The Lucky Ones

By Karen Mason

It’s 1978 and cousins Ellie Grantham and Viva Collins are eighteen years old.
A sheltered schoolgirl, Ellie has lived in the protection of Annie Holland, her mother as well as her father and stepfather. She longs to escape the confines of boarding school, and when she meets a handsome punk rocker, she gets her chance to finally start living. Viva Collins lives in the glamour of LA with her parents and younger sister. Dating a womanising politician’s son, and taken for granted by her mother, Iris, Viva longs to return to England to seek out Mark, her younger brother, who was left behind by Iris when she escaped to the US. After blackmailing Patrick, her father, Viva makes her escape and arrives in London. Soon she is thrust into the world of fashion, and all the temptations it brings.
Soon, it’s the 1980s and these two independent girls are making their mark. For Ellie, what starts as a second-hand record shop turns into a burgeoning record label. A disastrous, short-lived marriage means Viva cannot work as a model again, so she becomes a journalist and has no intention of returning to America - despite Iris threatening to disown her. The cousins put aside their mothers’ rivalry and become close friends and allies.....for now.

Along with their success comes heartache. Ellie finds life as a rock star’s wife difficult – can she ever trust him? And Viva lurches from one disastrous relationship to another, while the man she truly wants is married to another.

As these two girls turn into young women, their lives change as quickly as the society they live in. This is Thatcher’s Britain and the ethos is to make as much money as possible, with little regard for those you trample on as you make your way. Ellie and Viva intend to do whatever it takes to get to the top and there are bound to be broken hearts, shattered dreams, and some relationships will never be the same again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karen Mason
• Release date: Nov 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311447777

Karen Mason

Karen Mason (PhD, University of Denver) is associate professor of counseling and psychology at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary and a psychologist working in the mental health field since 1990. She previously managed the Office of Suicide Prevention for the Colorado Department of Public Health and Environment and is a member of the American Psychological Association. She is the author of When the Pieces Don't Fit: Making Sense of Life's Puzzles.

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The Lucky Ones

By Karen Mason

Published by Karen Mason at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Karen Mason

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Also by Karen Mason

Summerset

Mad About the Boy

Two Become One

Winner Takes it All

Mrs Osbourne Regrets

The True Tale of Jezebel Cole

Only You

The Line of Passion Trilogy (Maudie, Kate and Julia)

Never Forget

Scorpio Rising

Paradise Lost

The Exciting Life

Teenage Kicks

Never Tear Us Apart

www.authorkarenmason.wordpress.com

Cover image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Prologue

April 15th 1978

Ellie couldn’t believe her bad luck. It was her eighteenth birthday and she was stuck at school. On a Saturday! She’d begged and pleaded with her mother to extend her Easter holiday and let her stay home until the Monday, but Annie had been adamant her daughter return to St Agnes’s. There was six weeks to go until she took her A’Levels, and if she was going to get into Cambridge, she was going to need straight A’s in every subject and a day of studying could not be missed.

What made things worse was that she was all alone in her dormitory, with no one to cheer her up. For the past six years she’d shared the room with her best friend Leslie Nicholls-West; but at Christmas, Leslie had gone skiing in Kloisters and had met a boy called Kristien. They’d fallen madly in love, and to her parents horror, she’d run off to Switzerland to marry him, and Ellie missed her terribly.

She lay on the bed, and in between sulking about how unfair life was, she looked at her presents piled up on the floor by the window and thought it strange how they differed so greatly. Her mother had given her a Holland’s satchel designed for Ellie exclusively by Clarissa Balfern. Of course it was for her to take to Cambridge, and back home in Surrey there was a set of luggage to match. Daniel, her step-father had given her a gold bracelet with a heart on. She was wearing it now, and twisted it round on her wrist to see the beauty of it. She knew Daniel always felt he had to compete with Eddie – her real father - for her affection, but it was totally unnecessary. Ellie loved both of them equally. Eddie had bought her a pair of the Vanderbilt jeans she had been coveting for ages; but she thought it ironic that she had nowhere to wear them now she was stuck back in her school uniform for what felt like an eternity.

There was a knock on the door, and Ellie told the person to come in. It was Mrs Watkins, the matron. Ellie couldn’t stand the smug old cow. It was quite evident she was a frustrated teacher and she would treat the girls as though they were stupid, or still eleven years old.

‘Hello Eleanor,’ she said in that patronising voice of hers. Ellie hated being called Eleanor. No one ever called her this - except Mrs Watkins, and her mother when she was cross with her.

‘This is Suzannah Butterworth. She’s going to be sharing with you for the rest of term.’

