Recovery

by JC Harroway

  Jess sighed, her tired eyes pleading. ‘Yes. But now they’ve connected you to your dad, they won’t stop until the story has run its course.’

  Nausea gnawed at my empty stomach, and I pushed my tea away. ‘Why are you angry with me?’ My voice was a broken croak. Jess and I had never argued. She was the optimist and this sudden role reversal messed with my already tattered equilibrium.

  ‘I’m not. I’m just … Last night was horrible, Soph. Weren’t you freaked out?’ Her eyes were huge in her almost translucent pale face.

  The tea churned in my stomach. I’d dragged my friend into this drama. ‘Yes.’ Memories from my teens resurfaced, and just as I hadn’t been able to protect my vulnerable brother then, I was powerless to protect my friend now.

  ‘Because I was. It was scary, and I don’t think I can stand much more of it.’

  My throat burned. I blinked away the sting and stared at the bench in front of me. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll leave.’ I stood, my legs wobbly, and headed for my bedroom. Pain seared my chest, vaporising the air in my lungs and squeezing the blood from my heart. I hadn’t considered how Jess would feel. I didn’t blame her. No one would choose to be chased by photographers, but the tiny niggle of betrayal was there nonetheless.

  ‘No. Wait.’ Jess rounded the island and stood before me. ‘I feel like the worst friend in the world. I want to support you, to be here for you. But …’

  ‘It’s okay, Jess. I understand.’ I straightened my spine, already retreating behind the protective shell that had served me so well in the past.

  She clung to my hand, her fingers digging into my flesh. ‘I don’t want you to leave. I just didn’t realise things would get this crazy. How can you stand it? How did you get through it last time?’ We faced each other, our reddened eyes mirroring our hurt, fear and humiliation back at one another.

  The house phone rang, and I turned from my friend to answer it.

  The line crackled with the long-distance connection. ‘Soph? It’s Mum.’

  The blood rushed from my head and I braced one hand on the wall next to the phone. ‘Mum, is everything okay?’ What a stupid question—of course it wasn’t.

  ‘Have you seen the headlines?’ The tremble in her voice told me all I needed to know. I scrunched my eyes shut. ‘No. Tell me?’

  Her distress tumbled from her in a rush. ‘Oh dear. Dad’s terribly upset. They’ve dragged it all up—the money, the affair. We’ve had photographers camped outside all day. I was supposed to take Matty out for lunch but Dad didn’t want me to leave the house.’ Her voice grew shrill.

  ‘Mum, I’m so sorry. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I have a flight Sunday. I’ll be home a week today.’ Today was Tuesday, and I realised how ridiculous that sounded. My shoulders slumped and I cupped my forehead in my hand. A week was infinite in the world of journalism. So much could happen and be reported in that time. And I’d be stuck here, twelve thousand miles from home, trapped and useless while my family suffered. My friend suffered.

  I didn’t blame my dad. He’d paid his penance in ill health, a rocky marriage and the daily dose of guilt that made him half the man he’d once been. But just like they had back then, Mum and Matty needed me. When the scandal broke the first time around, Mum, grieving her marriage and caring for an autistic son and a withdrawn and sullen daughter, had collapsed, leaving me to pick up the pieces. Eventually, she’d recovered and forgiven my father, who’d moved back home the year I’d left for medical school. By that time, he’d had his first heart attack, resigned from his job, and had all but given up on life.

  ‘Mum, try not to worry. There’s another way. I’ll get an earlier flight and be home Thursday.’

  Her voice trembled. ‘Oh, Soph, your job?’

  Swallowing down my own heartache and humiliation, I brightened my tone as much as I could. ‘It’s okay, Mum. Dad’s right. Try to stay indoors. I’ll sort everything out when I get home. I love you.’

  ‘I love you too. Be careful.’

  I replaced the phone, aware Jess was behind me, her soothing hand rubbing circles on my back. I turned, hugging my friend with a ferocity I hoped conveyed my regrets and apologies. I needed to be strong—there was no time for wallowing in my own disappointment. I had people who needed me.

