Santa Baby by Katie Price Page B

in her own home. There was no way she wanted to stay in, knowing that they were all milling about outside. She needed to get away.
    She decided she would somehow get past the paps, take the tube to Oxford Street and hang out in the shops, before getting the train to her dad’s.
    She checked out the story online and groaned aloud as she read the headline: Angel’s Secret Sister Revealed! Somehow they had managed to get hold of Tiffany’s profile picture on Facebook, which showed her grinning away without a care in the world. She quickly scanned the story. There was little of substance – just the bare bones of her possibly being Angel’s sister, and how she had confided in ‘a friend’ … the same friend who had told the press. Some friend then, Tiffany thought bitterly. But the article went on to talk about Tanya and her addiction, then about Angel and Cal, raking up his affair, their divorce, her relationship with the baseball player. God, no wonder Angel hadn’t wanted the press to find out, if this was what happened.
    Her mobile rang. She frowned as she saw Billy’s number flash up and was all set to ignore it, then decided to speak to him. Maybe he and his flatmates could help her get past the paparrazi?
    ‘I’m really sorry, Tiffany,’ he said as soon as she’d picked up.
    ‘Sorry for what?’ Then realisation dawned on her. ‘Billy, you didn’t tell the press, did you? I mean, I know you were angry with me, but that is such a shit thing to do.’
    He sighed. ‘No, I didn’t tell them, but after I saw you I went home and got hammered and …’ he hesitated ‘… I told Bryan.’
    ‘Not Bryan Blabbermouth?’ Billy’s flatmate Bryan had a reputation for being unable to keep a secret.
    ‘Yeah, and he admitted to me this morning that he had told some of the lads on his course, one of whom happens to be the son of a journalist. I’m really, really sorry, Tiffany.’
    She knew that Billy was genuinely sorry and could hardly blame him for shooting his mouth off after they had broken up, even though it had landed her right in it. ‘I believe you, and I know you didn’t mean for this to happen.’
    ‘So is Angel your sister?’
    ‘I don’t know yet, but she might well not want to have anything to do with me after this. She didn’t want the press finding out.’
    ‘Tiff, if there’s anything I can do … I could phone her, explain what happened. It’s not your fault, she can’t blame you.’
    ‘No, it’s OK, Billy, I’ve got to handle this myself.’ She didn’t even want him to help her with the paps; it was best if she kept him well away.
    Tiffany ended the call and wandered back over to the window. She peered out – the paps were still there. She shook back her hair and squared her shoulders. Well, so what if they were? She had done nothing wrong, nothing that she was ashamed of. She picked up her phone and called Angel once again, this time leaving a message to say that she knew who had leaked the story and that she hoped Angel would understand it wasn’t something she’d wanted to happen. Then she grabbed her leather jacket, put on her Ray-Bans as worn by Kate Moss in many a pap shot, took one last look in the mirror and marched down the stairs.
    Tiffany paused briefly, with her hand poised over the front door handle, listening to the paps chatting outside. Then she turned it and pushed the door open. As before, they leaped into action and started snapping away at her. But this time Tiffany didn’t retreat. She continued walking down the path, doing her best to ignore the cameras being thrust in her face, the shouts, the questions. Celebrities always got into big flash cars to escape when they were being pursued, she reflected grimly as she headed down the hill to Archway tube station, the paps running behind and in front of her.
    Naively she had expected them not to pursue her once they realised that she was going away from the house, but it didn’t look like she was going to shake