Just Like the Movies

by Natasha Preston

  “Does that bother you?”

  Her response tells me that she’s come to the same conclusion as I have. Maybe Spencer should just leave it and let them print whatever they want. It’ll be news for a month, tops. Then it’ll only come up occasionally.

  Perhaps I should send him out for a naked run. The news of my parents will soon be forgotten.

  “No, I don’t think it does bother me anymore. The only thing I care about is that, for a while, people will continuously talk about it.”

  Mila turns her nose up. “People are arseholes.”

  “They can be. It’s just right on top of Dad and…”

  I stop and swallow the lump in my throat. Keep it together. Last night, I cried so much, I’m surprised there’s anything left. I’m exhausted and confused. It still doesn’t make sense how fast she went down. Has she always wanted to go with Dad? I can’t help thinking her plans for a new life were fake. She was telling me what I wanted to hear when all she wanted to really do was leave. I’m not sure, though, she left no note. That means it all happened at once and she didn’t think… or she didn’t care enough to leave me a goodbye.

  “Oh, Indie,” Mila says, covering my hand with hers. “It’s going to be all right. You have us, and you’ll never get rid.”

  I smile at the thought of even trying to get Mila to leave me alone. “I wish others would think before they put so much hate on the fucking internet.”

  Maybe if that hadn’t happened, Mum would have kept fighting. If she had a taste of that new life or even enrolled in the course she was considering, she might have stayed.

  “You’re going to get through this.”

  There is no alternative. I have Spence, his parents, and my friends. I will be all right, it just sucks that it has to be this way.

  Who will give me away at my wedding? I have no family left.

  “There’s so much to do again.”

  “Don’t worry about that right now. You have help this time. Use us.”

  “I will.” Though I know I won’t. Getting my friends to arrange my mum’s funeral feels so wrong. It’s something that I need to do myself.

  “And you should tell Wren.”

  “I knew this was coming. She’s away with Brody.”

  “And she’ll be pissed when you eventually tell her. She won’t care about her break. I would go postal if I were her.”

  “I care about her break. She was so excited, and I don’t want to ruin that for her.”

  “This is bigger than that.”

  “I’ll call her tomorrow.”

  She tilts her head. “She’s home tomorrow.”

  “I’m scared, Mila,” I admit.

  “What of?”

  Tell her, talk to her, rip the plaster off. “Having no parents, which is ridiculous since I’ve never really had them.”

  “Oh, honey. It’s not ridiculous. They’ve always been there, even if they weren’t always there. Will you be okay at home on your own? You can stay with me or I can come and stay with you. Whatever you want.”

  I lick my lips and lay my head against the back of the sofa.

  Mila’s eyes widen. “You want Spencer to stay?”

  More than anything, I want him with me. “He can’t. He has a new movie to film.”

  “No, I don’t,” he says, walking into the room. He places two drinks on the coffee table for us.

  I watch steam rise from the coffees for a second, steeling myself for this next conversation. Turning to him, I watch his defiant eyes.

  “What do you mean, Spence? What did you do?”

  “I told them I can’t do it.”

  “What? No! Call them back!”

  “No. I was on the phone to Denny last night. They’ve said they can’t wait so I’ve let it go. They’re recasting.”

  My heart thuds. “Spencer, no! You can’t do that. Please call them back before they do anything.”

  “Indie,” he says, sitting down beside me. “I don’t care about the movie. I’ve just messaged Denny to let him know I’m taking a year off.”

  Most normal people would excuse themselves; Mila watches.

  “But you can’t. You’ve just started. This will only be your second movie, Spence. I don’t want you to stop that momentum because of me. Please… that is the last thing I want. Please fix this. Please.”

  Shit, he’s risking his success because of me.

  He doesn’t blink. “There will be other movies.”

  I slump back against the sofa and groan. Why would he do this now? More than ever, we need things to be normal. What if he leaves it too long and someone else takes Hollywood by storm? His career could be over before it really started because of me.

  “Indie,” he says softly. “I love acting, but I love you more. There is nothing I wouldn’t cancel for you.”

  “Aww,” Mila chimes.

  I cut her a look, and she presses her lips together.

  “What if you don’t get jobs in a year?”

  “I will.”

  “I don’t want our life to change that much.”

  “But it has.” He scoots closer, feeling brave. “We stick together.”

  How is that ever going to work?

  “We can do that while you’re working on this movie. I’ll be fine here, I promise.”

  “A long-distance relationship isn’t right at the minute… not for either of us. You’ve lost both parents in the space of two months. I can still audition and take roles. Not all of them start right away. I can do some work in the UK even. It’s fine, Indie. I want to be here with you.”

  My stomach twists in knots. Those really big, tight ones that sailors tie.

  “Spencer.”

  “No. It’s done. I love you so much. Nothing is more important than being here with you.”

  “Can we talk about this later?”

  “Of course,” he replies.

  I change the subject.

  “Mum would want the same songs Dad had at his funeral.”

  He nods. “We can arrange that.”

  I turn back to Mila, feeling worse than ever.

  Everything is getting away from me and I have no idea how to get any level of control back. I’ve missed so much uni.

