I Knew You Were Trouble

Chapter Three

Tokyo, Japan

Touching down at Narita Airport, I feel groggy. I emerge into the arrivals hall with Duncan and Meredith and three luggage trolleys to find a thickset, bald-headed man in a suit holding up a placard with my name on.

‘Hi, I’m Lexi,’ I say, shaking his hand, astonished by the sheer force of his grip.

‘Bodhi Callaghan,’ he says in an American accent, still holding onto my hand. ‘Welcome to Tokyo.’ He grins at Meredith, and I glimpse a gold tooth. ‘Good to have you back with us, Mer.’

‘Bodhi is head of transportation and security for Rebel Heart,’ Meredith says, giving Bodhi a hug around his waist. ‘Has been almost since the beginning, haven’t you, Bode?’

‘Since I gave up wrestling,’ he says. ‘You know, I like to keep in the background,’ he adds sheepishly. ‘Unless I’m needed.’

‘You and me both,’ I say with a smile. ‘This is Duncan, my cameraman.’

Duncan and Bodhi shake hands.

Bodhi takes control of one of the trolleys from Meredith. ‘It’s about an hour’s drive to the hotel, though it’s rush hour, so it might take longer. We’ll be there by eight p.m. Did y’all sleep on the plane?’

The champagne did a good job of knocking me out. In the end, all three of us slept most of the way.

I stare out of the car window in glazed wonderment for the majority of the journey. The temperature gauge on the dashboard says it’s eighteen degrees. Bodhi drives us to the Park Hyatt in Shinjuku, and I recognise the hotel from Lost in Translation , one of my favourite movies, set in Japan. Entering the hotel lobby, carrying some of our cases, Duncan and I look at one another and burst into fits of giggles.

Meredith smiles. ‘What is it? What’s funny?’

I grin. ‘We’re just more used to sleeping in tents.’

‘Aye, freezing our nuts off and cooking breakfast on a portable gas stove,’ Duncan adds. ‘Jesus Christ, look at this place, Lex. I feel the need to give you a high five.’ Duncan high-fives me.

‘Don’t thank me yet.’

‘Why’d the last guy get fired from this gig?’ he asks.

Meredith gives a shrug. ‘Among other reasons, let’s just say he and the boys weren’t so keen on one another.’

‘Hear that, Lex? You gotta get on with the lads. You should send him a thank you note. I could coorie doon here alright.’

I offer him a sardonic smile.

Meredith giggles at Duncan. ‘What does that even mean?’ she asks.

‘Means like, settle in, snuggle up, you know.’

‘Here are your keys, y’all,’ Bodhi says, returning from the reception desk and passing out access cards. ‘Your rooms are close to one another on the forty-second floor. I’ve asked for your kit to be stored overnight. Ziggy says he’ll make full intros in the morning.’

‘Ziggy is the band’s manager, correct?’ I ask.

‘Yep, that’s him. Doubling up as tour manager. Keeps everybody in check. He’s British, like you.’

‘Can be a little spiky,’ Meredith adds through gritted teeth. ‘He oversees the tour management team, basically everybody. Calls all the shots.’

‘What now?’ I ask. ‘We turn in?’

‘The boys are out at a club in Shibuya,’ Bodhi says. ‘So, I need to head out. It’s a short drive from here. If you wanna freshen up, I can take you over there.’

I look to Duncan and Meredith. ‘Well, I’m not tired,’ I shrug, trying to work out in my head the time in London.

‘I heard Japanese whisky’s not too bad, like.’ Duncan smiles. ‘Or we can stay here for a drink?’

‘I don’t know about you, I want to see the Shibuya Crossing. If they kick us out, I’m sure we can find our own entertainment.’

It isn’t at all what I’m used to, but for some reason I’m fizzing with excitement.

‘This is a club?’ I ask as we ride another high-rise elevator with floor-level lighting.

At the hotel, Bodhi sent both me and Duncan back upstairs to change our footwear. Now I’m wearing a pair of electric-blue pencil heels, skinny jeans and a tunic; Duncan is in a black shirt and washed-out jeans, having changed out of his trainers. I’ve put a lick of mascara and lipstick on. Glancing across at Meredith, it’s apparent to me that I haven’t put nearly enough make-up on.

‘We didn’t talk about Aidan McArthur on the plane,’ Meredith reminds me.

‘Aidan, right. Is he the British one?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘What does he look like again?’

My stomach rolls as the lift draws to a halt. The doors open. The man who stands waiting outside the lift is six foot two with broad shoulders, hair so dark it borders on black, falling into his eyes. He wears baggy combat trousers, high-tops and a sleeveless hooded top, his sculpted arms left bare. He’s chewing gum, engrossed in his phone, his thumb swiping over the screen. All around sounds a thumping beat.

