s a bit, you know, controlling…?’ Demi’s words burst out around forkfuls of breakfast shoved rapidly into her mouth and I have to concentrate really hard to hear them. ‘It’s as if you were some kind of trophy for him. He saw you, decided he wanted you, but then what man wouldn’t? A stunning, tall, blonde, blue-eyed model?’ She pauses and points an eggy fork at me. ‘And, I might add, one of the nicest people in the known universe. So he got you clean of drugs and then took you.’ Demi shakes her head in bewilderment. ‘All within three bloody months. I knew within ten minutes of talking to him that it was a case of whatever Simon wants, Simon gets.’
I watch her push her plate away and pour more tea. A mouthful of my breakfast refuses to be swallowed, just sits in my cheek like a lump of cardboard. I hadn’t expected that… even though I might have thought along those lines myself. More than I’d like to admit.
‘Hey, I’m sorry, but you did ask.’ Demi touches my hand briefly but her eyes dance away from the hurt in mine. ‘And we promised early on that we would be honest with each other, didn’t we? If you’re happy with him, that’s all that matters.’
I nod briefly, swallow my food with a swig of tea, and push my barely touched plate away. ‘You don’t really know him, so I suppose he could have come across as a bit controlling. But I was out of my depth when I met him… had been for nearly a year. The modelling scene in London is mad… a never-ending round of parties, drugs, photo shoots… it all went to my head. I wasn’t eating properly, sleeping…’ I hear my voice catch and Demi takes my hand across the table.
‘Let’s stop now. I’m sorry I upset you. Let’s talk about the babies…’
‘No. I want you to understand.’ I take my hand back and tuck my hair behind my ears. I was on antidepressants, booze, as well as the cocaine… I wanted to come home, leave it all, but I couldn’t come home a junky, could I? Imagine what it would have done to Mum only the year after Dad died? I wanted her to be proud of me, make something of myself, but the way things were going I’d have been dead before I was twenty-five.’
Demi puts her hand to her mouth. ‘I didn’t realise it had got that bad. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have helped you.’
I look at her shocked little face, soft green eyes as big as saucers, and want to laugh. How the hell could she have helped me? What did she know about my life at the time? Me, a girl from a Cornish village, drunk on the glamour and bright lights of London. Swayed by promises of making the big time, becoming a supermodel even… And I had done very well, very quickly. Perhaps could have gone higher in my career, but the scene began to beat me back as if I were driftwood against the returning tide. Swept me away, down and under…
‘You wouldn’t have been able to help me, Dem. I needed specialist help and Simon got that for me. He rescued me from drowning, saved my life…’
‘Well, that’s good then.’ Demi shoots me an unconvincing smile, stands and turns to the kettle. ‘Shall I make more tea?’
What the hell is wrong with her? Doesn’t she believe me? ‘No tea for me. And Simon honestly did save me, you know?’ I stand and take the plates over to the sink.
Demi gives me a searching look. ‘Simon might have saved you, but don’t you think he did it for himself, not for you? I had it from the horse’s mouth at the wedding. He told me he came to that fashion show with his then girlfriend, saw you on the catwalk and decided he must have you. So he gets your agent to set up a meeting, tells you he’s in love with you, sweeps you off your feet, and arranges for you to see a top drug therapist. Then you’re in rehab for a few