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Viewing Note: This story should be viewed with the Edwardian Script ITC font installed on your Windows platform in the c:/Windows/Fonts directory. Microsoft Word installs this font automatically.

Editor's Note: Jenny Walker has graciously allowed me to represent her original story No Half Measures on BigCloset. Originally published on BigCloset Classic, this story segment was not migrated over to BigCloset TopShelf. This story segment first appeared on BigCloset Classic on Sunday, November 02, 2003 - 02:48 pm. Due to the original story presentation format being unsuitable and unwieldy for most portable devices (each part being over 1 meg in length), the story is now being broken up into single chapters for easier reading. The original Movements will be indicated on their respective chapters. The first chapter of each Movement will retain the original comments and read hits so as to preserve them for the author.

Sephrena Lynn Miller

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Chapter 37
 
 
"Jools, what are we going to do?"

Jools chewed her lip and paced up and down some. I recognised the look on her face: she was thinking hard. I didn't say anything more as I was loath to break her concentration. I just couldn't think straight and was hoping that she would know what to do like she always seemed to. After a few minutes she stopped pacing and sat down facing me.

"First things first — Rachel," she said purposefully.

"Yes… what did you say to her earlier?"

"I just took the message from her, told her not to tell a soul — including Peter. I said I would talk to her later about it."

"What do you think we should do?" I asked.

"What do you think?"

I thought for a moment and said, "I think we have to tell her the truth — add her to the list."

"You sure?"

"I think so. Why? Do you disagree?"

She shook her head. "No, I agree entirely, but the final decision is yours."

"We have to tell her," I thought aloud, "I think we can trust her and I don't think she will mention the note if we tell her the truth."

"I'll give her a call and ask her to come back over here. The sooner we tell her, the better."

I nodded and Jools went to make the call. It didn't take Rachel too long to journey across town from her student digs. I was trying to work out what I was going to say, but when she arrived I still hadn't finalised how I was going to do it.

"Hi Cara," Rachel said with a sympathetic smile.

"Hi Rachel," I said forcing a smile in return. "Have a seat."

"Are you OK?" she asked with obvious concern. "That note is a sickener. Some people will stoop so low and say such ridiculous things. It's really offensive, isn't it?"

Rachel was such a nice girl. I had become quite fond of her: she was cheerful, helpful and reliable. Jools had been wondering what she ever had done without her.

I took a deep breath. "Yes Rachel, it is offensive… but it is also true."

She looked at me as if unsure that she had heard me correctly. "What do you mean?"

I smiled. "I don't mean that I'm thinking of that sicko, or that I am a bitch… I hope I'm not… but the transsexual bit is correct."

Rachel frowned and shook her head. "I don't understand."

Jools interjected, "You do know what the word means, Rachel, don't you?"

She looked up with a bewildered expression on her face. "Yes, of course I know what it means. I have grown up watching Oprah and Jerry Springer."

Despite the awful situation, we laughed briefly. I continued, "Rachel, what I'm about to tell you is for your ears only. There are only a small number of people on this earth that know this. I want you to promise that you won't breathe a word of this to anyone."

"I promise; of course I won't."

"Even to Peter," I persisted.

She thought and nodded. "I understand. What is this all about?"

I paused and sighed. "Rachel, until last November, I was Nick Evans. As in Nicholas. I was an unsuccessful singer-songwriter. As you can see, a lot has changed since then."

"No way," she murmured with disbelief.

I went on to give her the potted version of my transformation and how it had all taken place. I then told her about the recent difficulties: Noel, the scare that Keith Wilkinson was going to expose me, the mystery of the missing yearbook, and finally the anonymous notes. She began to understand the full picture.

"My God," she exclaimed, "So who's behind this sick crap?"

Jools shook her head. "We don't know. We're going to have to do some serious thinking about that."

Rachel looked over at me and shook her head again. "Cara, I can hardly believe this. You're one of the most beautiful women I've ever met."

I laughed and felt myself flush a little. "Thanks, Rachel. I wasn't much of a man — perhaps I was meant to be a woman, who knows."