Mrs Watkins stepped to one side, and in walked a very tall, very beautiful girl, with shoulder-length dark gold hair and large, striking green eyes. She looked like a willowy, English rose and Ellie suddenly felt very conscious of her dark, Slavic features. Everyone always said she was gorgeous. But she didn’t feel it. Not against goddesses like Suzannah Butterworth.

‘Eleanor will show you the ropes,’ Mrs Watkins said. ‘But if you really get stuck, just give me a knock Suzannah. There isn’t much about this school that I don’t know.’

Mr Hodgson, the caretaker - who the girls called Lurch behind his back - came in carrying two suitcases and put them at the foot of the bed next to Ellie's. He then left, along with Mrs Watkins.

‘Well, this is very nice,’ Suzannah sighed, sitting down on the bed - her floral skirt billowing out perfectly. She stuck out her hand and smiled. Those pretty eyes twinkling with mischief.

‘Call me Suze,’ she said.

‘Ellie,’ she laughed, shaking Suze's hand. ‘I don’t know why Mrs W calls me Eleanor. Only my mum does that, when she’s angry with me.’

‘Same with me with Suzannah. I hate it. Makes me sound like I ride ponies all weekend!’

‘How come you've come here now? You must be doing your A’levels in a few weeks time.’

‘Mummy was on Broadway for the past year and I was at school in New York. But she's making a film over here now, so she wants me in England. I was at Heathfield before I went to America, but I was expelled. St Agnes’s was the only school that would take me!’

‘What did you get expelled for?’

Oh you know the usual. Smoking, drinking, fraternising with unsuitable boys.’

‘Is your mum a famous actress then?’

‘She’s Meg Stratton.’

‘Oh my god she's so beautiful. Yes, thinking about it, you do look like her.’

‘It gets boring,’ Suze said rolling her eyes. ‘I want to be my own person. What about you? What does your mother do?’

‘She owns Holland's.’

‘She's Annie Holland?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wow, you must have so many pairs of beautiful shoes. She's married to the owner of Grantham’s isn't she?’

‘Yes. Daniel's my step-father. My little sister Rowan is in the second year. Her twin brother Michael is at Winchester.’

‘You’re so lucky having a brother and sister. I’m an only child.

‘I have a baby sister too – Alice. She’s five.’

‘What about your real dad? Do you see him?’

‘Yeah lots. He’s really cool. He owns the Glass Group, so I get lots of free records and concert tickets.’

‘Lucky you. All I ever get for free is theatre tickets, and I find the theatre so dull to watch. I’d rather be acting. But talking of going out. Where are we off to tonight?’ Her speech was halted as she spotted the cards on Ellie’s bedside cabinet. ‘It’s your birthday. Are you eighteen today?’

‘Yes.’

‘Happy Birthday. Well we simply have to go out now.’

‘We can’t. We’re not allowed out.’

‘Poppycock, it’s a school, not a prison. I heard there’s a very good punk club in Walton-on-Thames. Do you reckon we could make it there and back in an evening if we hitched?’

‘I’ve nothing to wear to a punk club.’

Suze giggled and got off the bed and went to one of her suitcases. She laid it down and opened it up, and as soon as she did, the smell of old leather filled the room, shocking Ellie. She was even more astounded when Suze pulled out a black leather, rocker’s jacket with a swastika spray-painted on the back and ‘Hate’ written underneath.

‘Wow!’ gasped Ellie.

‘And there’s plenty more where that came from. Choose what you like. You and me are going to have the night of our lives.’

***

It was Viva's birthday, but it seemed everyone else was celebrating more than she was. It was the middle of the day and the house was filled with her friends and family, all having fun. But instead, she had to endure being taken away by her boyfriend Bucky, and mauled like some sort of piece of meat. He always chose the boating lake at the back of the house to spirit her away to, and she found herself wishing her parents would pave the thing over. Iris and Patrick loved the fact that the house once belonged to some Hollywood actress who was famous in the 1930s and had retained a lot of the original features. But Viva hated it. There were too many nooks and crannies, and places her boyfriend with his wandering hands could take her to.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if she’d expressed her disgust at Bucky’s behaviour to her parents and they’d have done something about it, but Viva dating Bucky Tucker was a major coup. His father, Robert Snr was one of the Republican candidates to run for the presidency next year, and Patrick was most excited at the thought of his little girl being a regular visitor to the White House; and his family being linked to the most powerful in the land.

Bucky had moored the boat in the shadiest part of the boating lake, over which willow trees hung, and no one would be able to see them. He pushed Viva down onto the hard, wooden, slatted seats and as the sun shone brightly behind his head, she had to squint her eyes to avoid being blinded. His hand moved down her body, pushing her skirt up. Viva wriggled away and managed to push him off. He fell onto his back and the boat rocked violently.

