In Love with a Superstar Ch. 01

"Eye no ABOUT U and Bruce Young," it said in its scary illiteracy, the Bruce Young words even had the picture attached.

"you STAY AWAY from or U R going 2 B sorry,

not A threat IT'S A promise U F ing cow,

I will KILL you

u have BIN warned."

Sarah dropped the note and just stood trembling. Even though she had said she wouldn't contact him at his home she dialled his number,

"Bruce," she said her voice barely controlled, "it's me."

"Sarah," his cheery voice tailed off, "Honey, what is it?"

"It's probably nothing," she blurted, "I... I've had a threatening letter through the post... about not seeing you."

"I'll come straight over," he said, "Don't open the door until I get there."

Within ten minutes a black cab pulled up at the front door, Sarah watched as he ran from the car to the porch. She pulled open the door and let him in. He held out his arms and she fell into them gratefully, her sobs finally free.

"It's OK Baby," he said, "I'm here now."

She clutched at him and pointed at the table with the white foolscap and its hideous message.

"I'll call the police," he said simply.

"But..."

"Sod what people think, I'll not put you at risk," He picked up the phone,

"Detective Inspector Grant please... Hello Inspector it's Bruce Young... Yes that Bruce Young, listen I need your help... no right now, look it's got nothing to do with that, a friend of mine has been threatened, and it's because of me, Yes? I'll see you in ten minutes then," he gave the address and put the phone down.

He'd made coffee and the policeman sipped his as he carefully handled the letter through plastic gloves.

"Hmm," he said after placing the letter back on the table, "School prank? Miss Wells, are you involved with the school?"

"I work there," she said.

"With Mr Young I guess?"

"Yes."

"My point exactly," he said,

"What?" she said in surprise.

"I'm assuming this is nothing to do with a prank or a heart-struck schoolgirl crush on the ever popular Mr Young is there?"

"Are you taking the piss?" growled Bruce.

"Mr Young," he sighed, "you are, as suggested by your own publicity, an English Superstar and currently working in a school with over 700 children in where, if statistics are to be believed, there are more girls than boys. Have you even considered this is either some big joke or a hormonal girl, or boy for that matter, that doesn't like you sharing coffee with Miss over lunch? Just look at the choice of lettering and words, the cuttings are taken from a tabloid and they have used text speak." He obviously picked up on Bruce's anger. He sighed, "I'll take the letter and the envelope and your tablecloth. We'll do all of the usual and see what we come up with."

"Thank you Inspector," said Bruce.

"I'll get someone to install you an alarm as well, just in case this isn't a prank. Does anyone at school... well do you have 'a relationship' for this stranger to be jealous of to start with?"

"Yes," said Bruce.

"You don't hang about do you Mr Young."

"Excuse me," said Bruce, "Can you keep to the detail rather than the smart arse comments."

"Sorry," the policeman smiled, "that was uncalled for, I apologise."

"I bet you do," said Bruce.

"Look Mr Young, Miss Wells, Whatever our previous relationship, I want you to know that I am taking this seriously," His face lost its smile, "but so help me Mr Young if this is some bloody publicity stunt then I will see you inside for wasting police time, you got me?"

"Wasting police time? Does it look like this is some kind of..."

"The last conversation we had was on the supposition that someone else trashed your hotel room for a publicity stunt. Whatever the magistrates felt I have an idea it might have had more than a grain of truth to it. I've met manipulating bastards like you and that slimy manager of yours many times over and if you and your people are doing this to Miss Wells to get a few extra inches in the tabloids I'll..."

"Let's leave it there chaps shall we?" said Sarah butting in on the manliness.

"Yeah," said Bruce.

"The man with the radio alarm should be around tomorrow, someone that can let him in?"

"I'll ask the man downstairs,"

"Thank you," he took a deep breath, "I'm sure that this will be the last of it, but this is my card if you get anything else, OK?"

