Sister to Sister

by Olivia Hayfield

  ‘Un-fucking-believable,’ said Rob, watching the winning team passing their award around between them.

  ‘Rob,’ said Harry. ‘Don’t be a sore loser. Head for the bar – use this opportunity to network. You too, Eliza. You need to keep these people on side. Take that look off your face.’

  ‘Got you, Harry,’ said Rob.

  Soon Harry and Rob were backslapping and congratulating winners. Will perked up when Graham Norton came over for a chat.

  But Eliza couldn’t shake off her despondency. She headed for the Ladies, needing a breather.

  As she switched on her phone, a message flashed up.

  KIT: Need a drink?

  ELIZA: Where the hell are you?! And yes!

  KIT: Come outside – by pier.

  The despondency lifted a little.

  It was a beautiful clear night; people were still milling on the red carpet, camera crews interviewing celebrities as they exited. Eliza slipped unseen down the steps towards the river.

  He was sitting on the wall, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, smoking a cigarette. He wolf-whistled as she approached.

  ‘That’s offensive,’ she said, her face breaking into a grin.

  ‘I live to offend,’ he replied, hopping down off the wall.

  ‘You do.’ She reached up and pulled the cigarette from his mouth. ‘Stop this. I won’t allow you to die, even though you bailed on us tonight.’ She threw it on the ground and stamped it out.

  ‘Pick that up,’ said Kit.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Hypocrite.’

  ‘I’ve stopped caring. The world can go screw itself. We won nothing, Kit. Not one award.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You were watching?’

  ‘In the pub. Drink this.’ He handed her a wine that had been sitting on the wall. ‘You do realize it’s all bollocks? Have you seen who was judging? Fuckwits.’

  ‘Not all of them . . . ’

  ‘Eliza, read my lips.’

  She stared at them, then wished she hadn’t.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Eliza. Awards are subjective, and therefore meaningless. You know we made something great.’

  She felt the tears coming. She couldn’t help it. No matter what Kit thought, she’d wanted that award so badly.

  ‘But your script was so brilliant,’ she said, as her eyes filled, ‘and everyone worked so hard . . . ’

  ‘Chrissake, come here.’

  He pulled her into his arms and she let the tears fall, burying her head in his shoulder.

  He held her tight as she sobbed, stroking her back, saying nothing.

  Soon she felt calmer. ‘I’m sorry. I suppose people will think I’m a cocky brat, expecting to win.’

  ‘Yep,’ said Kit. ‘Which of course you are. Should’ve seen your face when Kitchen Sink got the award.’

  She looked up at him. He was grinning.

  ‘Did I look very shocked?’

  ‘Outraged, perhaps. My god, look at the state of you.’

  ‘Oh no,’ she said, wiping under her eyes. ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘Car crash,’ said Kit. ‘Better stay out here in the dark.’

  She took a large drink of her wine, then put her head on his shoulder again, taking a deep breath. ‘Thanks, Kit. You always make me feel better. I guess I should let Dad and Rob know where I am. And you should text Will. He thinks you don’t give a fuck about him and me, as well as the awards.’

  ‘I suppose he’s in bits?’

  ‘Pretty upset. But I left him talking to Graham Norton.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can face the drama. Ah, Eliza. Rob’s here.’

  He let her go and she turned to see him walking towards them, his expression dark.

  ‘Rob,’ said Kit. ‘I’m trying to convince our girl the awards mean fuck all.’

  ‘To you, maybe,’ said Rob. ‘But not to her.’ He looked as if he’d happily kill Kit. ‘I thought you understood her. Come on, Lizzie. I’ll take you home.’

  The next morning Eliza was horrified to see her shocked face all over the media.

  BAFTA BOMB! shouted the Sun.

  The Daily Mail was a little kinder: ELIZA SHOWS SHE’S MOST HUMAN.

  In the days that followed, her expression became an internet meme, applied to surprise-horror moments. She was mortified.

  A message from Kit pinged into her phone. It was the photo, captioned:

  KIT: When I tell you the truth.

  As ever, she had no idea what he meant.

  Rob flew back to the States, and a couple of weeks later Clare phoned to ask if Eliza would come to Richmond for the weekend. ‘I’ll be honest with you,’ she said, ‘I’m worried about Harry. He’s been pretty stressed over Stu’s death. I thought seeing you might help.’