‘He looks like that,’ Meredith squeaks in surprise.

‘Wait, what?’

Bodhi grins. ‘Hey, Aidan.’

The man looks up. I take in the rest of his face. Aidan McArthur has certainly matured since the photograph I saw of him on the plane. His eyebrows are full and dark, in this light his eyes a striking shade of pale blue-grey. His jawline is well-defined, and he wears a silver chain around his neck. I can’t help but stare, the idea of standing so close to a famous person so utterly unnerving.

‘Bode, where the hell have you been?’ Aidan says, pulling up his black hood, his accent familiar and English. ‘I wanna go back to the hotel.’

As we file out of the lift I force my eyes down, my insides temporarily turning to sludge. All the members of Rebel Heart are at least five or six years younger than me, in their early to mid-twenties, and categorically not within flirting distance of twenty-nine.

‘I only just got here,’ Bodhi argues to Aidan. ‘Been on transport duty. This is your new documentary crew by the way.’

I turn back around, in time to catch Aidan’s expression as it sours. I know disdain when I see it.

‘Right,’ he murmurs, his gaze barely acknowledging our existence.

‘I’m Lexi,’ I say, holding out my hand towards him. ‘This is my cameraman, Duncan.’

He steps forward, his palm warm, his grip pleasant yet firm. He produces a tight-lipped smile. ‘Yeah, well, let’s see how long you last.’

‘Excuse me?’

He backs off again. ‘We managed to see off the last guy pretty quick. Maybe if we get rid of you too then we won’t even have to make this dumb documentary.’

I open my mouth to speak but Aidan has shifted his attention to Meredith. ‘It’s you again,’ he continues. ‘I thought they fired you as well.’

‘No, I’m back now,’ Meredith says, forcing a smile. ‘Working with Lexi this time.’

‘What was your name again?’

‘Meredith,’ she reminds him.

‘Oh yeah, I remember,’ he says. ‘Can we go now, Bode?’

‘Just let me introduce our guests to Ziggy, okay? Gimme a minute.’

Aidan gets into the lift. ‘Fine, there’s a small roof terrace two floors up. I’ll be up there when you’re ready. Come get me.’

I watch as he hits the button, his attention going back to his phone before the lift doors close.

Duncan leans down and whispers in my ear, ‘This could get interesting.’

‘So that was Aidan McArthur,’ Meredith shouts back to me as I follow Bodhi into the main area of the club.

The room opens out, wall-to-wall windows on three sides, a spectacular view of Shibuya and Tokyo by night, the bright neon lights below making everything pulse and glow. It’s breathtaking. On the fourth wall is the bar, lit up red from behind, the colour matching the sofas and chairs all around. I try to absorb it all. It quickly becomes apparent that the room is filled with majority females, most of them Japanese, all of them in short, tight dresses and fuck-me heels.

I follow Meredith through the crowd, Duncan at my back. The music throbs. Peering through the sea of bodies, I glimpse who I think is Caleb Whitlock, relaxed on one of the sofas, his ankle resting on his opposite knee. I can’t see his face as his lips are locked with those of a Japanese girl cuddled up next to him to his left, her hand stroking his thigh. A moment later, he lifts his head, turns, and starts necking the girl on his other side, virtually a cardboard cutout of her companion, except her dress is even lower cut.

I look away, heat at my neck, only to find my gaze settling on another member of the band, Danny Miller. Miller is surrounded by three Japanese females. His fingers have drifted up the skirt of the girl in his lap. The other two are pawing at him, but look put out by his lack of attention.

My eyes sweep over the rest of the room. Jean-Baptiste, the French band member known as J.B., is up on a platform, talking to a Western-looking girl. Just when I think it’s safe to study his face, the girl leans forward, puts her hands on his cheeks and draws him in for a long, predatory kiss.

I glance back at Duncan, who’s observed everything I have. ‘It’s not quite migrants crossing the channel in boats, is it?’ I shout over the din.

‘We’re not in Kansas anymore,’ is his reply.

I don’t have time to respond as I turn and find myself being introduced to Ziggy, the band’s manager. In his fifties, I guess, he is squat with a pot belly, wearing a suit jacket over a white Rebel Heart tour T-shirt, receding, bleached-blonde hair slicked back.

‘Zig! This is Lexi Hart,’ Bodhi shouts over the din.

‘You got ’ere quick,’ Ziggy exclaims in an East London accent. ‘I was only told you was coming this morning.’

