Chapter Ten
I change my mind about working with Theo approximately one thousand times over the course of the following week. My first mistake is looking him up online, which I do as soon as I get back to Lil’s flat from Serena’s party.
Theo Eliott.
About 372,000,000 results, Google tells me. Right. Fine.
And there he is. The man I met at a funeral, the man I spent the best night of my life with. There he is, all over the internet.
There are so many photographs, so many articles about him, interviews, fan sites, videos, blogs, tweets, photo shoots. I start clicking through but soon feel sick. It’s just too much, way too familiar. The frantic headlines, the shitty paparazzi pictures.
There’s plenty of speculation on his love life, and from what I can see a long, long list of models and actors and musicians who he’s dated or hooked up with. Headline after headline about Theo Eliott, the Heartbreaker; Theo Eliott, theWomanizer, and each one makes my heart sink further. Do I know better than anyone how many lies get printed in the newspaper? Yes. But do I know that the papers probably haven’t covered even half of my own father’s toxic behaviour? Also yes.
I told Theo I’d take the job. More importantly, I told Serena I’d take the job, but as I shut down all the tabs on my laptop I just don’t know if I can do it.
By the time I have my next session with Ingrid I’m a seething, writhing mess of indecision.
‘Your sister has offered you a job?’ Ingrid asks, pen poised over her notepad.
‘Yes, but it’s not so straightforward.’ I squirm. ‘You remember the man I had the one-night stand with a couple of months ago?’
Ingrid nods.
‘It involves working with him. For him I suppose. Just the two of us alone for six weeks in the middle of nowhere.’
Ingrid’s head tilts thoughtfully. ‘And you’re concerned that your history may make things…’ – she pauses for a moment – ‘awkward?’
‘Yes!’ I exclaim. ‘Extremely awkward. And not just because we…’
‘Had sex,’ Ingrid supplies.
I huff. ‘Yes, had sex. But also because it turns out it’s a bit more complicated. He isn’t who I thought he was. He’s… he’s a musician. A famous one. His name is Theo Eliott.’
A muscle in Ingrid’s cheek twitches. In any other human being this would be the equivalent of falling to her knees, screaming, crying, and throwing up. I have never seen this happen before. I hadn’t even been sure she had muscles in her face before this. I feel my own mouth drop open.
‘Oh God,’ I slump in my chair. ‘You know who he is.’ This is the biggest reaction I have ever got from my therapist and I feel weirdly jealous that it’s Theo who has elicited it.
Ingrid’s facial muscles are fully under control when she replies, coolly, ‘Yes, I know of him. He’s quite famous, Clemmie.’ Her tone is mildly reproving but still, there is the faintest tint of pink on her cheekbones and I am fascinated and horrified in equal measure. I think it’s possible my therapist has a crush on the man I slept with.
‘So,’ Ingrid continues after clearing her throat (another thing she has literally never done), ‘I can see why this revelation may trouble you given your history with your father and your relationship with…’
‘Yes.’ I cut her off before she can bring up Sam, because there’s only so much a girl can take. ‘It does trouble me. He lied to me. Maybe not on purpose,’ I add grudgingly, ‘but he did. And before I found out who he was I thought there was some… connection between us. Now I know he’s just like my dad, and’ – I swallow, steeling myself – ‘you know. The other one.’
‘But Clemmie, as I remember it, you were the one who established the boundaries of your encounter with Theo.’ This time Ingrid manages to say his name neutrally.
‘That is true,’ I agree.
‘And that this encounter made you feel’ – she consults her notebook – ‘brave and elated.’
I wish she’d stop saying encounter, like Theo was an alien and our night together had involved some sort of cross-species probing.
‘Mmm,’ I murmur in agreement.
‘But you also said that part of you was sad you wouldn’t see him again. Do you have feelings for this man?’
‘No!’ I say quickly, squashing the traitorous flicker of something like disagreement in my chest.
Ingrid treats me to a long, narrow look. The silence stretches until it becomes a living, breathing thing threatening to crush the life out of me. Ingrid looks like she could do this all day.
‘Fine,’ I snap gracelessly. ‘Maybe I had some small, possible feelings for him when I thought he was just some nice stranger at a funeral. But not anymore. I couldn’t… I can’t even imagine… there’s no way… with how things have been for me that I’d ever, ever be in a romantic relationship with a famous musician. Never.’ This time my tone is definite, not a hint of room for disagreement. ‘Not that he’d want that, either,’ I add quickly. ‘He doesn’t seem the type to be looking for anything serious. It was just a one-night thing for both of us.’
Ingrid’s pen flicks across the page and I crane my neck, trying to see what she writes, but I can’t make it out. ‘If that is the case then what are your qualms about entering into this business arrangement with him?’ she asks.
‘I…’ I stop, considering. ‘I’m not sure. I freaked out when I saw all the articles about him. It felt so familiar; he’s part of that world, the one I don’t want to get pulled back into.’
‘And is that something you think this job could lead to?’ Ingrid asks.
‘No?’ I say, like it’s a question, but then with more certainty I add, ‘I mean I suppose not. It’s sort of the opposite actually, being away from everything.’
‘Tell me more about the job.’
