Scene Twenty-two
On my return to London I climbed into my wardrobe and tried to speak to Fiona because I didn’t know what else to do.
She said nothing.
‘Freckle?’ I whispered. A tear slid down my face. ‘Freckle, won’t you talk to me?’
Silence. The green glow of my alarm clock flared in coldly through a crack in the door. I heard a noise in my room and wondered, briefly, if Fiona was sending some sort of a signal.
‘Please, Fiona,’ I whispered helplessly. ‘Please come back and talk to me.’
Then there was a soft knock on my wardrobe door. Barry? I balled up in a corner and nearly screamed when I realized it was Julian.
‘What are you doing here?’
Julian’s face was shadowed. ‘Sssh,’ he said. ‘I haven’t come to make any trouble. Barry threatened to beat me to death if I did.’
I hugged my knees as Julian crouched in front of the wardrobe. ‘Come out,’ he said gently. ‘Come out of there, Sally.’ He was wearing one of my favourite of his T-shirts, an old worn thing with three monkeys on the front. I wanted to bury my face in it and hide. In spite of everything he had done. What was wrong with me?
Nothing made sense any more.
‘I … can’t.’
‘You can’t?’
‘This is the only place I feel safe,’ I mumbled. Even though he already knew. Because, of course, however great the distance that had sprung up between us, Julian still knew everything about me.
He sat back on his heels. ‘You were talking to her, weren’t you?’
I blushed painfully. ‘Yes. It helps me.’
Julian leaned over to turn on my bedside lamp.
He opened the other wardrobe door and got in, leaving the doors open so that the lamp lit our faces, and sat cross-legged opposite me. His face was full of such incredible kindness that I felt quite weak. It didn’t fit. He was a drug-using liar, a … I stopped there because I didn’t know what he was any more.
‘Who are you?’ I heard myself say. ‘And why are you here?’
‘I’m me,’ he said simply. ‘You can give me whatever surname you want, whatever job you want. But I’m still me. Julian. The man you … Well, him.’
I picked up Carrot and held him close. I was back in my pig pyjamas.
‘And I think I’ve done a pretty good job of respecting your feelings,’ Julian continued gently, ‘but I’d like to ask if you’d listen to me now.’
I didn’t like the sound of this. But after he’d smoothed things over at Mum and Dad’s I owed him one. And even though I detested myself for it, I loved the sound of Julian’s voice. I wanted to listen to him.
‘Um, OK.’
‘Thanks.’
We sat in my wardrobe in silence for a few moments. I could feel him pulling himself together.
‘None of this is going to be easy,’ Julian said quietly. ‘I need to talk to you about what happened that night. When Fiona … went.’
I stiffened, suddenly fearful. I wasn’t sure I could take it after such a horrible few days. ‘Um, do we really need to go over it again?’
‘Yes. We do. Because –’ Julian sighed. ‘Look. I have to ask you. Do you really, truly think I gave Fiona drugs? Do you really think I’m a liar and a scumbag? Do you believe that in your heart, Sally?’
I went to respond and couldn’t.
Because even though I knew he had given the drugs to my Freckle – even though Fi and Bea and pretty much Julian himself had admitted it on the night – I couldn’t fully believe it. It was almost too implausible that a man this gentle, this respectful, this nice could have done it.
But he did! my head cried. You saw the whole thing! You know what happened!
‘Um, hello? Sal?’
Eventually I had to pinch my own arm. ‘I don’t know,’ I said unsteadily. ‘I don’t know. Everyone said you did. Fiona said. Bea said. And you didn’t deny it. How could it not have been you?’
I heard myself say the words yet I had already begun to doubt them. The whole universe around me was realigning. I knew that Julian was about to tell me a different version of events, and the most shocking thing about this was that I wanted him to. I wanted to hear an alternative narrative to the horror story that had spooled round and round in my head for the last year. Would I believe the alternative? I didn’t know. But I was at least ready to hear it.
‘There were reasons why I went along with Bea and Fiona’s story,’ he began. ‘And I’ll get to that in a bit. But before that I have to tell you that I never took drugs with Fiona, or gave her drugs, or sold her drugs. I never encouraged her and I never enabled her. Never, never, never.’
