by S. Quinn
‘PAIN are clever,’ says Marc. ‘Discreet. I need to wait for them to make a move. But until then, I don’t think it’s such a bad thing that we’re apart. I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.’
‘I don’t want you in the crossfire either,’ I say, sliding a shaking hand into his. ‘Marc, I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.’
‘You needn’t worry about me,’ says Marc. ‘I can look after myself. It’s you we need to watch out for.’
‘I guess I should warn Tom and Tanya. Cecile might try and cause trouble for them at college.’
‘Cecile is no longer at Ivy College.’
‘She isn’t?’
‘No. She’s been asked to leave. It was clear she was having psychological difficulties, and I won’t have anyone threatening one of my pupils. You or anyone else. She was offered the chance to get psychological treatment at our expense, but she refused. So right now she’s on her own. But she’s being watched. They’re all being watched. I promise this will be handled.’ He squeezes my hand. ‘Let’s go and see your horse.’
*****
As soon as I clap eyes on Ebony, it’s love at first sight. She’s absolutely beautiful, and a good size too – not huge like Taranu, but not too small either. Her coat shines like stars on a clear night.
Marc gives me some oatmeal to feed her, and after a few handfuls she whinnies, nuzzles my hand and lets me stroke her flank.
‘Do you want to ride her?’ Marc asks.
‘I’d love to,’ I say. ‘But I can’t leave Sammy with Dad for too long. I’ll come back when Christmas is over. She’ll help me, I think. When I’m missing you.’
*****
The rest of Christmas day feels a little subdued. We eat cheese and biscuits for tea, drink champagne and play more games, but every moment is blackened by knowing that before long Marc and I will be forced apart. How am I going to stand it?
We squeeze each other’s hands every so often, telling each other, wordlessly, how much we love each other. But when I look at Marc, I can tell he’s deep in thought, trying to get his feelings under control about what lies ahead.
When late evening comes, Denise, Annabel and Jen say their goodbyes and Dad stumbles up to bed. With Sammy already fast asleep, Marc and I head out to the garden to be alone together.
We stand by the tall trees looking up into the black sky, knowing we don’t have long before Marc has to leave.
I can feel Marc’s warmth against my face and neck. Having him beside me is both beautiful and heartbreaking.
Eventually, I say, ‘How was your Christmas?’
‘Not quite what I had planned. But I’m still glad I got to spend the day with you.’
‘Me too. It really was the best Christmas, if only for that reason.’
I watch a squirrel run up into bare tree branches.
‘I guess I should go,’ says Marc. ‘It’s nearly time.’
‘I guess it is.’ I swallow, trying to be hard and practical like Marc. Trying not to let thoughts of our separation overwhelm me. But I can’t. My face crumples.
‘I hate to see you hurting,’ says Marc through gritted teeth.
‘And here I was trying to be strong,’ I try to laugh, but the laugh gets all choked up with tears. I let out a long breath. ‘It’s only three months. Not an eternity. And we can still speak to each other once a week.’ I place both palms flat on his chest. ‘And when it’s done, we can be together. Forever.’
Marc’s lips quirk up at the corners. ‘Does that mean you’re accepting my proposal, Sophia Rose?’
‘You’ll have to ask me again, if you want an answer to that question.’
‘I intend to.’
39
I sit in the dark lounge, watching as Marc’s car pulls away. Wheels crunch over gravel, and then he’s gone.
And I’m all alone. In the dark.
A low, flat mood overtakes me.
I sit, staring at the place where Marc’s car was parked. Then I climb the stairs and throw myself into bed.
I sleep like the dead, and don’t wake until late the next morning.
*****
‘Hey pretty lady. Penny for your thoughts?’ Leo Falkirk walks onto the stage wearing nothing but skin-tight y-fronts, emblazoned with the Texan flag. His body is lethally toned and tanned, and blond hair falls across his muscled chest.
I’m on stage in leggings and a long, loose t-shirt, staring wide-eyed at Leo’s choice of costume.
‘Please don’t tell me that’s what you’re planning on wearing for the show tonight,’ I say.