‘What did you do that for?’ he pouted, sitting up and smoothing down his perfectly-coiffed dark blonde hair. He really was the all-American boy, with his perfect hair, teeth and tan. He was considered quite a catch by all her high-school buddies, but he bored Viva. There was no edge to him, and all he ever wanted to do was have sex and even that was dull.

‘I’m not in the mood,’ she said, daring to stand up and making the boat rock even more. ‘I want to go back to the party.’

Bucky grasped her leg and Viva stumbled forwards onto the jetty. Bucky laughed at her misfortune and this angered Viva. She scrambled to her feet and turned to look at him, wishing she had the strength to tip the boat up and throw him in the lake – just to muck up his immaculate clothes.

‘You pig!’ she cried. ‘I hate you. I wish I’d never met you.’

She stormed off through the grounds, up the small hill, and the stone steps until she got to the house. People were already in the swimming pool. The loudest screeches coming from Morgan, her little sister, and her annoying friends. They were wriggling around in the water, showing off their puny bodies with tiny budding breasts and no hips, and Viva was perfectly aware that many of the men in attendance here liked to watch that sort of thing. She felt like telling her sister to stop being so dumb and giving the perverts a show, but Morgan would have only accused her of being jealous, or stupid or something, so it was easier to leave her to it.

Patrick was by the barbecue, his Hawaiian shirt undone and showing his puny white chest. Viva had inherited Patrick’s inability to sunbathe without turning lobster red, and she resented him for it. Living in a city that was full of tanned specimens, she always felt so pale and uninteresting. In reality she was far more golden than most English people. But in LA, everyone wanted to be really dark and healthy-looking, and Viva was never going to achieve that.

‘There’s my little girl!’ Patrick crowed, totally ignoring Viva’s thunderous expression. ‘Where’s Bucky?’

‘I don’t know and I don’t care.’

Viva carried on into the house, and it came as no surprise to find her mother ensconced in the living room, drinking cocktails with her coven of LA wives. Most of them were married to Patrick’s friends, and Iris would always bitch about them behind their backs. They all looked the same – like they had been made in the same factory. Too much tanning had made their skin turn leathery, their hair was either bleached (like her mother’s) or else thinning and padded out with ugly hairpieces made of horrible synthetic material. Sometimes Viva wondered what she was doing in this weird world and wished her mother had kept her in England - where she imagined everyone was normal and had class.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ Iris asked as Viva headed for the curved stairway.

‘Bucky is a pig,’ Viva pouted. ‘I hate him.’

‘That’s my son you’re talking about,’ Delores Tucker tutted and Viva blushed. She hadn’t spotted her amongst all the make up and bouffants. But she had to style it out. She couldn’t lose face.

‘I don’t care,’ she replied defiantly. ‘I hate him. You should have taught him some manners.’

Blanking out the gasps of disapproval from the greedy grasping women who wondered how she could say such things about the son of a state Governor, Viva marched up the long staircase and along to her room. Viva's bedroom was the size of the average studio flat and she had every mod-con a girl could wish for. But she felt trapped. Los Angeles may have been a big city, but her world was so narrow. Her role in life was to be Iris's little pet. Where many of Iris’s contemporaries spent fortunes on dieticians who tried their hardest to get their podgy daughters into shape, and had to consult the best orthodontists in town, for braces to straighten out their teeth. Iris’s daughter had it all. Viva had the height and figure of a model. Her skin was perfect – just a few cute-looking freckles, and her hair was long, red and wavy. All Iris wanted was for Viva to start work with her as soon as she graduated high school. Over in England her mother had a chain of shops named after Viva, but she never went back to check on them. Her little faggy pal Ralf did that, and a few times a year he would come over and fill her in on all the latest trends. Iris had not left the USA since she’d emigrated in 1964, instead she concentrated on L&S - her huge store on Rodeo Drive. The clothes were still designed by Ralf Silver, but it was aimed at those over-made up women who were Iris's friends, and she wanted Viva to run it with her. Viva could think of nothing worse.

She flopped down on her bed and from the bedside cabinet she took out the birthday card her brother had sent her. Iris never wanted to talk about Mark, the son she’d left behind in England, and Viva had never been given an explanation why her mother hadn’t taken him with her. Iris was so fond of her little secrets and this infuriated Viva. All she knew was that Iris had married Leo Andersson because she’d thought Viva was his, and then when she realised she was Patrick’s, she’d left Leo and gone to the USA to be with him. But Viva knew her father well enough and he wouldn’t have turned Mark away and would have accepted both children. So she didn’t understand why her mother had been so callous and left a baby behind.

Viva read the note inside the card, begging her to come to visit Mark in England; and the thought of being away from her mother - who was trying to mould her into a carbon copy of herself; her father who still treated her as though she was five, and her boyfriend who only wanted her for sex, was so appealing she was sorely tempted to go. She just wanted the chance to be herself for a while, and the only way she would be able to do this would be to get as far away as possible.