"Thank you."

"Don't worry Miss Wells, people that do this kind of thing rarely let it get any further, it just has too many risks these days, DNA gets on everything." He looked at Bruce for a fraction of a second. "I'm sure it'll be fine, phone us if you are at all concerned - anytime,"

"Thank you again Inspector."

"I'll see myself out," he slipped his notebook in his pocket and they heard him on the stairs and the clunk of the front door.

"I'll stay tonight," he said expecting her to argue. She didn't and hugged him tight. He phoned home and asked the Baby sitter to stay for the night. That night she would remember just for the comfort of being held in a pair of strong arms and the feel of him against her as she snuggled into him; no sex, no passion, just the closeness and intimacy of two people.

He left before six the next day after just a shower and a cup of tea, they met in the staff room a few hours later as if nothing had happened.

At lunch, she smiled at him across the queue for meals,

"Hello Mr Young," she said with a bright smile.

"Miss Wells," he grinned back.

There were a few giggles at this from some of the children around them, girls mostly.

"D'you fancy him Miss?" giggled Rachel Smith from 11K.

"No Rachel, I don't thank you very much."

"What?" Sniffed Rachel in amazement, "I bloody do," Sarah tried not to laugh at the hissed response. This was closely followed by at least three 'yeah, me too's.

She hand-wrote the directions to the cottage on a sheet of paper and slipped them inside a copy of study notes for 'King Henry the Fifth'.

"There you are Bruce," she smiled as they passed in the staff room at afternoon break, "a little something for you to be getting on with over the weekend," she smiled.

"Oh but she's a tough Boss so she is," said Colleen.

"Tell me about it," he groaned, "Will there actually be an end of term review, or is she going home and just leaving me to do all of her classes?"

Colleen grinned wickedly and looked across at a Chemistry mistress,

"Review? What review, first I've heard of it, Debs?"

"Never since I've been here," she almost forced her face into a coffee mug.

"Funny," he said, "I thought that might be the case," He stood from the easy chair and stuffed the book into his back pocket.

Sarah almost burst out as she saw the folded note fall to the floor.

Colleen got to it first and, peaking just into the top, called to Bruce,

"There you go," she oiled handing the note to him. She turned and gave a wicked look all understanding at Sarah, "You almost missed out on your homework there Sunshine."

Sarah blushed furiously and Colleen just smiled.

She unlocked the door, and leaned against it; every year the damp affected the cottage doorstep and both she and her sister had promised to get a local chippie in to sort it out many times.

The cottage was made of the local stone, and was at least two hundred years old. In fact it was hard to call it a cottage. In reality it was a proper old fashioned farmhouse with three bedrooms, the fourth having long been turned into a large and well equipped bathroom. The lounge had views across the Shropshire countryside and the farmhouse kitchen with stone hearth and a range, complemented by all of the comforts of a modern kitchen. The selection of surviving outbuildings still hinted at its former life, even though they were only used as a garage and for storage by a local farmer these days.

The slate roof held off the winter weather fantastically, and the trailing wisteria looked like it needed cutting back again. The gravel drive still looked smart and crunched reassuringly when you drove or walked on it and she thought back on what an excellent job the local handyman had done when he repainted the doors and window frames in the autumn last year.

There was an electricity bill on the carpet and a request to read the meter, these were dropped on to the occasional table in the hall, and she reached out and grabbed her weekend bag and dropped it at the foot of the stairs.

The cupboard under the stair opened more easily and she leant in and with a practised hand threw the power switch and the hall light came on. While she was there she memorised the reading on the meter for good measure.

The fridge-freezer was rumbling away to itself when she got to the kitchen and she removed the tea towel hung over its door, slipping four pints of milk in the door compartment.

In the kitchen she turned on the fuel oil under the sink, stood and held the feeder on the Raeburn for ten seconds and then pressed the pilot ignition button. It flamed into life and would be there for breakfast in the morning. Next the pump started, the radiators began to give out the usual start-up gurgling sound, but she flicked the switch that turned off the central heating.