"Are you… happy? It's a hell of a change." Rachel was really trying to get her head around this.

I nodded. "Mostly yes, I am happy. I love being a woman and I wouldn't go back for all the money in the world."

Rachel thought some more. "Is this all for real? I've seen you in your bikini and I have to admit I was green with envy when I saw your figure."

I shrugged. "I've been on hormones for quite some time, and I'm sure you've realised — my breasts are surgically enhanced if you know what I mean."

"Hell of a surgeon," she murmured with a smile. Suddenly she jumped up, sat down beside me and gave me a hug.

"What's that for?" I asked with surprise.

"You've been through so much. Here I was thinking you were the luckiest woman in the world. I thought you had it so perfect. I didn't realise how much you've sacrificed to get where you are."

I shrugged again. "Sacrifice? Depends on how you look at it. Don't get me wrong — I know I am fortunate… but this current situation… it's scaring me."

"Who all knows?" Rachel asked.

Jools butted in. "Rachel, this is not a subject for discussion — not even with those who already know."

"I know," she protested, "I didn't mean to imply that. I was just curious."

Jools pondered. "Actually, this gives me an idea."

I looked at Jools with a degree of concern. "Jools, I get nervous when you get ideas. You had an idea and look how I ended up." I gestured to my appearance.

We laughed again. Jools shook her head. "Don't worry, I was just thinking that maybe we need a meeting of 'the list'."

"The list?" Rachel asked.

"All those who know," Jools continued. "It might help us in trying to see if there has been a leak about Cara's past."

"Who all does know?" Rachel asked again.

"The three of us, my father, my sister Claire, Jools' sister Beth, Jon, my old high school music teacher… don't ask, it's a long story… my aunts, uncles and two cousins."

Jools added, "Dr. Carson, your psychologist, your psychiatrist… and Keith Wilkinson, don't forget him."

I frowned and murmured, "I think there's someone else, but I can't remember."

Jools shook her head, "No, I think that's everyone."

Rachel looked over at me and then looked away again.

"You want to ask me something?" I probed gently.

She smiled and shook her head. "It's none of my business…"

I grinned and theatrically rolled my eyes. "I still have a penis. I'm guessing that's what you're wondering."

She blinked and then giggled. "Actually, no — that wasn't it."

I slapped my forehead and groaned with embarrassment. I looked up at Jools. "Your honour, can that be stricken from the record?"

Jools chuckled. "No, I'm going to have to let it stand."

I sighed and turned back to Rachel. "So what was it that you were going to ask?"

She began hesitantly, "I was just wondering… when you said that Jon knew… it really is none of my business, but the rest of us sort of gathered that something happened between you two when you took your trip together. We realised that whatever it was… it didn't work out. I always thought you two would be perfect together…"

I smiled ruefully. "Well now you can add the background that explains the problem."

She put a hand on my arm. "That sucks."

I shrugged. "Life doesn't always deal you a perfect hand. I shouldn't complain."

Jools cleared her throat and got our attention. "I was also thinking," she said, "about this note — do we tell the police?"

"No!" I replied instinctively.

Jools nodded. "My gut feeling is to agree with you, but let's think it through."

"OK," I said, "the police have no idea about my past identity - I hope - so they won't be any the wiser as to who is sending these notes."

Jools nodded again. "Yes, if we can't work it out with what we know, I doubt they will. They have the previous notes — giving them this one won't add to what they can do."

"Who knows about the notes?" Rachel asked.

Jools replied. "Us three, Simon and the police. Unless you've told Peter?"

She shook her head adamantly. "I haven't. I presume we aren't telling Simon about this note?"

Jools nodded firmly. "Definitely not. I don't think we want Sony to know, do we?" She didn't wait for an answer. "In fact, I suggest we dispose of this note completely. We don't want to risk someone coming across it by accident."

We agreed and Jools set it alight and let it burn to ashes in the kitchen sink. As I watched it burn away to nothing, I wished that the trouble behind the notes would disappear as easily.

