Beth
Beth
‘Found you!’ Beth says, tapping him on the back. As she does so, she wobbles slightly on her feet. Clearly, the five glasses of free wine have gone to her head. She was so nervous earlier. Nervous for Nick to meet her mum, but also nervous for him. She wanted the exhibition to go well. She knew how much it meant to him, even without him ever specifically telling her.
Nick turns. He looks surprised to see her. The event is over: the music switched off, the echoes from the catering staff who are clearing up replacing the earlier chatter from the guests.
‘Oh,’ he says, smiling. ‘I thought you’d gone without saying goodbye! I was about to send you a passive-aggressive text.’
‘No, I hid in the toilets so they wouldn’t throw me out,’ she replies, winking. ‘I nipped out earlier and put Mum in an Uber. She was getting tired but she had the best night. Thanks so much for asking me.’
He puts down the glasses he’s carrying.
‘Can you leave yet?’ Beth asks. ‘I have supplies…’
She opens her tote bag to show him the two half-bottles of champagne she bought on the way back from dropping her Mum off.
‘I thought we could go for a walk, sit on a bench somewhere and toast your success?’
‘I…’ he begins.
She feels her heart rate quicken. Has she misjudged things? Surely not. She can feel it. That now is the time.
He’s single. She’s single.
The baggage of their past finally feels unpacked, ready to be sorted out and tidied away for good.
The universe has opened a small window for them, and they just have to be brave enough to crawl through. Together.
‘Only if you’re ready to leave. I don’t want to get you into trouble.’
‘No, it’s fine. Let me just check the guys are OK finishing up without me,’ he says. ‘Stay here.’
Five minutes later, he’s back and she loops her arm through his as they leave the garden and go out into the cool November evening.
‘It’s late,’ she says. ‘Like that other night…’
She tails off, glances at him. Has he remembered? She can’t be sure. But for some reason this year, the fire is burning more brightly than ever in her memory.
‘Thirteen years ago,’ she continues. ‘Tomorrow. Did you realise?’
‘I didn’t have any control over the date for the launch,’ he says, and she worries she’s offended him, that he thinks she’s accusing him somehow. ‘But yes, I did.’ He pauses, takes a deep breath. ‘Funny how life works out sometimes. So many significant things seem to happen in November. Or maybe I’m just more aware of everything at this time of year. I don’t know.’
She doesn’t fill the silence. She wants to talk about this, for them to clear the air properly.
‘Where shall we go?’ he says, and she feels disappointed that he’s changed the subject.
They stare ahead at the grid of residential streets that surrounds the botanic gardens. Row upon row of typical London housing stock.
‘We need to find a bench,’ she says, focusing on her original plan. She mustn’t get distracted. She takes him firmly by the hand, a thrill running through her at the thought of the possibilities ahead: the fact that they are alone, together, and that no one is here to get in their way. She has wanted this kind of freedom with Nick for so long. She has craved it, yearned for it, and now finally, finally, it’s here.
‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Let’s try this way.’
She pulls him down various streets until they find a small rough-cut patch of grass, which might just about pass for a park. In the centre, some well-used children’s play equipment glows ominously in the moonlight.
‘There must be a bench in here,’ she says, trying to ignore the sense that Nick isn’t as enthusiastic about her plan as she is.
Eventually, they find one, and Beth clears the rubbish from it and takes a seat. Her courage is dissipating with every minute. Alcohol. She needs more alcohol.
‘I thought Rosa might be here tonight,’ she says, keeping her voice deliberately light. Being an actress means she’s able to control the way she sounds more than most, although she’s never been sure if Nick can see right through her all the same.
‘Rosa?’ he says, uncorking the champagne bottle and shooting her a confused look.
‘Yes,’ she says, and she takes a swig from the bottle as soon as he offers it. ‘You’re not still in touch then?’
He shakes his head, dismissively. She feels her jaw tense with frustration. Same old Nick. How can she get him to open up?
‘Open the other bottle!’ she says, tugging on his arm. ‘One each. Come on, I had to go to two shops to find the good stuff.’
He looks down at the bottle as he holds it by the neck, rubbing away the condensation on the label with his thumb.
‘I don’t drink anymore, Beth,’ he says, softly. ‘Remember?’
She feels stupid. Embarrassed. Ashamed.
‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Of course. Shit. I’m sorry. I just… I was just so proud of you… God. That was really unimaginative of me. I’m sorry.’
He turns then and smiles at her, his eyes crinkling. Her stomach flips. The desire to lean forward and kiss his face is so strong it almost makes her cry, but instead she just moves slightly closer towards him.
The air feels thick between them.
‘It was really thoughtful of you though,’ he says. ‘Honestly. I’ll take this bottle home and keep it somewhere safe as a memento. And don’t let me stop you drinking yours.’
She swigs from the bottle again, a long, dry gulp that scratches its way down her throat and into her stomach.
‘So, Nick Parker, Champion of Exhibitions, what’s next for you?’ she says, in her best interview voice. She nudges him with her elbow. ‘Where do you see yourself in five years’ time?’
‘Doing more of the same, hopefully,’ he replies. He stares straight ahead, his shoulders relaxed. ‘I would say right now, life is pretty much as good as it’s going to get.’
