The English Boys

by Julia Thomas

  “Thanks for the company. It was rather quiet here tonight.”

  “Any time.”

  He made his way down the path and closed the gate behind him. He wasn’t certain if it was the cool night air, but he felt better as he walked through the empty roads on the way back to his flat. He liked this girl; he really did. And soon Tamsyn would move in with girls she’d met on the set. Maybe then, without Hugh acting as some sort of 1950s chaperone, he would feel comfortable asking her out.

  Ten

  “I’m going to London for the weekend,” Hugh said a few days later, setting a dish of cold prawns on the highly polished table. He was an effortless host, feeding his friends and planning various forms of entertainment on a regular basis. Daniel found it a trifle irritating at times. “Marc’s come down and we’re going to meet up with some people he knows. Why don’t you come with us?”

  Daniel leaned back in the sturdy wingback chair, which he appropriated every time he came over. It had been a long, boring day of work, and even the book he was reading between scenes hadn’t begun to hold his attention. “Actually, I thought I’d stay here for the weekend.”

  “I know you don’t particularly care for Marc, but he can be very amusing when he wants to be.”

  “I know,” he answered, watching Hugh take a slick little prawn from the plate with his fingers and drop it into his mouth like a seal at Regent’s Park Zoo. “I’m just a bit tired.”

  “Or you’ve got plans with someone,” Hugh said, eyeing him with curiosity. “I noticed you speaking to Hodge’s assistant, Jenny.”

  “I have no plans other than to find a good bookshop, if possible, and get something decent to read. The novel I’m reading at the moment is very dull.”

  “What about that scrummy brunette in Wardrobe … Kate, is it?”

  “There’s no one, really.”

  Hugh looked up, his eyes widening. “It’s not Tamsyn, surely?”

  “God, no. What made you say that?”

  “I just wondered.” Hugh picked up a bottle of wine and inspected it. “Well, suit yourself. Stay in boring Dorset if you like. But I’m leaving at four o’clock tomorrow, if you change your mind.”

  “Thanks. Maybe next time.”

  They both looked up as they heard the sound of a key in the door. Tamsyn walked in and heaved her backpack onto the floor. Apart from the odd bit of messiness, she had been an admirable boarder, according to Hugh. Still, Daniel was relieved that she was finally moving out.

  “Have a prawn?” Hugh asked as he took another from the tray.

  “I think I will. Thanks,” she answered.

  “Daniel?”

  “Not on your life.” He hated the slimy things. No matter how attractively they were presented on a tray or how much wine he’d had to drink, he couldn’t stomach them.

  Tamsyn laughed. She was dressed in a long, airy skirt that had likely been purchased at a jumble sale and a plain blue T-shirt. Daniel wondered how long it would be until she earned a proper paycheck, and if she would buy decent clothes when she did. He wasn’t altogether certain she would.

  “How about a nice glass of champers after a dreadful day?” Hugh asked.

  “A small one, I suppose,” she answered, sitting next to him on the sofa. “Although I really must go and pack.”

  “You’re moving into Olivia’s?” Daniel asked.

  “That’s right. It’s going to be a few of us in a house in the middle of town. We’ll be cottagers.”

  “I’ll help if you need me to,” he said.

  “I didn’t bring that much with me, you know.”

  “Still, easier to get around in a car, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. That would be nice. Thank you.” Tamsyn took one of the prawns between her fingers and sucked it down, chasing it with the champagne Hugh offered. She gave him a wry look. “I may miss being spoiled, though.”

  Hugh gave a mock bow. “You’re welcome any time.”

  “How generous of you,” Daniel said. “You sound like Parson Maybold. I think the film’s rubbing off on you.”

  “All the more reason to get out of town for the weekend.” Hugh turned to Tamsyn. “Don’t let that rush you, though.”

  “It won’t.”

  “Now that that’s all settled, let’s think about dinner,” Hugh said to them both. He stood, as though he were a force that would move them from their comfortable chairs. “Sir John told me about a good restaurant nearby. What do you say? Shall we give it a try?”

  “Why not?” Tamsyn said.

