by S. Quinn
Without make-up, she looks younger and actually much prettier. But her eyes have the tired, crinkled look of someone who’s spent the night crying. They widen when she sees me.
‘Sophia!’ The word is strangled and strange.
‘We need to talk,’ I say. ‘I heard you last night. Talking to Getty.’
Cecile’s forehead creases up, and her eyes dart frantically left and right. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about -’
I hold up a hand. ‘We both know it was you. So. Can I come in?’
Cecile pokes her head out into the corridor, glancing up and down. Then she stands back. ‘I suppose you’d better.’
Cecile’s room is totally different from mine, which is funny considering all the rooms are sort of similar.
Her bed is made up with crisp white, lace-edged linen that looks incredibly hard to wash. Scattered between her white pillows are arty cushions with gold animals printed on them.
There’s a Mercedes number plate hanging on the back of her door that says ‘Cecile 1’, and art house film posters decorate the walls. Everything is pin neat, not a speck of dust to be seen, and I feel like I’ve walked into a magazine photo shoot.
I stand awkwardly by the bed, not sure what to do with myself. There’s a chaise longue near the window, but it looks far too clean and perfect to actually sit on.
‘So?’ Cecile straightens the duvet on her bed, then plumps the cushions. ‘What do you want to talk about?’
‘I know Getty was here last night.’
Cecile pauses, mid-plump, then carries on cushion bashing as if she hasn’t heard.
‘I’m guessing you let him in,’ I continue.
‘You can’t prove anything,’ says Cecile, her eyes fixed on a cushion printed with gold giraffes.
‘I don’t need to. If I tell Marc I heard you with Getty, that’s all the proof he’ll need.’
That gets her attention.
‘You wouldn’t!’ She whirls around.
‘I might,’ I say. ‘If you don’t tell me what’s going on.’ It’s hard to feel sorry for her right now, but I try to remember her crying last night and my shoulders soften a little. ‘You sounded ... so upset.’
‘It was nothing,’ says Cecile, far too quickly.
I take a step towards her. ‘Look, I know we’re not friends. I know we’ll probably never be friends. But if something’s going on with you, something bad, tell me. Because if I don’t know, the only option I have is to tell Marc that you let Getty in last night.’
Cecile goes to the window and stares out at the college grounds. She puts her hands on her tiny hips, and I see how frail she looks under her billowy nightgown. ‘So you mean to blackmail me.’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Not at all. I mean to give you a chance.’
‘You think I need chances from someone like you?’
‘Right now, yes.’ I find my hands going to my hips too. ‘Look, this is getting ridiculous. I came here to let you share your side of things. If you don’t want that, then no problem. I’ll phone Marc and tell him -’
‘No!’ Cecile turns, her eyes wet with tears. ‘Please.’ She’s shaking her head. ‘Don’t tell. I ... if I get thrown out of college, my life is over.’
‘So what’s going on?’ I ask. ‘Did you let Getty in last night?’
She gives the tiniest, stiffest little nod.
‘Why?’
‘Oh, you know why.’ She waves her perfect nails at me. ‘So he could get pictures of you. But you were out.’
‘Cecile, how well do you know Getty?’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Exactly what it sounds like.’
‘My personal life is none of your business.’
I frown. ‘Your personal life?’
Cecile puts a hand to her forehead. ‘Forget I said that. Look, I know him pretty well, okay? Too well.’
‘Do you know ... I mean, he could be dangerous.’
‘What do you need to worry about? You have Marc Blackwell to protect you.’
‘I’m not thinking about me,’ I say. ‘I’m thinking about you. Do you know ... I mean, with women. He ... I heard that he likes seeing women get hurt.’
Cecile’s pale little lips fall apart, and I see her tiny, neat white teeth. ‘How do you know what he likes?’
‘Cecile, has he hurt you?’
Cecile’s eyes drop to her hands, and she takes one wrist between her thumb and forefinger. Around her wrist, I notice green and blue bruising.
‘Did Getty do that?’ I ask, quietly.