  ‘Stressed? He seemed fine at the awards,’ said Eliza.

  ‘Well, of course, he wouldn’t have wanted to let on to you.’ There was a pause. ‘Eliza, seriously. He reminds me of when I first knew him, when I worked for his doctor. He was a ragbag of health problems, on a path to early death. That’s why I’m worried.’

  A tightness gripped Eliza’s chest. The concept of Harry growing old, becoming unhealthy, was an alien one. Apart from his limp, which came and went, he always looked in fine fettle, and much younger than his fifty-eight years.

  ‘When you say stressed, how do you mean?’

  ‘He’s preoccupied; he can’t seem to sit still for more than five minutes. And he’s been losing his temper – he tore the gardener off a strip the other day. It’s not like him. Plus . . . ’ She paused again. ‘Headaches, Eliza. So bad he has to go to bed. And he seems short of breath. I’m terribly worried.’

  Clare wasn’t a worrier.

  ‘I’ll come.’

  After the phone call, Eliza was restless. She switched on the TV, but couldn’t settle to watching anything. She messaged Rob, but it remained unopened. He was probably busy at work.

  She googled My Dark Soul to see if the buzz was building yet.

  The internet rabbithole led her to an image she wished she hadn’t seen. Entertainment Weekly was speculating on who’d land the coveted lead roles. Already cast as the priest’s first temptation was a smouldering almond-eyed blonde with the sort of face you couldn’t look away from. And, not looking away, right there in the photograph, was Rob.

  Eliza breathed in sharply, and registered how strange that sounded in her empty flat. She was overtaken by an awareness of her solitude.

  The actress’s name was Letitia Knowles, and the caption said she was celebrating with RoseGold producers at The Ivy after beating off tough competition.

  Eliza relaxed when she spotted Leigh behind the pair. Even so, she couldn’t help herself. She googled Letitia Knowles and clicked on Images.

  Big mistake. Her cheekbones were so prominent you could have parked a small car on them. Her feline eyes were wide-set and her lips luscious, her body perfect.

  She checked her messages again. Rob’s remained unopened.

  The following evening she FaceTimed him, but it was the middle of the day in LA so he couldn’t chat for long.

  ‘I saw the pic on Entertainment Weekly.’ Eliza tried to keep her tone nonchalant. ‘Does this mean you’ve confirmed the cast?’

  ‘The pic with Teesha?’

  Teesha?

  ‘The blonde.’

  ‘Yep, she’s on board. Still screen-testing for the male lead; obviously we’ve got to take the time to get that right.’

  ‘So can this Letitia actually act? Or is she just a spectacularly beautiful face?’

  ‘She can act all right. Wait and see.’

  ‘And the beautiful part?’

  ‘Not a minger, that’s for sure. Look, if you’re worried about that pic, don’t be. There’s always paparazzi at The Ivy. That’s why we went there – for the exposure. Remember, this is Hollywood. It’s all about making things up.’

  ‘Fair enough. I guess you have to play by the rules.’

&nbs
p; ‘We do. Hey, sorry, Lizzie, I’d love to talk more but I have a lunch. Can we do this again tomorrow?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll try and call at a better time.’

  ‘Cool. Love you.’ He ended the call.

  Eliza sighed as she closed her laptop and sat in the silence of her flat. What she’d give for a Rob hug right now.

  As soon as Eliza saw Harry, she knew something was very wrong. There was none of the usual ruddiness in his cheeks, and there were dark rings beneath his eyes.

  ‘Hello, Sweet Pea,’ he said, shutting the front door behind her. ‘I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been somewhat down in the dumps.’

  This was so not Harry. She gave him a hug, squeezing him tight.

  ‘Because of Stu?’

  ‘Mostly. And the young Italian chap. It’s hard not to feel at least partly responsible for my son’s descent into alcohol-fuelled violence.’

  They walked through to the kitchen, and Harry put the kettle on.

  Eliza hopped onto a barstool. ‘Don’t beat yourself up, Dad. And the press will forget about it soon, like they always do. You know that.’

