by Brigid Coady
Maybe the Musgrove meal was more like time off from the purgatory that home had become. Those two suitcases and boxes she had stipulated had grown to three suitcases and five boxes. How could they not have? Annie’s guilt complex had kicked in. She usually had the resolution of wet mud when it came to them.
Annie chewed thoughtfully, but she was making this move stick. She smiled to herself. The list of studio and one-bedroom rental properties in her Rightmove account said that she was moving on. And if some of them were in Pimlico that was so she could be near Marie’s kids, wasn’t it?
‘Oh, Annie, I meant to tell you: Austen talked about you. You know when we all went for that coffee?’ Marie’s voice cut through Annie’s musing.
The piece of broccoli stalled briefly as she swallowed, leaving a lump in her throat. Her heart did a little jump as if it’d had an electric shock, when she heard his name. Eight years of tiny cardiac arrests.
‘Oh?’ she said.
‘Yeah, he said he hardly recognized you.’ Marie carried on, ‘Which isn’t very nice. I mean I know you’ve put on a couple of pounds over the last few years but you were never skinny to start with.’
Ouch.
The glow of accomplishment that had been warming her flickered out. Thanks, Austen, and thank you, Marie.
Annie looked back down at her plate. The roast potato that had seemed so inviting now sat in a glistening pool of gravy, fat bleeding out of it.
‘Oh no, Marie. Shush. Annie, that isn’t what he meant at all,’ Henrietta said. ‘He meant …’ And she stopped. Annie looked up and saw that her cheeks were flushed.
Bless her, thought Annie. Henry meant well but … Annie knew she wasn’t anything like she had been at twenty-four. And it wasn’t the weight, although that didn’t help.
At twenty-four she’d still had hope and a belief that good things happened to good people. She’d had dreams. Unformed dreams they might have been. Undefined, but she had been yearning to do something, have someone.
Now?
Well, she had her dream job. Admittedly that wasn’t the same dream she’d had at twenty-four. But that dream had revolved around Austen without any space for her dreams. And as for her personal life … Could she even say she was treading water? More like going under the waves for the third time. All of those dreams of falling in love again had drowned long ago. She only existed for work and the family, now. And that, she knew, was the change Austen had seen.
Instead he was seeing those dreams of love in Louisa’s eyes now, or in any number of other people who hadn’t lost themselves like she had. Someone who hadn’t given up on him.
‘Don’t worry, Henry,’ Annie said with a smile that she knew didn’t reach her eyes. It was pasted over the look of horror that she knew she should be wearing. How had she let herself get so far from who she was?
‘Well, he’ll get to know you better again soon. He said he’s coming with us round Battersea Park this afternoon.’
Joy. Deep joy.
There was a routine that after a lazy Sunday lunch with the Musgroves they all hiked round the park. It helped digestion according to Charlie. Annie knew it was his way of avoiding the guilt he felt at having someone else cook and clean up after him.
Usually Annie liked the feeling of belonging to a family who cared about her – no matter how small. As if she had a place here and some respect.
But now they were going to wander round a park with one of the biggest TV stars in the world and the man that Annie had …
She pushed her plate away along with those long-dead dreams and realized that if she wanted to avoid Austen then the apple and rhubarb crumble she’d been looking forward to wasn’t going to happen – not today.
‘I’ll leave you all to it,’ she said as she began to gather plates. If she managed to look like she was helping she could slip out before pudding.
Annie didn’t want to face him; there was time enough for that when this production started.
‘Oh no, you can’t,’ Marie said. ‘Archie specifically wants you to see him on his new bike. He’s been going on all weekend about how Auntie Annie had to see him ride it without stabilizers.’
And like that Annie was trapped.
She sank back in her chair. She was going to have the biggest piece of crumble she could. And if Marie made a comment she could swivel.
***
It could have been worse, she thought an hour later as they trooped past the peace pagoda, Archie whizzing in front of them, almost taking out runners and dog walkers with his sketchy control of the bike.
