One Take Only

by Lynsey M. Stewart

  “How will I know she still wants me?” I asked, never missing her more than I did at this point.

  “You’ll know,” she replied, “when the time is right, you’ll know.” She smiled brightly and talked incessantly to the waiter who brought out our desserts. I’d never known a woman so genuinely interested in people and their stories. When we were left alone, she asked questions around her small groans whenever she took a hit of chocolate fudge cake. “Are you still staying with your parents?”

  “Yeah.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s fine. Mum’s been feeding me and watching out for signs of mental illness, hiding the knives, that sort of thing. She thinks everything can be solved with a slice of Battenberg cake and a cup of tea.” She snorted into her spoon. “She thinks I’ve got some kind of sex addiction. She’s removed all her historical romance books from the house and when she brought me breakfast in bed, she knocked first and covered her eyes.”

  “Bless that woman,” she laughed.

  “I almost got a bed full of orange juice when she lost her footing.”

  “And on the job front?”

  “Nothing exciting. I didn’t get the job in Scotland, they felt I was over-qualified.”

  “Did you tell them about your camera skills in the porn industry?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No.”

  “Shame. You could have used those skills at the local knitting club.”

  “Stace–”

  “What? You would have been bored stupid in that place.” She laughed.

  “I would have been paid,” I replied.

  “About that.” She put her spoon down on the plate and wiped her hands on the napkin. “I have a proposition for you.”

  “Tell Matt I’m not interested in becoming a male escort.”

  “Ha,” she replied. “There’s a photographer position become available at Upfront.” A few months ago, Stacey had taken over as Editorial Director at the women’s magazine.

  “And?”

  “I want you on my team.”

  “Oh, Stace.” I put my head in my hands. “I don’t want handouts or a pity job.”

  “It isn’t,” she replied. “I haven’t brought in anyone new since my promotion and I need someone I know will do a great job. Someone I can trust.”

  “I don’t know Stace, what will it be? Taking photos of clothes or make up?” Taking photos of summer fairs and overgrown vegetables suddenly sounded appealing.

  “No. We’re doing more news pieces. Similar to the article I wrote about Matt. Real life stories. Some work in other countries picking up on social issues.” I sat back, interested in the role she was offering me. “Have I got your interest?”

  I was grateful for the offer, mainly because Stacey was a good mate and would make a great boss and to be perfectly honest, I hadn’t been inundated with job offers or interview opportunities. I took a deep breath, saw the flash of future in front of me and smiled for the first time in months.

  “When can I start?”

  27

  Skye

  “I think we’re done,” I said to Margot as she held up her hand. We gave a virtual high-five – hard to do a real one over FaceTime – and I sat back, staring at the ceiling after emailing her the final copy of the film.

  We’d called it Love Undone and after shelving it as something I didn’t want to think about when I first came to Amsterdam, the last few weeks I’d grown stronger and the cause seemed real again, not a crusade for loved ones lost, but a passion project for myself. Subconsciously, I knew it was a way of settling my guilt, but over the last three months I’d learnt that these issues were important to my heart, my values, my interest. Volunteering at the clinic wasn’t something I did solely in Elliott’s memory. It was a dedication. The people there were my people.

  “I’ll take another look at it tonight, but it only needed a few tweaks.”

  “Pardon the pun,” I replied.

  “Have you given any more thought to the premiere?” she asked, painting her nails as she spoke. Queen of multi-tasking. “Robson was asking about dates recently and I can’t keep putting him off.”

  “Well, I’m thinking about coming home in the next couple of weeks.” I shivered as cold nipped the air. Another electrical storm. I wasn’t going to miss the weather here.

  “Good for you,” she said, “do you feel it’s helped?”

  “I do,” I replied honestly. “I really feel like I understand myself more.”

  Time away had been good for me. For the first time in my life I only had me to think about, to put first, to nurture. It was hard at first, with the guilt still bubbling away like a pan on boil. That was a great analogy. The roaring collection of scalding water was me in a mind fuck, but I felt like I’d found the tools that could turn down the heat, occasionally simmering, but at most a gentle whirl.

