by J Lerman
‘You would?’
The hollows in Marc’s cheeks grow tight and shadowy. ‘Yes,’ he says eventually. ‘I’d support you. I’d support us.’ He shakes his head. ‘But if you make that decision, you have to be prepared for a lot of negative attention. I can only protect you so much.’
‘I think I can handle it,’ I say. ‘If it means being with you.’
The flight back is smooth and calm, but I’m too anxious to relax. The thought of telling my father about Marc is overwhelming, and Marc’s warnings haven’t fallen on deaf ears. I know there might be a hate campaign against me. I know I might be painted as the slutty student who seduced Marc Blackwell. Or the naive student who’s fallen for a wicked older man.
When we land, Marc arranges for Keith to take me straight to my Dad’s house.
Chapter 70
I knock on the door tentatively, knowing Dad isn’t expecting me.
Dad opens the door with strawberry jam on his forehead and pastry in his hair.
‘Love!’ He throws his arms around me. ‘This is a nice surprise.’ Sam is in the background in his highchair, also covered in jam.
‘Good to see you too.’
‘Come in, come in.’ Dad opens the door. ‘Sam and I were just making jam tarts.’
‘Where’s Genoveva?’
‘Having a facial. She’s needs to relax. This is all very hard on her, parenthood late in life.’
The house is a bombsite, made worse by Dad’s baking attempts. Sam bangs the highchair table when he sees me, his hands and face covered in pastry and jam.
I pick him up, and put the kettle on.
‘I’m glad Genoveva isn’t here,’ I say. ‘There’s something I need to talk to you about alone.’
‘Oh? Nothing serious is it, love? You’re not ill, are you?’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Nothing like that.’ I make two teas and set them on the dining table.
‘So what then?’
This is so much harder than I’d imagined. And imagining it was pretty difficult.
‘It’s about a man I’m seeing.’
‘Are you ... pregnant or something?’
‘No, no.’ I shake my head, taking a seat and putting Sam on my lap. Dad comes to sit down too.
‘Because you know I’ll support you one hundred percent, whatever you want to do. Your mum had you very young, and I’ve never regretted -’
‘Dad, will you just listen? I’m not pregnant. It’s not that. But ... I’m seeing someone at university.’
‘Well, you’re twenty three,’ says Dad. ‘Nothing wrong with that. I’m glad you’re seeing someone. Is he a nice chap? I’d like to meet him.’
A nice chap. Those aren’t the first words I’d use to describe Marc. But he is a good person. Deep down in his heart, his intentions are good, even if his manner can be slightly cold.
‘He’s ... a lecturer,’ I say. Sam grabs at my watch. I carefully unpeel his fingers.
‘Oh.’ Dad takes a sip of tea and looks thoughtful. ‘Right. I suppose that’s a little different. For a start, he must be a lot older than you.’
‘Not really,’ I say. ‘Only five years.’
Dad considers this. ‘It’s not very ethical, for a lecturer to be having a relationship with a pupil. I can’t say I’d respect the man’s morals all that much.’
‘I understand that,’ I say. ‘But I don’t think either of us planned for things to work out this way. He was absolutely dead against anything happening between us. It was me who made the decision. If it had been left up to Marc, he would have quit the university for us to be together, or never seen me again.’
‘Marc?’ says Dad. ‘As in Marc Blackwell? Is that the man you’re seeing?’
I nod.
‘Who does he think he is? Just because he’s famous, doesn’t mean he can take advantage of -’
‘It’s not like that,’ I say. ‘We really feel something for each other.’
‘I haven’t heard good things about him at all,’ says Dad. ‘He seems like a very cold, snooty sort of man. Not the sort of character most men would be happy about their daughter seeing.’
‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘He does come across that way. But deep down, he’s a very good person. I promise.’
Dad nods. ‘I suppose I can’t imagine you choosing someone who wasn’t.’
I smile at him.
‘Would your mum have approved of this man?’
I think about that. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I think she would.’
‘Well.’ Dad rests his elbows on the table. ‘I suppose I’d like to meet him.’
