by Anna Bloom
"So, you go to church every Sunday?"
"Yes, when I’m home. You seem kind of shocked?" He cocks his head to the side as he buttons his fly.
"I’ve never been to church." I figure he’d know this. He did live with me and tail my every move for five years.
"Not even when you were a child?"
I shake my head. I feel exposed, which is ridiculous considering he saw all of me the night before, in great detail. Sitting on the bed he lifts my hands, running his thumbs over my fingers. "Shall I tell you what church is like for me? Would that help?"
I nod.
"I go, I sit. It’s quiet and I think. Sometimes what Darren talks about means something, other times," here he flashes me a grin, "a lot of the time, it doesn’t mean anything, but that’s okay. It’s just space. Space to be. It’s whatever you want." He leans towards me, placing a lingering kiss on my lips. "But, it’s fine, you don’t have to come."
I practically leap from the bed, wincing as I go. "No way, your mum already thinks I’m trouble."
Blake chuckles. "She does not."
My eyebrows raise into my hairline. "I stole a bottle of vodka from the local shop."
Blake shakes his head. "You borrowed a bottle of vodka. You haven’t opened it and that’s what counts."
"That’s bollocks and you know it. Is there a place I can shower? I smell of sex and God knows what."
Blake winks. "Yes, God knows what, Sophia."
I place my hands on my hips. "Are you being serious?"
"Nope." He throws back his head and laughs. "But fuck you look sexy standing there naked like that. I’m suffering from an onslaught of impure thoughts."
I grin. We both grin. Two people just bloody grinning. "We both know you aren’t pure."
He grabs at his jumper, pulling it on. "I know. Let’s go listen to Darren prattle on and then I shall treat you to a Sunday roast at the pub."
"Another date." I fan myself down, uncaring I’m still stark naked in front of the man I’ve idolised since I was too young to know what idolisation meant. "What a lucky girl I am."
Blake points at a wooden door on the far wall. "Shower room." He waves me off. "I’ll go get some coffee."
Once I’m dressed—well once I’m dressed and have then run through the Henderson house back to the room I’ve been assigned by Mammy Henderson, and got redressed into something clean—I search out my phone.
I’m expecting messages from Johnny begging me to come back to filming.
There’s a message from Davies asking if I’ve had a chance to look at the A1 Entertainment script. I respond with a curt yes. The script hasn’t left a whole lot to be discussed.
I jump at the next message. Sarah.
Hey superstar, how’s being clean and mean? I’m in the big apple baby, give me a call.
New York? I cringe, catching myself pulling a hideous face in the mirror on the wall. Sarah in New York? That sounds dangerous. I press her number, only remembering the time difference when her sleepy voice answers. "This better be good, Superstar?"
"Sarah!" I screech. "Where the frick have you been?"
"Where have I been? You’re the one who's ditched Hollywood and evaporated." There’s a pause and the spark of a lighter. "National Enquirer have announced you’ve been abducted by aliens." Another pause fills with a dragging intake of air. "Have you been stolen by aliens? In which case are they hot and giving you a thorough probing?"
I giggle and palm my cheeks when they start to flush. "Very hot."
"What?" Sarah splutters and coughs. "Where are you exactly?"
"Wales, Sarah. It’s a long story, but Blake is back and we’ve come to Wales while I, uh, while I."
"You fell off the wagon, didn’t you?"
The flush deepens but for different reasons. "Yes, but only once."
"Let me guess, knobhead Fairweather had something to do with it?"
I blast laughter down the line and it feels so good. "It doesn’t matter now."
"And Blake, seriously moody, left your arse solo for no reason at all, Blake, is back and from the sounds of the blushing that’s shouting down the phone he’s giving you a good old stiff one."
"Sarah, you’re outrageous. Listen, I don’t know how long I’m going to be here. I just needed to get away. When I came back from rehab everything was so, so..."
"Real? It’s harsh, isn’t it?" Her voice drops to a serious whisper.
