Scripted Reality Read online

  A sudden coldness creeps over me, sending shivers down my spine as his name flashes before me. It’s Donovan:

  Flight no BA3212 arriving Glasgow International @3.20pm today.

  I stare at my phone. What the . . . ? So, just like that, he expects me to drop everything and go running and pick him up from the airport? Of course he does, and I’ll go because we have things to discuss. No contact for all this time and, suddenly, this. Something is going on. I just need to find out what. I should call Jonathon and let him know Donovan will be back in the country today.

  For the last twelve weeks, all Jonathon has wanted to do is drag his sorry arse back to the UK to face up to what he’s done. He was even prepared to fly out and get him himself.

  I hope I find the strength to deal with Donovan today.

  Today’s not a bad day. So far, no panic attacks, no tears, and I’ve managed to get myself out of bed, so I’m off to a good start. With another glance in the mirror, I’ll do. What’s the point in even trying to make myself look better? He needs to see what he’s done to me. See how I’ve dealt with the stress he’s caused. My face is thin and pale. I need some sunshine. That thought is funny, because L.A. has lovely sunshine and warm temperatures. I’m sure he’ll look all healthy with a tan while I just look ill.

  I look around the room and, even though all my belongings are here, it doesn’t feel like me. With a shake of my head, I leave the comfort of my newly appointed bedroom and slowly make my way along the hallway and down the stairs. As I reach the bottom stair, there’s a loud knock at the front door. The only people who have the code to the main gates are my dad, my brother, and Julie. I freeze, remembering. They’re back. How could I forget they would be home today from their holiday?

  Dad and Callum.

  Oh, no. My heart is racing in my chest and there’s a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I cover my mouth and try taking a deep breath, because I think I’m about to be sick.

  I look down at my clothes, which are hanging from me because I’ve lost so much weight. I don’t need to stand on the scales to see the numbers; it’s completely visible for all to see. I suppose that’s one of the reasons I’ve been putting Julie off as well.

  Dad and Callum will know something is wrong as soon as they see me. What can I tell them? Do I lie or tell them the truth?

  The front door opens and a cool breeze fills the hallway. Callum has used his key. He does always knock before coming in, so I know it’s him. They both enter, tanned and refreshed from their golfing holiday. They’ve been in the South of France for the last three weeks, mixing business with pleasure. Dad’s smile instantly changes as he takes in my appearance. I drop my head in shame and I know without a shadow of a doubt that my tears aren’t far away.

  I’ve hidden this for so long, but I know, I just know deep down I can’t hide it any longer. They’re going to be angry with me.

  “Bloody hell, sis. Are you ill?” Callum is by my side, taking my arm in his and ushering me into my front sitting room. I can hear my dad’s footsteps following closely behind us and I’ve been dreading this moment because I know I won’t be able to keep this from either of them. I’m glad Callum is holding me because, truthfully, I don’t think I’d still be on my feet if it wasn’t for him. The room is spinning and my head hurts.

  He sits me down on the sofa and sits beside me, wrapping his warm, strong arms around my cold body. “Ella, please. You have to tell us what’s wrong.”

  “Sweetheart.” Dad’s voice is gentle. I lift my head, and when I see the look of concern and sadness in his eyes, I crumble and my tears fall. He bends before me and Callum releases his hold as I fall into my dad’s strong arms. “Ella, you have to tell us what’s wrong. I’m imagining all sorts of things and none of them are pretty.”

  With a sniffle and a deep breath, I wipe my eyes. “No, I’m not ill. Although that might be better than what I have to tell you.”

  My dad and brother exchange concerned glances. “Ella . . . whatever it is can’t be that bad.”

  “Donovan has fucked up.”

  “There’s a surprise,” Callum says, and I can hear his sarcasm. He’s never been Donovan’s biggest fan. I’ve never really understood why, to be honest, until recently. Callum obviously saw something in Donovan that I couldn’t. I’m sure this will be the moment he says, ‘I told you so.’

  “I don’t know how he’s managed it, really I don’t, but Jonathon and my bank manager are looking into everything for me.”

