A Week With Ray Summers

Three

It was easy to convince myself the day couldn't get any worse. But unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

After we shook off the paparazzi car, we didn't talk for the rest of the way there. It was only a few more miles in the car, but it seemed to take forever. Ray put me on edge in a way I'd never experienced before. It felt the way it does when you walk past a gang of teenagers, when they're laughing and you're paranoid it's at you. It makes you feel scared for reasons unknown, but also slightly wary that you might have done something embarrassing like tuck your skirt in your knickers. Being with Ray that day was like that, except she wasn't laughing. And it was ten times more intimidating. She seemed angry, distracted as she smoked her cigarette with aggressive puffs. I kept thinking about what she'd said. That she'd never signed up for this. Did she mean the magazine or everything that came with her fame, I wondered.

But I didn't understand why she had to take it out on me. On Emma and Ed. We'd been perfectly civil to her. It made me angry the way she was treating us. And I hated the way she consumed all other thoughts. When I was thinking about Ray that day, it was like there was no room for anything else. I wasn't thinking of the interview, or writing, or of Jamie like I normally did during the day. It was like she was pushing everything in my mind aside. There is no room for other people with girls like Ray. They demand your undivided attention. And, to my annoyance, I wanted to know so much about her. I had so many questions. I wanted to know how someone can reinvent themselves so completely, to the point where they barely recognise themselves in the mirror. I wanted to know why she was so angry. I wanted to know why she seemed to hate me so much.

Fortunately, it's my job to ask questions.

"Come on then," she said tiredly, as she parked in the driveway of her house. It wasn't as big as I'd expected, but it was still almost triple the size of my own. My feet crunched on the stone driveway as I headed up to the big brick house. The windows were quite small at the front, with white window frames and flower boxes at the bottom of each bottom floor window. Pink and red pansies bloomed in the boxes, making the house pretty. It made me smile. It made me think of the Ray I'd met on the street.

I waited for Ray on the doorstep, but she wasn't planning on using the front door. Silently, she led me through the gate at the side of the house. I could see as we walked through to the garden that it was guarded by lots of lofty trees and a tall wooden fence. There was a rectangular pool in the centre of the garden, and a Jacuzzi next to it, which spoilt the beautiful landscape. Why would anyone need a swimming pool in England? It rains all the bloody time I thought. But I didn't dare mention it.

Ray was already clip clopping up to a veranda that adjoined to the house, shaded by the balcony above it. There were two recliners with floral patterned cushions and an elegant black garden table with chairs. Ray sat down with a sigh at the table and lit another cigarette. She hadn't bothered to hand my lighter back.

"So, have you got some questions or something?" she said, putting her feet up on the table. I sat opposite her, frowning in annoyance and opened up my laptop.

"I assume you know how this works. Gordon went over it all yesterday, right?"

Ray didn't reply, dragging on her cigarette.

"I asked you a question," I said, trying to keep calm.

"I heard," Ray said. I took a deep breath, trying not to say something I'd regret.

"I'll interview you, and then we'll do a tour of the house, OK?" I said. Ray didn't reply. So I said nothing either. I snapped open my laptop, pushing the on button crossly. Ray barely blinked an eye. I decided to get it over and done with as soon as possible. Then I could go home, have a glass of wine with Jamie, perhaps watch a movie. It must be bad I thought it's not even midday and you're already pining for home.