by Mandy Baggot
‘Not quite yet,’ Kossy repeated. ‘Is that Actor Code? Does it mean you have an amber light on something and are waiting for the green of go? Come on, Seth, talk to Momma. Do you need money? Is that what this is about?’
‘No.’ Although the real answer was probably almost yes if this role drought carried on. He shook his head. ‘We … hadn’t had lunch in a while. I thought … it would be nice.’
‘Yeah, not buying that,’ Kossy replied. ‘Either you’re in trouble or someone you know is in trouble. Whatever it is, Seth, you can tell me. You can tell me anything and everything. Haven’t we always had an open door at home? Didn’t we both sit and listen and try not to laugh when your father admitted he wanted to make a replica racing car out of spaghetti?’
Seth couldn’t help but smile. He knew he could tell his mom anything – she would be honest and upfront with him – but this was different and he still felt uncomfortable. He had never raised the issue in sixteen years despite being given every opportunity to do so. It had been he who had insisted he didn’t want to know. He didn’t really understand why he needed the information now, apart from a nagging feeling he’d had since an audition he’d done a month ago.
‘We should wait for the ravioli,’ Seth answered softly. Or at least the red wine, so he could have that first lick of velvety alcohol on his tongue.
‘I told you. Now I’ve ordered ravioli it can’t be bad news or it’s gonna screw up my dining here for all eternity.’
‘I wouldn’t do that to you,’ Seth said.
‘Have you got a role in a biopic? You know how much I hate biopics … except the one about Winston Churchill.’ She gasped, hands to her mouth. ‘Has someone offered you something ahead of Gary Oldman?!’
‘No.’ He shook his head. If only …
‘Seth, come on, tell me, baby, I’m getting all strung out here.’
He cleared his throat. He had to stop doing that. It smacked of a lack of confidence and that was bad form for an actor. ‘Mom …’
‘Stop pausing and start talking, Seth. You’re doing that thing you did when you played the patient with anxiety. I bit through all my fingernails and almost started on your father’s.’
‘I want you to tell me where I came from.’
He watched his mom drop her hands down from the table and her pallor curdle. This was what he had been afraid of. It had been too long – his whole life – he had left it so late she had thought he was never going to ask at all.
‘Mom, have some water.’ He filled up her glass.
‘I’m fine,’ Kossy said, not sounding fine. ‘I’m good.’
‘Mom, listen, I know, years ago, I said I didn’t wanna know but—’
‘Seth,’ she said, reaching for the water glass. ‘We’re good here. I’m good here. Honestly. Wow. I wasn’t really expecting you to say that. I went through all the scenarios because I was worried but …’
Part of him wanted to take back what he’d said, but the other half of him was standing firm. He had, after all, been thinking about this for a reasonable amount of time. ‘I know I’ve sprung it on you but … I went for this part, this really great part I haven’t heard back from, and the character was this guy called Sam and he was adopted and … I’m adopted, and I should have felt more resonance with the character somehow and … I didn’t.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And it started me thinking. How could I really understand Sam if I don’t really understand me.’
He saw the tears forming in his mom’s eyes and he quickly reached for her hand. She batted it away, instead drawing a Kleenex from her sleeve and dabbing at her eyes. ‘I’m good. I shouldn’t have let you feel like that for so long. It’s my fault.’
‘I haven’t felt like that for long and it isn’t your fault,’ Seth insisted. ‘It was my decision.’
‘Something you said when you were sixteen. I should have brought it up again. Every year to make sure you were sure …’
‘Mom …’
‘I’ll tell you everything.’ Kossy looked directly at him. ‘Of course, I will tell you everything.’ She sighed. ‘Everything I know, at least.’
Seth felt suddenly lighter, like a cloud had moved from blocking the sun.
‘But, Seth, promise me one thing.’ Kossy looked serious.
‘Anything.’
She took his hands, squeezing them tightly in hers. ‘Promise me you’ll keep in mind … that it isn’t where a person begins that’s important, it’s where they end up.’
He squeezed his mom’s hands, looking straight into her warm, honest, brown eyes. ‘I promise.’
Seven
Lara Weeks’s barnpartment, Appleshaw
‘Lara!’