Dropping the kettle into the sink, she ran the water for a minute before filling it for the inevitable, universal, life-giving tea.

As soon as that started hissing she slumped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and eased the shoes from her feet, followed by some stretching exercises to release the tension from the back of her neck, the result of her two hour drive.

She poured boiling water into the pot and put the hand knitted cosy over it. Next she headed back into the hall, pulled at the handles of her bag and walked up the narrow winding stair.

They hardly ever rented the cottage out these days as it was long since paid for, and the upkeep, the rates, and most of the utilities were taken care of by a small legacy well invested that had come with the house when their beloved Aunt had passed away.

Since both sisters were earning relatively good salaries, they preferred to have the house available for whenever they might want it rather than use it as a source of income. When something large was needed (update the boiler, roof damage, repainting) they would advertise the place in 'The Lady' magazine for four weeks in May and June and this would normally cover the cost.

She pushed her bedroom door open and smiled. Her room although smaller than Caroline's, was still a double and by far the nicer of the three and looked out over hills and woodland. It was smaller but by no means small. Caroline was married, and was working on her husband to start a family so it made sense that she had the bigger room. Far from starting a family Sarah didn't even have a regular Boyfriend, until now.

She slung her bag onto the bed and opening it, pulled out the bedclothes and nightwear she would need.

The June sun was starting to show the first signs of sinking slowly into the west and she conjectured that the sooner she made the bed, the sooner she could get in it. Heading downstairs she piled the tea tray with all the necessities and headed back upstairs with it. She loaded and set the ancient but still operational 'Teasmaid' for the next morning, and shook out the duvet. The third bedroom that his daughter would occupy could wait until the morning.

The floral cover and matching pillowcases looked just right and matched the curtains that she closed prior to undressing.

She was never sure why she bothered to close the curtains as the nearest house in that direction, a farm, was fifteen miles away and the owner would be unlikely to make out anything from that distance. But she closed them anyway. The radio played gentle Friday evening music in preference to the TV and after a cup of tea, the idea of bed seemed more and more attractive.

She stripped out of her work skirt, blouse and her underwear and padded along the passage towards the bathroom for a shower.

She felt the rumble before she heard it. The sound was of such a low frequency that she was unsure that it was there at all but for a tiniest vibration she felt in her ears. She stepped briskly towards the passage window and peaked out onto the drive.

There was a very large and shiny black and green motorcycle, with a man encased in black leathers and black-visored motorcycle helmet switching it off.

She was routed to the spot. Although the Police had advised her not to take the death threat too seriously, she had argued with her mother that she would be completely safe in the country as no one, even close family, could ever find their way to the cottage via its tortuous route that lasted almost three miles once off of the main public road.

The man in black walked over to where her car was parked and leaned to stare at the front passenger seat. He took off a leather glove and touched the bonnet with the back of his hand, obviously checking the temperature.

Why hadn't she put it away in the garage?

Sarah froze. The man would be looking at her mobile she had left dumped on the seat. There wasn't much of a mobile signal out here, but the cottage telephones were linked to one cable and she picked up the receiver - the line was dead; She must have switched off the handset at the wall and the battery must have gone flat. She slid along to Caroline's room and the same thing happened. She made her mind up to sneak downstairs and to main line and the answerphone before he could get to the front door.

She debated dressing but speed was of the essence and settled to wrap a huge towel around her to hide her nakedness. The man was unbuckling one of the large matching panniers from the machine as Sarah tried to get down the stairs while each tread squeaked out a protest. The large motorcycle boots he was wearing crunched on the drive and it wasn't that reassuring anymore.

The telephone was in the kitchen, which meant her going past the front door with its frosted glass. She took a deep breath and ran, there was a loud hammering at the door and she froze for a second time.