Cecile snatches her fingers away, like a guilty child caught in the cookie jar. Her shoulders start to shake, then her chest. She wraps her arms around herself and tears slide down her cheeks.
‘Yes,’ she whispers.
I cross the bedroom in a second and put my arms around her, letting her sobbing face rest on my shoulder. I feel the vibrations through my bones as she cries.
‘It’s okay,’ I soothe. ‘Really. It’s okay.’
‘No.’ She shakes her head, sitting on her bed and swiping at tears. ‘It’s not okay. Everything’s a mess. Such a terrible mess. You wouldn’t understand. I’m so jealous of your life.’
‘You? Jealous of me? I’d love to come from a wealthy family. Life would be an awful lot easier.’
‘Are you kidding me?’ Cecile’s eyes widen. ‘My family ... they control everything I do. My life is all about how it reflects on them.’ She breaks into sobs again.
‘Whatever’s wrong, I’m sure it can be sorted out,’ I say, stroking her hair. ‘I’ll help you.’
‘No one can help me,’ says Cecile, her eyes wide and nervous. ‘I’m so sorry, Sophia. I never meant for things to go this far.’
‘This far?’
‘It’s just such a mess.’ Cecile buries her face in her hands.
I let her cry, knowing it’s good to get the tears out. After a few minutes, she takes deep breaths into her hands, then lifts her face.
‘So what’s going on?’ I ask softly.
‘I’m pregnant,’ says Cecile, her voice hoarse. ‘Getty’s the father.’
80
I don’t mean to, but my hand flies to my mouth. ‘Oh my god.’
Cecile looks at her lap. ‘I was so stupid. He’s pretty well known, so ... I was flattered when he asked me out. But all he really wanted was to get to you.’ She puts her head in her hands. ‘I can’t be a single mother. I just can’t.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘There’s a lot of support out there. Plenty of girls go it alone.’
‘Maybe where you come from, but in my family, it’s just not done. My parents will never speak to me again if I have a baby out of marriage ...’ She starts sobbing again. Deep, painful sobs that hurt me to hear.
‘Does Giles know about the baby?’ I ask.
‘Yes.’
‘What does he think about it?’
‘He couldn’t care less.’ Cecile picks at the lace frills. ‘Except that now he has a hold over me and a way to get to you.’
‘A hold over you?’
‘He says he’ll marry me. A proper wedding. He’ll do the right thing. But of course, that comes at a price.’
‘Letting him into the college and selling stories on me,’ I finish.
Cecile bites her lip. ‘It didn’t start out that way. I mean, at first it was my choice. I wanted to sell a story on you. It wasn’t fair, the way you got Marc. I wanted to get you back. But then ... Giles and I ... he can be very charming. I had no idea what he was really like. Not at first.’
‘And now?’
‘Now I know.’ She rubs her wrist again.
‘Cecile, surely you don’t want to marry a man like that?’
‘What else can I do? If I don’t, my family will disown me.’
‘Are you completely sure about that?’
‘Oh, I’m sure.’ Cecile’s lips pucker. ‘I had a cousin once. Not anymore. She married an Indian man who the family didn’t appro
ve of, and now no one speaks to her. It’s like she’s been wiped out of history.’ She throws her hands over her face. ‘I’m trapped. Completely trapped. If I get rid of the baby, Giles says he’ll run a newspaper story on the ‘Ivy College abortion’. I’ll be publicly shamed. My life will be over.’ Her lip begins to wobble.
‘There must be a way,’ I say, feeling pity stir in my chest. Tom was right – she's done a deal with the devil, and now she’s paying for it.
‘Trust me, there isn’t,’ says Cecile. ‘He’s a monster. Christ, how could I have been so stupid?’
‘Cecile, how are we going to work this out? You can’t keep letting him in here. It’s not safe. For either of us.’
‘Tell security he was on campus, and he won’t be able to get in again. But please, Sophia, don’t tell Marc it was me who let him in. I’m so sorry. For everything. I’ve been such a bitch to you. I was so jealous. Crazy jealous.’
‘I won’t tell Marc,’ I agree. ‘But he already knows Getty was on campus. So he’ll be tightening up security.’