‘Lara! This is crazy! Aldo, will you get off my arm!’
‘Lara, can I dojo Dan?’
‘You do that, Aldo, and I’ll take back the car magazines I gave you.’
‘Lara says once you give someone something you can’t ask for it back. It’s a present. Lara! I’m going to use karate on Dan now.’
Lara’s head felt like it had been split in two by a rather ropy woodcutter and was hanging by a few splinters while it decided whether to drop to the floor or not. She unlatched the window and a freezing cold draught of winter air whipped around her hangover. She held her breath and, eyes closed, poked her face out over the scene below, put her hands over her ears and yelled: ‘Stop shouting!’
Despite muffling her scream, it still hurt and gingerly she opened her eyes to survey what was going on below her in the yard. Aldo was holding Dan in a martial arts death grip she had taught him after he’d got bullied at another yard when he was delivering. Dan was struggling even to squirm.
‘Get off me, Aldo! Lara, this is mad! Tell him to let me go!’
‘Why are you here?’ She had to play this cool. She couldn’t seem too excited that he had come by, early, the morning after he had said he needed a break. Slow and steady won the race …
‘I think I left my grey jacket here,’ Dan called out.
He was coming to collect stuff, not to see if she was OK. Nothing could soften the blow of that. ‘It’s not here.’ She didn’t know if that was true, but right now she felt terrible. It was a good job she wasn’t driving today. She pulled her head inside, untroubled as to whether Aldo kept him contained or not. She swallowed. But what if Aldo hurt him? Or he hurt Aldo? No, Aldo was a lot stronger than he was clever … and she was maintaining a degree of aloofness. And it was that very sentence Susie had struggled to say after copious amounts of alcohol last night.
Taking a breath, Lara surveyed the devastation of the open-plan living area. Her scatter cushions were most definitely scattered – all over the bare-board floor. There were packets of beef jerky and Kettle chips on the coffee table, together with tumblers and … a completely empty flagon of whisky. Had they really drunk the entire contents? It would definitely explain the depth of her hangover …
And then her eyes went to her laptop. Twitter! Celebrities! Now she felt sick. Susie’s mad idea about making Dan jealous … Just what had they done? Who did they tweet? Cautiously, pulling down the hem of her T-shirt that stated ‘Fcuk Yeah’, then buttoning up her cardigan, she approached the computer. Touching a key, the screen came to life and after one-finger in-putting her password there were three tabs open. How to make mince pies without mincemeat. Hot male musicians under thirty. Twitter. Lara wasn’t sure which open window scared her the most. She clicked on Twitter. Four notifications.
Her heart almost stopped. She had never had four notifications at once before. A couple of likes of her photos of lorry Tina against a great British countryside scene or a retweet of something she’d written about an episode of Silent Witness and … that was it. No one really tried to converse … only the occasional highly decorated widowed military man.
She pressed to reveal the correspondents.
@edslefttoe Saw your tweet to Ed Sheeran. Sorry about your boyf. Ed doesn’t use his Twitter account at the moment but you can fol
low him on Instagram. Good luck!!
Oh God. Susie had tweeted Ed Sheeran. Maybe she should see exactly how many people her friend had told about the disaster of her relationship before she looked at the replies.
@realappstitude Having relationship problems? Download our free app and one-click your way to a new you … and a new two.
This was getting worse.
@dailyhardon *laughs* I think you might have been looking for Tom Hardy’s account … but we can meet … maybe you AND a friend! #allthekinks #tomhardy #hotandhard
Lara felt suddenly grubby. She took her hands from the keyboard and wiped them on her cardigan. How had her life degenerated to sex-tweets?
The sound of banging and crashing from down below the wooden staircase made her shift quickly from her position over the computer. And then the door flew open, bringing in a freezing wind that whipped up the stairs and into Lara’s loft-space faster than Dan who was sprinting towards her, Aldo hot on his heels.
‘You tricked me!’ Aldo bleated, grabbing hold of Dan’s jumper and pulling hard. ‘Lara, he said he had more football cards for my album!’
‘Get off my jumper! This is a Pringle!’ Dan exclaimed, trying to mount the last step without having his pullover stretched like an elastic band.
