‘You are ashamed of me, aren’t you?’
He removed his hand stiffly and folded his arms, brooding at the counter end while they waited for their drinks to materialise.
‘Of course not. It’s just that anyone’s cameraphone snap can be in the Daily Mail tomorrow, that’s all.’
She put their drinks on a tray.
‘I know you’ve never had to think this way – never had to take anything like that into consideration, and I don’t blame you for not thinking of it. But I’ve had years and years of intense public attention and it’s changed my behaviour. Changed my personality almost.’
They found the furthest flung alcove and took seats in it.
‘It must be weird,’ said Jason. ‘Like being spied on twenty-four seven.’
‘Yeah, it is, a bit. And I feel guilty for bringing you into it, to be honest. You’re so frank and open about everything. I think it’ll be difficult for you to get used to the circus I live in. When it was just us in the house . . .’ She sighed, experiencing a melancholy sense of paradise lost. ‘It’ll never be like that again.’
‘It can be. We can just stay at home,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t bother me.’
‘Oh, Jason. The world wants your art. The world deserves your art. And you deserve the world’s attention. We’ll always have our bolthole when it gets too much – but I think the time for hiding away is over.’
‘The world,’ he echoed, ruminating. ‘Hasn’t done a lot to get me on side so far. I’m not sure why it deserves my . . . I can’t say art. I feel so fucking phoney. I am a phoney. I’m not an artist, Jen. I’m not that kind of person.’
‘But you are. That’s just your low self-esteem talking.’
‘Oh, give me a break! You sound like a fucking counsellor. I saw one of those when I were at school. Poor self-image this, low self-esteem that. What she didn’t want to say was that I was a thick kid from a shitty estate and what did I expect?’
‘OK, what I don’t want you to feel is patronised. How can we stop that from happening?’
Jenna put on her most businesslike, don’t-mess-with-me face.
‘Well, I might have an idea,’ said Jason, stroking the waxed rim of his coffee container.
‘Really? Come on then. Out with it.’
‘You’re going to mess me up, aren’t you? Do a makeover or whatever, except not just with my looks. You’re going to do what you do to those people on the show – what did they call it? Starmaking. I did see a few episodes of it, and I remember you looking straight to camera, all cheesy like, with massive hair and saying, “Time for some starmaking.” It was, like, your catchphrase, yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ She cringed a bit. It did sound cheesy, when he put it like that. ‘There will be an element of that, I suppose. If you can look on it as part of the job, you know, dressing the part, working the room . . .’
‘Whatever. I know. I know what you’re going to do to me. And I know it’ll piss me off, however necessary you think it is. I’m not a fucking dressing up doll.’
‘I know you’re not, I—’
But he waved a hand, indicating that there was more for her to hear.
‘I haven’t said what my idea is yet. Do you want to hear it or carry on with the Starmaker Manifesto?’
‘No, sorry. Say what you want to say.’
She flicked her eyes over to the counter where a group of people were leaning in to the barista, talking and casting covert looks in their direction. She kept her sigh inward. Incognito was over for the day.
‘Here’s my proposal,’ said Jason, leaning forward and holding her eyes with the pokeriest of poker faces, as if he’d watched too many films containing Bigshot Business Deals. ‘If you mess with me, it’s only fair that I should mess with you.’
‘I don’t . . . Not sure what you’re saying.’
‘You’re going to ask me to change a lot of things – the clothes I wear, the way I speak, the way I act. I want to do the same to you. I want you to know how it feels.’
‘I do know how it feels. Once Deano’s band started getting press, we had to reinvent ourselves. We had to learn fast, and we didn’t have anyone to help us. We had to use our intuition – to know when the journos were looking down their noses at us and making fun of our Bledburn accents, and to tweak accordingly. It’s not easy, Jason, and what you don’t seem to realise is that I’m trying to protect you from that. You might not want to believe it but the media in this country is still hugely London-centric and if you don’t want to be classed with the bumpkins . . .’
‘Don’t get all arsey with me. I’m not refusing to do it, am I? Just listen. I do what you ask . . . and you do what I ask. Isn’t that fair enough?’