----------*----------

On Saturday, we had a gathering of 'the list' at Jools' place. Not quite everyone, of course, as I didn't really fancy a full family reunion. Actually it was just me, Jools, Rachel, Claire, Beth and Jon. Jools had told everyone that we needed to consider the possibility that the truth about me had leaked out.

"Sorry to spoil your weekend folks," Jools said calling us to order.

"Spoil it?" Jon said with a smile, "Spend an afternoon with a roomful of pretty girls?"

The succession of cushions raining down on his body put paid to such male posturing. A part of me was saying that he wasn't really including me in that statement. I told my paranoia to shove it and clear out. It made a temporary retreat.

Jools filled everyone in on the situation. Some people knew different parts, but she wanted to make sure that everyone had all the facts. So she described the yearbook saga, she talked about Keith Wilkinson and she brought everyone up to speed regarding the anonymous notes. This last part was news to Jon, Claire and Beth.

"Sick bastard," Jon muttered. "If I find out who did this…"

"That's why we are here," Jools interrupted gently. "We need to put our heads together and work out how anyone could have found out. Claire, you first — you've been talking to your family."

Claire nodded and smiled. "I spoke to all our relatives who are in the know. I told them that Cara… Nicola to them… had been threatened. I'm absolutely sure that no one has breathed a word about her. Dad wouldn't dream of mentioning it to a living soul," she cast me an apologetic glance, "and as much as my aunts and uncles may disapprove, there is no way they would let the family down. Phil and Dawn, our cousins, would rather die than see any harm come to Nicola."

Jools nodded, "That's pretty much what I thought. Beth, you've no idea where things could have gone wrong?"

Beth shook her head. "I wish I had. I can't think of anything that would have given it away when Cara was in Devon with us."

"Jon, any thoughts?" Jools prompted.

Jon shrugged. "Nothing beyond speculation. I worry about Noel. Could he have found out?"

Jools chewed her lip. "I doubt it. Unless Keith Wilkinson slipped the info to him to get some dirt in return. I have to say that even though Keith is an unknown quantity, I don't believe he would intentionally let this out. If he wanted to, he would have written the killer article. Besides, I think we all know that he has more than a little soft spot for our Cara."

I blushed as all their eyes rested on me. "Oh away with you all," I said, feeling a little flustered. I changed the subject, "I rang Dr. Carson and asked if she thought there was any chance that there could have been a leak from her office or those she referred me to. She was adamant that privacy and confidentiality in their profession is paramount."

"What about Mrs. Forbes, your old teacher?" Beth asked.

I shook my head. "She's as dependable as a rock. It's not in her interests at all to let it slip — she… doctored… the school records to help me. Besides, it's just not in her nature."

We discussed and pondered some more. Eventually, we seemed to be going in circles and getting nowhere. There was still the 'wild card' possibility that someone who knew me previously as Nick had managed to put things together and for some reason decided to come after me in this way. It wasn't a comforting thought and there was nothing we could really do to investigate that possibility.

Jools tried to be positive. "Thanks everyone for coming and taking the time to do this. It has been helpful. It has assured us that we have not been remiss in what we have done and it reminds us to be extra vigilant from now on."

Claire and Beth stayed after Jon and Rachel had left. We had a relaxing girls' evening in: watching a video, eating pizza, crisps, chocolate, drinking wine — what more could we want? It was a real sisters' night as Beth bunked in with Jools and Claire with me. As I lay in bed, waiting for sleep to come, I was so thankful for them. I couldn't have asked for better friends.

Claire pulled me over towards her. "C'mere you," she said sleepily, "Stop thinking and go to sleep."

She snuggled over beside me and I guess the warmth and comfort soon had the desired effect.

----------*----------

For a few days, I was on edge every time the post came through our door or each time a sack arrived from Sony. However, there were no more notes. I was thankful for this, but I knew that the problem had not gone away. The daily routine and the business of everyday life helped me to try and forget about it whenever possible.