Chapter One

Even by the time Ellie and Suze arrived at the Spite Club in Walton-on-Thames, Ellie was still reeling from the fact that she had sneaked out of school and hitch-hiked all the way from Kingston. She’d never done such a thing in her life. It could have been so dangerous, but thankfully, the old man who’d been driving the van they’d ridden in, had found nothing desirable about a pair of teenage girls in leather jackets, tartan bondage trousers and dog collars around their necks, and had left them alone.

Ellie felt like a bit of a fraud. She wasn’t even particularly fond of punk – she preferred disco. But by the time Suze finished dressing her up, she had to admit the look really suited her. Suze had ruffled her long dark hair all up so it looked as though she’d just got out of bed, and then used nearly a whole can of Elnet to make it stay in one place. She’d then applied loads of black eyeliner and mascara to Ellie’s eyes, white face powder and ruby red lipstick. Ellie looked like a different person. So did Suze once she’d made herself up in a similar way. Ellie had to laugh to herself as they sneaked down the back-stairs of the school and out into the grounds. They both looked so different that they could have walked past Mrs Wilkinson, the headmistress, and it was doubtful she would have even recognised them.

The Spite Club was situated in the basement of a pub in the middle of Walton High Street. Ellie felt rather nervous walking into the cavernous environment and being greeted with a gaggle of punks standing around in their fetish gear, their hair painted in vibrant colours and shaped into Mohicans or buzzcuts. Then she remembered that she looked exactly the same and she didn’t stand out at all.

Shot by Both Sides by Magazine was playing on the jukebox, and hoards of young people pushed and shoved against each other. The smell of old leather, beer and body odour was overwhelming and Ellie felt a bit nauseous. But she couldn’t say anything. She didn’t want Suze thinking she was some sort of wimpy schoolgirl.

‘How did you find out about this place?’ she shouted to Suze over the noise.

‘I was at Crazy Larry’s up in Chelsea a few weeks ago. I knew I was coming to school in Surrey and I asked around.’

She then turned and pushed her way through the crowd to the bar. Ellie followed behind and could only feel in awe of this tall, beautiful girl, and wish that she could be like her. At five foot six Ellie wasn’t short, but Suze was at least five ten, and willowy. What was even more annoying was how well she carried off the punk look, despite being an English rose. Ellie had never had a friend like it. Apart from Leslie, all her other friends, like Roxanne Jenkins and Lizzie Staples were like her. They’d spent most of their lives at boarding school, just dreaming of escape but never having the courage to do anything about it.

And this club was unlike anywhere Ellie had ever been before. Eddie had always made sure she got really good seats at all the top concerts up in London, but she’d never been inside a poky hole like this, where the stage was so small that anyone standing at the front of the stage would have been able to feel the act right against them!

Suze ordered two bottles of beer, and when Ellie offered her money for hers, she refused.

‘Don’t be silly. It’s your birthday.’

The barman returned with two bottles of Heineken and Suze passed him a pound note.

‘Is anyone playing tonight?’ she asked him.

‘Sublimation,’ he replied. ‘They should be on in about twenty minutes.’

‘Great. I’ve heard about them. They’re supposed to be really good.’

She passed Ellie her drink, and when she took a sip and the warm foamy beer hit the back of her throat, she coughed.

‘Oh tell me you’ve drunk before?’ Suze laughed.

‘Of course I have. I’m just not used to beer. That’s what Daniel and my dad drink. I prefer wine.’

‘You’re sooo middle-class,’ Suze chuckled.

‘So are you. Your mother’s a famous actress and you’re at boarding school. My mum was born in a slum in Battersea.’

‘You’re kidding?’

‘No. My grandmother walked out on Mum and my uncle Kenneth when they were little and they were adopted by a wealthy couple – Michael and Nesta Holland. And my dad’s from a working-class Jewish family. So I’m not middle-class at all.’

Suze laughed.

‘So you’re Jewish and wearing a jacket with a Swastika on?’

‘I’m not considered Jewish because my mother isn’t. But I suppose you’re right, yes.’

‘So how come you’re Ellie Grantham? Why haven’t you got your dad’s surname?’

‘I was Ellie Collins when I was born. My mum was married to Patrick Collins the film producer. But they split up and she married Daniel and I took his name so I wouldn’t be different from Michael and Rowan. Mum was engaged to my dad at the same time she was seeing Patrick. But it turned out I was Eddie’s daughter. So I see him as well.’

‘Your mum’s quite a girl isn’t she? I don’t know my dad. Mum always reckons he was a member of the Bolshoi Ballet who was visiting in 1959. She was also seeing a docker from Poplar at the same time. Oh, and Grantley Ballantyne.’