  ‘I spoke to Bennie. It was hard; she’s blaming herself. You know what, Lizzie? Life doesn’t get any easier. I still seem to lurch from one mess of my own making to another.’

  ‘Dad, this isn’t like you. How can I cheer you up?’

  ‘Always better for seeing you,’ he said, taking mugs out of a cupboard. ‘And Eddie will be home for the holidays soon. We’re going up to the Lakes for a week. He and Clare like walking the fells, strangely. And I was thinking, it might be time for Eddie to get some work experience at Rose.’

  Oh god. Poor Dad.

  ‘I’m looking forward to seeing him too,’ she said. ‘You can be proud of him.’ But now wasn’t a good time to mention her brother’s career goal that didn’t involve working at Rose.

  ‘And what of Maria?’ asked Harry. ‘Have you heard from her?’

  ‘She’s found her place.’ Maria’s emails from Cambodia spoke of inner peace, of finding happiness through doing God’s will and helping others.

  Harry put a cup of tea in front of Eliza and sat down next to her. ‘And my other daughter? How’s she doing? Are you happy, Lizzie?’ His deep-blue eyes were serious.

  ‘Dad, why all these questions?’ She gave him a smile. ‘Of course I’m happy. Obviously recent events have been a setback, and not winning a BAFTA was a blow. But otherwise everything’s fine.’

  ‘Is Rob back soon? I don’t like him being away from you. Hollywood’s a nuthouse, full of overinflated egos and a million temptations.’

  Eliza sipped her tea. ‘I hope so. It’s hard without him. And it doesn’t help seeing photos of him with beautiful women.’

  Harry gave a small shake of his head. ‘It takes a strong man to resist Hollywood’s attractions.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Eliza frowned. ‘You don’t think Rob’s strong enough?’

  ‘I recognize myself at that age.’

  ‘Well, thanks a lot, Dad. That makes me feel a whole lot better.’

  Harry’s strange mood persisted throughout the weekend.

  ‘I hope this trip to the Lakes lifts his spirits,’ Eliza said to Clare, before heading home. ‘Dad never does morose. It’s scary.’

  ‘It’s a shame you can’t come with us,’ said Clare. ‘You could probably do with a holiday yourself.’

  ‘True. Maybe I’ll suggest it to Rob. Somewhere warm, doing absolutely nothing for a while.’

  ‘You can always use the Bermuda house if you want.’

  What an enticing thought. A week or two in the Caribbean with Rob.

  Eliza perked up as she walked to the station. She’d suggest it to him tonight.

  ‘Sorry, Lizzie, but I really can’t,’ he said. ‘I’m on the verge of sealing the deal with the distributor, and there’s a million and one other things to sort.’

  Eliza groaned. Was this how things would be in their future? Rob away for weeks – months – at a time; Eliza coming home to an empty apartment, an empty bed? One or the other always too busy for a holiday?

  After the call, she couldn’t help brooding on her conversations with Harry and Rob. She reasoned with herself. What had she expected, taking on the role of CEO? Life was never going to be ‘normal’. And would she, in fact, want a ‘normal’ life? Hell, no. She had the best job, working with the best people; the opportunity to write her name across the sky, as Harry had said.

  So why did she feel so low?

  Chapter 41

  Eliza

  Monday morning was far more beautiful than it had a right to be.

  Be off with you, sunny summer day. Come back when I’m in the mood.

  She slid out of bed and into the kitchen, and switched on the espresso machine.

  Her phone pinged.

  KIT: Is your day full of important stuff?

  ELIZA: In the great scheme of things, no. Why?

  KIT: Let’s play truant

  ELIZA: What?

  KIT: Phone in sick. Meet me at the Greenwich Observatory at 11

  ELIZA: Bunking off like a couple of schoolkids? Are you serious?

  KIT: Deadly

  ELIZA: It was always dangerous to say no to you KIT: Good girl x

  Eliza grinned as she dressed in jeans and T-shirt, slipped on trainers and pulled her hair into a ponytail. This felt deliciously naughty. She phoned Pippa, telling her she’d be working from home because she wasn’t feeling great, and that her phone would be switched off.

  Bad Kit. But wonderful Kit. Somehow, he’d known her mood.