I had enlisted some other help in taking my mind off my problems. Jools and I had got into the habit of having a bottle of wine with our evening meal. One bottle used to do us for three evenings or so, but lately I had found that it was more like two evenings. The occasional evening, when I was really uptight, the bottle was empty by the time we went to bed. It wasn't really a problem, though, and it was helping me to sleep. Yes, the occasional morning after, I had felt a little rough, but nothing that a few aspirin didn't cure. I have to admit that on the odd morning, I did finish off the remnants of the previous evening's bottle. There seemed to be little point in wasting it, and what harm would half a glass do?

I was quite sure that no harm would come to me while Jools was doing her mother protector routine. I did see her looking at me with concern from time to time. She would gently ask if I was OK. Despite my assurances, she would keep asking. Truth be told, it was becoming a little irritating and I think Jools could see this. It came to a head one evening.

"Cara, let's go to bed. I'm exhausted."

"In a minute. Have one more glass with me, Jools."

She shook her head. "I think I've had enough."

I picked up on her tone. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged. "It means what I said."

"You think I've had enough too, is that it?"

She shrugged. "It's really up to you."

"That's what you meant, isn't it?"

"Cara… I'm just concerned for you. You know that."

"I'm fine Jools. I'm a big girl. It's not as if I'm an alcoholic. For heavens sake, it's just a few glasses of wine. Give me a break."

"Fine," she said quietly. "I'm going to bed anyway."

I shrugged. "Whatever. See, I'll leave the bottle as it is and go to bed too."

As I lay in bed, I replayed the exchange and felt bad about how I had reacted. I found myself tossing and turning and began to watch the hours roll by. Eventually I was so fed up that I got up and went back to the kitchen. I had one more glass and finished the bottle. Purely to help me sleep. It worked.

I'm sure that Jools noticed the empty bottle the next morning, but she said nothing.

----------*----------

'Forgotten How to Love', having spent three weeks at the top, was now slowly descending the Top Forty. 'No Half Measures' had peaked at number three in the album chart, but was still hanging on inside the Top Ten. Simon was thrilled with the way things had gone.

Unfortunately, we couldn't claim to have cracked the U.S. market. 'No Half Measures', the single, had lurked in the lower realms of the Top 100. 'Not Dancing, but Flying' had been released recently, but was not showing any signs of doing much better. Simon had decided, with his U.S. counterparts, that we should hold off on any further stateside releases for the time being. This was not to say that the two singles hadn't been a financial success. Things on the other side of the Atlantic were of such a larger scale that even a record that barely crept into the Top 100 returned substantial profits.

Correspondingly, my bank balance was quite frightening — in a good way, of course. If the current patterns were maintained, I was going to be a millionaire within another few months. That is, if I didn't find a way to spend a lot more of it quicker than I had been doing. Obviously I was pleased with this state of affairs, but it wasn't as satisfying as I had often imagined it would be. Simply put, I had enough money to buy whatever I wanted — but I wasn't quite sure what I wanted. Even if I worked that out, I knew that there were things money couldn't buy. Clichéd, I know, but clichés by virtue of their status are more often than not accurate.

Whilst money could not buy one peace of mind, Jools was insisting that it could buy protection. She had been harping on at me for over a week about getting a bodyguard. I had recoiled from such a notion. It seemed ridiculous to think that I needed a mindless beefcake to shadow me everywhere I went. Two things happened in the space of a few days to change my mind.

With all this newfound wealth burning a hole in my bank account, I had decided that a little splurge on a shopping spree was called for. Jools had wanted to come with me, but I was keen to have some time alone. I headed into the centre of London and began to work my way along Oxford Street. With winter coming, it was time for a seasonal wardrobe update. I was doing well in that regard and enjoying it, until I realised that I was attracting some unwanted attention.

Although I was dressed simply in a fleecy top and jeans, and despite my sunglasses and baseball cap, it was obvious that I had been recognised. I became aware that there was a group of about four lads following me along the street. I went into the next shop and tried to lose myself in the rails of clothes. I nipped up the stairs to the top floor and began to browse. However, when I moved into another aisle, I was confronted with the same four guys.

"Hello, darling," said one with a smile. "It is you, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry," I said softly, "I think you've mistaken me for someone else."

He shook his head and gave me a toothy grin. "You're just who I think you are, aren't you? Cara Malone, yes?"