‘Okay, good.’ Cecile nods.
We look at each other for a moment, and then Cecile does something I totally don’t expect. She reaches out and takes my hand.
‘I don’t expect you to forgive me. But for what it’s worth, I totally regret selling those stories. It was ... beneath me. And I’ve got pay back, big time.’ She squeezes my hand tighter. ‘You have to be careful, Sophia. Getty is ... he’ll stop at nothing. He’s a monster.’ Cecile hasn’t let go of my hand. ‘I had to let him on campus. He blackmailed me. I would never have done it otherwise, I swear. If he tells my parents ...’
‘Cecile, they’re going to find out eventually. One way or another.’
‘But if we’re married before they know -’
‘Then you’ll be married to a monster.’
Cecile closes her eyes for a long time. When she opens them, she says, ‘Perhaps that’s a sacrifice worth making.’
I feel more churned up than ever when I leave Cecile’s room. The truth is, I much preferred disliking her than feeling sorry for her. It was easier. Now I have to face up to the fact that, in her own way, she’s Getty’s victim too.
81
I arrive at rehearsals a little bleary eyed, thoughts of Cecile and Getty racing through my head. But I perform well. My singing is stronger and clearer, and my acting is more confident.
Of course, every chance I get, I check my phone to see if Marc has called or messaged me about Getty and extra security. Leo teases me about it so much that I take to sneaking away to the toilets to check messages. But by the end of the day, there’s nothing – no texts, no missed calls, no answer machine messages. I guess Marc must have taken care of things, but he doesn’t see any reason to let me know.
After rehearsals, Leo asks me out for a drink.
‘I can’t,’ I tell him. ‘I have another coaching session with Denise.’
‘How about afterwards?’ he asks.
‘Maybe. But I might be too tired.’
The session with Denise goes well, and I can feel my voice getting stronger and stronger. But Marc still hasn’t called, so I decide to bite the bullet and call him. I want to find out when our next session will be. And, if I’m honest with myself, I want to make sure he knows there’s nothing between Leo and I. Just in case there’s still a chance for us.
As his phone rings, my heart beats faster and faster.
‘Sophia.’
‘Marc ... I ... I hope you don’t mind me calling.’
‘Not at all.’
‘I wondered ... are we going to have any more tuition sessions?’
‘Of course. But you’ll be busy with Denise this week. I didn’t want to tire you out.’
‘Oh. Right. Listen, Marc. I just wanted to say. About Leo and I. It’s not what it looks like.’
‘You thought I’d be jealous?’ says Marc.
‘Um ...’
‘My feelings are irrelevant. I gave you my word that I’d help you. And I will. Get some rest over the weekend. I have some sessions planned for you next week.’
‘But Marc, I’m not with Leo -’
‘Sophia, what you do in your private life is up to you.’
The line goes dead.
I notice a text from Leo on the screen.
‘Finished yet? Changed your mind about that drink?’
Oh, what the hell. Lord knows I could use some relaxation time, and Marc has made it pretty clear there’s no chance for us.
I reply: ‘Sure. Where are you?’
Leo replies straight away. ‘Greens in Soho. See you there!’
82
When I arrive at Greens, the bar is heaving. Leo is surrounded by adoring fans, and I smile as I watch him sign autographs on beer mats.
I push through the crowd.
‘Hey, Leo.’
‘Oh, hey! Sophia! You want a drink?’
‘Um ... sure. White wine, please.’
‘Oh, come on. You can manage something stronger than that.’ He taps the bar. ‘Two vodka shots, a white wine and a jack and coke.’
He turns to me. ‘So. Did the call come through from Mr Blackwell?’
‘No. I ended up calling him, actually.’
‘So are you guys back together?’
‘Not at all. But he’s helping me with my acting. Strictly on a teacher student basis.’
Leo nods slowly. ‘I hear he’s a pretty good teacher.’
‘He is,’ I say. ‘But other than that, we’re over.’
‘You sure about that?’
‘I’m sure.’