  I swallow down rising bile.

  My life was never shiny and perfect, but now it’s crumbling so fast, and I’m too slow to catch any of the pieces.

  Fifty

  Spencer

  Three weeks have passed in a blur of funeral arrangements, holding Indie while she cries, and assuring her over and over that I’ve made the right decision by staying.

  I watch as the hearse pulls up outside my house, right on time. Indie has been staying here with me. She’s not been back into her family home since her mum was taken from it. My parents are all too happy to have her. They’ve offered for her to stay indefinitely. I’m scared that she won’t take it because she thinks she’s imposing.

  Mila packed her a bag. When Wren got home, after scolding Indie for not calling her sooner, the three of them had a sleepover in my living room. It was exactly what Indie needed, too. The next day, she slept through, spending most of the night with her head on my chest.

  Mum and Dad are fussing around, making the house as neat as they can because the wake will be held here. Indie said there was no point, but a few people will be at her mum’s funeral. Me, my parents, her friends, and her mum’s old work colleague.

  Indie was surprised that Sheila wanted to come. They’ve not worked together in years. Apparently, though, they were quite close. It’s nice that Jessica has someone who still cares. In the end, we should all have someone to mourn us.

  I’m still a bit gutted that I didn’t get the chance to warm to her. I was pissed for what she’d done to Indie, and I’m even more so now.

  I’m just grateful that Indie’s close to my parents.

  She’s sitting on the sofa, with Wren and Mila on either side. Brody is leaning against the fireplace like he’s unsure what to do. There�
��s a slight scowl that holds no menace or annoyance. I think he’s lost.

  Brody straightens his back as I walk into the room like I’m here to save him. The poor bloke is completely out of his comfort zone. When he first arrived, he gave Indie his condolences and hugged her, and since that he’s been silent. I’m not sure he knows her well enough to jump in and mourn openly.

  I kneel down and place my hand gently on my girls’ bare knee. “Hey, your mum is here. Are you ready to go?”

  Her black dress is perfectly ironed, and her hair curled.

  She looks devastated. “Okay.”

  I hate the sadness she’s carrying around with her now, even when she laughs. I’d move mountains to take that away.

  Wren pats her hand. “Come on, babe, we’ve got you.”

  We stand, and she grabs hold of my hand. “Don’t let go.”

  “Never.”

  I kiss her temple and close my eyes at the smell of her hair. It’s always been the same since we were eleven. It’s my favourite smell, and it holds years of memories.

  We head outside, letting my dad lock up.

  Indie takes a sharp breath when she lays eyes on the hearse. Her mum is in there. Almost three months after she buried her dad, she’s doing the same with her mum. It’s not fucking fair.

  I couldn’t leave if she tried sending me away.

  The funeral director, Bob, tells us to follow closely behind the hearse. He’ll go slowly, of course. Indie didn’t want one of their cars to take us. She wanted it simple, without any fuss. A bright bouquet of pink and white flowers spells out MUM and leans against the coffin.

  The service will be short, incorporating her mum’s favourite hymns, which were the same as her dad’s, and the reverend has a few words to honour her life. Indie found that part the hardest, summing up her mum’s life. There was only a small part of her adult life that was good. The rest of it was filled with alcohol and not much else.

  Still, Indie’s managed to give the reverend enough to make a nice speech, focusing heavily on everything before her dad’s accident.

  She gets into my car with my mum and dad. Mila, Wren, and Brody follow in his. Sheila will meet us at the church.

  Her lips are sealed as we take the winding country roads to the church. Her hand still holds onto mine with an ever-increasing pressure.

  “How are you doing?”

  She shrugs a shoulder. “I’m not sure. Everything is… surreal.”

  Her voice is quiet. She’s been present in body only. Her mind is in another place.

  It’s driving me crazy. She will open up just enough to be able to say she’s talking to us. There is a lot I’m not allowed to know. Her therapist—she had one of those for years, apparently—wants another appointment whenever Indie feels ready.

  My mum says to give her time. She’ll open up soon.

  Only, when it comes to her family, she’s never been good at sharing.

  We pull up outside the church and get out. She does this without a word or glance at anyone. Mum gives me a small smile, telling me to be patient.

  How can you be patient when your world is hurting?

  The icy ground crunches beneath my feet. We walk in twos, as if we’d planned it, into the church. The undertakers carry Jessica to the front and lay the coffin down. The sky is grey, but it’s not supposed to rain. Two large heaters are placed on either end of the two rows of pews. We could fill one, but we spread ourselves out.

  My parents sit with us, while Mila, Wren, Brody, and Sheila sit behind us.

  Indie’s hold of my hand loosens a touch as she stares at her mum’s coffin. She doesn’t move; barely blinks. Mila’s eyes slide to mine. She’s worried, too. I’d rather Indie break down in tears or scream that it’s not fair.

  I squeeze her hand. Nothing.

  My stomach tenses.

  The reverend reads about Jessica’s early years and working with Sheila, telling us how they would read romance novels on their lunch breaks, and laugh every time they caught their boss checking out his assistant.

