Seven Days Beyond

by Ruth Hay

  Brad sighed.

  “Well, it took a long time, but I am beginning to believe it now. I’ve just started a good job. I’ve got some savings and there’s a cute girl in the office who flutters her eyelashes at me and brings me fresh coffee in the morning. If there’s anything there, I’ll be taking it super slow, don’t you worry! I’ve learned my lessons about females. I’ll be fine and so will you, Colin.”

  This was getting embarrassing. They stood up and left the café. As they shook hands at the exit, Brad said,

  “You’re a veteran, Col. You can get a free membership to the gym. It might do you good.”

  Brad didn’t know it then. He had already done a lot of good. Getting him out of the house and into a different environment, making him see someone else’s problems and put his own aside for a minute or two, was sheer relief.

  Perhaps he would take up the gym offer, find a physiotherapist for his body and give that shrink another try. He would have to get help to stop the numbers or they would drive him crazy.

  Colin Carstairs, ex-army sergeant, could not see any further down the recovery road. It was a long road with twists and turns but he had begun to think about taking the first steps.

  Carla Carstairs dressed in her oldest gear, including a ball cap that held her hair up and out of the way.

  It was her usual outfit for her early morning runs. She slipped out of the master suite and over to the door of the loft without waking her roommate, Sebastian, asleep on the couch bed in the great room.

  Not for the first time she stopped to bless her mentor and friend, Zoe, for the privilege of sharing her fabulous loft flat in central London. It had been her home during the first tough years of her training and Zoe had been there to advise and guide her. Zoe had meant to sell the flat quickly and move to something quite different. That search had been far longer than expected and after she found her new place, the work required had been so extensive that she stayed on for another two years.

  Now the flat was Carla’s own. Sebastian Oliver assisted with the rental payments but he was the easiest of roommates, in the same line of business as she was, and they accommodated each other’s schedules and preferences perfectly amicably with the assistance of a large white board for notes and reminders. Today, the board advised that Sebastian had a rehearsal call for a new theatrical show and would be gone before she returned from her run.

  The flat had undergone a few changes since Zoe’s departure. There was a feature wall with a large, green, graphic-patterned wallpaper whose scale suited the height of the ceilings. The furniture now had bright slip covers to protect it from the resident pet, a male, chocolate point Siamese called Bourneville, after Carla’s mother’s favourite chocolate. Notes about his escapades, under the nickname ‘Villain’, often filled the notice board but he was a comforting presence when she reached home base after a long day in the studio or on a film set. Villain was still curled up on her bed. He ignored early mornings.

  The loft was only a block from the Embankment. At this hour, the path beside the Thames River was occupied by others who also enjoyed the quiet before the crowds arrived in the capital by their thousands to pursue the work of the kingdom. Some sat on the benches with a coffee in hand and contemplated the sky and the wheeling seabirds. Some set up portable stalls for passing trade but the path was always left clear for pedestrian and runners.

  It was a time for Carla to think about her career, her day and her plans. Career wise, she was right on target. The film premiere had garnered a lot of attention but more importantly, the reviews were good and several mentioned her part as ‘promising’. Her pace increased as she thought of this accolade and of the scripts waiting for her back in the loft. Martin Polk had not wasted any time in spreading the word to producers with new projects. It was wonderful to have choices after the lean times when she was an unknown quantity, other than her work as a photographic model for Excelsior.

  The day was taken care of. After her run she would pick up a newspaper or magazine and a bagel and return to the loft for a shower, a quick break to read the entertainment news and then get down to reading scripts.

  It was a bright beginning for the day until she ran past a man sitting on a blanket at the grass verge with a sign. It read ‘Help a Veteran’. She closed her eyes for a second as a shock ran through her. This man could have been Colin.

  On Monday she had lunched with her mother and Colin’s progress, or lack of it, had been a topic of their conversation. There was little she could do to help. Her mother’s nursing experience had given her insights into post- traumatic stress situations and she was closely monitoring her son at home. He was never left alone for long. When Carla heard this it had sent a chill to her heart. She understood why Colin had to be monitored. The papers were full of veteran suicides and she did not want her brother to be one of the statistics. She had taken this opportunity to apologise to her mother for the unfortunate habits of her children in visiting their inner problems on a father and mother who deserved a great deal more than angry youths ruining their peaceful home lives.

  Corinne had roared with laughter and said she always had Arthur on her side and, thank heaven, the children in question had not been in this state at the same time. Corinne was hopeful about Colin’s recovery and happy her daughter’s success in London had meant benefits for her mother and for all the family.

  “I will be glad to be home for a while. London is amazing and I enjoy occasional modelling with you, Carla, but it’s a high maintenance existence here and I have people to care for back in Birmingham”.

  They had parted on this note. And now the man by the path had brought Colin and her old home back into focus. She resolved to bring a few extra pound notes in her pocket for her next run and sped up to the end of the track where the newsstand was.