  I had to pull myself apart before I could understand what lay underneath the layers. Piece by piece. Emotion and depth. With each layer I put under the magnifying glass, I began to feel a sense of calm, an understanding as to why I reacted in a certain way, why the anxiety grew, and a fear reaction came to the front. With understanding came acceptance, like someone had finally said, This is why you do that, Skye and it’s OK, you just need to find a better way to channel your responses. With every counselling session, every early morning yoga class and afternoon hike, I began to take my power back. Kickboxing channelled the anger. Talking therapy dislodged the negative thought process that became another fear response. A cleanse and vegan diet helped me to connect with my body again. Volunteering helped fuel my confidence and renewed my self-esteem. My counsellor made a timeline of my life, starting when I was born, building up to the present day. The day we finished it, she mounted it on the wall, talked through every bump, dip and curve, turned to me and said, Look at what you’ve been through, Skye, and you’ve made it. You’re still standing. These experiences haven’t broken you. You’re a strong woman who needs to see what you’ve overcome. I fell to the floor and sobbed. My life surrounded me, the moments I cherished, the parts that almost broke me and I hugged myself, wrapping my arms around my body, finally allowing myself to say, You’re a good person, you have come so far, you deserve good things, you deserve love. Love from myself first, before love could come from anywhere else. Will.

  Slowly, I learned to love myself and admire what I’d achieved. Two successful businesses, owning my own flat, my volunteer work, my friendships. I promised I would forgive myself, celebrate my quirks, own my faults, take care of me and accept there would be times where I needed to be taken care of and it didn’t make me any less of a person, in fact, it was OK.

  When I first started my counselling sessions, I started with walls built around myself, sceptical and afraid. There was a quote just above the counsellor’s head that said, ‘Give yourself the same love you give everyone else.’ With every session I started to fixate on it. It puzzled me at first, wondering how. Slowly, it began to make so much sense. Like a blanket of warmth had been placed around my shoulders and not only had I hugged the arms of whoever placed it there, I’d fastened it in place with my own hands.

  I’d let in the light four times in my life. My grandmother, Elliott, Stacey and Will. Will stood out like a beacon, a lighthouse in the storm, a flash of wonderful that I didn’t believe I deserved. My counsellor helped me understand that I was his flash of wonderful, which was why he’d stood by me for so long. Once I thought about it from my own perspective, standing in my shoes, with a newfound ability to reflect, I was able to consider that perhaps, I was a light. His light. A fucking great big illumination.

  “I’ll tell Robson to start planning the event,” Margot said. “Do you want to contact him about finalising a date?’

  “I’ll send him an email now.”

  “Fab.”

  “Margot, can I talk something through with you?” I asked as I moved papers and notepads to find a pen.

  “Shoot.”

  “I was making some notes for
the credits of the film and when I got to photography…I didn’t know what to put. Will’s name should be there, but would he want that? I emailed him. He just sent a thumbs up emoji.”

  Margot started smiling. “Skye, what do you expect me to say?”

  I took off the pen lid with my mouth and dropped it on the desk. “Something helpful?”

  “I haven’t seen Will in ages. I have no idea what he’s thinking or feeling. I don’t know where he’s living or if he’s working again. So…” She leant into the webcam. “The best thing to do is to call and ask him directly.”

  I slumped back in the chair, throwing my arms over my head and groaning. “You’re right,” I said. “Totally right.”

  “When am I ever wrong?”

  “I’ll try to call him.”

  “No you won’t,” Margot laughed.

  “What?”

  “Skye, you may have found yourself, but you’ve lost your balls.”

  “That’s just rude,” I replied, giving her the finger. “Considering I told him not to call me while I was fixing my head, it seems a bit of a piss take to call him about this.”

  “Call him.”

  “I’ll call him,” I replied. She screwed up her face like she didn’t believe me. “Doing it now.”

