Her American Classic (Part 2)

by G J Morgan

  Wished myself good luck, Lilly too.

  3

  Lilly screamed, an awful scream, the kind I’d heard before, the kind people made when you tell them their daughter had died, when there are no words loud enough.

  Max was a prick, I’d watched him storm off, leave Lilly on her knees, watched him get into his car, he never even looked back. I’d taken off my earphones, I’d heard enough, I didn’t need technology to hear a girl cry out every breath she had. I should have left, it wasn’t right to watch. Lilly got up off the floor, walked slowly across the garden, her arms folded tightly across her chest, still cold, shaking, her footsteps tiny and slow. She stopped at the stream, her eyes fixed downward, motionless, it felt like I knew what was coming, what she was about to do.

  I looked down at my camera, the hundred shots I’d taken felt heavy around my neck. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t contemplate picking up that camera one last time, pointing the lens at Lilly one last time, the money it would make me and my family, the future it would give us. Suicide would make thousands and thousands of pounds, zeros that provided more than a nice day out, zeros that would change our lives forever.

  All I had to do was take the pictures. That was all I had to do. Point and click.

  4

  I didn’t jump, I fell, as if it made any difference…

  Five.

  … I’d never tried to kill myself before, which was surprising even for myself, knowing how complex and fucked up I was or am. Failed attempt at self-harm, though it wasn’t a real attempt and there wasn’t much harm done either. I barely even drew blood, I’d had worse paper cuts, think I just wanted to say I’d done it, make myself an outcast, make boys with guitars think I’m cute. I was listening to a lot of Billy Corgan around that time, a little Marilyn Manson too, so if anyone was to blame it was probably them, music was always to blame, that or video games. I wasn’t even one of those girls that particularly liked suicide, or thought it cool or glamorous. Kurt Cobain, Ian Curtis, Elliot Smith. I thought they were arseholes, geniuses but arseholes, to be that selfish must take some real doing. To knowingly cause so much pain and leave so much pain behind, easy option for them, leaving nothing but hardships for everyone else…

  Four.

  … But life is hard though, unbearable sometimes, where support or advice or logic are neither asked for nor useful. Shame and regret can make rational people do irrational things, like load a gun, swallow a dozen pills, climb a wall…

  Three.

  … Funny thing was when I heard my name shouted, when I turned around, yes it was a surprise, yes it was shock, yes relief…

  Two.

  … But mostly I was just glad someone finally put down their camera, showed their face, stopped hiding. I just wasn’t expecting him. His face full of fear, his arms stretched out, running toward me through the dark…

  One.

  … That was why I fell. Not because of what or why. Because of who I saw running to save me.

  5

  “It’s bleeding pretty bad. Do you want me call someone? Lilly, are you OK? Do you need me to ring an ambulance? Talk to me. Say something. Can you walk? I’ll take you back inside.”

  I heard him say all these things, but I didn’t answer. I couldn’t feel anything or say anything, not just yet. Even when he picked me up and carried me back inside, still I said nothing.

  “Does that sting?” he said, putting a blanket over me. “I’m gonna try and find your fuse box, get some light in here, so I can see how bad your knee is.”

  He disappeared out of the room. Minutes later the house became bright again, too bright, as he came back into the room, he handed me a water, turned the light to a dim again.

  “Do you want me to get you anything else?” he knelt down. “Some painkillers for your knee? I’ll leave if you want me to. Do you need me to call someone?” He went over and stoked the fire, added a few more logs, turned dying embers back into a roar, as he sat on the arm of my chair, neither of us speaking. “Do you want me to explain?” he asked. “Explain why I was here. Do you need me to get something for you?”

  “Tea would be nice,” I said, my voice croaky, as he went out and came back in moments later, handing me my drink and a towel.

  I turned the TV on and pressed play. Explanations and apologies could wait till another time, he deserved one, as did I. Easier to let actors and actresses do the talking tonight. I didn’t have it in me, physically or emotionally I was past reaction. The title credits started to roll, a forest covered in white, sweeping score, a horse and his rider battling amongst the trees and snow.

  The two of us, me and him, different couches, sharing our own different types of silence.

  6

  I’d been up for five minutes, woke up in a crumpled heap on the couch, my head throbbed, but my knee throbbed more. I made myself look down, it was mostly mud and blood, no swelling, just bruising, I’d seen worse but I couldn’t remember when, my knee looked pretty fucked. I stepped in front of the fireplace to take a closer look at myself in the mirror, assess the damage, it wasn’t pleasant, my face had taken a battering too, last night’s make-up, last night’s everything. I looked over at the other couch, he was still asleep, sat upright in his coat, arms folded, the snoring hero.

  I limped my way to the kitchen, the room smelt of barbecue, the remains of dinner were everywhere, rib bones, corn husks, deformed candles. I boiled the kettle, opened the back door, sat for a while, sipped coffee, tried to gather my thoughts.

  * * *

  “Hi,” he said, stood in the doorway

  “Hi.”