  Old Alf folded up her usual paper so she could carry it under her arm. She had an account with him which she paid by cheque each month. It was only a few more steps to the corner where the bakery was doing great business thanks to the delicious aromas floating out of the open doors. The girls knew her order and placed a hot cinnamon raisin bagel in a paper bag for her. She popped a five pound note into the tip jar and made her escape. She would run back by a different, shorter route before her muscles started to chill.

  The key to the loft was on a chain around her neck. She entered, saw that Sebastian had gone and left the place tidy. Bourneville, in his more placid mode, was waiting on the kitchen island for his daily cream.

  Seb had put the percolator on for her coffee, bless his heart.

  Showered, and dried, and clad in her white towelling robe, she poured coffee and breathed in the scent of it as she gave the cat his morning treat. The bagel was still warm so she slathered it with cream cheese and settled into her favourite chair near the tall windows to see if there was any more coverage of the film in the entertainment section of the paper. The colour photos on Tuesday had been excellent.

  Carla never made it past the front page.

  The headline screamed at her.

  CC SHAME!

  Underneath was a less-than-flattering photo of her laughing with some actor on their way out of a nightclub or restaurant. The message being conveyed was that she was a heartless bitch.

  She scanned the print quickly, hardly able to believe what she read.

  Actress, Carla Carstairs, fondly named by her fans CC, has been concealing the facts about her first marriage to Bradley Newbigging who she left behind in despair when she took off for London with never a backward glance at her marital home with Bradley in Birmingham.

  Also deserted was her brother, a decorated veteran of the Afghanistan war, who according to local informants is suffering from PTSD.

  Carla Carstairs first came to the attention of the public via a clever publicity campaign sponsored by the CEO of Excelsior Company, one of the foremost cosmetics firms in Britain. A spokesperson in the company refused to comment on whether they had any knowledge of this shameful episo
de in the actress’ past.

  Corinne Carstairs, the mother of both Colin and Carla, has appeared from time to time with her daughter in billboard-sized advertising seen in major cities across the land. The caption with these commercials is Beautiful Skin Now and For Your Future.

  Our reporter found a bystander who commented, “Beauty is as Beauty Does.” Which we take to mean; actions speak more plainly than appearances.

  In this case actions have been reprehensible.

  An insider, who declined to be identified, stated that the marriage between the actress and Bradley lasted a mere two years and communication between them has been almost nonexistent in the intervening years.

  Meantime, Carla Carstairs lives in seclusion somewhere in the city. She rarely gives interviews.

  Her most recent public appearance was at the premiere of the film, The Best Policy. in which Carstairs has a small part.

  This reporter has questions.

  What does CC have to say about this film title when it usually refers to the saying Honesty is the best policy?

  What will her fans say when they read this shocking disclosure?

  Why has Carstairs concealed her marriage for so long?

  What’s with a family who all have the same initials?

  Call our hot line if you have any further information about this exclusive breaking news.

  Watch for more in tomorrow’s edition of this newspaper.

  Our motto is First and Foremost!

  Carla froze in position as each line assaulted her with more ugly accusations. Her breathing stopped as her brain refused to absorb the insults to her family members.

  Bourneville sensed something was very wrong with his mistress and he bounded across the room to plump himself down on her knees and purr her back to life again.

  She had no idea how many minutes passed before she could function.

  Her first reaction was sheer rage.

  How dare they? Who were these nameless people who shared information with a reporter?

  Next came a wash of cold fear.

  What would her mother and father think of this?

  What would Zoe think? Thank God she had not been named in the article although it indicated her company was tainted by the scandal.

  What was Martin Polk going to do?

  How would Brad and Colin feel with their private lives dragged into the public domain?

  She dithered about who to call first. Amazingly, it was still early in the day. She felt as if she had been glued to the chair for hours. There was still an outside chance that her parents might not have seen the newspaper. Her Dad had newspaper delivery every day. She searched her mind for what time the paper arrived in their mail box. Surely it was not until late morning?

  She forced her body out of the chair and over to the coffee table where her phone lay. Her hands shook as she pressed the number for her mother’s phone. Please let her be at home, not at work. Please don’t let Dad answer first. Pick up Mum! Pick up Mum! Please!

  When she heard her mother’s voice she felt her knees weaken.

  “Mum, something bad has happened. I am OK but you must not let Colin see the newspaper today. There’s a horrible article about me on the front page. It says awful things about all of us and Brad. It could be on television later. Say the set has broken down. Colin can’t take this exposure. I am so, so sorry to bring all this down upon you. I had no idea it would happen.”

  “Wait, Carla! What are you talking about? What awful things? Explain.”

  “It’s about Brad and me and me leaving him to go to London.” She sounded as flustered as she was.

  “But that’s true, isn’t it?”

  “Of course it is. No one ever asked me about it. They made out I denied it, but it involves you and Colin as well as Zoe. I am so upset.”