I wasn't sure what to do. They had obviously recognised me. I smiled. "Yes, it is me. What can I do for you?" I looked around and realised that this floor was nearly empty. There was a sales assistant at the far side, but she wasn't looking in our direction. "Do you want an autograph?"

They laughed rather unpleasantly and joked with one another, "Do we want an autograph?"

One of them lewdly turned to the others and rubbed his crotch. "She can 'autograph' this anytime she wants."

The first guy turned back to me. "What's a hot chick like you doing out all by yourself? Don't you know there's a lot of bad folk about? Perhaps you need someone like me to look after you?"

I was becoming more disturbed by the minute. I looked behind me, but one of them had moved around to that end of the aisle.

"Look guys, I'm not sure what you want, but why don't we take a walk together. Go downstairs?"

The leader sneered. "So you think you're too good for us and you want to get rid of us? You think we're nothing but street scum?"

I began to get angry and spoke without thinking, "Yes, that's pretty much it. You seem to be smarter than you look, although that wouldn't be difficult. Now, get out of my way."

"Stuck up bitch," he hissed and moved closer.

"Ahem!" said a new voice from behind him.

He turned and I looked up. There were two burly shop security men standing there with the shop assistant behind them. I was so grateful to see them.

"Are these… gentlemen… bothering you, ma'am?" said one of them in a tone that made it clear that the word 'gentlemen' was being used in the broadest sense of the word.

"Yes, actually, they are. They are intimidating and threatening me."

The guys glared at me, but they didn't fancy their chances against the security men. Thankfully the latter weren't the wheezy near-retirement old men that sometimes took on such jobs. They were large and imposing and the earlier bravado of the lads had now evaporated. The security men led the four miscreants down the stairs and ejected them from the shop. The shop assistant brought me to the manager's office and let me sit down.

"Thanks," I murmured to her with a smile.

"Not at all, Ms. Malone," she replied.

I winced. "Am I that easy to recognise?"

She laughed. "Well it took me a few minutes when I first saw you. I knew you looked familiar and then I worked it out. I'm so sorry I didn't spot those louts earlier."

I shrugged. "I'm just glad you were there and I'm grateful for your help."

The shop manager arranged for one of his staff to take me home in her car. I had protested that it wasn't necessary, but I think he felt it prudent to look after what he assumed could be a valued customer. This episode, of course, increased Jools' insistence that I needed protection.

A few days later, I was convinced. Another note arrived.

'Scared yet? You should be. You're not even worthy to be called a bitch.'

I caught the drift of what the note was implying, but this time we decided to pass this one on to the police. It was sufficiently vague that we thought they would not read much into it. The officers that came out to talk to us regrettably informed us that they had not made much progress with investigating the source of the notes. They also agreed with Jools' on the protection issue. I gave in and gave her the go-ahead to look for some potential bodyguards. I hated that word.

----------*----------

By the start of the following week, Jools had lined up a few potentials and arranged informal interviews for the Tuesday afternoon. I had told her just to pick one and be done with it, but she insisted that I had to be a part of the process as it was going to significantly impact my life. Whoever was picked was going to be spending a lot of time in my presence.

The first one to arrive was a large hulk of a guy called Harold. He was from an agency specialising in this sort of thing. He was pleasant enough, but was obviously more brawn than brain. I don't mean to be unkind, but that was the truth. After he left, I shook my head.

"I just can't imagine having him around me all the time, Jools."

She nodded. "I know, but you are going to have to pick someone."

The second guy was different. Again he was from an agency. He was well built, wore a leather jacket and sunglasses. Jools persuaded him to remove the latter whilst indoors. He had a flashy grin and a casual manner about him. I instantly took a dislike to him. I didn't like the way he looked at me.

When he left, I said, "Not him either. I'd need someone else to protect me from him."

Jools grimaced. "Yeah. This isn't going to be easy, is it?"

