by G J Morgan
“I don’t know, Tom. Everything is a little fucked up right now.”
“Have I done something wrong?”
“No.”
“It feels like something’s changed.”
“Like I said, I don’t know. I’m confused.”
“You think me and you was a mistake?” he said.
“Not at all, no.”
“Then why do I feel like I’m being let go?”
“I’m sorry, Tom. I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Do you want me to back off?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“Then what are you saying? You’re not making sense.”
“I can’t give you any answers right now.”
“I need you to tell me how you feel. I’m going crazy.”
“That’s how I feel, Tom.”
“Do you want to be with me?”
I looked at him, a man on his last legs, on his feet, but on his knees.
“Yes, I do want to be with you. More than anything. But this will never work, Tom. It just won’t.”
“We’ll find a way. I know I said that I wouldn’t… ”
“I think you are an amazing person. You are an amazing dad. But me and you will only ever end badly, end up with one of us getting hurt.”
“Yes, it’s a gamble. All relationships are a gamble.”
“My heart can’t take a gamble, Tom. And I don’t think yours can either.”
“You’re running away again. Is that your default position? To flee when things get hard. What about all we talked about?”
“Tom, I need to go back inside.”
“There’s more that needs to be said. Here is the wrong place. What time will you be home later?”
“No, Tom. It’s better this way. It’s better it ends now. As friends, not enemies.”
“Why are you so complicated? Is it intentional?”
“Bye, Tom.”
“Please don’t do this.”
“I’m doing this for you. I’m poison, Tom.”
I felt a tap. It was Rogan.
“Everything all right here, Lilly?” he said, putting his arm over my shoulder.
“Yes, this is my friend Tom. He was just leaving.”
“Come inside. Everyone is waiting.” he said, giving Tom a look up and down, a warning shot.
“Bye, Tom. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? We still need to talk. I need more of an explanation than ‘I’m sorry’.”
“I think she made herself quite clear, dude.” Rogan pushed Tom’s chest away, as we started to walk back inside. I didn’t look back but I knew it would take more than a whispered apology to stop him from giving up just yet.
Back inside, Rogan ordered the table of round of shots. I knew how this night would turn out after downing that first Sambuca and quite frankly I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more than to order another round and then another.
* * *
I knew it was stupid, from when I offered Rogan to come back to mine, to when I let him open another bottle, for not stopping when he put his hand on my leg. I was in the bathroom, sat on the toilet, working out my escape, or more his escape. Could just say I was tired, I thought, which wasn’t a lie. could just say I made a mistake. God, he was so beautiful, most men aren’t, handsome but not many were beautiful, his skin was so perfect, his eyes. He talked to me like I was being undressed, and worse still I felt inclined to do the same. He was dangerous, he knew what he was doing, though so did I, we didn’t even live close to each other, in fact the opposite, out of the way opposite. He knew and I knew what sharing a taxi meant and although we’d only flirted so far, it was getting to the time of night when one of us would have to advance or withdraw, time to either make excuses or make out.
I looked in the mirror. My reflection blurred, my eyes blotchy and red, but nothing handbag make-up couldn’t hide. I looked again, not at my features but at myself. This was a terrible decision, whatever the initial intention, even if I felt it would produce the right outcome, it was still an awful decision, one fuelled by alcohol, fuelled by the desire to fix myself or damage someone else, I didn’t know which. Was it coincidence I’d brought Rogan back, knowing Tom would follow? Was I that bad a person? Was it the only way to make Tom give up? I was drunk but not that drunk I didn’t know what I’d done and what I was about to do.
I opened the door. Candles were lit that weren’t lit before. Sexiest man on the planet pouring us both more wine.
Oh fuck.
I was stupid for inviting him back, yes, stupid for letting him stay, and there was still plenty more opportunity for stupidity to come.
Lots more.
28
Go home Tom. This is pathetic. Have some fucking backbone and at least let it end with some dignity. Pull the car around and go home, get some sleep, next morning just pack up and do what I should have done days ago, get back up North where I belong, not sat in the dark staring at shadows and silhouettes. What was I even waiting for? I followed them home, I saw them both giggling and laughing as they went inside, I knew what was coming next. If this was Lilly proving a point then it was working. So, unless I planned on knocking the front door down and taking on a man twice my size then all that was left was to leave. Forget Lilly, forget this house, forget I ever came here, forget falling for someone again. Get back to my family, to reality, not this far-fetched fucking fantasy.
I looked down at the envelope on the passenger seat, what a waste of money, tickets that wouldn’t get to see an airport either here or across the Atlantic.
29
“Dot, I’m not ill.”
“You’ve got a temperature. You need rest and rehydration. Here, I’ve got you some magazines and some Lucozade.” She fluffed up my pillows, tidying away old plates and cutlery.
“Dot, I just need sleep not mothering.”
