I Knew You Were Trouble

Chapter Seven

Fifteen minutes later, I’m yawning again, the jet lag in my veins. I struggle to keep my eyes open. The hotel lobby is miniscule, with lime-green walls, a cheap-looking velvet sofa and a neon fish tank in one corner.

When he enters, Aidan is wearing a black cap worn low. He keeps his head down. ‘We need to move now before anyone clocks me,’ he says.

I’m surprised when he holds the door open for me and I slink outside, purposefully paying him no attention. The entrance to the club is on a narrow road, so as I walk next to him, we’re quickly able to disappear into shadow.

‘Bodhi’s gonna have my balls for this,’ he breathes. He takes out his phone, thumb swiping the screen. ‘I’m gonna message him. So he knows I haven’t been kidnapped.’

‘This isn’t going to help my case with Ziggy, you know.’

‘I can handle Zig. He’ll be fine with it.’

‘Do you know which way to go?’ I ask.

‘I checked the map, it’s not far from here,’ he says.

I swallow. I’m not sure I’ve done the right thing by keeping my hidden camera on. Maybe I should have removed it from my lapel.

‘Did you get to see much of the show?’ he asks.

I nod. ‘We stayed until the end. Duncan and I were both filming a lot of the time.’

‘So what did you think? Did you like it?’

I was surprised at how much I’d enjoyed it, watching five young guys sing and dance their way energetically around the stage, all pyrotechnics, back-flips, sweat and naked chests. ‘It was loud. I think I knew it would be, but… wow, some of those girls have a real set of lungs on them.’

I cringe at my own words. A smile touches Aidan’s lips, hands going back into his pockets. ‘Wait till we get to America. Those girls will burst your ear drums.’

‘Do you ever get used to it?’

He shrugs. ‘It’s like white noise for me now. How long have you and Duncan been working together?’

‘About three and a half years. He was the only one who agreed to come and work for no money. At least now I can pay him.’

‘How did you guys meet?’

I’m hardly going to reveal to Aidan McArthur how I met Duncan. Or what happened after that. ‘I needed a cameraman. A mutual friend put us in touch.’

‘You seemed joined at the hip. Did you get some decent footage?’

‘Some. Next time you do that thing where you huddle together before the show starts, I’d like to be underneath.’

His eyes flash. ‘Oh, would you? Underneath?’

‘With a camera, of course. What do you say to one another? Before a show?’

His lips twist. ‘Maybe you’ll have to get underneath to find out.’

We’ve turned a corner to a well-lit main street. I look up to find his eyes are still dancing in the shadows caused by flashing neon light. In that moment, neither of us speaks and warm tingles zing down my spine. I check myself, remembering I’m a professional, and not the sort of woman to get caught up in any hysteria.

Up ahead, the night sky glows with the luminous lights of Shibuya.

‘Am I allowed to know how everyone reacted?’ I ask. ‘To the interview idea.’

‘Miller’s reluctant to do it.’

‘Why do you think that is?’

He shrugs. He checks his watch. I wonder if he regrets coming out with me. ‘All part of his bad-boy persona. Wouldn’t want to harm his image.’

‘Do you think I can talk him round?’

Aidan checks his watch again, quickening his pace. I struggle to keep up.

‘Depends on how persuasive you wanna be. I looked up your dad’s movies by the way. I’d seen some of them.’

Aidan seems talkative, yet any mention of my father usually sends me into an emotional spiral. He is officially classed as my least favourite topic of conversation.

‘How old were you when your parents split?’ Aidan asks when I don’t comment.

I clear my throat, my voice sounding strangled when I speak. ‘He walked out when I was eight. He and my mother were having a screaming match, which wasn’t uncommon. I was in my room. Then I heard the front door slam and that was it. He didn’t even say goodbye. I didn’t see him for another three years after that and they divorced in that time. He married someone else almost immediately.’

‘How often do you see him now?’

‘I saw him seven months ago. Before that it had been ten years. He sends me emails now and then. I think he wants us to have a better relationship but… I don’t know, I can’t forgive him. I’m better off alone.’

‘Independent type.’