The third one was quite strange. He seemed out of place. To look at him, you would have thought he would be better suited to an interview for a job at the bank. In his early forties, he was not overly well built, was of medium height and was wearing a black business suit. Before he arrived, Jools had informed me that he didn't work for any agency. He ran his own business in this line of work and took on individual assignments himself. Apparently he was incredibly expensive compared to the other candidates. His name was Gareth Baxter. Jools asked him several questions and he answered politely and concisely. He was obviously intelligent, but I wasn't sure he was actually up to the job.

"Mr. Baxter, I have to say that you are not exactly what I would expect for this sort of position," I said.

He smiled. "I try not to be obvious about what my role is. If I were a seven-foot tall two hundred-pound monster, then it would be fairly obvious to anyone planning to harm you what my job was. They would target me first and then you. I prefer to be subtle and understated."

I nodded. "I don't know how to say this… are you able to… deal with situations?"

"Let me assure you Ms. Malone, I am experienced in hand-to-hand combat and have several martial arts qualifications."

He exuded a quiet confidence that I did find reassuring. Jools had a few other questions.

"Mr. Baxter, what about privacy and confidentiality? How do you stand on such things?"

"Good question. My sole concern is the wellbeing of my client. What they do or how they spend their time, whatever secrets they are hiding from the world — all that is not my concern. I don't make it my business and I don't tell anyone else. If I did that, I'd be out of work before too long."

Jools persisted, "That's all well and good, but what guarantees do we have that what you say is true?"

He gave her a long stare. "You have my word and that will have to be good enough."

It was for me. We had read his résumé and it was more interesting in what it did not say. He had served in the military and had listed the details of his career. There were a few blanks that were unexplained. One was during the period of the first Gulf War. We knew better than to ask, but Jools and I both had a suspicion that he had been involved in something secret. I don't know — Special Forces or something. He had left the army five years previously to set up his own business.

"Will you excuse us for a moment?" I asked him.

He took the hint and said that he would leave us alone. I turned to Jools.

"He's the one."

"You sure?" she asked.

I nodded. "Yes. I feel that I can trust him. He just comes across as… professional."

Jools nodded. "It's going to cost you."

I shrugged. "I know."

We called him back in and informed him that we would like to retain his services. He smiled and said that he would be pleased to take me on subject to certain terms.

We were both a little taken aback. It sounded like we were the employees and he was giving us a job.

"What exactly do you mean?" Jools asked coolly.

"I'm not trying to be funny. I'm prepared to do this job only if I can be allowed to do it properly." He looked at me, "Ms. Malone, your safety is my primary concern. With that in mind, we have to have a certain agreement on some issues. You have to discuss your daily plans with me and keep me informed in advance as much as possible. I won't take it kindly if you run off at a moment's notice and leave me in the dark as to where you are going. Also I want to be able to suggest other security measures for you and your home."

I thought about this and decided that I really liked him. "Mr. Baxter…"

He interrupted, "Another thing is that you must call me Gareth."

I smiled, "OK, Gareth, call me Cara…"

He interrupted again and smiled, "No chance. You're my client and you will be Ms. Malone."

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "OK, but for goodness' sake call me Miss Malone then. I actually don't like Ms."

He nodded. "As you wish."

"As I was saying, Gareth," I emphasised his name and I saw him smile, "I respect your stance and I think it reflects your professionalism. One concern I have though — how much privacy am I permitted?"

"Your personal privacy will not be invaded by me."

"So you won't insist on watching me while I shower then?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Certainly not."

Jools shot me a puzzled glance, but I ignored it. I gave a sultry smile and said in a low voice, "Is the thought of watching me shower that unappealing?"

He narrowed his eyes and looked at me intently. "Miss Malone, I'm a professional. Business and pleasure are not things that mix well. If that is what you are after, I think you have the wrong man."

I shook my head and dropped my seductress act. "Not at all, Gareth. I was just checking. In my opinion, you're just the right man for the job. When can you start?"

"I already have," he said with a little smile.

----------*----------

Jools sorted out the contract and, over the next day or two, we sorted out how things would work. Gareth would arrive early in the morning and let himself into Jools' place. He would wait downstairs in the office until I was up and then would accompany me if I were going out. If I weren't going anywhere, he would just remain on the premises. In the evening, if I were staying in, he would leave. If I were going out, I was to give him prior notice where possible and he would again accompany me.