“And what time did you finally get in your own bed last night?”
“I don’t know. I ignored the clock when I got back.”
“You live life like an owl.”
“Vampire sounds cooler.”
“Do you mind if the dog sleeps in your coffin with you. He’s had his tail between his legs all morning. Bad weather brings out his bipolar.” Tripod was already spread across the floor by the side of the bed. “Looks like every man and his dog is departing on Sunday. America is going home en masse. I assume your lady friend has something to do with that.”
“Bet you’re happy. Back to peace and quiet.”
“Oh, I won’t see peace and quiet till after the holiday season. Besides, peace and quiet is overrated, I’d rather be boil-washing bed sheets then spending a whole day with him indoors.”
“You and Alfred talk, surely?”
“The old man? He’s OK really. We ran out of conversation in the early nineties. We share a bed but very little else. You promise to visit though, still? Bring your mother and little Molly. I won’t charge you.”
“Dot, I wouldn’t expect to be given a free room.”
“You’d be my guests, not my customers. Before I forget, I’ll bring your tuxedo up later on. Sorry it’s taken so long. I’ve been up to me eyeballs, as you well know. You’ll be pleased to know, the pockets no longer smell of bacon.”
“Thanks, Dot.”
“You never did tell me about the tuxedo night with your lady friend. Was it a success?”
“It was.”
“I’m going to need more than that, Thomas. Apart from reading my Mills and Boon, having you here is the closest I get to romance.”
“A gentleman never tells.”
“Very commendable. I’ve raised you well.”
There was a knock on the door. Alfred stood with his clipboard and trolley, stressed and calm in equal measure. “I better get off, Tom, I’ll
be back at lunchtime with my home-made cure. My turkey and split pea soup beats anything you get over any pharmacy counter.”
“Here Dot. I’ve got something for you by the way.”
“For me?”
“For all your help, this last month.” I stood up, walked over.
“Don’t be silly.”
I handed her an envelope.
“You don’t have to give me anything, you silly sod.”
“You’ll have to get Alfred a tuxedo,” I said, watching her read it. “Can’t have him turn up in one of his old jumpers.”
“Don’t know what to say,” she said, just as Alfred appeared behind her.
“I highly recommend you order a Tom Collins. Though don’t have as many as I had.”
“I feel a bit overwhelmed,” she said, staring at it like she’d just won a lottery, showing it to Alfred, who looked at it like he’d lost. “Come here and give me a big hug.”
“Are you crying, Dot?”
“What if I am?” she smiled, wiping her eyes with a tissue. “Do you need some fresh towels whilst my trolley is outside?”
“No, Dot afraid not. I’ve decided I’m going to leave today.”
“Leave?” she looked shocked. “Why?”
“It’s just time to go.”
“You said Sunday. I wrote it down. Sunday 6th.”
“I know I did but things have changed.”
“What has changed?”
“Lots of things.”
“Has something gone on with Lilly?”
“You could say that.”
“I thought you said it was a success? Your romantic night away.”
“I thought it was too, but I don’t think I was ever right for her. She’s made that quite clear.”
“In what way did she make it clear? Did she tell you this?”
“I think sleeping with someone else is pretty clear-cut, Dot.”
“She never? When?”
“Last night.”
“That sounds very unlike her. You must be so cross.”
“I’m not her biggest fan right now, to be honest.”
“Well, don’t do anything that you’ll regret.”
“Like what? It’s not like I’ve got thousands of photos I could sell to the highest bidder. It’s not like I couldn’t sell my story for millions of dollars.”
“You wouldn’t.”
I didn’t answer.
“Why don’t you go and see her? Talk to her. Try to get to the bottom of this. Has she tried to contact you?”
“She’s messaged me twice this morning. Rang me a couple of times too. Not that I’ve answered any.”
“You see? It means that it isn’t over, Tom. Go on. Go and see her.”
“No, Dot. It’s best I pack and get out of here. That’s the right thing to do.”
“I think you are being silly, Tom.”
“No. This is the only smart thing I’ve done since I got here.”
30
Red wine had always given me the worst headache, regardless of whether it was cheap or the best that money could buy, the end result was always the mother of all hangovers. The Sambuca should take some if not all the responsibility too.
I had no idea of the time, the sun was out, I knew that much, I heard keys rattle too and the front door being opened and shut, that was about an hour ago. There was a cup of coffee next to my bed, it was still hot. Frank or Sally or both, or even burglars, polite burglars, either way I wasn’t getting up just yet.
I checked my cell. Ten o’clock and no messages, not sure whether to feel relieved or depressed. I closed my eyes regardless, I must have fallen back to sleep, when I woke up my coffee was cold and someone was opening curtains.
The first thing I knew I had to do was speak to Tom.
* * *
“Feel any better for having a shower?” Frank said from behind his newspaper.