‘Not really. I’m happy with my situation.’

I yawn. I need my bed. The urban landscape opens out into a chorus of neon light, an array of pinks and reds and yellows. I’m conscious of the people who are still around after midnight, some of them now looking our way.

‘This is it, up here, I think,’ Aidan says. ‘The scramble junction.’

On arrival, we take in the extraordinary sight, taking photographs on our phones. He asks me to take one of him on his own, handing me his handset.

‘For the ol’ social media, you know. People moan at me for never posting anything.’

He stands with his legs slightly apart, the light rising up from the ground behind him in dramatic fashion, turning his cap around. Hands in his pockets, he produces a world-class smolder. I take several shots, changing my position each time. He’s done this before. I feel the atmosphere change when nearby, a couple of girls shriek in our direction. Aidan smiles politely, agreeing to several photographs with the girls when they request it. I take their phones and snap some less professional-looking images.

I glance around nervously. It may be late, but Aidan’s presence is creating a stir, with several people now recognising who he is.

‘Should we move?’ I ask, once we’ve reached the other side of the junction.

He’s looking at his phone. ‘Let’s just cross back over.’

We wait for the lights to change, someone asking for Aidan’s autograph. She snaps a selfie. More and more people are lingering around him.

As we cross over, he’s checking his phone again. He receives a phone call and walks ahead of me.

We cross back to our starting position. Moments later I hear a car horn blast out and a people carrier screeches to a halt, practically on the pavement.

Within a second Bodhi is out of the passenger seat, looking menacing.

‘Alright, Bode,’ Aidan says.

I hear a clunk, and the side door is yanked open. I catch a flash of Ziggy’s bleached-blonde hair.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Ziggy barks at Aidan.

‘Lexi here invited me out for a nighttime stroll,’ Aidan states simply with a shrug. ‘You know, to talk about the documentary.’

My stomach rolls over as I realise he did this on purpose. He did this to make me look bad. It was a set-up from the start.

When Ziggy whirls around, I can already feel his wrath. His eyes are ablaze, the flashing neon lights emphasising the lines on his forehead. ‘What the hell did I say to you?’ he starts yelling, arms flailing on the fringes of the world’s most famous pedestrian crossing, because the man seems to have zero filter. ‘Literally, twenty minutes ago, what did I say to you? I said don’t come here and rock the fucking apple cart! Security of those five lads is paramount! Why do you think we have the bodyguards? I told you, this morning, didn’t I, not to fucking wander off with any of them! I don’t care how much Silverpix is paying you, you abide by my rules! Don’t mess with the talent! Just do your job and keep out of the way!’

The more he yells, the more I can feel the mortification creeping up from the base of my neck. Over Ziggy’s shoulder I can see Aidan’s glee. He raises his eyebrows in my direction, sticking his tongue into his cheek, revelling in his victory over me. A victory that seems absolute, because Ziggy is still screaming at me, and I’m stunned into silence. I can’t believe I just fell for Aidan McArthur’s ploy to undermine me.

‘He set me up!’ I shout back at Ziggy, eventually finding my voice. ‘He did this on purpose! He was the one who invited me out, yet again!’

Ziggy’s still shouting. I block it out. Behind him, Aidan moves his fingers up and down, his hand in the shape of a mouth. An interested crowd is gathering, some people filming on their phones. I watch as Aidan fist-bumps Bodhi and climbs into the front seat of the people carrier.

‘Are we clear?’ Ziggy shouts in my direction, and I realise I didn’t catch the last part of whatever he said. ‘Are we clear?’ he roars when I don’t reply, and I frantically nod my head.

‘Very clear,’ I say.

Ziggy inhales, as though calming himself down. ‘Right, get in the car,’ he says.

‘I’ll make my own way back, thanks,’ I breathe, holding back tears.

‘Suit yourself,’ Ziggy snaps, and before I can even get to grips with my public shaming, he climbs back into the people carrier and the sliding door slams closed. The engine roars, the vehicle screeching off under the bright neon lights.

I’m left alone on a Tokyo street, surrounded by a small crowd of curious Japanese strangers with their phones out, stunned and utterly humiliated.