by Alison Bond
Her performances would suffer, Justice would fire her and she would be back where she started, no longer famous only this time the wrong side of thirty-five with a child to support. And she was a terrible mother. Even Amanda was better. But how could he have needed to be fed? How was she supposed to know when he had turned his mouth away from his last bottle in disgust? How had Amanda got him to take it? She felt as if she was missing some essential gene that made these things natural. Was she a medical miracle, the only woman alive without a mothering instinct? Melanie wasn’t at all sure how she would cope when they started filming. Sometimes, when he was crying, she was scared that she would hurt him. Like tonight, when he just wouldn’t shut up. What if one day she was so tired and so frantic that she couldn’t stop herself? The thought chilled her.
Being famous meant nothing. There were still times that you hated yourself.
‘Can I get you anything?’ asked Amanda.
‘My old life back?’ said Melanie, hopefully.
The next morning Amanda’s children returned along with Elsbeth, the Mullraines’ incredibly efficient new nanny. Amanda, struggling to play the doting aunt any longer, took Elsbeth aside and bribed her with cash and the promise of an extra afternoon off to take care of Joseph. She intended to take her sister out for a day of pampering. In Amanda’s world there were no ills that could not be conquered by a day at the spa. Which is why, after sleeping until almost noon, Melanie found herself in the back of a black cab hurtling towards Carramine.
‘It’s amazing,’ said Amanda. ‘They worked wonders with my chakras and the mimosas are divine.’
Carramine was hard to find. Tucked into the ivory curve of a Bloomsbury avenue, there was nothing to distinguish the front door from its neighbours’. Amanda rang the doorbell and waited. The door clicked open and Amanda led the way inside to where the entrance hall opened out into a large interior courtyard with a glass roof three storeys above them. Melanie looked up in wonder at the sky above. In the centre of the courtyard there was a princess fountain, its fine spray was dancing in the sunlight. In the pool below the fountain swam a big fat koi carp of such pale gold that it was almost white. It was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. The rich fabrics all around soaked up the echo of their heels tapping on the tiled floor.
A door to the left opened and Melanie only had the chance to take in a pair of bright green eyes and a lot of freckles before Amanda fell on the new arrival in a cacophony of air kisses and squeals.
‘Melanie,’ she said. ‘This is Maggie.’
Maggie wasn’t your average beauty therapist. She was the wrong side of a size ten for one thing, and she was smiley and loud, rather than ethereal and terribly earnest. She looked Melanie up and down. ‘I’ve plans for you,’ she said, in a soft Irish accent. To Melanie’s surprise, Maggie took her hand like a child and led her away from Amanda, who waved. It was incredibly easy to go with her.
Maggie led her downstairs where the space seemed even larger and rooms led off corridors like catacombs. They stopped outside one room and Maggie picked up a pile of soft towels in pistachio green and handed them to her. ‘I’ll see you in an hour,’ she said.
With some trepidation Melanie pushed open the door anticipating anything from an ashtanga yoga class in full swing to a lonely massage table. She momentarily regretted letting Amanda take control. What she really needed was a manicure and a haircut; why couldn’t Amanda have treated her to an afternoon at Daniel Galvin instead?
She entered a room lit with dozens of tealights perched on every available surface. Some were hidden behind coloured glass so that their flames took on lustrous hues like jewels. The ceiling was tented in billowing gold fabric, which drifted in an unseen warm breeze. The centrepiece of the room was a massive sunken bathtub, filled almost to the brim with steaming water the exact same pale green colour as her towels. Automatically, Melanie began to take off her clothes and hang them on the small hook by the doorway. The marble floor was warm under her bare feet.
She took a closer look at the small table next to the bath and found a white card with gold embossed letters, like a wedding invitation, with a list of classical composers. Curious, she looked back to the table and saw a row of buttons numbered from one to ten. She pressed five and the tender sounds of Debussy filled the space. Not bad, though she might have preferred Alicia Keys.
She stepped into the bath and tiny water jets came on, tickling her feet. The jets kept the water temperature constant and the end of the bath had discreet cushioning on which to rest her head. This was undoubtedly the best bathroom in the world.
She felt like Cleopatra, which was infinitely better than feeling like herself. The warm water let her float away from the constraints of everyday life. Her mind slowed to a bearable pace. The constant state of panic in which she had existed these last few months seemed as harmless as a passing nightmare.
I could live here, in this tub, for ever. She sank deeper into the water as if trying to drown reality.
An hour or so later she was lying flat on her back listening to the sound of running water, which vaguely made her want to pee, having hot stones placed on her forehead while two strapping males gave her a four-handed leg and foot massage. Amanda was on the table next to her.
‘After this,’ said Amanda, ‘I thought we’d go to dinner. San Lorenzo, if you like.’
The thought of her favourite smoked-chicken salad at her favourite London restaurant was appealing. But eventually she would have to go home. She was afraid.
‘I think I’m scared of my own baby,’ she said.
‘Everybody is, darling,’ said Amanda. ‘But nobody admits it. It’s the last taboo.’
‘I mean it.’
‘I know you do.’
‘If only there was a place you could leave your baby when you were, you know, busy,’ mused Melanie.