I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I wanted desperately to believe him. It made sense to believe him: he was the best man I’d ever known. And yet …?
Julian expelled air from his mouth. ‘What really happened was …’ He rubbed his face tiredly. ‘No, I have to go back to the beginning.’
Thank God Julian had had the decency to conduct this conversation in my wardrobe. I hugged Carrot hard and tried to ignore Julian’s lovely clean laundry smell. And the small hole in his sock through which a bit of toe was visible.
He looked me in the eye. ‘My wife was an opera singer and she died because of a heroin overdose.’ I felt the air tighten around me. ‘She passed out and choked on her own vomit. She was found in a hotel room in Vienna by a chambermaid.’
A gaping silence opened out between us.
I stared at Julian, almost disbelieving. ‘Oh, God.’ My voice caught. ‘I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.’
‘Of course you didn’t know. That’s why I’m telling you now.’
‘I wanted you to tell me about her when you were ready,’ I said sadly. ‘I didn’t want to push you.’
‘And I appreciated that. It was respectful.’
I nestled Carrot closer to my belly.
‘But then Fiona dismantled our relationship and our lives,’ he continued sadly. ‘And we didn’t get a chance to talk about my past. Or, indeed, about anything.’
I nodded. The wardrobe was stuffed with grief and loss, yet it felt like the safest place on earth. Julian felt like the safest person on earth. Which was potentially quite dangerous.
‘My name is Julian Bell. Jefferson is my dad’s name. Mom changed our surname back to Bell after their divorce cos I was thirteen. But my agent decided that Julian Jefferson was a better name for an opera singer, so it became my stage name.’
‘It’s more boy band than opera singer,’ I heard myself remark, then cringed. ‘Oh, God, sorry, this isn’t time for jokes. I’m just nervous.’
Julian grinned. ‘Pipe down,’ he ordered. ‘So, my ex-wife. Catherine.’
‘Really, I don’t know what to say. How totally, utterly awful.’ My eyes filled with tears. Poor, poor Julian.
He interrupted my thoughts. ‘It was terrible. But it was more than six years ago, Sally, and I’m all right.’
I wanted so much to hug him, to tell him I knew the vicious pain he must have gone through, but he was watching me keenly, needing to know that I believed him.
‘Got it. You’re OK. Well, carry on.’
Julian smiled gratefully. ‘Catherine was a fantastic opera singer. A contralto, not like you at all – in any way, really. Fiona reminded me a lot of her.’ He paused reflectively. ‘Catherine hated herself, just like Fiona. She had so much pain.’ His eyes shone in the semi-dark with sudden tears. ‘After a long struggle we got her into a recovery programme but it was too late. There was so much pain by then that she couldn’t stay clean. She went off to Vienna to do an audition and never came back.’
‘Sounds familiar,’ I whispered. A ghostly smile of acknowledgement passed between us.
‘I was having a long run of contracts at the Met but in the end I left because I was too fucked to sing. I just cried all the time and my throat and sinuses were a mess. And then when I’d got myself together again I just … couldn’t bring myself to go
back. I rented the first room I found in Brooklyn and just sort of fled Manhattan.’
I nodded thoughtfully. I’d have fled somewhere if I could, back in those dreadful days after Fiona’s death. Only I had been immobile, the living dead. It was my flat or nothing. ‘So you did own an apartment on Mulberry?’
‘I do.’
‘Wow.’ It must be worth a fortune. Bea had been right there.
He shrugged. ‘The opera world was still calling me and emailing me but it just wasn’t … feasible to go back to work. Even though I never planned it, I just found myself starting a new life. The magazine, the move to Brooklyn. It did me a lot of good. Reconnected me with who I really am.’ He gestured apologetically at his holey T-shirt and rumpled jeans.
I smiled guardedly, wondering if I would have fallen so madly in love with him in smart Jefferson mode. ‘So, um, what made you go back to opera, if the magazine was working so well for you?’
