Surfing the internet isn’t something I do regularly. If I do, it’s usually on my tiny mobile which is too frustrating to use for much more than checking the news or finding a good place to eat.
“Crap!” I shout, slapping my hand down on my kitchen table in aggravation.
I’ve been searching for something, anything to use to contact Adam on my bra
nd new laptop. All I’ve found so far is an address for some stupid fan club. Thanks but no, I don’t want an autographed picture of the band.
I’m left wanting to pound my head into the tabletop, so I decide to lay my cheek down on it instead. It shouldn’t be this hard to find something, I mean, crazy people find celebrities houses all the time, right? Weirdoes and stalkers and such… Okay, so I’m not a weirdo or a stalker, but still! If someone mentally unbalanced can show up at Sandra Bullock’s home and get inside, my reasonably intelligent self should be able to find a way to contact Adam Reynolds.
For four months I’ve been calling and leaving various messages with different people at his record label. I sent letters addressed to every single member of the band, hoping that just one might make it into their hands. Not a word from anyone. Gemma said she’s working on it for me, but it’s been three months since I poured my heart out to her and she hasn’t heard from anyone she’s contacted either.
I snatch up my phone and ring one of only two people in my life that I can whine to about Adam.
“Ellie? It’s the middle of the work day, are you alright?”
“Yes Mum,” I rub my eyes tiredly. “I worked a long shift yesterday, so I’m off today.”
“Oh, okay. I was wondering.”
“Mum, I haven’t had any luck getting through to Adam. You don’t think he’s gotten my messages and is just ignoring me, do you?”
That is the real reason for the acid-churning ache in my gut every day, why I hardly sleep anymore and have bags under my eyes the size of jumbo jets, why I’m so edgy and nervous that my friends are giving me looks as though I’m two steps from being committed to a mental hospital.
What if Adam got the messages and doesn’t want me anymore?
I’m not stupid. He was dating that terrible American actress, Kiera Radcliff for a while, then the red tops all said that he’s been in a tussle with actor Andrew Forrester over some red haired girl whose parents are actors as well. As far as I know he could have completely moved on from me.
But that song says different.
“El, that boy loves you and always will. I don’t think he’d purposely keep you out of his life.”
My heart clenches at the thought and I shiver in fear. “I hope not, Mum.” I sigh into the phone and slouch back in my chair. “I’m at a complete loss here. I have no idea how to find him short of showing up at his record label and camping out until he shows up!”
“Well, what about Dax?”
“What about him, Mum?” I chew anxiously on my thumbnail as I wait to hear what she’s thinking.
“Doesn’t Dax still have family here?”
“What?” I sit up straight and take my thumb out of my mouth.
“Dax dear. Doesn’t he have a big family in Hackney?” Mum asks.
“No, he moved his parents out of Hackney… but, oh! Oh my gosh, Mum! You’re genius! I think I know a way. I have to go.” I end the call and jump up out of my seat. A surge of energy flows through me, sending unfamiliar waves of hope rushing to my heart.
“Shit, I hope I know what I’m doing,” I murmur as I grab my handbag and keys and rush out the door.
Chapter 37
Adam
“Hello Lucy.” I’m as friendly as I can manage as I greet my old schoolmate at the hostess station of Dirty Bird, a restaurant owned by another old schoolmate of mine, Prescott Sharma. He could have mentioned that Lucy Collins worked for him. She pursued me back in sixth form, hard. Yeah, I gave in and shagged her once, but God she was a pain in the ass.
“Adam,” she purrs, her eyes flashing with desire, the dollar sign kind of desire, not the sexual kind. Although, I’m certain she would be up for that as well. “Nice to see you again, it’s been ages.”
She tries to go in for a kiss but I thrust out my hand and she’s forced to shake it instead. The evil look she gives me isn’t subtle, she’s pissed off.
“Yes, nice to see you. Prescott reserved the chef’s room for me and a friend. Is it ready? I don’t really want to be out here in view of everyone for any longer than necessary.” Heads are already starting to turn my way and the loud whispering has begun.