Yes, it could’ve been worse. It could’ve been a root canal procedure without anaesthetic.
Austen had met them at the corner of Belgrave Road and Lupus Street. He’d leant against the traffic light at the corner. Legs and arms crossed. From a distance he looked so like the boy she’d fallen for that first day, Annie almost tripped over her own feet.
It was as if her mind was hijacking her, reminding her of what she’d lost.
Annie wished that the weather was in keeping with her mood; instead it was unseasonably warm for March. That odd week around the ides of March when summer seemed only a breath away. Blooms just bursting on some trees.
The year seemed hopeful.
Et tu, Brute? Annie thought, pulling the sleeves of her cardigan over her hands to hide her fists.
Austen had greeted them with a mixture of cheek kisses and handshakes, with a nod to Annie, and then they’d sauntered in a straggled group to the park.
Up until they got off the main road, Annie had been occupied in making sure Archie didn’t mount his bike and ride it into traffic.
Now they were in the park she was trying hard to ignore the trio of Louisa, Austen, and Henrietta in front of her but it was proving to be difficult.
Bloody Austen – why did he have to be so bloody gorgeous? Why couldn’t the love of her life have been some geeky guy who no one had heard of? A nice everyday boy next door?
But they would have persuaded her to give him up too. The Annie they needed was devoted to them; they couldn’t have any distractions.
Or had they really persuaded her to give him up?
Annie scuffed the path, kicking up bits of gravel.
Had they really talked her out of moving with Austen? Or had she talked her own way out of it? In fact the only person who had ever spoken about it had been Aunt Lil. The other voices who had been against it had been in her head. Annie providing the commentary that her family would add if they had known.
Because she’d made a promise – or was it really about the promise? Was that an easy out?
She watched the back of Austen’s legs as they flexed as he walked, his jeans tight enough that she could see his muscles. He even had sexy hamstrings. That should be illegal.
Sighing, Annie reluctantly looked away and watched a cormorant that perched on a post that was stuck in the middle of the river.
Why had she allowed herself to be talked out of going to Hollywood with Austen?
She remembered being so full of Austen that she didn’t know where he stopped and she began. She recalled being lost in him.
Lost.
That was it.
She would’ve been leaving a family where her boundaries were blurred, where she only existed in relation to them. And what did she have in LA? She would have only existed there as his girlfriend, not Annie. How would that have been different?
‘I need to find who I am,’ she heard her younger voice echo in her ears.
That is what she’d said as tears had streamed down her face.
‘I need to figure out a job that gets me to LA and then I promise I’ll be there with you. But I need to stand on my own.’
Why had she forgotten this conversation?
She could feel the cormorant staring back at her accusingly.
Of course she’d forgotten it. It had all been easy and wispy ephemeral plans, words to keep the peace without anything behind it. Placating him. Because
what had she done about it? Nothing. For the past six years she’d been working in an industry that could’ve taken her to LA, but she’d not moved, not grabbed the chance.
But she could move now, grab that job and be Anne Elliot. And no one would ever think about her in relation to Austen.
Annie could almost reach out and touch her new dream.
The promise though. How could she leave and still be true to the one thing she hadn’t given up on? The only thing that gave her self-respect …
She could feel the dream fade away in the sunlight.
Maybe it was easier to blame the promise, Immy, Dad, Aunt Lil for Austen leaving. Blame them for her being on her own. But she was the one who gave up without trying. She’d been a blurred blob of a person with no definition and no backbone.
Who was she kidding? She was a bloody blancmange, taking the shape of whatever container she was in.
And was still giving up.
Annie bumped into something that was definitely not a blancmange.
Austen, Louisa, and Henrietta had stopped walking on the gravel path but she’d been so busy investigating her navel and visiting the past that she hadn’t noticed.