So I do; I explain how it would work, what I’d need to do, how it would be helping out Serena, who never asks for help, how it would solve my housing and financial problems, and as I talk I feel some of the anxiety slipping away. Somehow, laying it all out like this for Ingrid is helping me to see more clearly what a good thing this could be. It’s six weeks of my life, nowhere near the paparazzi or the parties or the crowds. And if there really is nothing between Theo and me – which there isn’t – then there shouldn’t be a problem. Annoyingly, this is exactly what he said last week. I guess it has just taken me longer to get there.
‘I’m going to do it,’ I say after a few more minutes of Ingrid’s gentle questions. ‘It’s a good opportunity for me.’
‘I agree,’ Ingrid nods, surprising me. She rarely ventures her own opinion. ‘I think this could be good for you in lots of ways. It will give you the space and time to think about what you want to do next, and perhaps now is a good time to revisit this place from your past and find some closure. I imagine it may bring up quite a lot of thoughts and feelings so I will be happy to continue our sessions online if that would help?’
And thanks to this job I’ll be able to pay for them, I think as Ingrid and I discuss setting up our next appointment in a couple of weeks. Just another reason this is a good idea. I’m not sure I love the idea of having a lot of thoughts and feelings brought up, but I leave her office feeling more optimistic than I have in a long time.
Pulling out my phone I dial Serena, whose calls I have been dodging.
‘I’m in!’ I exclaim when she picks up.
‘I should bloody hope so,’ my sister huffs. ‘I knew you’d spend the week dithering, but I’ve already told everyone you’re doing it and I’ve got a list of emails as long as my arm from Theo’s assistant that I’m forwarding you as we speak. He’s your problem now, go with God.’
And on that note she hangs up.
Ping! goes my phone.
Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping!
I experience a brief moment of panic as the phone keeps chiming with notification after notification.
I get back in my car and open up the first of the emails. It quickly becomes clear to me that David, Theo’s assistant, is having a major meltdown about leaving his side and I feel as if I will be pet-sitting someone’s beloved and extremely fussy little Pekinese.
One email simply says:
NO KIWI FRUIT
The majority of them read like bizarre, middle-class haikus.
YUZU KOMBUCHA
SHIPPING ONCE
FERMENTATION IS COMPLETE
Aside from an extensive amount of dietary requirements there’s also: a list of exercise equipment that’s being shipped to Northumberland (Where am I going to put it all? Perhaps David expects me to erect some sort of private gym with my bare hands?); an insane list of vitamin supplements and the times of day Theo is supposed to take them; information about transporting precious musical instruments, and all this is before he moves on to a series on Theo’s likes and dislikes beginning with films (the cryptic ‘NO NICOLAS CAGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’ with seventeen exclamation marks raises some questions for me) and TV series (‘HE FINDS GREAT brITISH BAKE OFF SOOTHING’.)
I’m not even halfway through the list when my phone flashes up with a call from an unknown number.
‘Hello?’ I answer.
‘Clementine?’ A slightly pissed-off, incredibly posh-sounding voice comes down the other end. ‘Clementine Monroe?’
‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘This is David, Mr Eliott’s assistant. Your sister passed on your number.’
I close my eyes and lean back, hitting the headrest with an audible thump. ‘Oh, David, hello. I was just making a start on your emails…’
‘Right, yes,’ David cuts in. ‘That’s good, I’m glad the lines of communication are open. I have to tell you, I am quite… concerned about this trip, and about making sure that Mr Eliott has the support he’s used to. In order for us to make the transition as seamless as possible I think it’s important that we cover all our bases. Perhaps we can organize a video call tomorrow so that I can talk you through the dossier I’m preparing?’
‘Right,’ I say weakly. ‘The dossier. I mean, of course. If you think it’s necessary.’
There is a dangerous pause. ‘So far the document in question is eighty-six pages,’ David snaps. ‘I imagine you’re going to have some questions.’
‘Eighty-six pages,’ I repeat in a daze.
‘Mr Eliott is a busy and important man,’ David continues. ‘Our job is to make sure his life runs seamlessly so that he can focus all of his creative energy on the process of making this album. I’m sure your sister has already made it clear to you that the stakes are very high. There are multi-million-pound contracts at risk here, and for whatever reason the wellbeing of Mr Eliott is being placed in your hands. I assume you are planning on taking the job seriously?’
I straighten at that. I hadn’t, in fact, considered the multi-million-pound contracts, the weight of expectations pressing down on Serena. I’d been too busy thinking about my relationship with Theo and what that meant. I have a brief flashback to Serena’s pinched face when she first asked me to help and guilt twists in my gut. ‘Of course,’ I say firmly. ‘I’m going to take it very seriously. Let’s schedule a meeting.’
‘I have a window at six forty-five tomorrow,’ David says.
‘In the morning?’ I manage.
‘Will that be a problem?’
‘No, no.’ I already feel like I’d rather die than disappoint this man. Something to raise with Ingrid, perhaps. ‘Six forty-five it is.’
‘Good, I’ll email you the link.’
And then, without any further niceties, the call cuts out.
Ping!Goes my phone.
Ping! Ping! Ping!
I let out a long breath. Okay then. I can do this. I’m a responsible, functioning grown-up. Babysitting a rock star. How hard can it be?