  He moves on to Indie’s birth, and how Sheila kept in touch throughout her maternity. He talks about how in love with Indie she was, and how proud she was to be her mum.

  Indie’s eyes tighten.

  I know what she’s thinking. She loved alcohol more than her in the end… and she certainly loved her dad more.

  Will that ever stop hurting her?

  Will I ever stop burning with anger whenever I think about it?

  Reverend Mabel also talks about the difficult times and mistakes, while emphasising that she is now at rest.

  There will be no rest for Indie. She will have to live with this for the rest of her life.

  Bob comes forwards with five other men, and they lift the coffin. Jessica will be buried with her husband. Indie said they would want to be together.

  It’s a morbid thought, but I like the idea of Indie on top of me for eternity.

  We rise and follow them. Indie doesn’t look at anyone or anything but that coffin. I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  She nods robotically.

  Outside, the wind blows around us. We’re wearing thick coats and gloves, but the icy weather still bites. Indie takes a breath, and a tear rolls down her cheek.

  Fifty-One

  Indie

  A lot of very lovely things are said about you at your funeral. It’s like some unwritten rule that you forget every bad thing they’ve ever done and pretend that their life was perfect.

  Every word feels like a big lie.

  Reverend Mabel was good to mention the difficult times in Mum’s life but calling what we went through difficult is like calling a hurricane a bit of rain.

  Mum wouldn’t want anyone hearing how bad things were. Especially not Sheila. It was good of her to come. They can’t have seen each other in fifteen years or so.

  Spencer’s arms are wrapped around me. I feel safe with my back against his chest and his head resting beside mine. We’re standing by Mum’s grave as she’s slowly lowered into the ground. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have him. It terrifies me how much I need him close.

  Reverend Mabel doesn’t offer us mud to throw into the ground because I asked her not to. Throwing mud at a dead person has never quite seemed right to me. Instead, I drop a rose, and it thuds on top of my mum.

  Spencer and his parents go next. He never lets me go.

  I’m acutely aware of his gaze on the side of my head, analysing my mental state.

  I don’t know what he wants from me, but whatever it is, I don’t think I’m giving it to him.

  I’m not behaving like someone who is burying their parent. Especially not someone who is burying their mum a few months after their dad. I feel like I’ve cried enough to last me the rest of my life. Now I just have to accept that they’re gone and move forward with my life.

  We weren’t a normal family.

  The relief is bittersweet. It doesn’t feel good or bad. It’s something I can’t place and that drives me insane. It’s a nervous buzzing in my stomach I can’t get rid of. I don’t know exactly how I feel. How is that even possible? I don’t have to clean puke out of a carpet or dodge awkward questions. Now I can just say that my parents are dead.

  What a horrible situation to be glad for.

  “Do you want a minute, Indie?” Spencer asks.

  The service is over, my mum is buried, and Reverend Mabel has gone back into the church.

  “No, I don’t need any more time. I’m ready to go,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around myself.

  “Are you sure?”

  There’s nothing left to do here now. I’ll come back soon and lay fresh flowers for them both, but for now, I need to leave and be around the people who love me.

  “I am.”

  “Okay,” he says, pressing a kiss to my temple.

  I close my eyes as he spreads warmth through my icy body.

  As muc
h as I need him, things would be so much easier if I wasn’t in love with him.

  “Let’s get you back and get a coffee,” Jodie says, patting my back.

  I look over my shoulder, wishing my mum was like her. They could have been friends.

  “Thanks,” I reply.

  We walk back to the cars in the freezing weather. Mila links arms with me on my free side. “She said coffee, but she meant gin, right?”

  That startles a laugh out of me. If anyone could make me laugh right now, it’s Mila and her lack of filter.

  I arch an eyebrow. “I’m sure she meant gin. I’m having gin.”

  “Good, just checking. You doing okay?”

  “I am,” I tell her. It’s not even a huge lie.

  Spencer opens the door to his stupid big car that his dad drove here this morning. I get into the passenger seat as his parents take the back for the return journey. I’m unsure why the change but at least it’s more grown up to be in the front. I crank the heat up.

  Mila and Wren wave as they get into Brody’s car. Sheila is coming back to Jodi and Andrew’s, too. They’ve made a lot of food; way more than necessary. She’ll pack up leftovers for everyone. That will make Brody happy.

  “That was a lovely service,” Jodie says.

  I turn and smile at her in the back. She’s gripping the handle as if she expects Spencer to channel his inner Lewis Hamilton. “It was. She would have liked Sheila coming.”

  “Yes, that was nice of her.”

  Spencer pulls into the drive ten minutes later, and we all go inside. I heard him talking to someone on the phone about leaking the wrong information, pretending the funeral was at a different time and location in case the media followed us.

  Who crashes a funeral? They must have something wrong with them if they think it’s okay to invade someone’s privacy like that.

  I don’t know if he can make a deal with them: they get pictures and stories in exchange for a bit of privacy. I’m sure lots of famous people do that.

  Isn’t that what Kate and Wills do? Or perhaps they get special treatment because they’re royal? Unlikely, though; the media are vultures.