  “Righto.”

  “I am!”

  “Let me know how it goes.”

  I stared at my phone, which was balancing precariously on the edge of the table. One call and the vibration would send it crashing to the floor. I placed my hand over it and sighed. Suddenly…I missed my balls. Margot was right. Lifting up my hand, I found it shaking. The thought of calling Will, of the possible rejection of being sent to voicemail or worse – him picking up and acting cold and uninterested – made me crazy.

  I picked up the phone but tossed it on the bed, groaning as I did. Never was I more certain that Will was my soulmate, but Jesus, fuck, what if he didn’t feel the same?

  I needed help and sound advice.

  “Hey chickadee!” Stacey’s smile filled my laptop screen. She had a messy bun and her rose gold coin necklace was against her mouth as she pulled it backwards and forwards across the chain.

  “I need you.”

  She sat forward, dropping her jewellery and looking serious. “What’s wrong? Are you OK?”

  “Yes,” I smiled. God, I loved this woman. “I was just putting some stuff together for the film and realised that I needed to ask Will if he wanted to be credited.”

  She screwed up her nose. “Urgh. OK. Shit. I don’t know. What’s your gut telling you?”

  “It’s telling me that he hates me, and he doesn’t even want his eyelash associated with this.”

  Stacey fiddled with her hair. “He doesn’t hate you, Skye.”

  She had a look of guilt that flashed away once she bit her lip. Stacey, Stacey, Stacey, how that lip bites gives you away. I leaned in. Narrowed my eyes. “What do you know?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She looked behind her shoulder and started to smile.

  “Have you seen him?”

  “Maybe,” she replied.

  “How…is he?” I asked tentatively, unsure I wanted to know but still curious. Any news would be great. Details fabulous. I’d purposefully limited my conversations with Stacey to is he still breathing? Yeah? Great.

  “He’s here, Skye. Do you want to talk to him because I’m pretty sure I can hear him pressed against my bedroom door.”

  “I’m not.” I heard a muffled voice. A smile hit my face. “It’s all lies.” I was laughing now. Imagining the nerd in his glasses, sexy and ruffled without an ounce of understanding of how gorgeous he looked.

  “Good, you look beautiful when you’re happy,” Stacey said, her sweater falling off one shoulder as she sat back.

  “Is she happy?” His muffled voice again.

  “She is now,” Stacey replied. “Are we really having this conversation through a closed door?”

  “Safest distance,” Will replied, silence creeping in.

  I arched my back, remembered my breathing through all the mindfulness sessions and yoga I’d practiced to calm the chaos in my head. “Can I see him?”

  Stacey turned towards the door, waited and when he failed to open it, she said, “Skye would like to talk.”

  I heard a thud, as if he’d dropped his forehead against the wood. An angsty head bash. “I don’t know, Stace. I’m not sure I’m ready for–”

  Darkness fell over me, swallowing me in its starkness.

  “Shit.”

  I hit the laptop screen and groaned as several alarms started to blare. Shouts of, Power cut, filled the space outside, and laughter threaded through the blackout. I grabbed my phone to see if I could carry on the videocall but it was dead. “Great timing,” I said to no one as I got into bed, wrapping the duvet around me. Thunder hit the sky and the rain pounded against the window. The apartment I was sharing with a nurse from the clinic was not the best. The heating had failed more times than I could count, and we often had late-night singalongs dressed in hats, coats and scarves a la my favourite scene in Beaches. I was always CC, of course. I would never have been Hillary. Too posh. Too put together.

  I snuggled in and pulled a throw off the chair at the side of my bed. Draping it across the bed, I couldn’t help but wonder what Will’s words were going to be before the power cut and fucked me over.

  I’m not sure I’m ready for…

  Ready for what?

  To see me.

  To wave through a computer screen.

  To pick up where we left off?

  I really hoped he was.

  Will

  “What the fuck happened?” I pushed the door open and ignored the bash as it thudded against the wall. Stacey was desperately clicking her mouse, tapping then banging on the keyboard and cursing. “Where has she gone?”