  She caught the ferry to Greenwich and walked up to the observatory. Kit hadn’t arrived yet, and she stood leaning on the railings at the top of the hill, looking out across the parkland to the prickly dome of the O2 arena, the stubby chimneys of the power station. Beyond the river, Docklands skyscrapers jostled for position on the Isle of Dogs; further west, the distant towers of the City were a new perspective on the view from her office window.

  Freedom.

  She breathed deeply.

  ‘Hello, gorgeous.’ Two arms slid round her waist.

  She smiled and leaned back against him, putting her arms over his.

  For a while they said little, enjoying the view, then she turned to face him.

  ‘Why are we here, Kit?’

  ‘You needed time out.’

  His hair had grown past his shoulders again, and she pushed it back gently.

  ‘I feel like . . . something’s out of kilter,’ she said.

  ‘I know. Come on, let’s take a walk.’

  As they strolled down the hill towards the river, Eliza tilted her face to the sun. ‘Oh boy, this was a good idea. We should do this more often, bring Will.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You two are OK?’

  ‘Of course. I just wanted us to be alone today. I had a dream. At least, I think it was a dream.’

  She stopped. ‘Kit, you haven’t been taking—’

  ‘No. Doesn’t work for me any more. I almost went mad writing Dark Soul. Not gonna do that again.’

  ‘Thank god. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  They started walking again.

  ‘How’s things with Rob?’ he said.

  ‘Hm. Dad was sending me weird warning vibes yesterday, talking about Hollywood’s wickedness, all the temptations. You’ve seen the photos of Dark Soul’s leading lady?’

  ‘Letitia Knowles? Bit of a babe. But just a girl. Don’t stress.’

  ‘I feel so powerless. If I say anything I sound like a jealous nag.’

  ‘So say nothing. Be cool.’

  They reached the bottom of the hill and entered the naval college grounds. Eliza enjoyed the elegant symmetry of the old buildings as they walked along ancient stone paths leading down to the Thames, which flashed its welcome in the sunshine.

  ‘Ready for a spot of history?’ said Kit. ‘This place is loaded with it.’

  ‘Oh yes, I
loves a bit of history.’

  ‘Look,’ he said, stopping at a flagstone on which there was worn writing.

  ON THIS SITE STOOD THE TUDOR PALACE OF GREENWICH BUILT BY KING HENRY VII . . . BIRTHPLACE OF KING HENRY VIII IN 1491 AND HIS DAUGHTERS QUEEN MARY I IN 1516 AND QUEEN ELIZABETH I IN 1533.

  ‘This was Tudor central,’ he said.

  ‘Henry, Mary and Elizabeth,’ said Eliza. ‘What a trio. Two monsters and one of the most awesome queens ever.’

  ‘You think?’ said Kit. ‘Even after we got into Henry’s head for Most Human?’

  ‘Deeply flawed, then. Corrupted by power.’

  ‘What if he hadn’t had absolute power? Would he still have turned into a tyrant? Or would he have stayed that cool guy who loved books and dancing and music and—’

  ‘Women,’ finished Eliza. ‘Wonder what he’d have been like if he’d been born today?’

  ‘Onwards,’ said Kit, ‘There’s wine in my backpack.’

  They wandered along the riverbank then back into the park, until Kit stopped at the fenced-off remains of an ancient tree.

  ‘You can sort the wine,’ he said, taking off the backpack, ‘I carried it all this way.’ He lay down on the grass and closed his eyes.

  Eliza poured them a cup each, gazing down at him. He was so beguiling, so gifted, so . . . unfathomable.

  ‘Stop staring at me.’

  She laughed. ‘Here’s your wine.’

  ‘Is there food in that backpack too?’ she asked, after a while.

  ‘Sorry, no.’

  ‘I don’t know how you and Will exist. You still never seem to eat.’

  ‘Go read that sign.’

  ‘I don’t want to get up,’ she said. ‘Don’t want to go home, or back to work. Not ever. Wish I could just stay here with you. Shall we run away?’

  ‘Go read the sign.’

  She sighed and made her way over, Kit watching.

  This ancient tree, known as Queen Elizabeth’s Oak, is thought to have been planted in the twelfth century and has been hollow for many hundreds of years.

  It has traditions linking it with Queen Elizabeth I, King Henry VIII and his Queen Anne Boleyn . . .