  “What has he done?” Dad’s tone changes from sweet and caring to demanding.

  Tears roll slowly down my face. You would think I wouldn’t have many of these damn things left to fall, but the tears keep coming. “He’s re-mortgaged my house and cars and withdrawn everything from my bank accounts.”

  “You mean you have nothing left?” Callum asks the question. I turn to him, close my eyes and nod.

  “Sweetheart.” I open my tear-filled eyes and turn back to my dad. “When did you find this out?”

  “A little over twelve weeks ago when his car was repossessed,” I mutter. I know he’s going to be mad. I’ve managed to avoid this conversation with them because I used every excuse in the book not to go to events with them before they went on holiday.

  Dad’s nostrils flare and his face reddens. “Fucking hell, Ella. Why didn’t you come to me straight away? Three bloody months!”

  “I don’t know. Embarrassment. Maybe.”

  “Ella, Ella. What am I going to do with you? What’s Jonathon saying? What about Donovan? What’s he got to say for himself?”

  I’m in two minds about telling Dad about Donovan’s text message, because if I know my dad as well as I think I do, he’ll be at the airport to meet him. And it won’t be a pleasant meeting. I have a vision in my head of my dad pinning Donovan up against a wall before he thumps him one, and I wouldn’t blame him. “I’ve tried to call him several times, but he’s not answering.”

  “Ella, sweetheart, you’ll have to give me all the information you have. I’ll deal with this for you now because I don’t want my daughter ill. Callum, go and make your sister something to eat. Even a bit of toast.”

  I bow my head in shame. “I’ve not been shopping.”

  “Are you telling me you’ve no food in this house?”

  “Yes.”

  “No wonder you look ill. This is ridiculous. Wait until I get my hands on Donovan. I’ll bloody kill him, or I’ll make this common knowledge and he’ll never work a day again. For anyone.” Dad’s voice is venomous. “I’m taking you out for something to eat. Callum is going to go shopping for you. Then I’m treating you to a hair cut or some other pampering session while I go and meet with Jonathon and see what I have to do to make this mess go away. Not for Donovan, for you. Then I’ll deal with him at a later date. Do I make myself clear?”

  I look at Callum. He’s got a sad smile on his face but he nods in agreement with our dad. I’m not sure I’m in the right state of mind to be going out, but when my dad makes up his mind on something, there’s no arguing with him. “Thank you,” I say, turning back to face him.

  “You never need to thank me. I’m protecting my own and your mother would be turning in her grave at what’s going on. She would be so upset if she could see you now. Jesus, Ella. I thought I was going to lose you. I really thought you were seriously ill. This is fixable. We’ll get you through this. But I am mad with myself for not picking up on the signs that something was wrong in the weeks before we went on holiday. And then the constant rumours in the gossip columns the last few weeks about you and him. I’m not much of a father, am I? I should have been here for you.” I throw my arms around him, resting my chin on his shoulder and allow my tears to fall. I feel Callum’s hands on my back, rubbing it gently, trying to comfort me.

  “I’m so sorry. This isn’t your fault.”

  I’ve been so stupid in keeping this to myself.

  After a few minutes, my tears stop.

 
“Right, let’s go and get you fed,” Dad says, standing and holding his hand out to me. “Maybe even get you some clothes that fit you.”

  “I love you,” I say, taking his hand.

  “I know you do and I love you, you crazy, crazy girl. Don’t you ever forget it.”

  This is just what I needed; time away from the house. Away from all my problems. Callum has gone back to my house with shopping and Dad has gone to Jonathon’s office. No doubt he’ll give him a piece of his mind for not telling him what’s been going on. We spoke at great length when we went for something to eat. I told him I didn’t want to lose my house if it could be avoided. The other stuff, cars, I’m not too bothered about. But my house holds lots of special memories for me.

  My mum came with me to view it and we both fell in love with it the minute we stepped inside. It was also an added bonus that it was only a ten-minute drive away from her and my dad. We’ve all spent many a Christmas around my dining table, laughing and joking before moving to my front room to relax with a glass of wine, watching the flames dance in the log fire.