  “I don’t know,” Stacey replied. “It just went off.”

  “How can it just go off?” I joined her bashing the laptop.

  “Hey, Hulk. Ruin my laptop and you’ll ruin our friendship.”

  “Stace, I love you, but GET HER BACK!”

  “Hold on,” she replied. “A second ago you were listening to her through a door because you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to her directly.”

  “She told me not to contact her.”

  “She asked to talk to you, and you turned into a wreck,” she said.

  “I’m generally a wreck. Nothing new to see here.”

  She threw something that resembled Liberace’s wardrobe at its most garish. I think it was some kind of cushion. I dodged and it fell next to Reggie who sniffed it before settling himself down on it to sleep.

  “What’s happening here?” Stacey demanded, eyeing me suspiciously. Matt was visiting his aunt and never had I wished more for him to walk through the door so he could distract her with his male escort repertoire because I didn’t want to have this conversation when I couldn’t make sense of it in my head.

  “I don’t know. Don’t ask me.” I slumped onto her bed, threw my hands over my head. I felt the dip of the mattress as Stacey sat down next to me.

  “What am I going to do with the two of you?” she asked as she fiddled with my hair. Curls had appeared from nowhere, blasting out of my head like an explosion at a toy stuffing factory. “Unkempt” didn’t cover it. That’s what heartbreak, homelessness and no job would do for you.

  “She’s coming home soon. You can talk to her then.”

  “Stace, where do I start?” I asked. “Tell me because I want to know.”

  She crossed her legs and blew out a breath. “That’s hard for me to answer because I have no idea what’s going on in your head.” Neither did I; that was the problem. A slew of ideas, anxieties, negative beliefs and a fear of fucking us up circled most days. When I closed my eyes, I was overwhelmed by the tsunami of rolling dirge, AKA my thought process. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “About Skye,” I replied inst
inctively. “Hearing her voice after so long. How it makes me feel.”

  “How does it make you feel?”

  “Happy.” I smiled. “Safe.”

  “Imagine she’s sitting next to you now. Not me but her.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Stace. Matt will kill me if I straddle you.” She made a gagging sound.

  “Is it just a sex thing?” she asked.

  “God, no. It’s an everything thing.”

  “That’s beautiful.”

  “Don’t get teary on me,” I said. I felt a smack on my chest.

  “Do you know how ridiculous this is?” Stace replied. “Call her!”

  I sat up. Sighed. “I think the biggest thing is that I have no idea how she’s feeling. Not even you know that. Aside from knowing that she’s accessing bereavement support and it’s helping, she hasn’t told you anything.”

  “I’m just happy knowing that she’s fine and getting help.”

  “Stace…I’m not. I need more. I need a glimpse of what she does on a Tuesday morning. Does she still make cakes for people when they’re feeling sad? Does she still hum the theme tune to Stranger Things when she’s putting on her make-up? I need to know she hasn’t lost that snarky side. I want to be verbally abused by her!” Stace smiled but didn’t offer anything more. She tapped her thumb against her lips before sliding her phone to me. “What if she’s moved on? What if she’s changed? What if she’s realised I was a selfish bastard for blaming her for losing my job? What if she’s enjoying quality time with her ripped male yoga teacher who loves the downward dog?”

  “Christ alive.”

  “I mean it, Stace. I may be pining over someone and something that just doesn’t exist anymore.”

  “When she left we both agreed to give her the space she needed–”

  “I’m pretty sure that Skype calls tramples on the need for space, Stace. From you anyway. I didn’t get Skype calls. I got silence. Oh no, hold on–” I took my phone out of my pocket. “I got an email from her a couple of days ago asking if I wanted my name on the final credits of the film. Photographer extraordinaire.” I held the phone in front of her face. “Hope you are well. There’s no, How are you? I really would like a response. This is classic close down. This is the equivalent of a thumbs up on Messenger. Conversation aborted. No need to reply.”