"Yeah." My throat tightens when I remember just how harsh it has been. That party, the bloody trying to be on set. It was all harsh and brightly lit, an uncomfortable onslaught on my sensitive nerves.
"Why do you think most people relapse?"
"But you?" I ask. "You’re okay?"
"Never better, Doll, come and see me in New York; it’s bloody awesome."
"What are you doing there?"
"I’m auditioning for stage roles. You should give it a go, they’d love to have the mega star Sophia Jennings on Broadway."
I allow silence to lapse between us as I think about this. "Sarah, I don’t even think I can act anymore."
"Sure you can, Superstar, you’ve just got to find the right role." She drags another toke of her cigarette. At least I hope it’s a cigarette. "Listen, I’ve gotta get some sleep. I’m never going to get a role if I look like death at auditions."
"Sure, I’m sorry I called and woke you."
"Hey now, don’t be a stranger, call me whenever."
She clicks the call before I have a chance to say goodbye. That girl really does hate goodbyes.
"Who’s on the phone?" Blake causes me to start and I turn to find him leaning against the door.
"Sarah. She’s in New York of all places." I pat the bed for him to come in. His face is closed with wariness but I offer him a smile. "She’s giving Broadway a shot, thinks I should give it a go too."
Blake shrugs. "I doubt you’d have to scrounge the audition pool."
It’s my turn to lift my shoulders. "Maybe I should, maybe it’s time I worked hard for something."
He pulls on the ends of my hair. "You do work. Okay, you aren’t scanning cans in a supermarket every day for minimum wage, but you do work hard, give yourself some credit."
"I guess." There isn’t much else to say. My job doesn’t really feel like it deserves the title ‘work’. I’m just lucky. I got the lucky break at the right time. Others like Sarah, or that girl out for lunch with the slimy Steins, didn’t, it’s as simple as that. It comes down to one moment, one break, one decision. I swipe my hands down my smarter pair of jeans. "Are we going to church, or what?"
"Yep, come on the others are waiting."
It’s a simple walk through the village to the pale-stoned church. Most of the people from the pub the previous day are there and they all wave at me. I wave back and try my hardest not to walk with a limping wince. Blake sporadically sniggers which doesn’t help at all.
Shayne is leant against the worn bricks of the church, his arms folded across his wide chest. "Did you have a good evening, brother?" He calls to Blake, a dirty smirk transforming his almost handsome looks into a twisted mask.
"Fine thanks." Blake's face drops into his blank expression.
Shayne bursts a loud shout of laughter. "Thought so."
"That’s enough." Bernie faces up to her younger son. "Shayne, look at me."
He does, begrudgingly. Blake groans before Bernie even says a thing, but it doesn’t take me too long to work it out for myself.
"He’s high."
Blake drops his head onto my shoulder. "I should have known. Go. Sophia, just stay with Mam while I sort out what’s happening."
I root to the spot my hand holding onto Blake’s tight. "What’s going on?" I hiss.
Shayne begins to jeer, but I can’t make out what he’s saying, it’s just garbled nonsense. His eyes when they burn in my direction are black with hatred and I step towards the safety of Blake’s touch.
Turning I place my hands on his shoulders. "Should have
known what?"
Blake’s expression twists into a tortured grimace and my stomach responds with a tightening of its own. "I need to go find out what he’s done."
I blink in confusion. "What do you mean, what he’s done?"
"Shayne. He’d sell his soul to the devil for a high." Blake’s eyes fall on me and his lips try to pull into a smile, try but fail. "Go with my mam okay and I’ll find you later."
"What, wait?" Panic prickles along my skin. What did he mean sell his soul?
He stalks away, his shoulders set but I drag him back, my fingers wrapping into the thick material of his jacket. "You’re leaving me to go to church by myself?"
A flash of a smile darts across his face, like the sun peeking from behind the clouds on an overcast day. "You won’t burst into flames." He chuckles and begins to walk away again. "I think."
"Just sweep me up and keep me on the mantelpiece if I do, okay?" I call after him. My eyes linger on his tall form, an uneasy pinch settling in my stomach.