‘You. You made me go back to opera.’
I froze.
‘For a long time, Sally, there was nothing. And then there was you. You rolled back the clouds.’
There was a long silence. ‘I was at peace about Catherine by the time I met you, of course, but being with you cleared up any remaining shit I might have been carrying round. I was so, so happy … You reminded me of who I was, which was a total dick. We were both a pair of dicks, really. We laughed so much and it was such a happy fucking time and –’ He broke off, taking a deep breath.
‘You and I were great. We got together and I came out of hibernation and I remembered what I had inside me. Nobody can keep the music inside them for ever.’ He smiled. ‘Not even you.’ I couldn’t look at him. Mustn’t look at him. Frightening things were happening in my chest.
‘But …’ My mouth was dry. ‘But you’re coaching. Not singing.’ Pedantry seemed like the only option right now.
‘Towards the end of your stay I made my decision. I was going to go back to singing. I was going to tell you on your final day. But then everything fucked up badly. And it set me back a long way. Pretty much back to square one, in fact.’
I felt ashamed. When had it become all about me? It must have been horrific for him to witness Fiona’s death after what he’d been through.
Julian continued, ‘After you left I dragged myself back to lessons and did a small role in Médée. The critics came to gawp at me, and although they said I was back on form, I couldn’t relax into it. Every time I opened my mouth I thought all of this grief would just fall out of me.’
I nodded, encouraging him to go on. He seemed so fragile all of a sudden. So small. Not a big, suited opera singer; just a man – a boy – sitting in a wardrobe, grappling with loss.
‘So I did some coaching at a few of the opera schools and I quite enjoyed it. Then I had an email from Hugo at the RCM, who was my singing teacher when I trained there. He made this offer for me to coach and I just thought, Fuck it. I was happy at the RCM. Maybe if I do that for a year it’ll make me brave again.’
For a frightening moment I wanted to pull him towards me and hug him hard. Sally, you are with Jan, I reminded myself. You are a grown-up, having a conversation with another grown-up. Anything beyond that is pure fantasy.
Julian gave a ghost of a smile. ‘I couldn’t believe my eyes when I got to London and saw you were going to be on the course. It was like the best worst news.’
I nodded again, guiltily. A little voice was pointing out that I had only ever thought about myself until now; about how bad it was for me to have him in London. I had never stopped to consider how difficult it must have been for Julian. Trying to gather together what little scraps of confidence he still had and put on a professional face, while his ex-girlfriend froze him out and all but accused him of manslaughter.
Although that had yet to be discussed.
Julian was watching me. ‘I was so proud when I saw you were on the course, even though I knew it’d be a nightmare. I was like, wow! That brave, brave girl! She seized the day – she did it!’
I smiled gratefully. ‘I still can’t believe it myself! Carry on.’
Julian shifted, trying to make himself comfortable in my wardrobe. ‘So. I met you on the anniversary of Catherine’s death.’
I stiffened, knowing it was time to talk about Fiona. I had never felt so confused in my life. Everything he’d said so far made sense. It all confirmed that he was the man I’d originally believed him to be. But the drugs, my head insisted. He had the drugs!
‘It was so weird, Sal, meeting you, because in the middle of all these crazy feelings I was having for you, there was Fiona, who reminded me so much of Catherine it was almost like she was there in the room with us. I saw where Fiona was at, and I saw how worried you were. I remembered what it was like to feel so desperately afraid, watching someone you love basically killing herself, and I couldn’t stand it.’
He gazed at his hands and I stared at the top of his head. At that soft, mousy hair, so precious. I balled my fists to stop myself reaching forward and touching it. Julian still had some explaining to do.
‘I wanted to help you, Sal, but I tried to do it the wrong way.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I tried to help you by helping Fiona.’
I bit my thumbnail, uncertain as to what he meant.
‘I tried to help her. I told her about Catherine and I took her to a couple of programme meetings that Catherine used to go to in the West Village. I introduced her to a friend of Catherine’s who got clean.’
‘Oh,’ I whispered eventually. I was very surprised by this. ‘Um, thank you, Julian. I had no idea.’