  Daniel nodded. Although he wasn’t really in the mood to do anything, he couldn’t very well refuse since he had chosen not to go to London for the weekend. He drove them to the restaurant at the Dove Cote Inn, where they ate a respectable meal of roast lamb and herbed potatoes. Daniel drank stout while Hugh and Tamsyn consumed cheap wine, the only options available at the establishment. He listened as they talked, mostly about films and plays in which Hugh had starred, and wondered if she fancied him. Then she turned her attention to Daniel, though he steered the conversation away from his career. He found the topic far less interesting than finding out more about her. At last they put down their glasses and Hugh took out his wallet and paid the bill.

  “Enjoy yourself this weekend,” Daniel told Hugh when he dropped them off.

  “I will, thanks.”

  “And Tam, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  He went back to his hotel room and flipped on the television. He sat in bed, changing channels, though nothing captured his attention. He turned it off, opened his book, and then closed it again.

  “What’s wrong with me?” he muttered, though he knew the answer. Tossing the book on a chair, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling until his eyes grew heavy and he finally fell asleep.

  The following morning, Daniel knocked at Hugh’s door just after nine o’clock. It had rained in the night, and the roads and hedges were damp and glistening. Wet white stones surrounded the beds of hybrid tea roses in various shades of tired pink, their petals frayed by the rain. For a moment, he thought of gathering a few for Tamsyn, but of course, if he did, she would get entirely the wrong idea.

  Just then, she opened the door. A blue scarf was tied around her head, and the ends fell in silky waves to her shoulders around her curling hair. “Look at you,” she said, her full lips curling into a smile. “Always there when I need you.”

  “What shall I carry?” he asked.

  “Everything’s here,” she said, indicating her few belongings, which were heaped by the door. “Too bad we’re not off to Paris today.”

  “You know, I was thinking of going to Brighton, just for the night.”

  “That sounds like fun.”

  “You could come along, unless, of course, you have other plans.”

  She hesitated for a moment. “I could ring Olivia and tell her I’ll move in tomorrow.”

  Daniel was pleased. “Perfect.”

  He loaded her belongings into the boot. As he started the car, he handed her a map, smiling as it became a tangle when she tried to open it. It took a few minutes for her to refold it again and find Dorset, with a few panels opened to the east in order to track their progress.

  “Look for Southampton,” he instructed, pulling onto the motorway in the midst of the Saturday morning traffic. With beautiful weather like this, people were bound to want to get away for the weekend. “Then we’ll go through Portsmouth and Chichester. Do you see it there?”

  “Oh, yes. Sorry. I rarely travel by car.”

  “It’s nice to stop whenever you like.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Hugh?”

  “I didn’t decide until just now.”

  “Well, I’m glad you did.”

  Daniel studied the countryside as he drove over the cobbly hi
lls. The fen to the south seemed to stretch on for miles, its peaty tufts nearly obscuring the toadflax and goat willow that grew there. The moor, even viewed through plate glass, had a calming effect on him. His mind felt free and clear for the first time in months. He almost forgot Tamsyn. She, too, was deep in thought, scribbling in a cheap French notebook with a bright orange cover, the sort pupils used.

  “What are you writing so furtively there?” he asked, breaking the silence.

  “None of your business. Keep your eyes on the road.”

  He didn’t pursue the subject. She was a curiosity, and he preferred it that way. While he had known Hugh to recommend someone for a role before, he had never known anyone as unconcerned about it as she seemed to be. In fact, for someone who had unexpectedly landed the lead, she was as nonchalant as if she had done it dozens of times before. He wondered if she would take it seriously enough.

  “Why Brighton?” she asked.

  “My parents are there. We can stay with them and look at the sights, such as they may be.”

  “That will be fun.”

  “I forgot. You’re little Mary Sunshine who appreciates the true beauty of something in spite of its wretchedness to the objective observer.”

  “Do you think it wretched?”

  “Well,” Daniel said, winking, “it’s a carnival sort of town, but if you’re in the right mood, it can be fun.”

  “You’re in that mood.”

  He smiled. “How can you tell?”

  In answer to his own question, he hit the accelerator, speeding along the motorway with the windows down. Tamsyn removed her scarf and then laughed as the gust of wind blew her hair about her face.