  ‘I’m going to have a shower.’ I straightened, pushing back a stray curl that had escaped the headband she slept in. ‘It’s your day off today, right?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Good. Will you help me pack?’

  Chapter Six

  WE were two hours into the flight before I could bring myself to talk to Nathan. Aware I was behaving like a stroppy teenager, I’d barely even glanced at him since we’d boarded the plane. Worry for my family beat at me like the relentless pounding of waves and was further compounded by concern for Jess, who I’d left to deal with any residual fall-out.

  I lowered my book to my lap, having just read the same page for the fourth time, and stretched my arms over my head, the cream leather upholstery creaking under me. Impatient to be on the ground, I reached for a magazine, but the collection of celebrity gossip reminded me of my own predicament. I tossed the magazine aside and glanced at Nathan. He sat on the opposite side of the plane, which was large enough that Lucy and Jake, somewhere on board, were out of sight.

  He’d been occupied since take-off, and part of me envied his ability to carry on as if nothing had happened. For him, this was just another story that would either improve his ratings, sell more films or land him his next big role. This had already all but cost me one job and I feared the trouble might follow me to my next job, which began in three weeks. What would happen if my career was irreparably damaged? I’d wanted to be a doctor since I was six years old and my parents had sat me down to explain why Matty couldn’t to talk to me.

  I surveyed the object of my frustration. A few days’ worth of facial hair covered his cheeks and he wore a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. On anyone else they’d look less retro and more antique, but on him they worked, highlighting his cheekbones and framing those trademark eyes of his. I huffed, hating my treacherous body for finding him attractive.

  On the table in front of him was a stack of glossy headshots and a pile of opened mail. He’d worked his way through the headshots, autographing each one, and now he was working through the mail, reading the letters before typing away on his laptop and then moving onto the next.

  His words startled me from my snooping. ‘If you’re bored, there’s a movie theatre in the tail.’ He spoke without lifting his gaze from the computer screen, letting me know he’d been aware of my scrutiny the whole time.

  I popped my seatbelt, stood and stretched, adding a few calf clenches to ward off deep vein thrombosis. ‘I’m good, thanks. I’m not sure I could face a movie at the moment.’ I took the spare seat opposite him, clasping my hands together in my lap and tapping my toes on the deep pile carpet.

  He pushed his laptop aside and lounged back into the leather, regarding me with an unreadable expression and an arch of one eyebrow. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. Let’s just say I find myself a little jaded by the whole movie-star/fame thing. Can’t think why.’

  ‘Tut, tut, Dr King. Two hours into the flight and you’re already baiting me?’ He pulled his computer screen into place and continued what he’d been doing.

  I gripped the armrests, willing myself to exude the same cool, calm exterior he projected. It was bad enough I’d had to relinquish my hostility and rescind my rejection of his offer. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Working.’ His focus flicked across the screen as his fingers flew across the keyboard.

  His answer riled me up. Everything about him riled me up. ‘I should be working. But I was asked to vacate my job.’

  He smiled, but his eyes remained cold and focused on the screen. ‘I’m not biting, Dr King.’

  Silence settled between us, bitter and frustrated on my part, and seemingly indifferent on his.

  ‘You answer all
your own fan mail?’ I didn’t know celebrities still received hard copies.

  His face popped up over the top of his laptop screen, with a ‘don’t be stupid’ look. I held my nerve, challenging his condescending scowl and biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.

  He closed the laptop, and I fought hard not to punch the air in triumph.

  ‘I answer a selection that Jake sets aside for me. He does the rest.’ He pulled the glasses from his face and tossed them on the table next to the laptop. I missed them instantly, clamping my lips together to stop myself from asking him to put them back on.

  ‘How does he select those that are worthy of your personal attention?’

  Nathan stared at me, amusement lighting his eyes. ‘He follows my instructions.’ He shrugged. ‘I try to personally respond to all of the most … heartfelt ones.’

  ‘Huh, I bet you do.’ I could only imagine the kind of fan mail he received. ‘What are they? Marriage proposals and “I want to have your babies” requests?’