‘I’d like that,’ I say. ‘And so would he. You can meet him today, if you’d like.’
Dad nods. ‘Yes. We can make some lunch. I won’t put that on Genoveva at short notice, we’ll order something in.’
I smile. ‘I can cook, if you’d like.’
‘Would you love? That would be wonderful.’
Chapter 71
I ring Marc, and he picks up straight away.
‘Sophia. How are you?’
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘It wasn’t as tough as I’d thought. Dad wants to meet you. Would you like to come over for lunch today?’
‘I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.’
He hangs up, and I set to work making lunch. There isn’t much in the house, but there’s flour and potatoes in the cupboard and I find some frozen beef and peas in the freezer, so I make a steak pie with mashed potato and gravy. It’s getting colder outside – good weather for comfort food.
Genoveva comes back from her appointment, and squeezes her lips together when she sees me in the kitchen.
Dad tells her about Marc coming over for lunch, and she hurries upstairs to get ready. An hour later, she comes down plastered in makeup, her black, bobbed hair shiny and styled. She’s wearing a white linen suit, gold jewellery and heavy rose-scented perfume. She looks like she’s about to sail away on a yacht.
‘She never makes this effort for me,’ Dad whispers, with a conspiratorial wink. ‘Looks like she’s a bit star struck.’
Just as I take the pie out of the oven, there a knock at the door.
I open it and see the surreal sight of Marc Blackwell on my doorstep, his arms full of red roses, wine and a small, wrapped gift.
‘Hello,’ I say, trying to hide my smile.
‘Hello.’ Marc smiles at me, that subtle, quirky smile. ‘It’s good to be here.’
I wonder what he’ll make of our little house, with its open plan living area and rustic, country charm.
Genoveva comes rushing over and curtsies before him. ‘Mr Blackwell. I’ve heard so much about you. Welcome to my home.’
‘The pleasure is all mine,’ says Marc. ‘You must be Genoveva. I bought these for you.’ He hands her the roses.
‘Oh!’ she gushes, smelling them. ‘They’re beautiful. Please. Follow me to our dining area.’
She leads him to the dining table, where my dad is sat, drinking a coffee. Dad stands as Marc approaches.
‘A pleasure to meet you, sir,’ says Marc. ‘You must be Sophia’s father.’
‘Yes,’ says Dad, looking him over. He looks small next to Marc, but he’s holding himself with a quiet dignity.
Marc puts the gift and wine on the table, and shakes his hand. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I bought a little something for Samuel.’
‘He’s sleeping right now,’ says Genoveva, picking up the gift. ‘May I?’
‘Of course,’ says Marc.
Genoveva tears open the paper, and inside is the simplest of gifts: a set of plastic, stacking cups. They must have cost all of three pounds, and I can see Genoveva looking them over, confused. Here is a man who can buy anything he wants, and he’s bought the most inexpensive present for her son.
‘Thank you,’ she says, eyeing the cups uncertainly.
‘My sister has a son a little older than Samuel,’ Marc says. ‘He loves these things. Can’t leave them alone. I’ve given him all sorts of toy
s – a mini motorbike, a jungle gym, a train set, but he likes these the best.’
I smile. ‘They’re perfect,’ I say.
‘Would you like to take a seat?’ Dad asks.
‘Thank you.’ Marc sits besides my father. ‘I’d just like to say it’s a pleasure to be in your home. And you must be very proud of your daughter. She’s a remarkable person.’
‘Yes,’ says Dad.
‘We ... I never planned for the way things have turned out,’ says Marc. ‘It was never my intention to have a relationship with a student. I planned to leave the university, in fact, when I realised I was falling for Sophia. This must be so difficult for you. If I were in your position, I wouldn’t respect a man like me. I wouldn’t think a man like me would be good enough for my daughter. I’m hoping to prove to you that I am. For Sophia’s sake as much as anyone’s.’ He gives his quirky, humble smile. ‘For some reason, she thinks I make her happy.’