‘These are for rehearsals and your eyes only,’ Leo replies with a boyish grin. ‘I thought they might cheer you up. Get you out of your slump.’
Leo and I don’t really have to rehearse anymore, since the show is doing really well. But we’re both committed to performing as best as we possibly can, so we practise between shows, feeding on reviews and audience reaction.
‘I haven’t been in a slump,’ I counter.
‘Not during the shows maybe, but ooo-eee! You haven’t been much fun the rest of the time.’
‘Sorry Leo. I just can’t make myself feel excited about much right now. Everything feels like an endurance.’
I take a seat on a purple couch, which looks soft, but is actually stuffed with cardboard. The set has been laid out for the scene in Beast’s house, when Beauty reads Beast poetry.
‘I know, I know,’ says Leo, swaggering towards me. ‘Because of M.A.R.C and the star crossed lovers being cruelly torn apart. My heart goes out for you. It does.’ He thumps his chest and pretends to swoon. ‘But you know – you two did always seem kind of intense to me. A break might do you good. Help you see that there are other men out there besides Marc Blackwell.’
‘Did you pick those up from a souvenir shop back home?’ I say, nodding at his underpants.
‘Nope.’ Leo takes a seat on the couch beside me and slings a bare arm around my shoulder. ‘Christmas gift. From my mom.’
‘Nice the two of you get on so well.’
‘She has a sense of humour, my mom,’ says Leo. ‘Maybe you should try it. You’ve been sour faced for weeks now. Ever since Boxing Day. Here. This might cheer you up too.’ He bounds off stage and returns with a tabloid newspaper, which he throws into my lap.
My mouth drops open as I read the headline.
Getty Gets Life
40
I look up at Leo. Does he know? Does he know what happened to me?
‘Leo, how did you—’
‘He’s one of the paps who was bothering you, right?’ says Leo. ‘The one who was behind all those bad stories?’
‘That’s him,’ I say slowly, my eyes scanning down to the article.
‘I thought you might be happy to hear he’s gone to jail.’
I nod, reading the article. It doesn’t mention my name at all – only that Getty was involved in a kidnapping and sado masochistic sex ring, and that he’s been sentenced to life in prison.
There are pictures of Getty being taken into a police van in handcuffs. He looks pale and old, and his trademark sideburns have grown straggly and out of shape.
‘Oh my god,’ I say, reading more text. ‘It mentions Cecile.’
‘Who’s Cecile?’ asks Leo.
‘She’s ... a girl from my college.’
The newspaper doesn’t say that Cecile used to date Getty. It just calls her a ‘friend’, and quotes her as saying:
‘It’s a sad day for British justice when the innocent go to prison and the guilty walk free. I won’t let Giles’s imprisonment go unpunished. I have powerful friends, and we intend to make sure the person truly responsible for this crime feels pain.’
PAIN.
A sickly shiver goes through me.
‘Are you okay, Soph?’ says Leo, taking the limp paper from my hands. ‘You’ve gone kind of pale.’
‘Fine.’ I try to slap a smile onto my face.
‘You’re not fooling me,�
�� says Leo.
‘Okay, fine.’ I let the smile slide away. ‘Better?’
‘More honest, at least. I’d have thought you’d be happy today. Friday, right? Isn’t this the day you’re allowed to call Prince Charming? Your weekly phone call? Do you have a warden standing beside you while you make it?’
‘No. Marc’s going to call me after the show.’
‘Uh oh,’ says Leo.
‘Uh oh?’
‘Does that mean you’re going to spend the whole of tonight’s show wrapped up in thoughts of Marc Blackwell, forgetting your lines, missing your cues ...’
‘Of course not,’ I say. ‘Since when have I ever done that? Performing is the only time I forget about Marc.’
‘What about when we rehearse?’
‘Maybe a little. Sometimes.’
‘Just a little?’
We’re interrupted by Davina, storming along the rows of seats, her red fingernails gripping a rolled-up newspaper.
‘Hey Davina,’ says Leo, standing tall so she can get the full view of his underpants. ‘How’s it shaking?’