  He pinned me with his glare, a spark of heat dancing in his eyes. ‘I didn’t know you cared, Dr King?’

  I held his gaze for as long as I could, determined to neither comment nor blush. Just when I thought I’d won this round of sparring, he launched his final attack. ‘Actually, they’re the “I’m dying and I’d like to meet you” ones.’

  I gasped, shame achieving what his sarcastic jibe had failed to. It never occurred to me he received such requests. How did he handle that? ‘How many of those do you get a week?’

  His shoulder twitched and his face became serious. ‘Eighty to a hundred.’

  I was shocked speechless, silenced by my assumptions. He personally responded to a hundred heartbreaking requests a week? Even the most altruistic of people couldn’t devote that much time to meeting fans. ‘How much fan mail do you get?’

  ‘Fortunately most of it is electronic, but I still get upwards of five thousand letters per week.’ He sighed, finally revealing a small chink in his armour when he rubbed his tired eyes.

  ‘May I?’ I indicated the top letter on the pile, earning myself another shrug, but his keen interest followed me as I reached for it. I scanned the handwritten page. The fan was a twenty-year-old Canadian who’d developed lymphoma in her last year of college. Chemotherapy had failed and she’d been told she had two months to live. My throat burned as I read the words of adoration this brave woman poured onto the page. Nathan Banks was her world and meeting him was her dying wish. I swallowed back the emotion clogging my throat and replaced the letter on top of the pile with the reverence it deserved.

  ‘What will you say to her?’ The burden of it settled onto my shoulders, and it wasn’t even addressed to me. How did he sleep at night?

  I grew hot under his scrutiny, his expression unchanged and his index finger rubbing a lazy swipe across his bottom lip. ‘Jake thinks I’m mad. He believes most of them are probably made up. I answer them all, regardless. I try to put myself in their shoes. If I can make someone’s last days a tiny bit brighter …’

  This I could relate to. I glanced at the pile of letters. My chest tightened, crushed by the sadness of so much desperation and hope. ‘Do you meet any of them?’ I’d never given much thought to this side of fame and fortune. It brought responsibilities. I could see them etched into the tiny lines framing his tired eyes.

  ‘Sometimes—if my schedule allows and I’m in the right part of the world. Sadly, it’s only four or five a year.’ He slipped back behind his controlled exterior. ‘Would you like some refreshment?’

  I shook my head, still struggling with the lump in my throat. He must have pressed a call button because our immaculate flight attendant approached to take his request.

  Intrigued by this side of him, I continued the line of conversation after she walked away. ‘Why do you answer them all?’

  His lips pursed, like he was annoyed I’d come back to this subject. ‘Because what they say matters to someone. It matters to me. Some of them are just children. They matter.’

  I kept pushing, curiosity at what motivated him urging me on. ‘But they don’t know you and you don’t know them.’

  His narrowed eyes pinned me, bringing heat to my cheeks. ‘Haven’t you ever had a crush, a passion that consumed you, an obsession?’

  I thought back to my early teens. There’d been one or two rock stars I supposed I’d count. But that was before my life took a serious turn. Before family scandal and national humiliation. Before I began to close myself down and teenage crushes were relegated to trivial. I glanced away, the trip down memory lane cracking open a window to my soul I feared he’d peer through.

  ‘I don’t make them any promises, but I don’t crush their dreams either. I’ve no right.’ He clenched his jaw and glanced at the cumulus through the tiny window. As if he’d forgotten I was there, he speared one hand into his hair, ruffling the strands back and forth.

  The attendant returned, placing two tall glasses of iced water before us and a dish of nuts. Nathan bestowed his Hollywood dazzle on her with a husky ‘thanks’.

  Raising his glass for a long swallow, he peered at me over the rim. ‘Have a drink, Dr King. It’s important to stay hydrated on a long haul.’

  I held his stare, defiance bringing out my inner teenager once more. I popped a nut, which was dry roasted and delicious, into my mouth.