I turn for Bernie who has appraising eyes cast in my direction. "Not a church goer, Sophia?" she asks.
I straighten my spine and lift my chin. "Not yet."
She holds her arm for me to grab. "Come on then, it’s Darren’s favourite subject today."
"Favourite subject?" I ask.
I jolt as another hand grabs my other arm from behind, but then sigh as Amanda swings right into my face. "Oh yes, Corinthians Thirteen. It’s a rip roarer."
She may as well be speaking Japanese.
"Okay, if you say so."
Amanda grins and leans into my ear. "Come on, it’s not that bad."
A flock of people follow us into the church. "Is it always this busy?" I murmur.
Amanda snickers and Bernie shoots her a reprimanding glare. "Nope. They aren’t here for salvation. They are here for you."
I peer at the packed pews settling behind us as we are right at the front on the Godly Geek Pew. It’s rammed, everyone out in their Sunday best.
Great.
Just bloody great.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Sophia
I start crying about five minutes into the sermon. Sitting on that front pew, listening to Darren talk with startling eloquence on the need for love, the desire for love and the belief that it never fails, leaves me feeling broken.
Corinthians Thirteen tells me without love I am nothing.
Then I am nothing, and it’s a fact I’ve always known.
Bernie’s hand reaches for mine, squeezing tight as I sniff and dab at my cheeks, trying to not show the packed congregation my emotions. Maybe being in the Godly Geek Pew isn’t that bad after all, at least no one can see my face.
Love. Have I even felt it before? Before these days with Blake in the safety of his home.
Sitting in that church an overwhelming ache for a full heart swells in my chest, and my mind expands. It tears at the shackles of my upbringing, at the restraints of my limited emotional development and my heart fills. It fills with the firm touch of the dominant woman by my side. The woman who doesn’t know me, doesn’t even approve of me, not really, but can still sit there holding my hand in silent support.
After the service I thank Darren.
"Was that hard?" He asks, leaning close and talking low. I nod, my words tying into knots. "Would you like me to listen? We can discuss it further if you wish, we have private prayer now and you can sit and share."
I shake my head. The idea is nice, but my exposure is real. I’ve never felt so transparent and I need to process before I take one more step.
Who am I without love?
Does the fact I know I love Blake change me? Is it enough? If the love between us disappears who would I be then? Would I be nothing again, a fake? I’ve always known I’m a fake—it’s what my darkest moments tell me. Yet Blake makes me believe I’m real. But what would happen if that was taken away? Would I lose myself again?
Outside the church a flash of bulbs lights the cold winter day. Startled, I reel as voices call my name. Is this a joke? It’s only been a few days?
For one long moment—it can’t be more than ten seconds but it feels like ten long years—I’m exposed. It's just me and the cameras. Then I feel him. See the shape of him as he steps in front of me, blocking me from sight. "No pictures now. Miss Jennings is on holiday."
I shy away, ducking behind his back.
"Blake, Blake." The crowd calls his name instead of mine. "How does it feel to be in a relationship with Sophia?"
I gasp and Blake hisses, his body lurching towards the reporter with his phone held extended waiting for a response.
"Blake, no." I know his fist will fly. I’ve seen him protect me before to his own detriment. I place my fingers against his back, hoping to anchor us together.
The reporter presses closer. "Sophia, what’s it like dating an older man?" He chuckles. "There’s a whole line who’d be willing to step in."
He’s only joking. The press always jostle and joke, it’s par for the course, sometimes the jokes cut close to the wire and you ignore it. Lock it away.
I go to lock it away—it’s rubbish, there is only one ‘slightly’ older man I’m interested in—but Blake springs forward ripping the reporter's phone out of his hand. "I should shove this where the sun doesn’t shine," he spits.
The press, who have the group mentality of a pack of hounds, close in rounding on Blake. Cameras click and his face transforms into a furious red mask.
"Blake, please leave it," I cry, trying to pull him back. He isn’t listening. "Blake," I call him again. "Blake, just leave it. Let’s go home." I tug at his coat, drawing him back towards me.