  Yes, I know at the end of the day it’s only a house, but it’s one I see me staying in all my life. I had the house before Donovan and I got together and hopefully, with my dad’s help, I’ll still have it after we go our separate ways because I know that’s what has to be done.

  I sit in front of the mirror and my usual hairdresser is huffing and puffing about the condition of my hair, and I really don’t blame her. It’s been twelve weeks since I was last here but the stress of these last few weeks has certainly played havoc with my hair. It’s a mess, much like the rest of me.

  “Okay, I can do something with this, but you need to get back to regular appointments. I can tell you’re stressed about something, but it’s not my place to question you. I’m sure you get enough of that when you walk down the street.” I smile at her reflection. “Now, it’s my job to not only make you look better, but feel better. Then, once we have your hair done, I’ll get one of the other girls to do your nails.”

  When I sat down, she asked what I wanted done with my hair. I told her, “Do what you like.” She seemed surprised but told me she wouldn’t do anything too drastic. She chats away as she puts the colour on my hair. The thing about coming here is, I always feel normal. Strange, I know, but all the staff just see me as a regular client. They don’t fuss around me and, when you live your life in the public eye, feeling normal is good.

  I’m at the furthest work station from the entrance, but I have a clear view of the salon and the front door. The door opens and in comes a girl, I think in her late teens. She scans the salon as she speaks to the lady at the reception desk. She looks in my direction and I look away, not wanting her to recognise me, but I think it’s too late. I catch the excitement on her face in the mirror before me.

  The stylist hands me a few magazines and a cup of tea when she finishes putting the colour on. I enjoy this time when I get to sit and relax with my own thoughts. Today, though, I’m trying hard not to think about the small fact that, in only a few hours, I’ll be seeing Donovan.

  Instead of sitting in the hairdressers, I should be at home packing his belongings so he can leave my house. I don’t want him there. I don’t want him in my life now. Not in any capacity. Everything seems so much clearer now after talking to my dad and Callum, even though my brother was just agreeing with everything Dad said.

  My dad, the great Scottish actor Archie McGregor, but to me, he’s just my dad. The only man in the world I’ve truly looked up too. My mum always said I would follow in my father’s footsteps, and she was right. I’m so glad she got to see some of my accomplishments before she was so cruelly taken from us. She died three years ago after a really long and brave battle with cancer. Right up to the very end, she was still fundraising and raising awareness of the disease that now affects one-in-five people.

  Sheena McGregor was an inspirational woman. A wife, a mother, and then her career and all her charity work. She was a TV presenter and, as much as she loved her job, her family was and remained the most important part of her life right up to the end.

  “You’re her. You really are Ella McGregor” The young girl that entered the salon a few minutes ago is standing at my side, staring at me. She digs into her pocket. “Can I get a picture with you?” My stylist quickly comes to my rescue as the girl takes her phone from her pocket.

  “No you don’t,” my stylist says, pulling her phone from her hand. “All my clients deserve privacy in the salon and Miss McGregor is no different.”

  “I’m s . . . sorry,” she stutters. “I didn’t mean any harm. It’s just I love you and love everything you’ve starred in.”

  “Thank you. No harm done,” I say softly. The stylist ushers her away, telling her she’ll return her phone when she’s leaving the salon. That seems a bit harsh, but then again, I don’t want to open tomorrow’s papers and see me on one of the pages with these foil papers on my head and no make-up on.

  I flick through the magazines, not reading or paying attention to any of the articles until one catches my eye. Donovan with a very relaxed and refreshed Katherine Hunter; the American actress who has spent a lot of time undergoing counselling. She’s been out of the spotlight now for well over a year. No new movies, nothing. In the picture, they look very cosy in some restaurant. I try to dismiss the picture the same way I’ve dismissed all the others I’ve seen in recent weeks, but there is something different about this one.