‘It still wasn’t enough.’
‘Well, if you’re telling the truth, then you gained her trust, which was a damn sight more than I managed.’
‘I am telling the truth, Sal. You know I am.’
Silently, I nodded. It was getting harder to deny.
‘Yes, I gained her trust, but I’m not convinced I went about it the right way.’
‘There was no right way with Fi by then.’ I was still dumbfounded by his news. Fi had gone to a drugs programme? With Julian? I simply couldn’t imagine it. She had become so brittle, so closed.
‘So …’ I began, not knowing where to start. ‘So how did she get on at the – what did you call it? Programme? Meetings?’
‘Narcotics Anonymous.’
I sat back, even more shocked. ‘Oh.’
Julian watched me taking this in.
‘Fi went to Narcotics Anonymous? Seriously?’
‘She did. We went to five meetings. The final one was the day of the party. I walked her there.’
I remembered seeing him and Fiona in SoHo, and cursed myself. This whole mess might have been a lot easier had I not jumped to the worst possible conclusion about everything. ‘I genuinely had no idea,’ I mumbled.
‘Of course you didn’t,’ he reassured me. ‘And you weren’t meant to either. I deliberately didn’t tell you.’
‘Why?’
He sighed. ‘Those programmes are anonymous. Fiona knew she could do or say literally anything to me and she’d still be safe.’
‘But … but she was safe talking to me,’ I said. I knew I sounded selfish but I was hurt. Why had she trusted a complete stranger and not me?
‘Addicts only ever open up to other addicts,’ Julian explained. ‘They struggle to talk to normal people about their stuff.’
‘But you’re not an addict. Oh, God, are you?’
‘No! But I was really connected to that world. I knew from my own shitty experience with Catherine how it all works. What you can and can’t do with addicts. What might help them, what might push them over the edge. I guess she just knew she could trust me.’
‘Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound selfish.’
‘You were utterly unselfish with Fiona,’ Julian said gently. ‘You did everything you could for her. You put her before everyone else, for your whole life by the sound of it. There was o
nly one thing you didn’t have that might have got you closer to her, and that was an addiction.’
I watched Julian’s face, took in his soft silly hair, smelt his Julian smell and knew I was beginning to believe him. It was terrifying, trying out a new version of the past, but I was ready to give it a go.
Julian sat opposite me, waiting for me to speak, and I felt a deep sense of gratitude to him. He’d done more for Fiona than I ever could have done, and for what?
For me.
I took a deep breath. ‘So how did she get on at, um, Narcotics Anonymous?’
‘She hated it at first,’ Julian said, smiling sadly. ‘Refused to acknowledge that she was in the same boat as everyone else. But the more meetings she went to, the more she identified with what everyone was saying. She –’
He paused. ‘This is hard, Sal.’
I felt tears pricking at my eyes. Fiona. My Freckle. ‘Go on,’ I said shakily.
‘That last meeting. She – she basically got it that day. Got the programme. Started believing she could get clean. She told me she’d join NA and she meant it, Sally. She really did.’
‘Are you serious?’
He nodded.
My heart ached as I imagined how brave she’d been, smashing through all that denial and admitting she had a problem. It would have taken courage I hadn’t known she had.
And at the thought of that little shred of courage I put my head into my hands and cried. Cried for that fragile little Freckle, almost but not quite beaten. Finally believing she could get better and then falling to her death a few hours later.
Julian slid his foot on to mine as I sobbed. ‘It’s OK,’ he whispered. ‘It’s OK.’
‘It’s not! How could she go from that to – to dying the same day? I can’t stand it …’
‘Well, I guess the only person who can really explain that is Fiona,’ he said. He rubbed my foot with his and my heart ached. ‘But I think it’s quite common. People decide to get clean from drugs and then the fear sets in so they have a drink instead. And that turns into an almighty bender, during which they get so wasted they stop caring and pick up the drugs again. I imagine that seeing Raúl at the party made things worse, although it certainly wasn’t his fault.’
The Unfinished Symphony of You and Me Page 29