Dad gives an approving cough. ‘Yes. Well. Early days.’
‘Let’s have lunch,’ I say.
Chapter 72
Predictably, the men at the table eat huge portions of the pie, while Genoveva picks at her piece and I only have a small slice. I’m too nervous to be hungry.
‘You made this?’ Marc whispers, on his second slice. ‘I can’t believe you’ve never cooked for me before.’ He gives me that playful half smile and slips his hand into mine.
We drink wine, eat and Dad cross-examines Marc about everything, from his acting pedigree to why he formed the college.
‘I wanted to send the elevator down,’ says Marc, simply. ‘I wanted other young actors to have the chances I’ve had. Acting is my life. It’s what keeps me sane. And I know that’s true for a lot of young people, but that many of them won’t ever succeed in an acting career, no matter how talented they are. My goal is to help them into the profession.’
‘Very admirable,’ says Dad, taking a swig of red wine.
By the end of the meal, I feel Dad has – if not thawed completely – grown a little warmer towards Marc.
‘Sophia – I have to leave,’ says Marc. ‘I have a meeting booked with my PR team.’
I feel my stomach tighten as I think what that meeting might be about. ‘Okay.’
‘Would you like me to take you back to college?’ Marc asks. ‘Or would you like more time with your family?’
‘I should head back,’ I say. ‘I have a singing class this afternoon, and I’d rather not miss it.’ I turn to Dad. ‘I’ll come back next weekend, okay?’
I hurry upstairs to kiss a sleeping Samuel, and when I come back downstairs, Marc and my dad are shaking hands again.
‘Perhaps you can come again sometime,’ Dad is saying. ‘And we’ll have a proper drink. None of this wine nonsense.’
‘I’d be delighted to,’ says Marc.
We head outside, into the chilly autumn afternoon. There are orange and brown leaves all around.
Marc sees the photographer before I do. I only see a bright white flash, and feel Marc pull me to him, throwing his coat around my face.
He bundles me into the car, and I watch through the tinted window as Marc sprints down the country lane after a man in a denim jacket. Marc is fast, but the photographer has a head start, and I imagine terror must be putting a spring in his step. I wouldn’t want an angry Marc Blackwell on my tail.
I hear the roar of a motorbike, and see Marc turn and bolt back towards the car. He’s barely out of breath as he leaps in the back.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks me.
‘I’m fine.’
‘I don’t want to chase him in the car. It’s too dangerous.’ He thumps a window with his fist. ‘Scumbags. To come to your family home. They must have followed me here. I thought we were careful, but ... I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s okay. It was bound to happen sooner or later.’
‘They’ve got nothing,’ says Marc. ‘They don’t know anything about why I was visiting. But it forces our arm a little. It’s started. They’re not going to back off. Once they have an idea for a story, they won’t give up.’ He turns to me. ‘I’ll call you after my PR meeting, and we’ll figure out what’s going to happen. One thing’s for certain. Things can’t carry on as they are. We have to decide whether to jump or not. And soon.’
‘Right.’ I swallow. I feel scared. Uncertain.
‘Sophia, are you sure you really want to do this?’ Marc asks. ‘Your life will change forever. And you won’t be able to go back. There’s still time to change your mind.’
I nod. ‘I do feel ... scared. Like I’m about to leap off a cliff, and I don’t know if I’m attached to a rope or not. I don’t know how things are going to be. I don’t know if this is the right decision. But not to jump ... that doesn’t feel right either.’
Marc takes my hand. ‘I’ll take care of you,’ he says. ‘I have things in place that can protect you. I’ll make it as easy as can be, but there will still be problems. Issues. If you’re ready for that, then we can do this.’
‘I don’t know yet,’ I say, looking out of the car window. ‘I just don’t know.’
Chapter 73
In singing class, I can’t concentrate, and Denise has to call me by name a few times to make me pay attention.
‘You’re half asleep today, Ms Rose,’ she says, as the class filters out. ‘Anything you want to talk about?’
I sigh. ‘Yes,’ I admit. ‘So many things on my mind.’