  “Sorry, I fell asleep. I didn’t plan to.”

  “It was a long night for us both. The subtitles didn’t help either, I bet.”

  He smiled, though he couldn’t look at me, his eyes everywhere but me.

  “I’m gonna head off now,” he said, his coat in his hand, “leave you to it.”

  “There’s some coffee left in the pot. Thank you for fixing the lights by the way. Was it hard to do?”

  “No, just had to flick a switch that’s all.”

  “Will you show me how you did it, before you leave? Just in case it happens again.” I passed him a cup of coffee.

  “Sure.”

  “You fancy burnt peach cobbler for breakfast?” I said, taking a pie dish out of the Aga.

  “Coffee is fine.” He took a sip. “How’s the knee?”

  “Not that bad. My pride hurts more.”

  “I don’t know,” he smiled. “Your knee looked pretty messed up. My name is…”

  “I know your name, we’ve met before. You can sit down by the way.” I pointed towards the chair.

  “I didn’t know if you’d remembered.”

  “Awards show, right? London.”

  “That’s right.” He took a seat.

  “I’m guessing that chance meeting had nothing to do with chance at all?”

  “I’d like to talk about last night. About what happened. Talk about how I fit in to all this.”

  “Oh, I know where you fit in to all this. I’m gonna go and have a quick shower, then you can apologize and I can say thank you. I hope you like eggs, it’s all we cook round here.”

  * * *

  The shower stung, hot water on raw skin. When I came back down the stairs, I could hear him on his cell, I tried to pretend I wasn’t listening as I took a seat, eyes behind my Wayfarers as I brushed out the last of the wet from my hair. I noticed he had already set the table, I could smell eggs and butter, bread becoming toast, I was being cooked for.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, putting his cell back in his pocket. “It’s my little girl’s first day at nursery today. Think she got a little bit upset by the sound of it.”

  “Is that like preschool? She must be, like, five, then?”

  “She’s three, well sh
e will be in September.” He went over to the Aga. “I hope you don’t mind me making breakfast,” he said, stirring and seasoning.

  “Shame for you to miss her first day.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Where’s home? Near here?”

  “Tiny village up North.”

  “When did you see her last?”

  “Last Sunday. Flying visit, must’ve only seen her for about four hours. Still worth it though.”

  “When are you next due to see her?”

  “Question mark. In a week, a week and a half. Depends on you, really. Where you go?”

  “Me?”

  “I go where you go, remember?”

  “Well, if it’s any consolation I haven’t plans to venture too far away. I’m pretty much under house arrest now. Seeing all you fuckers have found me I’ll never get a moment’s peace, easier just to stay indoors.”

  “Sounds like I’ll be here for a while then.”

  “And you think this is good for your daughter, this current situation, you being so far away, seeing her for four hours, not knowing when you’ll be back?”

  “No, this situation is far from good. But it’s not forever.” He walked over to the table, placed a pan of scrambled eggs in the middle of us.

  “What, till you move on to the next troubled actress?” I said, helping myself.

  “No, you’re my first and my last, I can assure you.”

  Together we drank our coffee, we’d finished off the eggs and now I’d brought out the granola. I noticed him look at me as I poured myself a bowl.

  “You’re looking at me funny. Have I got something in my teeth?”

  “No,” he laughed.

  “Go on, you’ve got to tell me what’s so funny.”

  “It’s not even that funny. I just read somewhere you had a nut allergy, that’s all.”

  “Afraid not.”

  “This is weird, isn’t it?”

  “I’m used to weird.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I need to explain, don’t I?”

  “You do, but not yet.”

  “Not yet?”

  “Let’s enjoy breakfast first. It’s a bit too early for confessionals.” I took our plates and walked over to the sink.

  “You enjoy the movie last night?” he said, bringing over the rest of the dirty mugs and glasses. “You feel asleep before the end.”

  “I’ve seen it like a billion times, don’t worry.”

  “You like sad endings then?”

  “Not necessarily. Not all the time. Just don’t think all endings are always happy that’s all.”

  “I always root for the bad myself. They normally deserve to win. They’ve normally worked harder for it.”

  “Well, you would say that.”

  “I’m not bad. Wrong side of good, but I’m not a bad person.”

  “Necessary evil I called you, didn’t I?”

  “You remember that?”

  “I’ve got a good memory. Tour guide, right?”

  “I was a tour guide in a former life, yes.”

  “What happened?”

  “I got sacked.”

  “Nice work. How so?”

  “Lost my passion for it. Got bored.”

  “Of tourists?”

  “Celebrities, actually.”

  “I’m pretty bored of them too. Not much of a career change was it, tour guide to paparazzi?”

  “I’m not paparazzi.”

  “You sure act like one,” I said as I squirted washing-up liquid into running water.

  “It wasn’t planned, as I said, this won’t be forever.”

  “What, till you get bored of me?”

  “No till you go back home.”

  “Not long then, a few weeks. You don’t fancy following me back to LA, then?”