My phone bleeps, and Leo raises an eyebrow. ‘Maybe that’s him. On a strictly teacher student basis.’
I smile and shake my head, seeing Dad’s home number on the screen. It’s gone eleven. Why would Dad be calling now?
‘Sorry, Leo, I have to take this.’ I head out of the bar and stand on the cold pavement outside.
‘Dad?’
‘Sophia, you have to come home now!’ It’s not Dad - it’s Genoveva.
‘Genoveva? What’s going on?’ Samuel is screaming in the background. I’ve never heard him scream like that, and it unnerves me. ‘Is Sammy okay?’
‘It’s your father. He’s ... had an accident.’
My blood runs cold. ‘Oh my god. What happened?’
‘I can’t ... NO Samuel, not now. I can’t cope with this! You have to come now!’
‘Okay. Please, Genoveva. Calm down. Where are you? I’m coming right over.’ I feel sick to my stomach. Samuel’s screams get louder.
‘At the cottage,’ Genoveva screeches. ‘You have to come now.’
‘I’m on my way. What happened? Tell me what’s going on. Where’s Dad?’
‘He’s in the hospital,’ Genoveva wails. ‘I’m all alone. I can’t cope.’
‘Genoveva. What’s happened to my dad?’
‘He had an accident. In his taxi. He’s in the local hospital. They say ... they say it could go either way.’
‘I’m coming right now.’
‘To us or the hospital?’
‘The hospital. You and Samuel can meet me there.’
My head in a whirl, I run towards Oxford Street. There are a few stray paparazzi on the way, but I barely notice them. They must think it’s their lucky day as I charge past, tears streaming down my face. What a picture. But I couldn’t care less.
I flag down the first taxi I find.
83
By the time I reach the hospital, I’m a complete mess of tears and snot. I blather my dad’s name to the receptionist, and she sends me up to the critical care ward.
Outside the ward, a nurse tells me to go to the visitor room and wait until the doctor is free to see me.
I feel like falling to my knees right there in the hospital corridor and bawling my eyes out, but I manage to hold it together.
‘No, I can’t,’ I say, amazed that I’m stringing a sentence together. ‘That would be torture. Please. I need to see him
now. Or at least know what’s wrong.’
The nurse is a chubby blonde lady with huge round glasses. ‘You’re Sophia Rose, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I -’
‘Thought so. I recognise you from the newspapers.’ She folds her arms. ‘He’s been here for hours. You certainly took your time. Did you have a prior engagement?’
I open and close my mouth, feeling angry tears bubble under my eyes. ‘No, I ... I only just found out.’
‘Really?’ She leaves the question hanging in the air.
‘I love my dad very much,’ I say. ‘I’d do anything for him. Don’t believe what you’ve read in the papers about me. I need to see him.’
‘He’s unconscious -’
‘Please.’ The word is somewhere between a cry and a shout.
‘He’s sleeping right now while we prepare him to travel.’
‘Travel?’
‘For a brain scan. We don’t have the right equipment in this hospital. It would be better if he stayed put, but what with cut backs, we’re just not set up to treat him.’
My throat burns. ‘Can I see him while he’s sleeping?’
The nurse sighs. ‘Come this way.’
When we get to the ward, I see Dad, but I don’t see him, if that makes sense. The sleeping man on the bed doesn’t look like my dad. He looks much older and greyer.
My face and neck are damp with tears as I go to the bed and take his warm, limp hand.
‘Dad, it’s me. Soph. You’re going to be okay, Dad. You’re going to get through this. It’s all going to be alright.’
I sob into the waffle blanket that covers his sleeping body. Sensing the nurse behind me, I turn to her.
‘When will he come round?’
‘It’s impossible to say. Some people make a full recovery, but – it all depends on the brain scan. That’ll tell us what his chances are. We don’t know the damage done to his body yet. We’ve got him stable, but it’s very much a waiting game. We need to get him ready now.’
I grip Dad’s hand tighter. ‘Just a few more minutes.’
‘I’m sorry.’ The nurse puts her hand on my shoulder. ‘We’ve a special room for critical care visitors. Come this way.’