‘Then let’s have a tea. I’ve made my own herbal brew today. Fancy a cup?’ She flicks the kettle on.
‘Yes please,’ I say, and she throws a handful of what looks like dried fruit, berries and flowers into two mugs. She pours boiling water in, and hands me mine. It’s bright pink and smells delicious – like strawberries and herbs.
‘Hibiscus flower,’ she says. ‘Good for problem solving. Now. What can I help you with today? You look like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.’
‘I have,’ I say. ‘I’ve got the biggest decision to make.’
‘Go on.’
‘Marc and I ... we’ve got closer. More serious. And I thought I wanted to have a proper relationship. A public relationship. Like normal people have. I knew it could never be truly normal, but I don’t want to sneak around. For everything to be hidden.’
‘Sounds perfectly reasonable,’ says Denise.
‘Marc never wanted things to be hidden, either,’ I say. ‘But he was worried about my reputation. How I’d be perceived if things got out.’
‘That’s just like Marc,’ says Denise, with a smile. ‘And I bet he doesn’t give two hoots about his reputation, does he?’
‘No, he doesn’t,’ I say. ‘He’s happy for us to go public. He’s talking to his PR team this afternoon about how best to do it. How to limit the damage, and not have me painted in a way that might damage my career in future. But now it’s coming to it, I’m not sure if I’m making the right decision. Marc has warned me over and over again what might happen if our relationship gets out. And ... perhaps I’m not as ready to face all that as I thought I was.’
Denise sighs. ‘It’s a difficult situation. I feel for you. I don’t know what I’d do if I were in your shoes. What does your heart tell you?’
I take a sip of pink tea, and it tastes as delicious as it smells. ‘It tells me I want to be with Marc, no matter how that comes about. It tells me that if we’re together, we can cope with anything. And it tells me if I walk away from Marc, I ... I don’t know if I could live.’
‘You could live,’ says Denise, putting her warm, white hands over mine. ‘I assure you of that. Many young women have walked away from who they think is the love of their life, and then find another love of their life a few months later.’
‘Do you think Marc and I ... do you think we stand a chance?’ I say.
Denise looks at me for a moment. Then she nods slowly. ‘A chance, yes. Under the arrogance and aloofness, Marc is a good person. And I’ve never seen him
fall like this for anyone before. He’s loyal. If he takes this chance with you, he’ll never let you go unless you want him to. He’ll stand by you through thick and thin.’
‘I think I know that,’ I say. ‘Sort of. I feel safe with him. Protected. I don’t feel he’d let me down. But it’s whether I can cope with things. That’s the question.’
‘And I think only you have the answer to that question,’ says Denise.
‘There’s something else, too,’ I say. ‘A photographer. He took our picture just now. Leaving my dad’s house.’
‘Right.’ Denise takes a long sip of tea. ‘That could be a tricky one. I’d imagine the tabloids will be falling over themselves, trying to prove a teacher student affair. It wasn’t an intimate picture, was it?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘Just the two of us leaving the house.’
‘They’ll be trying to make something of that, though,’ says Denise. ‘If you carry on seeing each other in secret, they’ll be more photos before you know it.’
We talk for an hour, but I’m no closer to coming up with an answer. I’m walking through the college grounds, about to call Jen, when my phone rings. It’s Marc.
‘Hi,’ I say, kicking a pile of orange leaves. ‘How are you?’
‘It’s not good news Sophia.’ Trust Marc to get straight to the point. ‘The photo of us is already being auctioned to the newspapers. It’ll hit the stands tomorrow – probably in more than one tabloid.
‘My PR team are struggling to see how they’re going to limit the damage. They can see the tabloids having a field day, and following you for months, maybe even years to come. Your reputation might be tainted if we stay together. If you won acting roles, it would be assumed that I’d pulled strings. I don’t know if I can let you go through that. Not for me.’
‘It’s not just for you,’ I whisper. ‘It’s for me too. But ... I hear what you’re saying. I know things will be hard. I need time to think, okay?’