‘That old actor?’

‘He was Mum’s sponsor through RADA. Felt he needed repayment. Any one of them could be daddy.’ She laughed and nudged Ellie ‘So we’re both a pair of bastards!’

When Sublimation came onto the stage, the crowd went crazy, and within two minutes, Ellie had been knocked in several directions, with at least three pints of beer spilt over her. She was just about to complain and say she’d wait outside, when Suze grabbed her hand and pulled her through the crowd.

‘Come on,’ she urged. ‘Let’s get to the front.’

Sublimation weren’t the usual punks with spiky hair and bondage gear. The three musicians were dressed in rockers jackets and jeans, and the singer was quite striking, with bleached blonde hair styled into a quiff. He wore a red tartan shirt knotted at the waist, and light-coloured Levi jeans. He looked as though he had come from the 1950s. They were playing a slightly rockier version of C‘Mon Everybody by Eddie Cochran. The crowd were pushing and shoving, and at first Ellie was scared that she was going to get knocked off her feet. But soon she got carried away with the music and started to enjoy herself.

The singer was really something, and even though it was a tiny stage, in a tiny club in Surrey, he commanded it like it was the Hammersmith Odeon, or one of the venues that belonged to Ellie’s father. His height helped – he must have been over six foot tall. He swaggered about, clapping his hands and wiggling his legs like Elvis. In the middle of one song, he looked Ellie directly in the eye and winked at her and she blushed deeply and giggled.

Because of her father’s involvement in the music industry, Ellie had been to many concerts. For her fourteenth birthday Eddie had arranged it for her to meet David Cassidy backstage, but this was by far the most exciting gig she had ever been to. It was amazing to be so close to the band, and feel the energy of the crowd pushing and shoving her. What made it all the more special was that the singer kept singling her out, and at one point – like some old crooner – he took her hand and kissed it. Suze laughed and nudged her, and Ellie felt like the most special girl in the world.

Sublimation ended and ran off stage, and someone put The Clash on the jukebox. Ellie was covered in beer and was sweating buckets underneath her leather jacket, but she was ecstatic. She’d led a pretty sheltered life. She’d never even been kissed by a boy, or been on a date, and to be singled out by the good-looking, sexy singer of a band was an amazing experience.

‘Do you want another drink?’ Suze shouted to her over the top of London Calling.

‘I’m alright thanks.’

‘That singer liked you,’ Suze smiled.

‘He probably does that with lots of girls,’ Ellie blushed. ‘It’s just part of his act.’

‘Don’t be so modest. You’re very pretty Ellie. Haven’t you ever had a boyfriend?’

Ellie blushed and shook her head.

‘Well we’re certainly going to have to do something about that.’

Ellie felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around to find a young man with spiky green hair, wearing a Buzzcocks t-shirt, standing there, a hesitant look on his face.

‘Excuse me miss,’ he said in a breathy, cockney voice. ‘The band would like you and your friend to join them.’

Ellie and Suze looked at each other and giggled, and before Ellie could hesitate and say she didn’t think it was a good idea, Suze had walked off, following the young man; so Ellie had no choice but to run along behind them. They walked through the crowds to an area at the side of the stage that had been roped off and was an approximation of a VIP area. Ellie felt nervous when she saw Sublimation all sitting around a table, drinking bottles of beer, and wondered what she was going to say to them. Chatting to the polite and professional David Cassidy was one thing. A group of rowdy punks was another altogether.

As the girls got nearer, the singer stood up and opened his arms out. He was so slim that it made him appear even taller, and Ellie felt tiny in comparison. He had the most beautiful big brown eyes, and when they focused on her, it made her feel as though she was the only girl in the room.

‘’ello gels,’ he said in a broad, cockney accent. ‘Come and join us.’

One of the men – Ellie was sure he was the bass player, kicked a chair out and Ellie went to sit down, but the singer grasped her arm and stopped her.

‘That’s for your mate,’ he said. ‘You’re sitting with me.’

He moved over to the seat next to him and Ellie took his place. She wondered what he thought of her. She knew she stank of beer, and she was sure her make-up was running down her face.

‘What’s your name darling?’ he asked.

‘Ellie,’ she replied.

‘I’m Jake Deane,’ he said.

‘I like your music. It’s got more melody than a lot of punk stuff.’

‘You don’t like punk then?’

‘Yeah of course I do. I just like songs like yours.’

He picked up the packet of Silk Cut that were on the table and took a couple out, passing one to Ellie. She had only smoked a couple of times in her life and she wasn’t particularly fond of it. She’d only done it to keep in with girls at school and now she was doing the same thing with Jake. He lit the cigarette and as she breathed it in, she had to do all she could to stop from coughing.

‘So where you from?’ he asked, putting his arm round the back of her seat.