Davina doesn’t seem to notice what Leo’s wearing. ‘We got THIS review today,’ she says, waving the paper around. ‘Sophia, you need to do better. Try harder.’
I stand up. ‘Can I see the review?’
‘Here.’ Davina reaches the stage and throws the newspaper at my feet. I flick to the review pages and begin to read. Leo reads over my shoulder.
‘Davina, this review isn’t so bad,’ he says.
‘It’s terrible,’ says Davina. ‘Didn’t you see what it said, about taking a chance hiring an unknown, inexperienced actress?’
‘Yes, but Leo’s right,’ I say. ‘That’s about as bad as it gets. Other than that, it’s not bad at all. Okay, not great. But definitely not terrible. There’s stuff here we can work on.’
Leo nods. ‘I agree with Sophia. Anyway, the audiences are loving the show. We’re getting great blog and online reviews.’
Davina looks at me. ‘It was always going to be a gamble hiring you. We were bound to get some bad reviews.’
‘Davina, this isn’t a bad review,’ I say, beginning to feel annoyed. I thought she’d got over her problem with me after all the great audience feedback we’ve been getting. But I guess not.
‘It could be better.’
‘And it could be worse,’ I say, hearing volume and colour in my voice. ‘Much worse. Like Leo said, the audiences are loving the show. And we’re working our arses off to improve all the time. When are you going to give me a break?’
‘A break?’ Davina blinks at me.
‘Ever since we started this show, Leo’s been your hero and I’ve been your villain. But the show’s doing well. Really well. Much better than expected. All the newspapers are saying so.’ I wave the paper at her. ‘Even this review says that ticket sales are strong. What on earth is your problem?’
Davina takes a step back, and stumbles a little on her high heels. ‘Well … if you feel so strongly … I suppose maybe I picked a bad time …’
‘There’s never a good time,’ I say. ‘You always think the worse of me. When’s it going to stop? Do I need to be a big Hollywood star before you’ll accept that I add value to the show?’
Davina looks at the ground. ‘Maybe I’ve been coming across wrong … I apologise if anything was misinterpreted …’ She lifts her head and pastes on a smile. ‘Let’s start again. Okay? I’ll try harder to see things from your point of view.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, tired suddenly. ‘Let’s try and start again.’
‘Great!’ says Davina brightly. ‘Well. I’ll let you two rehearse while I grab a coffee. Can’t wait to see the show tonight.’ She suddenly notices Leo’s underpants. ‘And for goodness sake Leo, put some clothes on. You’re not a Chippendale.’
Leo lets out a spurt of laughter as Davina walks away. ‘About time you told her off. I was wondering when you’d snap.’
‘I just wanted to get things straight. I’ve got too much on my mind right now to deal with Davina’s hate campaign.’
‘Like Marc Blackwell?’ says Leo, raising an eyebrow.
‘More than that,’ I say. ‘Security stuff.’
‘I know I can’t compete with Mr Perfect,’ says Leo, ‘but I just want you to know, while you and Marc are apart, I’ll look after you. Okay? I care about you. I don’t want anything bad happening to my co-star.’
‘Thanks Leo. That’s very sweet.’
Leo laughs. ‘That’s something I’ve never been called before.’
41
That night, the show is great and the audience is great, but as Keith and I drive towards Dad’s cottage, I realise my phone reception is not great. And it’s getting worse. I don’t want to risk Marc not being able to get through.
‘Change of plan,’ I tell Keith. ‘I’m going to stay at Ivy College tonight. Can you turn the car around? I need somewhere with good phone signal.’
‘No problem,’ says Keith, indicating and pulling over.
*****
After Keith drops me off at the college gates, I call Dad to let him know I’ll be back first thing in the morning. Then I walk through the beautiful college grounds, eyes glued to my phone, waiting for Marc’s call.
At exactly midnight, Marc’s number flashes up.
I smile. Trust Marc to be exactly on time.
‘Sophia.’ Marc’s voice is rich and dark, and I instantly think of his strong arms and broad chest.
God, my body aches to be near him. I’ve been carrying a hole in my heart since Christmas, but that hole has just turned into a chasm. To know he’s nearby, in London, but that I can’t be with him … touch him … it’s agony.
