Free Remember My Name by Abbey Clancy Page B

where she’d got her shoes from (Kirkby Market, so I can’t imagine Vogue would be dashing out to get her own pair any time soon). The whole conversation lasted about two minutes, but it had made my day—and Becky’s. At least now she had a good story to tell when she got home.
    Of course, one of the reasons I’d taken her into the office was the hope that Jack would be there. That he’d see us,and come over, and I’d get to feel that thrill of having such a gorgeous boyfriend and showing him off to my big sister.
    Except, you know, he wasn’t my boyfriend. He was my … well, I had no idea what he was. And he wasn’t in the office anyway—even though I’d told him Becky was coming. Apparently, according to Heidi, he was at a meeting in Brussels. He did things like that—had meetings in Brussels, or lunch in Paris, or a gig in Barcelona. He was a VIP, and his schedule was just a little bit different to mine.
    It was one of the aspects of Jack’s life that made him feel like an unattainable mega-being from another planet. My reaction varied from ‘this will never work’ to ‘why is a man like that interested in a girl like me?’ to ‘I’m never letting him go, and I want to have his babies’, depending on what mood I was in. Even thinking about him then, with Becky sitting right there, I wondered if he was back yet—wondered if he’d message me, wondered when we’d meet up again.
    I snapped myself back to reality, and met Becky’s probing gaze. She—unlike me, apparently—was looking great. The morning sickness had obviously passed, her fair hair was glossy, her skin was clear, and she’d obviously hit that ‘glowing’ stage that preggers women are supposed to get.
    I gave her a big, bright smile, and said, ‘No, I’m good—honest. I work hard, but I always expected that. And it’s all worth it.’
    ‘Are you sure?’ she replied, with a look on her face that was very similar to our mum’s when she thought you were hiding something—like the fact that you’d secretly drunk her bottle of Baileys with your mates; or snuck out to go to a partywhen you were grounded, or put your red T-shirt in the whites wash and made it all pink. It was frightening—Becky hadn’t even had her baby yet, and she was already developing scary Mum-like telepathic powers. It must be hereditary.
    I nodded, gesturing for her to get up as I pulled the sofa-bed out into its bed form. I grabbed the pile of sheets and pillows from the chair where I’d dumped them earlier, and started making it up to sleep on. Becky was having the bed—although not the bed
room,
as there wasn’t one. We’d be kipping together again, just like when we were kids.
    ‘I’m sure,’ I said, ‘and I’m knackered. Let’s crash out and talk crap before we go to sleep, like we used to.’
    ‘Yeah,’ she answered, pulling on her pyjamas and laughing. ‘All right. As long as we can talk about boys. Because I know there’s a man on the scene, Jessy.’
    I ignored her, and climbed under the covers, pulling the fleecy blanket up to my chin. Obviously, she was right. But I just couldn’t talk about it to her—because I had no idea what to tell her. It was all very hard to describe, especially to someone who didn’t know Jack, and didn’t know the music business, and didn’t know the way this weird London world worked.
    When I stayed quiet, she took that as her cue to carry on. I’d hoped she’d think I was asleep—I should probably have manufactured some fake snoring.
    ‘I know there’s a man because you’ve checked your phone about three hundred times today. And because there are condoms in your bathroom cabinet, and—’
    ‘What?’ I spluttered at her, outraged, and obviously not asleep.
    ‘Of course I looked! Have you ever met me? It’s my sisterly duty to snoop as much as humanly possible. So, tell me all about him.’
    ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ I said, reaching out and switching the lamp off. ‘It’s nothing