‘Not far from here,’ she said, not wanting him to know she was a schoolgirl. ‘What about you?’

‘I live in Camden. I’m squatting in a big fancy house.’

‘Sounds exciting.’

‘So do you live with your folks?’

‘Yes. When I’m at home I do.’

He smiled slyly and took a sip of his drink.

‘You’re not at school are you?’

‘Is it obvious?’ she blushed.

‘A bit. How old are you?’

‘Eighteen today.’

‘It’s your birthday?!’ he gasped. ‘Can I give you a birthday kiss?’

‘I suppose so,’ she giggled. She braced herself for him to grab her and try and give her some slobbering kiss on the lips. Instead he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him and gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. For a moment Ellie pulled away and looked into his big, brown eyes and wished he’d kissed her properly. She felt somehow short-changed, even though she was scared of getting in over her head.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

‘You’re lovely,’ he replied. ‘You got a boyfriend?’

‘No.’

‘Why don’t you meet me tomorrow? Come to Camden.’

‘I’m supposed to be studying for my A’levels.’

‘Have some fun Ellie. You seem a bright girl. I bet you don’t need to study much to pass.’

They were interrupted by Suze, who was now sitting on the drummer’s knee.

‘Are you corrupting my friend?’ she laughed.

‘No!’ Jake replied. ‘But I’m working on it.’

Chapter Two

Viva still hadn't left her bedroom by the middle of the evening. Instead she stood at the window and looked down at everyone having fun around the pool. Morgan had changed into a sun-dress and had used the hairdryer to flick her hair like Farah Fawcett's. Viva loved her little sister, but she didn’t like her; and she resented the fact that she had been blessed with Iris’s blonde hair. Viva hated being a redhead. She’d got into so many fights over the years, just trying to stand up for herself against the girls who bullied her because she looked different.

Morgan and her best friends Tiffany and Natasha were performing some sort of dance that was making the adults laugh. Morgan was idolised amongst her peers because she'd now been in two of the films her father produced. The last one had been with Robert Redford and all the little girls were desperate to know what he was like, and so they clambered around Morgan, all hoping some of her star quality would rub off.

Everyone was too busy watching Morgan and her pals that they didn’t notice Bucky and Melanie Hernandez round the side of the cabana. Melanie was supposed to be Viva's best friend, but that seemed to be forgotten as she stood with her back to the wall, and Bucky in front of her, standing far too close and reaching up and twirling a lock of her long, dark hair in his fingers. He really was a piece of work and Viva wondered what else he got up to behind her back. And what sort of friend was Melanie to allow him to touch her in this way?

There was a knock on the door and it opened before Viva could say ‘come in’. It was her mother - that look of dissatisfaction never leaving her fat face. Viva had seen pictures of Iris when she was a young girl and she’d been slim and beautiful. When had she turned into such a bloated mess?

‘Why are you sulking up here?’ she snapped. ‘It’s supposed to be your party.’

‘I never asked for this dumb party,’ Viva pouted. ‘It’s just a chance for you and Daddy to show off.’

‘No it isn’t,’ Iris replied, walking over to her daughter and reaching up and taking a lock of her long, titian hair. ‘It’s a special day for you. Your eighteenth birthday. We wanted to celebrate. But all you’ve done is sulk.’

‘Look at this,’ Viva said, taking her mother’s hand and leading her to the window. Bucky and Melanie were now kissing. Their bodies close, his hands running over her backside.

‘Why don’t you go down there and break it up?’ Iris suggested. ‘He’s probably only doing it because you’re not there.’

‘That’s no excuse. And Melanie is supposed to be my friend.’

‘Lesson number one Viva. Never trust other women. They’ll always steal what’s yours.’

Viva didn’t reply. But she thought about what she’d seen the other day when she’d been downtown, and she realised her mother was closer to the truth than she knew.

‘Mom can I go to England?’ she asked.

‘What?’

‘I want to go to England. I don’t want to finish high school. I want to go to England and see Mark.’

‘No!’ Iris snapped, turning and walking towards the door. ‘You’ve got to stay and finish high school then come and work with me.’

‘I don’t want to work with you. I want to go to England. Just for a while. Why have you never let me see my brother? Don’t you want to see him? He’s your son goddamit.’

Iris turned back and looked at her daughter, and it alarmed Viva to see that hardened expression on her face that she always used to batter her business associates into submission.

‘That’s the end of the matter Victoria,’ she said, using Viva’s full name – something she only ever did when she was furious. ‘Your father and I have paid a fortune for you to attend Brentwood. Now you’ll finish your studies and then you’re coming to work with me. That’s all there is to it. There’s nothing for you in England. Mark doesn’t know you. You have no time for Morgan, and you’ve grown up with her. Why do you want to know a boy you last saw when you were four years old?’