  They arrived in Brighton before noon. Instead of taking her to his parents’ house, Daniel drove about showing her the sights: the West Pier; the Grand Hotel, where he had lost his virginity to a chambermaid, though this fact of his personal history he would reveal to no one, especially not Tamsyn Burke; and the insane or possibly romantic Royal Pavilion—he had never decided which. The weather was fine apart from the wind, which whipped her skirts about and repeatedly lashed the ends of her scarf into her eyes. The beach was crowded and he didn’t want to swim. It was a day for walking and talking and following whims, a true mini break from their work, such as it was.

  She toyed with the ends of the blue scarf and looked at him. “This reminds me of home.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “Llandudno, by the sea. My family is there; everyone but my sister, Carey.”

  “Why aren’t you there as well?”

  “I’m making it big in acting, remember?”

  “Yes. We mustn’t forget that. Listen, I’m starving. Do we want to find a café or have a bratwurst right here?”

  “Do you even have to ask?”

  “A girl after my own heart,” he said, walking up to a stand. It was hot in the sun and he shielded his eyes, wishing he had his sunglasses with him. He would have to buy a pair in one of the shops.

  They ate, perched on a large rock, listening to the sound of the wind whipping the towels of the swimmers farther down on the beach. Tamsyn kicked off her sandals, and when he took the trash to a bin and came back for her, she still hadn’t put them on, hooking them instead over a finger and slinging them over her back like a pack.

  “There’s a French film at the cinema,” he said, toying with the keys in his pocket. “I noticed it when we drove past.”

  “Which one? I might have heard of it.”

  “Does it matter? They’re either wildly sad or wildly funny.”

  “Then, let’s.”

  They sat, at Tamsyn’s insistence, near the front of the empty theatre. The film, a drama, was one he had seen before. He preferred foreign films, usually French or Scandinavian; the Danes particularly could emote well on screen; anything as long as it wasn’t American, which he often found insipid, or Spanish, which was even worse. There was a peculiar anonymity in going to foreign films as well. He was never approached there, as though people who prefer them desired an intellectual high that could not be achieved if one broke the reverent silence and introspection required after its viewing. Tamsyn, however, was not content with merely watching the film. She whispered some of the lines after they were spoken, as though she were practicing schoolgirl French. He couldn’t decide if he found it amusing or annoying, but in any case did not interrupt her, forgetting after a while to read the subtitles and watch the tragedy unfold before him but listening instead to her concentrated repetition: Tu sais que je t’aime; Je n’oublie pas; Tu es le mien toujours.

  Then, after, they walked through the streets to his parents’ house, where they were welcomed despite the late hour with cocoa and biscuits as though they were teens who had been out on a first date. Tamsyn ate and drank politely and then went to bed in his old bedroom, no doubt surveying his books and cricket bats and old jackets while he took two spare pillows and a blanket and went to the sofa. There, in the darkness, he thought of the last girl with whom he had slept, a bank employee by the name of Sybil. He’d slept with her in spite of the mild revulsion he’d felt toward someone who would try so desperately to go to bed with a film star, and he showered as soon afterward as possible. He hated being fawned over and decided, then and there, on his mother’s sofa, not to go to bed with any more ridiculous girls. He would save himself for someone fresh and original and real, like the girl lying in his childhood bed now. He imagined himself beside her, stroking the tattoo on her ankle and staring out the window at the yellow crescent moon. It was the first time he fell asleep feeling relaxed in a very long time.

  Eleven

  The following Monday morning, Daniel awoke with a feeling of satisfaction. In spite of a good weekend spent with Tamsyn, nothing had really changed. There was still work to be done and a professional image to foster, although, as he reminded himself occasionally, he didn’t have to work in the film industry. He had squirreled money away for some indeterminate day when he might need it, which allowed him the random fantasy of pouring cappuccinos to earn his keep and living an anonymous life that would make fewer demands on him in general. In fact, he needed very little: a roof over his head, food to eat, and a relationship with Tamsyn Burke. All he had to do was tell her.