  “I can hear that, dear. All you can do now is tell the truth. Don’t look for more publicity. Talk to your agent right away. I’ll handle things at this end and I’ll ask Brad if he spoke to any reporters. Don’t panic. As far as I can tell, this is common practice with so-called journalists. It’s all innuendo and exaggeration. It will blow over in no time. There’s no big story here.”

  “Thanks Mum! I feel a bit better. I’ll call Martin and Zoe. Keep in touch.”

  Before she could put the phone down a text message came in from Martin Polk.

  Urgent. Call me. Don’t go out.

  She contacted his cell number immediately.

  “Have you seen the article?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, then I don’t have to explain it to you.”

  “Oh, Martin! What am I going to do?” An audible sob broke through her quivering voice.

  “Look, my lovely! This is par for the course with these gossip rags. I have a call into my lawyer. He’ll ask for a ‘cease and desist’ order against the publisher. That’ll prevent them from publishing more in the next few days. Can you tell me if there are any actual lies in the piece?”

  She could not bear to read the thing again so she ran over the details in her mind. It was seared there in letters of fire anyway.

  “No, Martin. I am ashamed to say there are no outright lies. It’s the way they manipulate the truth to make it sound so filthy.”

  “Right! No libel suit then. Do you have any idea who might have talked to the reporter?”

  “Absolutely not! No one would have given an interview without asking my permission I’m sure of it.”

  “Fine! No actual persons are named as informants so they could be fishing in the dark.

  Let me know if you have any ideas about what could have happened. Don’t answer your phone unless it’s family or me.”

  “Thank you, Martin. I feel so helpless.”

  “Don’t fret! This is what you pay me the percentage for and I am good at my job. Hang tight as they say in the States.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Suzanne arrived within the hour and made fresh coffee and reheated the bagel. She searched the kitchen cupboards until she found biscuits sweet enough to provide energy and sat beside Carla until she had consumed all of it, patting her hand all the while as she explained her mission.

  “Zoe is occupied today with important matters or she would have been here by now. She says everything will be all right. The company can’t be hurt by stupid accusations. You have done nothing any young girl could have done. She has given me carte blanche to represent Excelsior until she returns. No one in the media knows where you live. Wait it out here for a day or two and everything will be fine.”

  Suzanne hovered around until she was sure Carla had settled down and turned her mind to the stack of scripts beside her chair. It was a good sign that the girl was thinking about her future. She deftly removed the offending newspaper and repeated Zoe’s instructions before she closed the loft door behind her and headed back to her real job at Excelsior.

  Carla had been reading for an hour. She was well into a sci fi story of a woman who discovers she is the last of a lost generation. Martin had made a note that the part was perfect for her if the producers could round up the right director and cast. When her phone rang, she jumped as if she had been shot. The world of fiction had more appeal to her than the reality of the phone might bring.

  “Yes, Mum. What’s happening now?”

  “It’s not as bad as you think, Carla. I’ve tracked down the culprit.”

  “Who?”

  “It seems to be Brad.”

  “What? Why would he do that? I thought we had made peace.”

  “Well, you have to know he did not intend any harm. He has a new job now and he had an interview with the company’s human resources person a couple of weeks ago. He answered a number of questions about his previous employment and his marital status. As far as we can figure it, this person was the one who must have passed on the information to the newspaper, probably for money. Brad swears he never talks about you to anyone and this was the first and only time.”

  “Poor Brad
! He must feel awful. He couldn’t have known someone would care enough to pass on private information like that. Tell him I am sorry about the whole mess.”

  “It’s the world we live in now, Carla. Everything and everyone is for sale, I’m afraid.”

  “What about Colin?”

  “He doesn’t know anything. He’s at home most of the time and doesn’t talk to his old friends so it’s not likely anyone would tell him. Dad will say he used the front page of the paper to wrap something for the rubbish bin.”

  “I am so sorry about this, Mum. You have enough on your hands without adding my problems.”

  “It’s not a real problem, Carla. You’ll get over it. Just hold your head up and stay positive.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks again for the fine detective work and let me know if there’s any more repercussions at home.”

  “I will. Love you.”

  “Love you too!”

  Carla felt better after talking to her mother. She showered over again, dressed and brushed out her hair and ate some scrambled eggs with toast and tea. The world began to look more balanced.

  Martin called again to assure her the online fan community was responding with support and outright anger at the newspaper, mostly directed at the poor photograph they had chosen to show.

  Carla laughed at that. She asked if she should be writing a blog for the fans and Martin said he would have to think about how to word it but it was a good idea to get it out by the end of the day. She could draft something along the lines of dismay… shock….invasion of privacy…….need to express herself…………destiny…………and the good relationship she now had with her ex.

  Carla agreed, but privately thought this acting business had dimensions in the publicity realm she had not anticipated when she arrived in London with ambitions to better her life.