I take his statement as a positive thing, though his tone of voice suggests otherwise. ‘It’s great to meet you,’ I say. ‘Thanks for having us. This is my cameraman, Duncan Gray.’

‘Alright,’ Duncan says, shaking Ziggy by the hand.

‘A little bird tells me you’re not half bad at this documentary business. Well, get yourselves a drink then. Welcome to the tour. Let’s talk tomorrow when you meet the band.’

‘We met Aidan by the lift,’ Meredith pipes up.

‘No bloody pleasing that one,’ Ziggy retorts, rolling his eyes. ‘Permanently on another planet. What was your name again?’

He’s talking to Meredith. I know that, despite it not being visible under the lights of the bar, she’s blushing again. ‘Meredith,’ she says.

‘That’s right.’ Ziggy nods. ‘Thought they fired you as well.’

‘Still here,’ she counters limply.

I feel Duncan’s hand on my shoulder. ‘I’ll get us drinks,’ he says. ‘What you want?’

I order a cocktail, Meredith nodding at Duncan, telling him she’ll have the same. Beside us, Ziggy has lapsed into conversation with Bodhi.

I lean closer to Meredith’s ear. ‘Before, back at the hotel,’ I shout, ‘you said the previous director and the band members, they didn’t really get along. Was it because they didn’t want a documentary filmed about them?’

Meredith nods vigorously. ‘They were completely uncooperative. When the camera started rolling, they’d fool around. They don’t want the Silverpix documentary, not at all. But Silverpix is a major tour sponsor. The record company has insisted the boys cooperate.’

I nod in understanding. So the project I’ve been drafted in to complete just became an uphill skirmish. When Duncan returns with our cocktails, I practically swallow my drink down in one.

‘I need some air,’ I shout towards Duncan. ‘Don’t leave without me.’

When the lift doors open, there’s a cool breeze. Stepping outside, I find the hum of the city’s life is all around, the light pollution turning the immediate sky a shade of fizzy orange. I crane my neck, checking how high the walls are, peering into the shadows before I realise I’m not alone.

Aidan McArthur is listening to music, AirPods in his ears, sat up on some kind of vent at the top of a shaft, his legs swinging freely, his gaze looking out across the vast urban landscape. I wish I had my camera. He looks wistful, perhaps even lonely.

‘Bar not appeal to you?’ he deadpans without looking my way, and I jump.

‘You scared me.’

‘I was here first. You’re the one creeping up on me,’ he says, getting to his feet and climbing down to my level. Up close, he feels even taller, meaning I have to raise my chin just to look him in the face. I remember visiting film sets as a little girl, and my father pointing out a lot of famous actors and actresses. I question why it was that I never felt lost for words back then.

‘I didn’t know there was a monopoly on the roof terrace,’ I say.

Aidan looks to his feet. ‘Yeah well, I’m not in the mood for people tonight.’

‘Not a people person?’

‘Not always. Not when I don’t have to be. What was your name again?’

‘You seem to have the memory of a fish.’

It was meant as a joke but it doesn’t appear to land well. ‘I meet a lot of people,’ he says. Before I can give my name, he looks me over, and adds, ‘So you’re the replacement.’

‘Were you hoping they wouldn’t send one?’

He cracks his knuckles. ‘Clearly, they didn’t get the message. You seem a lot younger than the last dude. Shorter, too.’

I ignore his last statement. ‘You mean the last guy, the one you hounded out?’

‘There was no hounding. He was incompetent. No wonder they fired him.’

‘He was probably just trying to do his job.’

He is standing closer to me now, a little too close, so that I almost have to crane my neck. His eyes are striking in the night air. My gaze drops to his lips. I hold my ground.

‘No offence, but we don’t want you here,’ Aidan says in a low tone. ‘So don’t expect an easy ride.’

I straighten my back. He definitely isn’t timid, but I suppose that’s what comes of having millions of strangers fawning over you from all corners of the globe. ‘I won’t pack my bags,’ I say.

Thankfully, the lift doors open and Bodhi emerges. ‘Aidan!’ he hollers.

‘I’m here,’ he says, looking up. Then he lowers his chin again until I can feel the heat of his stare. In this light, his eyes are azure blue, like nothing I’ve ever seen on a person. ‘One week with Rebel Heart,’ he says, with zero trace of any humour, ‘and you’ll be begging us to pack them for you.’

I swallow and watch him walk towards Bodhi. So far, this project has the word ‘disaster’ written all over it. When the lift doors close and I am alone again, I rub my eyes and hug my waist, wishing I’d read Aidan McArthur’s background on the plane.

One thing I know for certain: this guy is trouble.