‘What? Sort of like a kennel?’ said Amanda, giggling.
After a lazy dinner with too much white wine the sisters returned to Chelsea. Melanie watched Amanda kiss her own two children before going in to check on Joseph. He was fast asleep, his eyes flickering with unknown baby dreams, his little curled fist in the air like a salute. He looked adorable and she tried to adore him. How often had she looked at a grown man sleeping and, with the help of a few glasses of wine inside her, convinced herself that this was love? Too many. But here, with her son, she couldn’t fool herself.
The next morning Melanie awoke late again and found that Elsbeth had taken all three children out for a walk in the park.
‘I need to talk to you,’ said Amanda. ‘I’ve spoken to Douglas and to Elsbeth and, if you like, you could leave Joseph here for a while, just until you get yourself back to speed. A few weeks maybe.’
It was the last thing Melanie expected to hear. It sounded like an ideal solution.
‘Wait,’ said Amanda. ‘Before you say no, hear me out.’
Melanie tried her best to look unconvinced.
‘Mum said she’d come down and help out.’
‘You spoke to Mum?’ said Melanie.
‘I’m worried about you,’ said Amanda. ‘We all are. I heard you last night.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You were having a nightmare. You screamed.’
‘I did?’ Melanie had no recollection of any nightmare.
‘You’re under a lot of pressure. It’s been a big year and I think you need to take more care of yourself,’ continued Amanda. ‘If that means leaving Joseph here for a while then really I think you ought to consider it.’
Am I allowed to say ‘yes’ yet?
‘We’re family,’ said Amanda. ‘At least think about it.’
When the time came it was easy to say goodbye to Joseph, scarily so. Melanie felt something pull inside her when she left him but to be honest it was probably guilt rather than regret.
Her mother had rushed down from Norfolk, convinced that Melanie was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Melanie knew that Linda found the whole ar
rangement odd. It was a bit unusual, yes. Maybe this wasn’t something that normal mothers did, but who wanted to be normal?
By the time she boarded the plane back to Los Angeles she was certain that this would be best for everyone. In a few weeks she would have settled into the routine of the new series and be able to work out how a baby would slot into that routine with the minimum disruption. She was probably helping him out in the long term by not exposing him to the chaos that accompanied any first-day shoot at such an early age. Who could foresee the kind of psychological damage that might inflict? Yes, really it was for the best.
She stretched out in her upper-class seat, already looking forward to being in the air and going fully flat. Class was definitely worth the expense and, as she’d requested, Lynsey had pre-booked her a seat near the emergency exit, which meant even more room, especially without the baby burden she had originally expected to have.
Melanie felt free. But when she closed her eyes she could see her mother’s confused, concerned expression when she waved her goodbye. The guilt settled over her heart again.
She looked up as a shadow fell over the seat next to her. To her surprise she saw the familiar face of Davey Black, smiling at her with his killer eyes.
‘Hey, you,’ he said.
And her first thought was, Thank God I don’t have the baby.
*
Davey had been in London for press screenings. Excited, he told Melanie about the pre-release attention that Myanmar was attracting.
‘You should pick out your Oscar gown,’ he said, ‘before all the good ones are taken.’
Melanie was thrilled, although she tried to play it cool. This was the dream. As a girl, Melanie had play-acted her way through numerous acceptance speeches. Her mind raced. I’d like to thank the Academy… Then who else? It was very important. All the professional assistance she had received obviously: agents, lawyers, et cetera, et cetera. Then she must single out some of her family and friends. People were quick to note any absentees from an acceptance speech. It was important to present an image of a full life with an abundant support system. But she mustn’t gush. If she did then the tears might be all they remembered. And her dress was crucial. The right outfit could make you, just as surely as a fashion disaster could ruin even the most promising career. A simple shape in a bold colour or something more daring in basic black. Which? What would she say about Davey in her speech? Inspirational? Was that a cliché? Thank God she had some time to think about it.
Melanie supposed that meeting above the Atlantic Ocean was a common occurrence for the international jet-set type. On her second intercontinental flight within a week she also supposed that she might now qualify as part of that crowd. So she shouldn’t make a fuss about Davey being in the next seat. He was just a friend and this was a pleasant coincidence. The problem was that while her mind had no intention of making a fuss her body was alive with the closeness of him and she was inexplicably nervous. It was an eight-hour flight; anything could happen.
After take-off she ordered a glass of champagne and relaxed more with every bubble that burst on her tied tongue. At this point on a flight she would usually change into her habitual aeroplane clothes. An elasticated waistband, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a thick pair of socks. If Davey was just a friend then why could she not bring herself to do that? Why was she not in the cramped bathroom slathering on some moisturizer and brushing out her hair? Because she knew she looked better in the Prada trousers and she wanted him to notice. There was nothing she desired more than a night of meaningful flirtation between time zones. There was a liberty in admitting it to herself at last. I like him.
She willed him not to ask about Fabien or the baby. She bit her tongue to stop herself asking about Mary Ann. It seemed to work.
Davey was picking out their evening’s in-flight entertainment, dismissing two Oscar contenders and a kids’ blockbuster before settling on a popular romantic comedy.
