She needed half a minute to clear her head and gather her nerve, to put on her Jenna Diamond face. She felt like Superman emerging from the phone booth when she finally mustered the courage to push open the stall door.
She marched purposefully to the basins, deliberately avoiding her own eye in the mirror. She was trying to ignore the way her thighs were pressed together when a young girl slid into position at the neighbouring basin and said, ‘Please, I think you are Jenna Diamond.’
Jenna turned to the girl, one of the possibly Spanish contingent. She had eager brown eyes and a brace on her teeth.
‘I used to be,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘Now I go by the name Jenna Myatt.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know. I watch all your shows. I am a big, big fan. Will you sign my book?’
She reached into her bag and brought out an exercise book with a picture of a patchwork owl on the front.
‘Sure. Do you have a pen?’
The girl handed her one.
Jenna’s fingers were wet and slippery and it occurred to her that she would never have agreed to this – to signing autographs at the washbasin in a motorway service restroom – if she hadn’t been so preoccupied with the state of things under her skirt. Any distraction was welcome, even an annoying or impractical one.
‘Perhaps should have waited until my hands were dry,’ she said ruefully, watching a blob of soap drop on to the page beneath her message.
‘Oh, it’s OK, really. Thank you so much!’
‘No problem – but please – don’t send all your friends to me. I can’t sign any more.’
Already a crowd of curious, cameraphone-wielding adolescents lurked at the fringes of her vision. She needed to get out of there before it got too much.
Luckily, they parted to let her through. Outside the restrooms, surprise surprise, a few impromptu buskers had set up and were warbling popular songs in competition with each other.
Jenna wanted to laugh. As if she’d interrupt her toilet break to sign up a potential star act. Still, she had to admire their spirit of enterprise.
She found herself rushing to get away from it all, and the rushing made her more intensely conscious of the cling of her skirt and the rubbing of her thighs.
By the coffee shop entrance, Jason stood waiting for her, but he was no longer alone. He was chatting to a couple of lorry drivers, leaning back on a high stool, his expression one of satisfied vanity. Jenna knew that look. It was his swaggering I-am-the-dom look. What the hell was he telling those men?
She hurried up to him.
‘So you were on remand for a while then?’ one of the men said.
Ah. They were talking about the false drug charges that he’d been accused of.
‘Yeah, thought I was going down, for sure.’
‘But Jenna Diamond came to your rescue. Fuck, that’s a story. What’s she like?’
‘Why don’t you see for yourself?’ she suggested, stepping up to the trio. She sensed that the lorry drivers were keen to find out a bit more than she wanted known, and Jason might be too puffed up with self-importance to hold back.
The lorry drivers did nothing but stare for a few moments, while Jason held out his hand and pulled her into his side.
‘Wow,’ contributed one. ‘Well done, mate. Pleased to meet you,’ he said, more formally to Jenna. ‘The missus loves that show of yours. Wait till I tell her.’
‘Would you like a photograph?’ she asked graciously.
She posed with each lorry driver while Jason took pictures.
‘Lovely to meet you,’ she said firmly, so that they could be in no doubt that the encounter was over. They mumbled thanks and shuffled off towards the burger bar, looking over their shoulders every few steps.
‘Good lads,’ said Jason.
‘You can’t possibly know that,’ said Jenna, a touch tetchily. ‘And you’re going to need to learn the wisdom of reserve. Smile and chat, but don’t ever discuss anything personal.’