“Not particularly.” I crept across the room, flopped down on the sofa, putting my legs across his lap. “Cleaning my teeth three times didn’t help either. It’s Friday, isn’t it?”
“Last I checked.”
“Just to recap. I’m not working today, am I?”
“Not unless you are filming on your own.”
I closed my eyes for a bit, zoned out as Frank turned pages.
“I’m gonna book a holiday soon.” I sat up. “For all of us.”
“And where are you planning on taking us?”
“Anywhere. Far away. New Zealand, Thailand, Japan.”
“Have you seen your calendar for the next few months? You haven’t get a day off till Thanksgiving by the looks of it.”
“Lucky me.”
“Busy means you’re doing something right.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
“I see you’re full of joy today aren’t you, Miss Sunshine? You want a pancake stack, turn that frown upside down?”
“I think I’ll need more than home-cooking for that to happen.”
“You go upstairs and get dressed for the day, throw some jeans on, brush your hair. I’ll make a start on breakfast.”
* * *
“What have you done now then, Lilly?” passing me a carton of juice like I was capable of pouring. “You look like you caused a mischief last night.”
“What makes you say that?”
Frank leant across the table. “You’ve been checking your cell every ten seconds.”
“Nearly did something silly, that’s all.”
“Nearly?”
“Yes, very nearly.”
“I like the word nearly. Shows you knew when to stop. That hasn’t always been the case,” he said, sifting flour, cracking eggs, pouring milk.
“Can I tell you something, Frank?”
“What?” I’d seen that look before, like he was bracing himself.
“Can you promise you won’t say anything to Sally?”
“Lilly. I am not promising nothing till I know what it is.”
“Frank. Swear it.”
“You’re not pregnant?”
“No Frank. But thank you for questioning my birth control.”
“Tattoo? You didn’t get caught drink driving again?”
“Frank, shut up a minute.”
“Now I’m fucking nervous,” he said, turning the bacon, flipping pancakes.
“How would you feel if I said I was thinking of giving up movies?”
Frank didn’t look amused. “Run that past me again.”
“How would you feel if I took a break?”
“I think you’d be out of your fucking tree, that’s what I think. For how long?”
“I don’t know, a few months, a year.”
“What did you do last night, Lilly?”
“What I did last night has nothing to do with this. I’ve been thinking about this for weeks.”
“And you want my consent? My approval?”
“I want your opinion that’s all. Frank, be careful you’re… ” pointing at his frying pan.
“I think it’s a mistake, Lilly. I’ve heard Sally talk, I don’t think you realize just how huge you will become. I’m talking big. Huge.”
“That’s why I need time off. I’m not ready for that level of stardom.”
Frank didn’t answer, took his eyes back to saving his pancakes from the bin.
“If you are worried about your job, Frank, please don’t worry. I don’t want you to worry about money. I will make sure you are covered.”
“That’s a hell of a thing for you to say to me, Lilly.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that I would make sure you are sorted in the interim.”
“I’ll do just fine, thank you very much,” handing me breakfast. “I get paid
for what I earn and I would never expect a handout.”
I started to eat my breakfast, tiny bites, as Frank sipped his coffee.
“This is happening then?”
I nodded, mid-mouthful.
“When?”
“I don’t know yet. Soon hopefully.”
“How long for?”
“I don’t know. Till I feel ready, I suppose.”
“What if you never are?”
“Then so be it.” I looked at Frank, he looked pretty sad. “But that isn’t my plan. I’m not giving up. I just need some time, need to slow things down.”
“You’re positive on this? You understand what you may lose by doing this?”
“I know the risk I’m putting on my career.”
“I wasn’t talking about your career,” he said, as we heard keys rattle and Sally come in through the front door.
“She’ll understand,” I whispered.
“You honestly think that?” Frank said under his breath.
“Think what?” Sally barged through the kitchen.
“Oh, nothing.”
“Let me take a look at you,” grabbing both my cheeks, staring into my eyes. “Let me assess the damage. How bad?”
“Bad.”
“Do anything that I should know about?”
“Nope.”
“You sure? I’d rather know now.”
“Positive. Can I look through your bag? See if you have anything to get me through the morning?”
“Help yourself. Mi bolsa es tu bolsa. There’s some Naproxen, should be some Tramadol too. Tramadol kicks arse. You won’t shit for a week, but it gets rid of headaches, gets rid of most things. Catatonic and carefree, my kind of drug.”
“You eaten?” Frank offered her pancakes.
“A small one please.”
“Lilly here was talking about treating us all to a holiday.” Frank smiled. “You reckon we could squeeze it in? I think we deserve it.”
“I don’t disagree. It’s a nice thought but I don’t think it plausible. A weekend away, but nothing longer.”
“You not really a holiday person are you, Sally?” I said, downing a mouthful of tablets with my OJ.
“They are OK in moderation.”