Beth
Beth
Ten years after
She has been in LA for four months, living in Vaughan’s rented apartment in Hermosa Beach, when the first university shooting nearby takes place, just outside of Culver City.
She has tried to like living in Los Angeles, and indeed there’s much to like about it. Not least their spacious apartment on the fourth floor of a block, with panoramic views of the beach. Hermosa Beach is a slightly bohemian, laid-back community south of LA, far enough away from Hollywood and Beverly Hills for Beth to pretend that those things have nothing to do with her. Hermosa means beautiful, and there’s no denying that the area lives up to its name. They are just two blocks from the beach and every morning at 5 a.m. she pulls her trainers on and runs down The Strand, the 22-mile long coastal path. Sometimes she does 5km, sometimes she does 10km. But afterwards she always picks herself up a freshly pressed smoothie on the way back to the apartment.
It’s a life so many would dream of. She has nothing to complain about.
She’s just finished shooting Ten to One , a six-part drama for Sky, which was mostly filmed in Toronto anyway. She’s in discussions with several different production companies; there is plenty for her to be getting her teeth into.
She has more money in her bank account than she needs, and last week, Vaughan suggested she might want to think about hiring a full-time assistant, because that’s what actresses of her stature do.
She has success beyond all measure – she even shot a small, but vital, role in a major motion picture earlier this month. Whether she likes it or not, there’s no denying that she is on her way to being properly famous.
She is living the dream.
But something started happening to her, a couple of months after she arrived, that made no sense.
Nightmares about the fire. Not every night, but often enough to make her question her sanity.
In the nightmares she’s stuck inside the kitchen at Cecil Broad, and on the other side of the glass door are Rosa, Anna and Nick, staring at her, their mouths opening, gesticulating and screaming at her to get out, but she can’t move.
Eventually the wall of flames around her conceals her view of them completely. And then, she wakes up.
She can’t understand why these dreams would start now, when she’s living so far away. It frightens her.
She thinks back to her first ever West End production, Tides of Change , and the joy she felt at seeing her photograph and name in the programme.
Tides of Change is Beth Millen’s West End debut. Beth would like to thank all her family and friends for their support.
She was only in the chorus, but even so, it felt like the greatest achievement she could ever imagine. Was that the pinnacle of it all? That moment when she saw her career validated, finally? Has it been downhill from then on?
She remembers welling up in the shared dressing room, clutching the programme to her chest and thinking, what a miracle. I’ve done it, I’ve actually done it.
She slept with that programme under her pillow for the entire run of the show. She had never been happier. She wishes she could get back that passion, get back that enthusiasm. She’s become too jaded, too cynical. And that’s not the work’s fault. It’s the industry that makes you that way. When you see people with real, raw talent, go unnoticed in favour of someone with a higher media profile. When reality television stars are cast as leads in musicals, despite the fact that there are thousands of incredible triple-threats out there, scrabbling around making ends meet and desperately waiting for their moment to shine.
She stares at the sunshine from the window. The sunshine should make her happy, but she misses the rain, stupid as it is to say, she misses grey days when it makes sense to spend the whole day in pyjamas, she misses Marmite and sarcasm and proper tea, she misses anonymity and she misses her British friends.
And most of all she misses Nick.
Vaughan is always busy, and the fellow actors she’s met since she moved over have all been self-contained, seeming to only trust those people around them that are working for them.
It seems as though in this town, ‘assistant’ really means ‘close friend’.
But how can someone you pay to spend time with you truly be a friend?
And why did Vaughan say she needed an assistant?
She turns the radio off. She doesn’t want to hear any more about the university shooting. She can’t bear it.
Edie, Vaughan’s daughter, is visiting today. She’s staying for half-term, her mother Sophie finally relenting and allowing her to come over alone. And Beth is nervous. Edie is thirteen now, and Beth knows nothing about teenage girls. Even when she was one herself, she always felt on the periphery, watching her peers’ complicated interactions from the sidelines, staying quiet, always observing.
She hears the key turning in the front door. Vaughan has taken the day off so that he can collect Edie from the airport later, and he’s just been to the gym.
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Baking out there. Love this weather.’