‘The cinematic equivalent of easy listening,’ he said, by way of explanation. ‘Tonight I don’t feel like earning my movie. I just want to let it flow over me. Kinda like letting the lady go on top.’
Melanie toyed with the image, turning it over in her mind, looking at it this way and that until she had to stop before she said something stupid.
Davey rustled up some blankets and Melanie felt comfortable enough to take off her brown suede boots. Davey took his shoes off too and when their feet touched between the seats Melanie resisted the urge to pull hers away. They sat there, toes touching, and watched the guy get the girl against the odds.
The film was whimsical, sentimental and predictable. They both loved it.
When it had finished they drifted into easy conversation. They kept their voices low as people around them tried to sleep. They flew towards the dying sun in the west, which cast the plane in a permanent red glow like firelight. From time to time Davey bent close to her to catch a whisper and she felt the warmth of his breath like a brand on the soft skin of her cheek.
‘How did you end up in California?’ she asked, wanting to know him better.
‘It was an accident,’ he said. ‘I was on a road trip from Alaska to Peru but I never got that far. LA was the last place that I thought I would stop.’
She could see him remembering, could feel the memory as surely as if it was her own. She was starting to think that they were cosmically connected somehow. This wasn’t just physical. It was something more profound. ‘What happened?’ she asked.
‘I was supposed to be there for just a few hours, killing time between buses. It was very early morning and I went down to the beach to sleep. I got talking to a nice girl, she introduced me to her nice friends and I decided to stay a while. Got into the whole film scene.’
‘And the girl?’
‘No idea. She took me to a party that night and then I never saw her again.’
‘How old were you?’
‘About twenty. My first apartment was on the beach. One big room with a window that took up almost a whole wall. The window had bars on it and I used to feel like I was in a prison when I woke up, but then I could throw them open and the waves came right up to say hello.’
There was a pause. Melanie looked over at him, imagining a young Davey with dreams, and there was a familiar thud in her heart. Desire surged through her body and she struggled to control it. She felt reckless, young enough not to care and old enough to make sure that she did everything right. Being with Davey would be so good. She dragged herself back to safe ground from this heady place that scared her. She tried to drown out the jungle drums with conversation.
‘Did you like living by the beach? I’m thinking of moving.’
Davey was looking at her curiously. ‘What was that?’
‘What?’
‘You seemed to just go somewhere for a second. You had this strange look on your face.’
‘Sorry,’ said Melanie.
‘Don’t be. It was… enchanting.’ Davey shook his head as if clearing away mists. ‘Santa Monica.’
‘Yeah, what was it like?’
‘Hard. I didn’t make money for a while and rented out half my room. Horrible guy, big teeth.’
‘I mean as a place to live.’
‘Why? Are you thinking of moving?’
He hadn’t listened to what Melanie had been saying. Maybe he heard the jungle drums too.
The conversation died and the silence was thick and heavy with atmosphere. For an instant Melanie thought that Davey was about to kiss her.
Be careful. He’s married. Married.
‘Marriage is nothing to some people,’ said Davey.
Shit! Had she said that out loud? Was he about to proposition her? What would she say?
‘I really like you, Melanie. Too much.’
Yes, yes, yes.
‘I’d love to go to bed with you,’ he whispered, leaning close.
Okay.
‘But I’m married. I can’t.’
‘I know.’
<
br /> Davey touched her hand, just long enough for flames of desire to lick up her sides and into her groin. It was agony when he took his hand away.
‘Another drink?’ he said, and the moment was gone. Davey moved his foot away so it was no longer touching hers.
What just happened? Melanie felt the sting of rejection. Had she been that obvious? Had Davey been feeling the pressure since he sat down beside her, cursing the coincidence and wishing that she’d give him some peace? Was her attraction to him streaked across her face like cheap lipstick?
‘I can’t wait to get home,’ she said, trying to return the conversation to neutral ground.
‘So that’s home now? Fabien’s villa is home?’
‘I’m thinking of moving,’ said Melanie.
*
After that there was an awkwardness between them. Even another round of drinks couldn’t restore the flirtatious mood. Conversation dried up and sleep was inevitable. Her last thought was that she mustn’t let her head fall onto his shoulder.
Sometime later, in a limbo of consciousness between dreams and reality, Melanie thought she felt Davey’s strong arm loop around her waist and pull her closer. She thought she felt the length of his body press against her. The part of her mind that was vaguely lucid urged her to awake, to respond, to remember this moment, but she floated away on a tide of deep sleep.
The next thing she knew she was screaming.
Davey had his hand over her mouth. ‘Shhhhh!’
‘What? What is it?’ She licked her lips and tasted salt from the beads of perspiration on her upper lip. Her heart was pounding.
‘You were dreaming,’ said Davey, and he stroked the sweat away from her brow. ‘Here.’ He handed her a bottle of water and she drank from it while she adjusted to the real world.
Her head was heavy with sleep and for a while she couldn’t focus. Her limbs ached like she had walked for miles. Another nightmare? She closed her eyes and tried to remember. There was nothing except a sense of menace. Her eyes snapped open again and she looked up into Davey’s anxious face.