  Instead of riled, he appeared amused, his lips twitching before he switched to serious. ‘How’s your family holding up to the media intrusion?’

  The nut turned to cement in my mouth, and I washed it down with the iced water. I had to hand it to him. He didn’t shy away from the thorny issues. ‘So you did look me up?’

  ‘I’ve been informed of enough to grasp a basic understanding.’ He took another swallow of water, distracting me with the bob of his Adam’s apple.

  I lowered my head, returning his earlier candour with a little of my own. ‘Fortunately, my brother is unaware of the fuss, for now. Although if the media continues to hassle my parents, he’ll soon notice the change to his routine and know something is off.’

  His solemn nod encouraged me. ‘And your parents?’

  ‘They’re holding up—prisoners in their own home. You must know what that’s like?’

  His mouth twisted, challenge blazing in his eyes. ‘Yes, but as you’ve already pointed out, I courted fame and brought it upon myself.’

  I winced, the echo of my words difficult to hear.

  His sigh was loud in the empty cabin. He reached over to touch the back of my hand where it rested on the table. ‘Your father was cleared of any wrongdoing. They’ll soon lose interest when there’s no fresh blood to tempt them.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. They’ve un-earthed the corpse now. I’m sure there’s enough value in picking over the bones. Besides, the money was never returned. Many people still believe my father and his former mistress have it in some off-shore bank account, waiting for the right moment to buy that luxury yacht and French chateaux.’ The bitterness in my voice shocked me. After all these years, the pain remained just under the surface.

  Nathan’s quiet questioning continued, along with the rhythmic strokes of his thumb on the back of my hand. ‘I understand he’s in poor health?’

  I shrugged. ‘He had triple coronary artery bypass surgery last year. But it’s the guilt that’s the real problem. He let his family down, and he still struggles with forgiving himself.’

  ‘Well, this won’t be helping.’ Nathan fell silent for a few minutes, and I absorbed the comfort he offered by the simple act of touch.

  ‘There is a way we could turn this around.’ His expression turned thoughtful as he studied the droplets of condensation on his glass.

  ‘I thought you said the more we deny it the more they believe.’

  He nodded, his gaze returning to mine. ‘We could stop denying it?’

  ‘What?’ I snatched my hand from the table, jamming it between my clasped knees to dull the loss of his warm
fingers.

  He lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. ‘We give them what they want—a few snaps of us together, a press release.’ He smiled at whatever appalled expression my face displayed. ‘We don’t have to say we’re dating, if it repulses you so much. We could just be friends or working on a joint project?’

  At last I found my voice, and it was laced with sarcasm. ‘What sort of project could we possibly have in common?’

  His sprawl back into his seat was relaxed, but the tension in his jaw indicated I’d pricked his ego. ‘I support a number of charitable organisations—I’m not averse to adding to it. Perhaps a heart foundation, autism or fraud victim support? You can choose.’

  ‘But what’s in it for you?’

  He laughed, a mirthless bark. ‘You don’t think much of me, do you?’ The fierce green of his eyes bored into me like heat-seeking missiles. ‘I feel responsible, somehow. I regret that your family is suffering, partly because of me. I’d like to help.’

  ‘Just because you throw money at something doesn’t make it better.’

  He raised his glass to his mouth once more, but the tension around his face was hard to disguise. Perhaps I’d finally poked the bear awake with my stick.

  Jake emerged from the tail of the plane and swayed down the aisle towards us. ‘Nate, this came through from Martin?’

  Nathan nodded, sliding the pile of autographed photos across the table towards his assistant and accepted the iPad Jake had brought with him. He scanned the screen and a small smile transformed his face.

  I began to stand to leave him to work, but Nathan waved me back down. His eyes sparkled when they settled back on mine, revealing a glimpse of the man behind the mask. Something had made him happy. I thought back to the conversation I’d overheard in the clinic. He’d been discussing a Martin then.

  ‘Well, Dr King, it seems you’re good for my career.’ His eyes travelled my face like he was seeing me for the first time. ‘If you want to change your mind about those snaps of us together, the offer still stands.’