  “Don’t think I’ll ever go back to LA,” he said, loading the dishwasher.

  “Not even for me?”

  “Not even for you, sorry.”

  “Do you wanna go in the garden? I can do the rest later. The sun is out, bit of a rarity in this country. Better embrace it whilst it lasts.”

  * * *

  “Feels strange seeing it from this side,” he said looking out across the garden. “Like I’ve gone from audience to stage.”

  “Perhaps I should hide somewhere and watch you all day. Give you a taste of your own medicine. Where is your little hideout?”

  “Over by those trees,” he pointed.

  “I thought I’d searched over there.”

  “I’m good at covering my tracks. Lawn looks nice,” he smiled.

  “I guess you saw that then.”

  “Probably shouldn’t use a lawnmower barefoot next time.”

  “You sound like my Frank.”

  We walked towards the stream, sitting on the cobbled wall, looking down at the water fizz and froth as bubbled under our feet.

  “Looked far scarier last night. A much bigger drop in the dark.”

  “Still quite far down. You would’ve bust more than your knee if you’d fallen down there.”

  “Don’t know what I was thinking. I doubt the current would’ve been strong enough to carry me off, even if you hadn’t been there. I probably wouldn’t have drowned either, probably just broken a bone, got wet and cold, given myself a fever or something. Not the greatest attempt at suicide.”

  “Is that what it was? Suicide attempt? Sorry, I shouldn’t be asking that.”

  “Lucky you were here to save the day, whatever attempt it was.”

  “If you wanna see far down, you wanna see the Humber Bridge. That’s a jump you wouldn’t get up from.”

  “Are we discussing suicide hot spots now?”

  “I’ve not had the best year either. I’ve contemplated a similar jump.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  We continued around the garden, a tour of sorts. Showed him my impressive herb collection, he said his mum would be jealous. We admired my herd of sheep, apparently he’d been introduced before, he’d even given them names, no wonder they never answered to me.

  He stood at the mouth of the stream as we took it in turns to skim rocks across the surface. It appeared there was an art to it, an art I hadn’t yet found and nor had he.

  “Can I ask you a question?” he asked. “Off record.”

  “Go for it. I may not answer. We have only been friends for less than three hours.”

  “Why did you invite Max last night? I’ve been racking my brain and I just can’t get my head round it. I just can’t work out why he deserved a second chance.”

  “You think I was offering him a second chance? He passed second chance territory a long time ago.”

  “Is this the end then for you and him?”

  “Probably not,” I said as we took it in turns to throw our rocks.

  “Shall I go?” he asked.

  “Go where? Back to your little hideout?”

  “Back to where I’m staying.”

  “What were you supposed to be doing today?”

  “Following you.”

  I laughed. “What a ridiculous game we are playing.”

  “Look Lilly, if you want me to leave at any point then just say. I’ve overstayed my welcome as it is, feels like I’m crossing a line being here.”

  “Pinky promise the moment I feel you are crossing the line I will ask you to leave the building.”

  The doorbell buzzed, we looked towards the driveway, it was a white van.

  “Looks like you’ve another one of your parcels.”

  “Who sends clothes on a Saturday?”

  “Happens a lot, doesn’t it, these free packages?”

  “Too often. My be
droom looks like Macy’s. I’ll get us another coffee.”

  “No, I’m fine thank you. I’m gonna head off.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind you being here.”

  “It’s best I go.” He started to walk towards the front gate.

  “So, what happens next, Tom?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Will my failed suicide attempt be on the cover of every newspaper tomorrow morning?”

  “No, that can stay between me and you.”

  “And why should I believe you? Why should I trust you?”

  He shrugged. “You’re just gonna have to believe me.”

  “Please don’t tell anyone about last night. I’m embarrassed enough without the whole word knowing. I’ll pay you.”

  “No, Lilly, I don’t want your money.”

  “And what do you want? Are you still gonna be in your little hideout following my every move?”

  “My honest answer, I haven’t thought that far, it’s been a long night. I suppose so.”

  We stopped at the driveway.

  “You gotta walk home?”

  “No, my car is only up the road.”

  “Back to being enemies then, hey?”

  “I don’t know what we are, but not enemies, least not on my part.”

  “Thanks for last night.”

  “Any time. Thanks for the breakfast.”

  “Never know, if you here early enough tomorrow I’ll save you some, wave you over. No point in both of us eating alone.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “What are you doing later?”

  “Sleeping. Shower. After that, who knows? Back here I guess. Back to my little den.”

  “So, it goes back to normal. Me on one side of the stream and you on the other?”

  “I think it has to. Doesn’t mean you go jumping off bridges again.”

  “You could just knock, you know.”

  “Wouldn’t it be awkward?”

  “A little. I’d prefer to be spied on up close if I’m being honest, to my face, not behind some binocular lens, zoomed in on like a target.”

  “You don’t have to do this, Lilly. Just because of what I did last night, it doesn’t mean I’m owed anything from you. I know you don’t like me. You have every right to ring the police and get me escorted off the property.”