  The weekend had been a success. He had managed to forget his nearly unlikable character, Dick Dewy, not to mention Thomas Hardy and work in general. His parents had been glad to see him; surprised, perhaps, that he had arrived with a girl in tow, but prepared to accept her, as he had known they would. His mother once gave him an inquiring glance, which he rebuffed with a shake of the head and a frown, indicating Tamsyn was merely a friend, though she didn’t look altogether convinced. He left Tamsyn at Olivia’s cottage late Sunday night, wondering what they might do together next weekend. Llandudno came to mind. He’d never been to the Welsh coast, and he wanted to see where she had grown up now that he had shown her Brighton.

  It was a boring day on the set. Retakes were necessary for every scene. Everyone had taken it in stride for the first hour, but a ripple of irritation began to build on each subsequent occurrence. Unable to concentrate on a book, Daniel drank too many espressos, feeling the blood pump harder and harder through his veins until he thought they might burst. To counteract it, he drank two bottles of water over the next hour. Hugh was lucky enough to be relieved of the tedium by noon.

  “Come by later,” he said, pulling on his jacket. “If they ever let you go.”

  By six o’clock, Daniel had begun to wonder. Tamsyn had gone by two thirty, saying nothing but pulling pins out of her hair from thick, gelatinous layers of hair spray as she walked out of the building. The temper of the cast and crew deteriorated over the course of the afternoon. An argument broke out between the writer and director over the use of a line that was not taken directly from the book. One of the wardrobe girls complained when she had to re-hem a trouser cuff t
hat had torn when Daniel became entangled in a knot of cords while trying to reach for a cup of tea. In the late afternoon, they filmed the bloody choral scene, and the shriek of the pipes was almost enough to drive him mad.

  All day he had expected his agent to ring about another film he was eager to do, yet his mobile never vibrated in his pocket. He chafed at the general lack of action while trying not to betray his emotions to the crew. He was no dilettante. Normally, he kept a book in his pocket and his mouth shut. Things happened, often when one least wanted them to. The best and worst parts of his job were one and the same: no matter how much one loved or hated a particular job, it would end within a few weeks. Nothing lasts forever.

  It was approaching seven thirty before he was finally able to leave, by which time he despised the entire project. He needed a drink. He would go to see Hugh, and talk, or rather, let Hugh talk while the alcohol numbed his mind just enough to forget the horrible day, and then after a pleasant hour had elapsed, or possibly two, he would excuse himself and ring Tamsyn. He had watched her more than usual all day. Her hair had been piled into a knot, insouciant curls escaping from every angle. She had worn a high-collared frock that was tight at the bodice and hips, and her belt had a small mother-of-pearl clasp. Brown boots were barely visible beneath her full skirt. Her ears were like two Imperial Venus shells plucked from a Jamaican beach: perfect twin bivalves, from which dangled pearl-drop earrings, obviously genuine antiques, screwed as tightly as possible onto her lobes. He couldn’t decide if she looked Victorian or not. Probably not, he decided, in the end. She was far too saucy to play such a pure, if self-centered, character like Fancy, and it was shocking that Sir John hadn’t realized it. Although, on reflection, perhaps he had, and merely hired her to capitulate to Hugh’s whim. He wouldn’t have been the first.

  The evening was fine. A warm summer breeze blew around him, making him long for the beach. Tamsyn had enjoyed Brighton, as he had hoped. But now he wanted to take her to Spain or Morocco, somewhere along the Mediterranean, to stay in an enormous white hotel flanked by banana trees and desert palms stretching out toward the clouds. They would visit markets and buy fruit from wobbly stands and lie under umbrellas in the hot sand, staring for hours at the sea. Holidays in the past had been dominated by family or friends, and for once he wanted to have a companion like Tam, who could truly understand how to enjoy life. They’d drink cerveza through the night, looking at the stars overhead as though they were a newly discovered phenomenon, and dance in the moonlight to the sound of a Spanish guitar. Then, and not before, they would kiss. It would be a long-awaited moment, as their friendship, so bright and unexpected, evolved into something more. He wouldn’t rush it, of course; these things had to develop naturally; but he knew from the effortlessness of their relationship and the fact that she was in no way impressed by his money or position that she was someone he could truly love. She cared for him as well. He knew it.