He emphasised that he didn't insist on being at my shoulder; he planned to be discreet. I think he was trying to let me know that whatever social activities I planned did not have to be hampered by his presence. He had already had a security consultant around and made arrangements for a better alarm system and external security lights to be installed.

I took him for a 'test drive' at the end of the week. I wanted to see how he coped with a shopping trip. I ventured back to Oxford Street.

"How do you want to do this, Miss Malone?" he asked as we walked along.

"What do you mean?"

"I can either walk beside you, or I can remain at a short distance behind you."

I laughed. "Oh for heaven's sake, walk beside me."

He grinned, "Yes ma'am."

I dragged him around several shops. I tried on lots, but bought little. He didn't complain or show any signs of weariness. I was aware that people were recognising me, but no one approached me. I commented on this.

"It's to be expected," he replied, "I'm not meaning to be chauvinistic, but if a pretty woman is accompanied by a man, she is much less likely to be approached than if she is alone."

"You think I'm pretty?" The words came out of my mouth before I thought about it. I blushed and bit my lip, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that."

He looked amused and chuckled. "You don't need me to tell you that."

I shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, come on, there's plenty more shopping to be done. I'm very impressed with your tolerance. Not many men are this patient. I'm sure you'll make someone a good husband some day."

He winced. "Been there, done that. Didn't work out too well."

I grimaced. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to…"

He gave a little laugh. "Ancient history. Let's just say it's easier to be patient in these situations when one gets paid as much as I do."

I chuckled. "So, it's all about the money. That's all I mean to you?"

He kept his face straight and nodded. "Absolutely."

I laughed and relentlessly continued my expedition.

----------*----------

A few mornings later, Kate raised an eyebrow when she saw Gareth accompanying me as I ran up to her. "A new running partner? Am I now redundant?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

I laughed. "Kate, meet Gareth. Gareth, this is a good friend of mine, Kate."

"Pleased to meet you ma'am," Gareth said politely. He took up a position near one of the park entrances from where he had a good view all over the park. Kate and I began our circuits.

"So what's the deal with him?" she asked. "New boyfriend?"

I grinned. "Not exactly. He's my new bodyguard."

Kate found this very amusing. "Well, he's almost Kevin Costnerish. Are you going to be doing the Whitney Houston thing?"

I laughed and shook my head. "It's purely business. I was reluctant to go down this line, but I had… an unpleasant experience while out shopping last week. I'm afraid it's a necessary evil."

"I'm sure he would love to know that's what you called him."

"He's not bad actually. He's polite and discreet. I forget he's there a lot of the time. Enough about me, tell me about your far more interesting life."

She laughed and updated me on the latest office gossip from her world. I loved to listen to her sharp wit and found it refreshing to spend time with her. When we were done with our circuits, we stopped beside Gareth.

"Bye, Gareth," Kate said in a smouldering voice and made eyes at him before running off.

Gareth raised an eyebrow and remarked, "She's quite a woman, isn't she?"

I grinned. "You can say that again."

He looked a bit perplexed. "Was she coming on to me?"

This time I laughed. "I don't think so."

He shrugged. "It seemed that way to me. Hey, why are you laughing at me?"

"Come on, old boy. Let's see if you can keep up with me."

I sprinted off back towards Jools' apartment. For an 'old boy', he was in surprisingly good shape and had no difficulty in matching my pace. He was barely out of breath when we got back.

----------*----------

Simon came over to see us the next day. He was obviously quite excited about something, but was not forthcoming as to what it was.

"Right, what's got you bouncing about like this?" Jools asked.

He chuckled. "Sometimes I surprise even myself."

We shared a glance and rolled our eyes. "What is it?" I asked.

He smiled, brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his immaculate suit and with great satisfaction said, "It just so happens that yours truly has managed to talk the stuffed shirts at my beloved company into something that I think will please you."

"Oh come on and get on with it," Jools said impatiently.

He held up a hand and then continued. "In light of the great success of your album and latest single, I managed to persuade them that it would be a good idea to embark on a UK mini-tour. Now I know it might seem premature, but I think the increased exposure will help to keep your profile prominent in the public eye."