‘Hi,’ I say, my voice strangely light and unfamiliar.
‘Where are you?’ Marc asks.
‘At Ivy College. There’s better reception here. I didn’t want to miss your call.’
A pause.
‘Good.’ His voice is so deep. ‘It makes sense to break up your location. It means people can’t guess where you might be.’
‘Uh huh.’ I grip the phone tighter.
‘I miss you,’ says Marc softly, his words making my stomach flip over.
‘I miss you too.’ A whole tsunami of feelings rush forwards. ‘I miss you so much Marc. Sometimes I’m not sure if I can stand it. How am I ever going to do three months? It’s only been a few weeks so far, and I’m in agony.’ I try to think happy thoughts, and manage to get my voice to level out. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Without you, I’m never okay,’ says Marc. ‘I’m very, very far from okay. But I’m coping.’
‘Same here,’ I say, heading away from the central buildings and towards the accommodation block. ‘Coping. But far from okay.’
‘There aren’t many moments when I’m not thinking of you,’ says Marc.
‘Me too.’ I let myself into the accommodation building and head towards the stairs.
‘I hate knowing that you’re with Leo every day.’ Marc’s voice grows tight. ‘Knowing he can talk to you. Touch you. And I can’t.’
‘I know I keep telling you not to be jealous,’ I say, climbing the stairs to my old room, ‘but I’d probably feel the same if I were you.’ I reach my old bedroom door and unlock it. ‘If you were with some other woman while I couldn’t be with you ... I’d find it hard.’
‘A part of me thinks he could be the better man for you,’ says Marc. ‘When your father spoke of separation, Leo came to mind. He can give you things I can’t. A normal relationship. No dark undercurrents.’
‘I don’t want normal.’ I take a step into my old room, smelling dust and soap. It’s a little cold, so I throw coal and paper into the grate and light a fire one-handed. ‘And I like dark undercurrents.’
‘Your father would certainly be much happier if you were with a man like Leo.’
‘But I wouldn’t be.’
‘You know that for certain?’
‘Yes.’
A pause. ‘Are you in your bedroom?’
‘Yes. How did you know that?’
‘I heard you climbing the stairs. Close the bedroom door.’
I snap the bedroom door closed and sit on the edge of the bed.
‘Take your jeans off.’
‘How do you know I’m wearing jeans?’
‘Aside from the fact you almost always wear them? I know because my security team take hourly video footage of you. And I study it closely.’
‘You’ve seen video footage of me since I left the theatre?’
‘Of course I have.’
I feel myself smiling. ‘Doesn’t that go against the rules? We’re not supposed to see each other.’
‘Correction. We agreed that you wouldn’t see me. And that I could see for security purposes. But since you’re in an obedient frame of mind, I have a few more rules for you to follow. Go to your wardrobe and take out a scarf – the softest, thinnest one you have.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t ask questions.’
I do as Marc asks, and find a long black scarf with white skulls on it – a birthday present from Jen last year.
‘Now tie it around your mouth.’
‘What?’
‘I told you. Tie it around your mouth. No arguing.’
‘You want me to tie this scarf around my mouth? Like a gag?’
‘Correct.’
‘But then I won’t be able to talk to you.’
‘Also correct. At least, not until I say so.’
‘But I’ve waited all week to speak to you—’
‘Sometimes listening can be better than talking.’
I look at the scarf, then back at the phone. ‘Marc, I’ll feel stupid sitting here with a scarf tied around my mouth.’
‘You won’t for long. I’ve spent a good deal of this week thinking about how I’m going to make you come. And gagging you is one of the few ways I can dominate you from a distance.’
‘Dominate me?’ I smile. ‘Is that what you call it?’
‘One of the many things.’ I hear Marc’s smile down the phone. ‘Tie the scarf around your mouth.’
Reluctantly, I take the scarf and feed it behind my head, pulling it tight across my lips so it slides between my teeth. The cotton dries up my tongue and makes it difficult to swallow, let alone talk. It’s not uncomfortable exactly, but not my every day choice of how to wear a scarf.