He smelt much more expensive than he had before, she thought, her face briefly buried into his chest. She stepped back.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. Annie could feel the heat in her cheeks.
Why had she thought that she didn’t remember his smell?
His hand grasped hers briefly to steady her and it was as if he clutched at her heart.
And then it was gone.
Marshmallow. She felt like marshmallow. Unsubstantial and squishy.
‘We’re going to have a sit-down, Annie. Henry here has to go and see Robbie,’ Louisa said.
Annie looked at Henrietta who looked anything but happy about going to see Robbie.
‘But …’ Henrietta started.
‘Henry.’ Louisa looked at her fiercely.
‘Fine.’ She stomped off.
‘Robbie and Henry have been dating for years. It is only a matter of time until they get engaged. The thing is Robbie has got jealous that Henry’s met you because supposedly you are one of her “celebrity passes”. And now he says he needs to meet Diana Tomlinson otherwise it isn’t fair. All very silly …’ Louisa shrugged her shoulders as she looked up at Austen through her eyelashes; the look saying she wouldn’t need any celebrity passes if Austen were dating her.
‘Well I think she could do better,’ Marie said with a sniff as she took the centre of the bench that looked out over the Thames to Cheyne Walk. That left everyone else standing around.
Annie scuffed the gravel with her foot, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone in case they took it to mean she was taking their side. This was the same old argument that happened when Robbie and Henrietta’s relationship was brought up and it was worn thin in repetition. Any minute Charlie was going to explode at Marie for being rude about Robbie.
‘I can’t believe you can say that.’ Charlie’s voice rose.
She’d called it.
Austen and Louisa moved a bit away so they wouldn’t be near Marie and Charlie who were now waving their arms at each other and ‘discussing’ the issue through clenched teeth and slightly lowered voices in case any of the general public overheard and realized Marie’s marriage wasn’t the perfect picture she painted in the media.
Annie moved closer to the embankment wall and went back to staring at the cormorant.
‘Sometimes I wish that Charlie had managed to persuade Annie to marry him,’ Louisa said quietly but it carried to Annie.
Crap, she thought, she didn’t want to listen to this. But if she moved away now, they’d know she’d overheard.
Annie was glad her back was to them; maybe they thought she couldn’t hear them over Charlie and Marie’s gradually escalating in volume slanging match.
‘Charlie and Annie dated?’ Austen said.
There was no need to sound so bloody surprised. You dated me too, she thought.
‘Well Charlie had a crush on her all through uni. It was always “Annie this and Annie that”. We always kind of hoped, you know, that it would be more …’ Louisa sighed. ‘But supposedly there was some bloke ages ago, I mean after university, who broke her heart. That was when she changed, stopped smiling so much, and I think after that Charlie realized there was no chance. Annie wouldn’t look at anyone else. And then Marie was around a lot …’
Annie could almost hear the face-pulling that Louisa was doing.
She knew she should defend Marie.
‘Not that we don’t love, Marie – it’s just she’s a bit …’
‘Yeah,’ said Austen and they both laughed.
‘But not Annie,’ she heard Austen say as they walked off and she didn’t hear Louisa’s answer.
Well, it could’ve been worse, she thought.
***
‘We have three weeks of rehearsals and as the most junior producer, Eric told me you’re going to be at them so that anything that needs sorting gets sorted.’ Les Dalrymple had a very large mole on his cheek and as he spoke Annie found herself fascinated by it. There were three long dark hairs that sprang from the middle of it and waved as he spoke.
They were in a small meeting room in Mansfield Films offices. It was in a redbrick building opposite the old sorting office behind Victoria Street; Annie had dodged the office workers and tourists bustling up from Victoria Station as she’d walked here.
‘Of course you know about Austen playing Mr Darcy – a coup if I do say so myself. All that simmering masculinity restrained. Catnip to the ladies …’ Les paused ‘… and some of the gents.’
He winked, which made the mole wave at Annie. It kept her mind off Austen’s masculinity, simmering or otherwise.