I raised an eyebrow and smiled. "A mini-tour?"

Simon grinned. "Now don't congratulate me all at once."

Jools chuckled. "When you get done congratulating yourself, I doubt there's any room for the rest of us to add ours."

He shrugged and wasn't fazed by her comment. "You're just overawed by my immense charisma and startling achievements."

She laughed. "Whatever. Anyway, give us more details. Where? When?"

He smiled and sat forward. Back to his usual businesslike self, he filled us in on the plans. He had lined up five dates in total. We were to start in Edinburgh on Friday 5 December, Manchester the next night, Birmingham on Friday 12 December, Cardiff the next night and finishing in London on Saturday 20 December. That gave us just over four weeks.

"We need to get practising," I murmured.

"Are you sure we can sell enough tickets in such a short space of time?" Jools asked.

Simon nodded. "I believe so. The plan is to play medium-sized venues in each location except London. Better to have a smaller place sold out than a large venue half filled. However, I believe we'll pick up enough momentum to go for a larger venue in London."

"Where have you booked in London?" I asked with interest.

"Wembley Arena," he said smugly.

"My goodness," I exclaimed.

----------*----------

That night, I felt like celebrating. I actually made an effort to make a proper dinner. Jools had headed out that afternoon to see some other clients. I was not much of a cook. I got some pasta, some lamb cutlets and followed a simple recipe to make a casserole. On her return, Jools was surprised to find me in the kitchen with an apron on.

"What's going on here?" she asked.

"I'm cooking us dinner," I said with a smile.

She laughed. "Umm, will it be OK to eat?"

"Hey," I protested, "Not fair. You should be encouraging me."

I served the meal onto the plates and carried it over to the table. I had a favourite bottle of wine on the table. Jools smelled the dinner.

"Smells great," she said with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't sound so surprised," I chided, although I was actually quite surprised myself. I hoped it tasted as good.

I reached for the wine and corkscrew. Jools turned up her nose. "Why don't we leave the wine tonight, Cara? I don't think I feel like having any."

"Come on, Jools. Don't be like that. I'm excited about this tour; don't put a dampener on things."

She sighed and muttered. "There's always a reason."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked with a sharp edge to my voice.

"Nothing," she said with a wan smile. "Let's eat."

The meal actually tasted very good and we both enjoyed it. We talked over the details for the tour and I was already coming up with ideas for some live arrangements of my songs.

Jools chuckled. "You're really quite excited about this, aren't you?"

I grinned. "Of course I am. I've always loved the live performance side of things. I can't believe it." I reached for the wine, "A top up?"

Jools shook her head and her expression clouded as I filled my glass. "Cara, can I talk to you frankly."

My eyes narrowed, but I looked up and forced a smile. "Sure, what is it?"

She hesitated and took a deep breath. "I'm really concerned about you." She held up a hand, "Hear me out, before you say anything. I'm worried. You're drinking a lot. I mean, does a day go by without you drinking at the moment?"

I bristled and said coolly, "Well, you obviously know the answer to that question since you've been keeping such close tabs on me."

"Don't be like that. You know I'm just looking out for you?"

I stood up and walked a few steps before whirling round. "I'm a big girl. I've got a bodyguard now. I don't need a stepmother also. I wish you'd just get off my case about this. I'm fine, really. So I enjoy a drink now, is there anything wrong with that?"

She stood and faced me. "Not in itself, but I think you're using it as a crutch. You're actually relying on it. Hell, Cara, I've seen bottles that weren't even half empty when I went to bed sitting in the bin the next morning."

My anger flared. "What do you want to do? Draw levels on the bottle so you can see when your boozy friend is sneaking some more? God, I feel like an intruder in this house at times."

"Don't say that," Jools said in a pleading voice.

I shook my head. "I can't deal with this, Jools. I don't want to sound ungrateful or anything, but I think it's time I found my own place."

She looked as if she had been slapped. Her face fell and her shoulders slumped. "If that's the way you feel…"

"It is," I said firmly.

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