‘You’re tricking me again!’ Aldo exclaimed, tugging even harder on Dan’s outerwear. ‘I know what a Pringle is!’ He rolled a chunk of the jumper around his arm. ‘Once you pop you can’t stop.’
‘Aldo, it’s OK,’ Lara said with a sigh.
Aldo still held on fast.
‘Aldo! No dojo!’ she ordered.
Immediately, Dan was released, and Aldo stood back, folding his arms across his chest.
Dan looked aghast at Lara. ‘What the hell was that? Are you turning him into some kind of guard dog now?’
‘Hey!’ Lara exclaimed angrily. ‘Aldo’s right here you know!’
‘Right here,’ Aldo repeated.
‘We have a code now,’ she continued. ‘Since I taught Aldo karate.’ She sniffed. ‘And I said your grey jacket wasn’t here.’ She pulled at her T-shirt again, wishing she was wearing something better. Why wasn’t she wearing the really nice woollen Christmas-tree-print top she’d bought last weekend? The laptop screen had already shown her that her usually manageable-in-any-weather-or-life-condition short hair was unusually shit this morning too. She looked at Dan in his skinny jeans and box-fresh Nikes, canary-yellow polo shirt underneath a now stretched-out-of-shape black designer jumper and her heart ached. He was showered and dressed early on a Saturday morning and he smelt of woodland and mandarin …
‘I know,’ Dan said, a little calmer. ‘But, after yesterday …’
He did care! Susie was right. This wasn’t a break-up! She needed to give him his space. Honour his needs.
‘Tina’s fine.’ Lara smiled. ‘Not a scratch. Dad says he’s going to be talking about my pro-driving at the truck convention.’
‘You were almost up on one side!’ Aldo announced excitedly, dropping his arms from his chest and doing actions. ‘Sliding away from the crowd until … whoosh! Back under control.’
‘Does he have to be here?’ Dan said.
That was a bit mean. Lara quickly smiled at Aldo. ‘Aldo, could you go and see if the hens have left any eggs by the fence this morning?’
‘All right,’ Aldo replied, giving Dan a glare. ‘If you’re sure, Lara.’
‘I’m sure,’ Lara answered, ushering him down the stairs towards the front door. She watched him all the way, making sure he didn’t catch his size 12 feet on any of the steps or get his Mr Tickle style arms stuck in the banisters. She didn’t realise she was holding her breath until the moment the front door closed behind him.
‘He doesn’t get any better, does he?’ Dan said, blowing a breath onto cupped hands. ‘Is your heating on? It’s freezing in here.’
‘It’s the second of December,’ Lara stated.
‘And it’s freezing,’ Dan said again.
Had he really forgotten? She never put her heating on until it was twelve days before Christmas. They did it together. They went out to Cactus Jacks, the Mexican restaurant in Salisbury, ate enchiladas, drank beer then came home, full of spicy food, to a beautifully snug barnpartment. She should remind him of this … but then again, he might take that as a slight. When someone was having a pre-thirty crisis – or whatever it was – you needed to be supportive, not pick at their faults.
‘I’ll put it on a bit later.’ She didn’t know what to do. She was standing opposite the man she had shared a life with for so long and she didn’t even know how to be. How should she stand? How should she stand to look comfortably alluring? Did she need to offer him a seat on the couch they usually had sex on? It all felt so awkward, so unreal. One hands-free phone conversation had changed everything. ‘D’you want a drink?’
‘No,’ Dan replied. ‘Thanks, but … I’m going out. I wanted to see if my jacket was here and … to see how you were.’
She was itching to ask where he was going. With who. For how long. But that would make her sound like Control Freak Girlfriend and that was the total opposite to Self-Confident Girlfriend, which was her current aim. Why did she remember the relationship website Susie had read aloud better than her best friend tweeting celebrities? Why did her brain choose to recollect only some of the memories after too much alcohol? Surely it should be all or nothing.
‘I’m fine.’ Lara nodded firmly. Apparently, a self-assured nod could speak a thousand words. ‘Just a bit tired after the Christmas party. It was a really good night. You should have come – that isn’t a criticism, by the way – just that the disco played Clean Bandit and Sia rather than the usual Steps and Kylie.’