Not the right answer. Something is wrong. Things aren’t going to plan. She drinks some more. Her heart truly has a mind of its own now, somersaulting away beneath her ribs.
‘So you’re not heartbroken then?’ she blurts.
‘What?’
‘Not heartbroken? About Kate?’
‘What makes you ask that?’
‘You’re very quiet tonight, that’s all. I wondered… If you want to talk about it, I’m all ears.’
‘I don’t…’ he says. ‘I’m just tired, Beth, honest.’
‘Come on, you don’t have to be shy with me. Tell me the truth, I can handle it! I’m a big girl.’
He frowns now, shifting away from her on the bench. Fuck. Everything is going wrong.
She thinks back to what her agent said when she told her about her idea for the play: perhaps you should tell him all this.
Fuck it. She stands up, throwing her arms out wide. Is she angry, frustrated, or sad? She can’t tell, but she’s fizzing with an energy that demands to be spent.
‘Shall I tell you where I see myself in five years’ time? Not interested? Tough, I’m going to tell you anyway. Never let it be said I don’t know how to foist myself on an unwilling audience. So, let me tell you my plans, reluctant Nick! I’ve decided I’m going to write a play. A play about two people. They may sound familiar to you… Two people who met one night when they were young and fell in love but who never got the chance to explore what might have been. Two people – star-crossed lovers, if you like! – who should have been together but were torn apart by circumstances beyond their control…’
She burps, somewhat inelegantly, in the middle of this speech.
He stands up, reaches for her.
‘OK, Little Miss Thespian, I think it’s time you got home.’
‘No!’ she shouts, and somehow, from somewhere, her eyes are filled with tears. ‘I don’t want to go. I want to tell you about my play! Two people. Two decent people. Who should have been together. They should at least have been able to give their relationship a try. But they never had the chance because they were too fucking fucked up by something that wasn’t even their fault!’
He exhales. He actually looks cross.
‘That’s not what happened though is it?’ he says, shaking his head. ‘That’s not the whole truth. We were partly to blame.’
She stumbles backwards, as though he’s hit her.
‘What? What are you talking about?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he says, reaching to pick up her handbag from the bench. ‘Come on, let’s go. Enough reminiscing in the middle of the night. I think you need to sober up.’
‘No, I’m not going,’ she says. ‘Tell me what you mean! How were we to blame?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he says. He looks exasperated now. Worse than that. He looks irritated. It’s been so long since anyone has looked this way at her, and she can’t bear it.
And that’s when she realises it: people have treated her differently ever since she became successful. People aren’t honest with her anymore. They treat her like a Special Little Princess.
Has she started to believe that she’s a Special Little Princess? Has she lost all touch with reality?
‘It does matter!’ she shouts. ‘Years we’ve been spinning around this same circle, never getting to the centre of it. Well, perhaps it’s time. Thirteenth anniversary and all that. Let’s get everything out in the open once and for all. So tell me, Nick. Why do you think we’re partly to blame?’
‘For fuck’s sake, Beth! You know what I’m talking about. Don’t make me spell it out.’
‘Don’t swear at me,’ she says. ‘Tell me. Say it out loud. Go, on, I dare you. Tell me what you’re thinking!’
‘You’re drunk,’ he says, shaking his head from side to side, as though he’s disappointed in her.
‘Is that right? Well, I might be drunk but at least I’m not emotionally stunted!’
‘Fine,’ he says, his voice a low growl. ‘You want to know why I think we’re partly to blame? We’re partly to blame because I should have gone back into the building to find Anna… but you wouldn’t let me… and because of that – that stupid fucking moment – our relationship was doomed from the start. So you tell me , Beth. How could we ever work with that hanging over us? Tell me?’
From nowhere, there are tears streaming down his face.
She almost keels over in shock.
So. He blames her for Anna’s death.
The words are so painful, she can’t be sure that he’s really said them. No, surely not. He wouldn’t do that to her. Would he?
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, gazing up at the night sky. He sniffs, wipes the tears from his face. ‘I didn’t mean it to come out like that. It’s no one’s fault. It’s just… I’m sorry… I’m tired, it’s late… I just wish things could be different. You know I love you, Beth. It’s just… I don’t see how we could ever make it work, with… that in our past. With it hanging over us. I’m scared it will poison everything.’
He tries to pull her towards him.
‘No! Don’t touch me,’ she says, pushing him away angrily. ‘I’m glad you said it. You did mean it. And you’re right. You know what? You might not see how we could ever work but at least I was willing to give us a try. You’re a coward, Nick Parker. You’re lying to yourself. The fire wasn’t our fault. The real reason you’re scared is because you think I might hurt you, but when have I ever hurt you? You’re a coward. You always have been and you always will be.’
She drops the champagne bottle on the ground and snatches her handbag from him, and then she runs, far out of the park and through the maze of residential streets until she’s put enough distance between them to be sure she’s really alone. To be sure that even if he’s tried to follow her, she’s lost him.
And then, when she’s sure there’s no one else near, she leans over into the road and vomits up the champagne, along with thirteen years of regret and pain.