‘But he’s your son.’

‘That’s enough!’ Iris snapped. ‘Now tidy yourself up and come downstairs.’

She walked out, slamming the door behind her and Viva threw herself down onto her bed and screamed. Right at that moment, she hated her mother and she hated her life. She hated this house – it was like a gilded prison and she wished she could escape and never come back.

Knowing that resistance was futile, she decided that if she was going to be subjected to this God-awful party, she should look her best. So she changed into a pair of skin-tight black satin pants and a red blouse. She slipped her feet into her favourite four inch cork soled shoes - which took her to over six foot, and brushed her hair out so it was fluffy, before fixing it to one side. She still felt wretched, but at least wearing her war paint gave her a boost.

She went downstairs and found some of the guests gathered in the lobby, dancing to Donna Summer. How many of these people did Viva actually consider true friends? They were the girls at her school who always came to her parties in the hope her father would spot them and cast them in one of his films. The adults were her parents’ friends and neighbours, and they were always drunk or high and boasting about the movies they were working on, or the famous people they had slept with. Viva could count her proper friends on one hand. Underneath it all, she often felt awkward around people and her looks were a curse. She was beautiful, so people assumed she was confident, when really she was just as lacking in confidence as any other teenager.

‘Well look at that,’ Wayne Hudd, her father’s favourite leading man said, hooking his thumbs in the belt hooks of his flares and surveying Viva with a lecherous look. She’d first met him when she was fourteen and he’d been cast in a film about Pearl Harbour that her father was producing. He’d been clean-shaven and short haired then and Viva had got quite a crush on him. Of course he’d picked up on it and used it as an excuse to touch her up one day at a party. Now Viva had no idea what she ever saw in him. Just like all the men here, his hair was shoulder length and he had a horrible bushy beard. It seemed these days all guys wanted to be a cross between Barry Gibb and Kris Kristofferson, and Viva found it gross. She’d seen pictures in magazines of the punks over in England with their spiky hair and black clothes and they seemed so exciting in comparison and she wanted to be there.

‘Lookin’ good girl,’ Wayne said, as Viva sauntered past him with a confidence she didn’t actually feel. She walked out onto the terrace as night was falling, and looked around for Bucky, but he was nowhere to be seen. Morgan and her little friends were now sitting on sun-beds – tired from their dancing, but determined to stay up, should they miss anything.

‘Where’s Daddy?’ Viva asked, standing over her little sister.

‘I don’t know,’ Morgan snapped. She then sat up a bit and sneered. ‘What are you wearing? You look gross.’

‘You’re only jealous cos I’ve got tits and you’re still like a little girl.’

Viva walked away and didn’t look back because she guessed Morgan was probably sticking out her tongue at her and making her little buddies giggle. She spotted her father in the cabana – standing behind the bar, puffing on his cigar and fixing drinks for the selection of friends that he’d gathered in there. Viva could have waited until morning to speak to him, but she was famous for her impetuousness. It had gotten her into trouble before, and no doubt it would again.

‘There she is,’ Iris suddenly crowed, emerging from the French doors that led to the cinema room and making Viva jump. Viva noticed on the screen at the end of the room was a silent film-test done by Cairo Brooker, her father’s latest find. He was a rather handsome, well-endowed young man who insisted on wearing tight pants that showed everything off. It turned Viva’s stomach to see her mother and her friends sitting around watching the short film and no doubt ogling him. ‘Have you cheered up?’ Iris asked. ‘You know I hate it when you and me fight.’

‘And so do I Mom,’ Viva said, hugging her mother, feeling her fat body squash against her flat stomach.

Iris pulled away and looked at Viva. ‘You look fantastic in those trousers. Maybe we should get some photos done of you to hang in the shop.’

‘Why not?’ Viva smiled sweetly. ‘Can I just go and speak to Daddy?’

‘You can try,’ Iris replied, rolling her eyes. ‘But he’s holding court with his friends. I think he’s trying to get Emmett Driver to direct his next movie.

‘Well I’m sure I can lure him away for a few minutes.’

Viva left her mother, and went over to the red-bricked cabana that was a glorified boy’s club for her father. Amongst the noise of the disco music playing, and the laughter of Patrick and his friends, was another sound, and it was coming from the bushes at the side of the cabana. When Viva heard a familiar giggle, she seethed. It was Melanie. She would recognise that laugh anywhere. Marching to the bushes, she scratched her hands pushing them apart. Soon up popped Bucky and he was fastening his tennis shorts. He was then joined by Melanie. Leaves were stuck to her dark hair and she was pulling her dress back up over her shoulder.

‘How could you?’ Viva cried. ‘You’re supposed to be my best friend.’ She looked at Bucky. ‘And you’re supposed to be my boyfriend.’