  It’s the sparkle in her eyes as she looks at him. Something about how close they appear to be. Everything about this picture tells me they’re a couple. My eyes drift to the article that accompanies the picture. There’s nothing factual in the article. It appears to be someone giving their opinions on the pair and it doesn’t tell me who has written it.

  Rumours about Katherine Hunter’s health have been in full swing lately. She’s an actress who has lived her life in the public eye for so long. I’m sure she’s hoping her latest stint in hospital undergoing counselling will be her last.

  Over the years, her life has been very publicly documented, ever since she wrongly accused Mr Alexander Mathews of a crime he didn’t commit. That incident resulted in her finally seeking help for a traumatic event that happened in her childhood.

  Now, though, she is not only looking better, according to our sources, her career might be about to take off again with the help and support of Donovan Bell. But the question on everyone’s lips is; how close are Mr Bell and Miss Hunter? And where does that leave the very beautiful and bonny Ella McGregor?

  I’m sure we will all find out in due course.

  Bloody hell. I stare at the page before me. While I’m here trying to sort out a mess he has caused, he’s getting up close and personal with Katherine Hunter. Yes, it hurts seeing him with ‘clients’, but now I know better. When I start to feel upset, I think about all the pain he’s caused me.

  Why is he coming here today? After all this time. What is it he wants? I’m hoping I can put some sort of closure between us and have him out of my life once and for all once my dad and Johnathon sort things out. There’s been talk about criminal proceedings against Donovan because what he’s done is illegal.

  But in all fairness, I don’t know what I want to do about that. For one, it would cost me to start the ball rolling, and I know my dad would be more than happy to help me out financially, but I don’t want to rely on him. I need to get back on my feet. Be able to support myself again.

  “Okay, Ella. Let’s get this colour washed off and then I can give you a new look,” the stylist says.

  It’s amazing what getting your hair done can do. A good hairdresser is worth her weight in gold when she can turn how you feel around, and mine has certainly done that. My light brown hair no longer looks or feels lifeless because of all the blonde highlights through it, and a good two inches at least has been cut off. So, courtesy of my dad, I’ve had my hair and my nails done and even bought a few new clothes that fit
me instead of hanging on me like a sack of spuds.

  Now I stand dressed in jeans, a nice top, and a pair of black heels, feeling almost human, at the arrivals of Glasgow International Airport. I’m slightly uneasy at the thought of seeing Donovan walk through those doors. I’ve already checked and double checked and his flight landed about thirty minutes ago, so any minute now, he’ll be here.

  As I drove here, I tried to think of what I would say to him, but nothing came to me. I have questions that need to be asked, but I’m not sure I’m ready for the answers. I already know he’ll try and fob me off and I’m sure the first thing he’ll say to me is, ‘I’ve missed you and I love you.’

  Those are not the words he’ll hear from me.

  People start coming through the doors and I move from one foot to the other as I wait. My heart is racing. I run my fingers through my hair.

  “Shit!”

  Where the hell is Donovan? I’m confused. He is not who I expected to see.

  He smiles at me briefly and then looks over his shoulder to see what I’m staring at. When no one else comes through the doors, he turns back to me and shrugs his shoulders.

  Donovan Bell is nowhere to be seen and I swear to God, all I want to do now is kill that bloody man.

  Instead, I’m standing face-to-face with one of Donovan’s best friends.

  CONNOR ANDREWS.

  The last person I thought I would be seeing today. I take a deep breath, partially relieved that I don’t have to deal with Donovan after all. I was so unsure how I would react to seeing him. Part of me thinks he would’ve said something sweet and I would’ve melted into his arms, forgetting about everything he’s put me through. The other part thinks I might’ve caused a scene here in the airport as I mouthed off at him, telling him exactly what I think of what he’s done.

  My eyes scan Connor’s body, taking him in. It’s been a few months since I last saw him, but he still looks as perfect as ever. From the way his dark hair sits to the way his jeans hang low on his hips. My eyes pause for a brief moment on the hem of his white t-shirt because I happen to know that what is underneath it is as perfect as the rest of the man before me. From looking at him, you’d think he hadn’t just spent hours sitting on a plane.