‘I bet they played plenty of Michael Bublé though?’ There was a slight smile on his lips.
‘Oh yes. Obviously.’ Lara rolled her eyes.
‘So, what I heard at the Co-op wasn’t true then,’ Dan said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
‘What wasn’t true?’ Did the village somehow know what she and Susie were googling late last night? She knew the grapevine was impeccable, but she didn’t believe Mrs Fitch had the ability to be able to use a webcam as a spying tool. And even Lara had trouble pressing the right buttons for a screenshot …
‘You left early,’ Dan stated. ‘Because you had some sort of panic attack.’
‘Ha! What?! Is that what they’re saying?’ She blew out a breath, cardigan-wrapped arms coming up and down like she was a frightened Christmas turkey. She had had a moment, that was all, one wobbly moment while she was in crisis. ‘We all got a lot drunk on Flora’s whisky.’ Lara darted for the coffee table and lifted up the empty flagon as evidence just as her mobile phone pinged to indicate an incoming message. ‘And you know what they’re like at the Co-op. Even Lance gets high on After Eights at this time of year.’
‘So, it’s not true?’ Dan asked. ‘Any of it?’
‘Me and Susie left at gone one, she came back here, we listened to Rock Bands Do Christmas on Scuzz, we drank, we ate crisps and Aldo walked her home.’ Why had she given him an entire rundown of what she did. Being quietly and confidently aloof gives you power.
‘OK,’ Dan replied, blowing out a breath.
‘OK,’ Lara answered, trying desperately to ignore her hammering heart. He was here because he was worried. He was here because he felt guilty … She swallowed, her eyes scanning the room. ‘I really don’t think your grey jacket is here.’
‘OK,’ Dan said softly. Then, like a different person had inhabited his skin, ‘OK. Right. Good. So, I’d better go.’ In two long strides he was at the top of her staircase. He was going. As quickly as he had arrived.
‘So, will I … see you before … you know … Scotland.’ She couldn’t bring herself to say anything about ‘the break’. And while she was saying ‘Scotland’ out loud, she was thinking ‘Chloe’.
‘I’m not going to Scotland until a week before Christmas.’ He contin
ued down the stairs.
‘I know, I mean … I guessed because of work and holiday and …’ She sounded so pathetic. Susie would implode if she could hear her now. ‘So … will I see you … before then?’
Dan finally stopped at the step two up from the slightly straw-covered floor and turned to face her. ‘I haven’t changed my mind about the break, Lara.’
Of course he hadn’t. It had only been one night. No one made a decision, delivered it and then took it back the next second. Not when it was something as monumental as this.
‘Listen, I know this is hard. It’s hard for me too. But I think it’s for the best.’ He smiled at her. ‘OK?’
OK? Was that a real question at this moment? It felt like he was trying to settle down an elderly temperamental aunt. But she had to remain in self-belief mode, totally optimistic about the outcome of this scenario.
She managed a half-smile. ‘See you at the pub, maybe.’
‘Sure,’ Dan answered. ‘See you at the pub.’
He pulled at the door, letting in another harsh draught and then his Pringle jumper, his nice legs and the rest of him was gone.
With no whisky left in the house Lara wanted to crawl back into bed and recommence dying from her hangover, but the pinging of her phone started up again, indicating that more than one message had arrived. She headed back to the coffee table and plucked her phone up. The messages were all from Susie.
Is your headache as bad as mine?
Are you sitting down?
?
Reply!
??
Pack your bags!
We’re going to New York!!!!!!
And … check your Twitter!!!!!!
You’ve got a reply from Seth Hunt!!!!!!!
Eight
Cuts and Curls Salon, Appleshaw High Street
Lara had phoned Susie after the text messages, asking what exactly she meant. She’d had to hold her phone away from her ear as the high-pitched squealing like her best friend had won a game show had not helped her hangover. A mention of flights was all she could glean from the squawking over a hairdryer. It had been necessary to dress, swallow as many paracetamol as was allowed and walk to the high street to get more, hopefully less screechy, information.