‘Viva baby,’ Bucky said, walking towards her with outstretched arms. ‘Don’t be like that. Melanie and me were just having a bit of fun.’

He went to grasp her arms but Viva pushed him away.

‘We’re finished!’ she yelled. ‘Do you hear me? I’m finished with both of you!’

She marched off and did her best to stifle her tears as she walked into the cabana. The room was filled with cigar smoke and the smell of men. Patrick had it designed like an English pub, and the men were all sitting around the tatty wooden tables he’d had imported in from the UK. When Patrick spotted Viva, he held out his hands to her.

‘’‘Look at my beautiful baby,’ he said. ‘She’s all grown up today.’

‘Yeah!’ chuckled Kevin Schwartz, a particularly obnoxious comedy actor. ‘She’s all legal.’

Patrick fixed him with that stare, and for a moment Viva loved her father with all the same ferocity she’d felt as a little girl. Back then he’d seemed like the coolest man on the planet, and as he looked at Schwartz with that mean, calculating look, Viva felt so proud of him.

‘Talk like that once more about my daughter and I will cut your fucking balls off,’ he said. ‘Now get out of my party.’

‘Hey Pat,’ Schwartz said, shrugging. ‘It came from a loving place. I meant you’ll have to watch out for her.’

‘I don’t care what you meant. Now fuck off.’

Schwartz muttered something under his breath and got up and walked out. Viva loved it when her dad was scary, but she couldn’t forgive him the other things. Not when her mother had given so much up for him.

‘Daddy can I talk to you alone for a minute?’ she asked.

‘Can it wait until tomorrow Sweetheart? I’m talking business here.’

‘Pleeeaase,’ she whined. ‘It is my birthday.’

‘How can I argue with that?’ he smiled. ‘Okay. Let’s go outside.’

They went round the back of the cabana, and onto the veranda that looked out over the lights of Los Angeles. Viva wondered how many people who lived in drab parts of the world dreamt of living here. They would envy her and think her mad that she found it all so boring.

‘What is it darling?’ Patrick asked, leaning against the railings. ‘You want money?’

‘Yes. I want to go to England for a while and see Mark. I need money for my flight and so on.’

‘Have you told your mother about this?’

‘Yes. She refuses to let me go until I finish high school.’

‘And she’s right. Maybe we could all take a holiday back to England once you’ve graduated.’

‘You know Mom will never go back to England. She hasn’t once in the whole time we’ve lived here. I want to go on my own and see my brother.’

Patrick shook his head.

‘No way. I can’t face the wrath of your mother. Sorry Sweetheart. This time it will have to be a no.’

‘Lauren Cerrone is in there with Mom,’ Viva said. ‘They’re watching Cairo Brooker’s showreel.

‘Yeah, so what?’

‘I know about you and Lauren, Daddy. I was downtown with Brianna and Claire, getting sodas and I looked across the road and saw you and Lauren coming out of a seedy hotel called the Ramanos. And you kissed her goodbye and you walked off in opposite directions.’

‘Hey honey,’ Patrick said, touching her arm. ‘You’ve got the wrong idea. Lauren and I are just friends.’

‘I’m not stupid Daddy. I’ve heard Mom bitching about her. Calling her a slut because she’s slept with half of her friends’ husbands. What would Mom say if she knew you were one of them?’

‘You really are your mother’s daughter,’ Patrick said quietly, narrowing his eyes. ‘You’re blackmailing me.’

‘Just tell Mom that you’ve agreed for me to go to England for a couple of weeks. That way she won’t think I’m missing too much high school. I can’t promise that I will only stay for a couple of weeks. I hate my life here and I want to stay in England for a while.’

‘There’s nothing for you in England.’

‘There’s my brother. And there’s Uncle Kenneth and Aunt Vera and Toby. They’re my family too and I only ever see them when they come to America.’

‘Okay,’ Patrick sighed. ‘But I’m only giving you enough money for a month. Then you’re coming back and graduating. I’ll tell the school you’ve had to rush home on urgent family business.’

‘Thank you Daddy!’ she squealed, throwing her arms around his neck. ‘Now I won’t tell Mom I saw you with Lauren. In fact, I’ll forget it ever happened!’

Chapter Three

Ellie felt bad about lying again and telling matron that she was meeting her mother in Epsom for lunch. But she knew if she told the truth - that she was going to Camden to spend the day with a boy she'd only just met, she would never be allowed to go. Ellie was just praying that Matron didn’t bump into Rowan, as her little sister would open her big gob and tell the truth.

Suze was still in bed, nursing her hangover after drinking the many bottles of beers and glasses of whiskey the band had plied her with the night before. Ellie had to lie when she went to the chapel - as all girls had to of a Sunday