‘And here is a list of the rest of the cast.’ Les waved a sheet of paper at Annie. ‘We aren’t releasing it to the press yet, so keep it schtum. We’re trying to build some anticipation in terms of who gets to play Lizzy. Get the rumour mill churning.’
Annie took the paper he had proffered. She hadn’t realized her hand was shaking until she saw the paper tremble. It was nothing, really. It wasn’t as if she was worried about Austen falling in love with his Lizzy Bennet. Because that would be stupid and none of her business, wouldn’t it? What did it matter if Austen was playing half of an iconic romantic couple? She only cared that it would be the perfect media story if he got together with his co-star. It would really publicize the production.
It had nothing to do with her; this was about the job, her career. It wasn’t like she cared about him anymore.
She put the paper on the desk quickly and smoothed out the creases where she’d clutched it too tightly while thinking of what was inconsequential.
She scanned for the name Elizabeth Bennet, panicking a bit as the adrenaline raced through her. She sat on her hands to stop the trembling.
Her breath huffed out of her, the sheet fluttering as she released all the air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Diana Tomlinson.
Thank God.
Well, there was no way she would be seducing Austen in his trailer, she thought. Annie was more her type. Annie didn’t listen to industry gossip. She blocked her ears from knowing what people got up to on location, because it wasn’t any of her business. But she knew that Diana wouldn’t be after Austen as a fact, even though the world didn’t.
Annie had worked with Diana on a small British film a few years before and a very drunk Diana had been quite descriptive in the bar about what she wanted to do with Billie Piper if she ever got her hands on her.
Annie hadn’t been able to watch Billie in any show for a while without Diana’s voice in her head making lewd suggestions.
She looked further down the list. This was perfect, she thought, and tried not to laugh. It seemed that Diana’s close ‘gal pal’ Olivia Styles or ‘The Stylinsons’ as the media liked to call them, was to play Jane Bennet. She hoped that the che
mistry they had, that Annie had been witness to on one memorable occasion, could be put down to that of siblings and not Sapphic love.
But of course it had nothing to do with Annie at all. It wasn’t like there weren’t going to be a whole host of other women on the set who Austen would or could be linked to. Her mind shied away from thinking about Louisa who was playing Kitty Bennet. And she could only hope that Imogen didn’t get it into her mind to make a play for him.
Annie wondered if she’d be fired if she threw up on Les’s desk.
‘So?’ Les asked breaking into her thoughts. ‘Any questions?’
‘Diana Tomlinson is a solid choice,’ she said as her eyes skimmed down the rest of the cast. Most of the names were somewhat familiar. She needed to do some research before rehearsal so she had it in her head who was who.
The only people she didn’t know slightly or hadn’t met were Wickham, Mr Collins, and Bingley.
Harry Harville was playing Wickham. The name rang a bell with her. Hadn’t that been the bloke Louisa and Henry had met at the party? The one who was in the same show as Austen, the one with the cute husband?
And John Benwick was playing Mr Collins. She couldn’t place him, which frustrated her. She made a mental note to look him up when she left the office.
Of course she should have met the actor playing Bingley.
She looked at the name: Will Elliot. It seemed that their cousin wasn’t going to be doing Sam Mendes’s Romeo and Juliet after all. This wasn’t something she was going to be sharing with Dad or Immy any time soon. At least until too much of the principal photography had been done so that if they had a hissy fit about sharing space with a soap actor it would be too expensive to fire them.
‘Thanks for this,’ Annie said feeling more confident than she had walking in. She was going to smash this job. If she could get over her issue with Austen and any other woman. And if Dad and Immy played nicely with others.
***
Annie wiped the sweat dripping down her nose with the bottom of her T-shirt. Moving three people from one house into two flats plus a storage place in a day wasn’t something she ever wanted to do again. The money spent on the blokes in the van to take their things to storage had been a genius idea.