His face is bright red, his forehead slicked with sweat. Beth can’t help but notice the fullness of his stomach, the way his gym top is straining – ever so slightly – to contain it. Most people who move to LA lose weight, but Vaughan’s lifestyle is unhealthy. Constantly rushing from meeting to meeting, long days on shoots, even longer days spent sitting in front of his computer, grabbing food whenever he can and from wherever’s most convenient.
‘How was the gym?’ she asks, trying to convey that she’s pleased he went.
Beth has a personal trainer who works out with her four times a week. Mandatory for someone like her, of course.
‘Awful,’ he says, grinning as he fills a glass with water. ‘What’s up, you look sad?’
‘There’s been a shooting at a university,’ she says, closing her eyes briefly. ‘Not that far from here.’
Vaughan leans on the kitchen worktop. Beth notices that he’s still a little out of breath, even though his gym is a fifteen-minute drive away.
‘I heard. They had it on breaking news on the TVs at the gym. Shocking huh?’ He wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. ‘I’m absolutely drenched, better get a shower.’
She stares at him for a few seconds. How can he be so casual about it?
She should tell him about her nightmares.
‘At least six students have been killed,’ she says, as he turns to walk away. ‘Six young people, with their whole lives ahead of them. Just gone. Like that.’
Vaughan turns. He’s puzzled now, frowning at her. He doesn’t understand why this might upset her so much. Of course, he doesn’t understand. That’s not his fault though.
‘Are you OK, sweetheart?’
She holds his stare. Thinks, briefly, about telling him everything: about the fire, the aftermath. Wonders what it would achieve.
Nothing. It would achieve nothing. And he has so much going on himself.
He would probably suggest she went to therapy or trauma counselling or something.
She’s done well all these years to avoid having to do anything like that. Afterwards, she made her own plan – by design or accident, she’s not sure. But it’s worked well up until now. She’s thrown herself into her acting, focused all her energy and thoughts on it. Everyone knows creative work is the best therapy of all. It has saved her.
‘I’m fine,’ she lies, shaking her head. ‘Sorry. Was just a bit of a shock, that’s all.’
‘Nothing like that is ever going to happen to us,’ he says. ‘We live in one of the safest parts of LA. You know that, right?’
She does know that. She knows that there are some parts of LA that are so dangerous you wouldn’t want to visit them even in the daytime. It’s a city of multitudes and she’s part of the most privileged class, the part that gets to live by the beach and shop at Whole Foods and employ a different kind of immigrant to clean so that they never have to get their hands dirty.
She nods.
‘I’m a little bit nervous,’ she says, changing the subject, ‘about Edie coming to stay, that’s all. I want her to have a good time. I don’t want anything to upset her. It’s important, this. You know that.’
He pulls his lips into a line. This is a sore spot in their relationship.
‘And you know,’ she continues, ‘we’re not used to having other people around. It’s just… us, all the time. Edie will bring a whole different energy to the place.’
‘I know what it’s like having my own daughter around, thank you very much,’ he snaps.
She shouldn’t have said anything. He feels guilty that he lives in a different country from Edie, and he doesn’t like it when she interferes in their relationship.
‘I’m not saying you don’t!’ she protests. ‘Let’s not argue. I’m just…’
He takes a step towards her, blinking slowly.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I didn’t mean to snap.’
‘I just want her to have a good time,’ Beth says. ‘It’ll be the most time I’ve ever spent with her. I want her to… I don’t know… like me.’
‘She does like you!’
‘She doesn’t really know me that well.’
Beth thinks of the handful of times she’s spent with Edie, despite the fact that she’s been with Vaughan for almost five years. Edie has always been polite but aloof, never really letting her in. Beth’s not married to Vaughan, so isn’t technically her stepmother. Perhaps Edie still sees her as something temporary, not worth getting to know?
‘How many of your previous girlfriends did Edie meet?’ Beth asks.
Vaughan frowns again.
‘Where’s this coming from?’ he says, confused. ‘None. There wasn’t any serious enough before you.’
She swallows, realising that her heart rate has increased. What’s the matter with her? Why is she being like this?
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Ignore me. I’m just…’
She was going to say nervous , but another word threatens to escape. Lonely.
Thankfully, she stops it, but not before turning it around fully in her mind.
She lives in the City of Stars; she has everything she could ever want. But she’s lonely, and everything feels wrong.