The reporter holds out his hand for his phone. Blake’s hand squeezes around the black casing and I’m sure if he could snap it in two with his bare hands he would. His eyes shutter for a split second and then he hands it back. "Run along now." His words are a low hiss.
The reporter's eyes meet mine. "Sophia, how’s Johnny going to react when he finds out you’ve been conducting an affair with your bodyguard?"
It happens so fast I barely absorb it. Blake leaps forward his fist flying as it rockets through the air and lands on the reporter’s nose. The man’s pasty skin blooms with vivid red. "Oh shit," I cry as more and more reporters turn their cameras on us. I grab for Blake, pulling him back. Staying would only make it worse. So much worse. He slips his fingers through mine but I don’t think he can actually see me, a red rage controls his actions.
"I’m going to have you for this." The guy’s reedy voice, muffled by the clamp of his hand over his bloody nose, still rings out loud and clear. "I’m going to ruin both of you for this."
I pull Blake away, coaxing him forward when a car flies up, its passenger door open. Darren leans over from the driver’s side. "Get in for goodness sake." I push Blake in, his responses minimal as I slam the door shut.
"Thanks," I say to Darren. Blake blinks a few times until his attention snaps onto my face. His hands run down my hair, my cheeks, his fingers desperate in their search.
"Shit. Shit. Shit."
"It’s okay, it’s fine." I’m the one soothing him, it feels strangely satisfying that our roles have reversed. Okay, it would have been strangely satisfying if Blake hadn’t just pounded the face of a reporter and crossed the "Bodyguard code" which clearly states that personal protection shouldn’t harm others in the line of their work. We all know it. They can block or if space is an issue they can push. But bodyguards should never, ever, lash out.
"It’s not fine. It’s bad enough that this," he motions his hand between us, "is going to be out there before we even know what this is." His sighs and shuts his eyes, clutching the bridge of his nose and massaging it between the tips of his fingers. His words sting. I know what this is between us, it’s everything. "But now it will be circulating out there that I’m some ape man protecting you."
"Ape man." I snort a laugh. "Who gives a fuck what people think? Do you want to know what
this thing is between us?"
I’m desperate for him to say yes. The words of Darren’s sermon are still ringing in my ears and despite the foray with the press outside the church I know I still need to find my fill of love—with Blake.
He turns and stares out of the window, his shoulders rigid and the muscles of his neck straining. As soon as Darren parks the car Blake is gone, storming for the outhouses.
I don’t follow. I sit in the car with Darren.
"Blake always tries to be everything for everyone and then wonders why he can’t maintain the status quo." Darren’s eyes gaze out of the window towards the outhouses.
"What do you mean?"
Darren lifts his shoulders. "He hates to let people down. When he came back from the States before he was so angry. It destroyed him thinking he’d let you down. I don’t condone the way he felt for you, it was wrong at the time." I go to interrupt him, but he holds out his hand to silence me. "But, he did the right thing to protect you even if it meant he let you down."
"He’s the only person that’s ever cared for me?" My voice is small.
"Is he though?"
I can’t answer. I don’t know what answer I’m supposed to give. Blake will never forgive himself for this, and it’s all because of me, because of who I am, the ownership other people have on me. I will never just be his. I will always belong to everyone else at the same time. Studios, fans, cast members, other people will always have a claim on me. Can Blake deal with that?
Instead of heading into the farmhouse I wander down the lanes until my feet begin to sink into cold sludgy sand. I know I’m being silly leaving myself unprotected, especially as everyone knows where I am now. Tomorrow the whole world will know I’m in Wales and not in Hollywood doing my job. That means I have until tomorrow to work out what direction I want to go in.
I slide my phone from my coat pocket and sit with a squelching bump on the damp sand. Spinning through the five numbers I have stored, I hesitate. For a long moment I consider the name I’m going to dial, the words of Darren’s sermon echoing in my head. What is life without love and forgiveness?
