Chapter 26
Arthur
‘It’s strange to say that your soulmate was a friend who was only in your life for such a small, inconsequential amount of time.
But he was my soulmate, and I lost him.’ I hang on her every word, feeling each syllable as it punches me in the gut.
Every vowel, every consonant breaks my heart a little more.
What am I supposed to say? How can a few of my pathetic words compare to such a sharp precipice of pain?
All I can think about is taking her agony away from her, volunteering to take the load so she doesn’t have to bear its weight, just do anything to make sure I never have to see her cry again.
But all I can do is hold her. I pull her as close as I can and it still isn’t enough.
I want to absorb her, protect her, soothe her for a lifetime until that parasitic sadness finally moves on.
I’m powerless. All I can do is whisper words that will never be enough, and cradle her tight enough to soak up some of her tears and hope that it lightens the burden just a little.
Losing track of time, I hold her and hold her, until my arms are numb, praying that I can do something, anything, to help.
‘No one in New York knows about Tommy.’ Her voice is quiet, scratchy and muffled as she lacks the energy to raise her head from the crease of my shirt.
‘He is one secret that I never intended to keep and yet he’s the only one they haven’t sniffed out instantly.
And that secret right there is the whole reason I am back here, artistically spent, emotionally scarred, and a miserable bastard. ’
Though my sister is still very much alive, I can’t help but feel her grief.
I lost Lizzie years ago, and nothing I could do could stop that.
And yet I still lie awake each night wondering what I could have done differently that might have changed the outcome.
Should I have noticed sooner? Should I have taken her to the doctors earlier?
Should I have stayed with her every waking moment to hold on to every last strand of her so she didn’t fall apart?
She’s my unintentional secret, my biggest regret.
My grief in losing the woman, the girl, I knew, made me lose so much of myself that I still haven’t managed to reclaim.
All motivation to better myself, to be my own person, to achieve, vapourised when she got her diagnosis.
Living whilst she loses her life just doesn’t feel right.
Coming to New York changed that though. And I know a little something has changed for Beatrice too. She put her soul into that script. She’s had to push through her grief to find those words, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone turn down that script and make her feel like it wasn’t worth it.
What can I do? Yesterday only served to prove that I am nothing without my parents; my contacts are simply people clinging closely to me hoping to get a sneak peek of them.
We need a new direction, a new approach.
But what? I know I have to think of something; I have to be proactive in making both our lives happier than they are in this moment.
But I’ve never been more aware of my own uselessness, never more irritated at the buffering in my brain when I’m clawing through its folds to find an answer.
Though, in my defence, it is extra slow whenever a part of my body comes into contact with Beatrice and since there is hardly a patch of flesh unaffected by her touch right now, there’s no surprise that all of those electrical pulses have shifted from my mind to my body.
I am nothing without my parents.
Clambering to my feet with a scramble, the idea finally hits me.
I am not a nepo baby. I am the nepo baby.
And what do nepo babies do best? Ride the wave of their parents’ success until they too have all their heart desires.
All my heart desires is making Beatrice Norton happy, and I only have one month left to do it.
So, I’m going to be the best fucking nepo baby that Hollywood has ever seen.
The mild morning reminds me that spring has well and truly sprung, and so has gala season. And where better to milk my surname so much until it turns to liquid gold in her hands?
I remember Mum and Dad taking me to one of their galas when I was twenty or so.
It must have been the fourth one I’d been to in two weeks and it was all just the same thing: important people dressed up schmoozing, trying to get something from everyone else in the room.
I spent the night following the waiters around, pinching glasses of champagne from their trays until I got so drunk I ended up waking up in the corner of the staff kitchen, covered in confetti with absolutely no knowledge of how any of that occurred.
But things would be different this time.
I’d play the part. I’d do the networking and the chit-chatting.
I’ll take Beatrice with me. She will be the head of all operations and I will do whatever I can to support her on the sideline.
We will dress to the nines and once we’ve used my name as a little leg up, we can prove our worth to every single person in that room.
Rooting through the debris to find my phone, I press at the buttons, desperate to find out the date, eager to make some calls, hoping and praying I haven’t missed it.
The screen flashes up momentarily to tell me to charge my phone and I could throw it in frustration.
Instead, I make for the stairs. Now the idea is in my head, I can’t settle until I’ve done it, until I’ve achieved.
‘I’ve got a few things to take care of, a few enquiries to make.
You’re welcome to stay here, or I can drive you home.
It’s up to you.’ She would want to know what I’m doing, but this is going to be a surprise.
This is something I’m going to do for her where she won’t have to stress about for even a minute.
‘Oh … I-I’ve got some work to do on the farm.’
‘You sure?’ She nods and that’s all the permission I need to shoot down the stairs and clatter through the farmhouse door like a man possessed.
My grandmother jumps and drops her slice of jam toast as I burst through into the kitchen.
‘Flaming hell!’ she curses as it lands jam side down and she has to peel it from the countertop.
‘Are you trying to give me a heart attack?’ Crumbs fill the creases of her dressing gown and she leans over the sink to flick them off.
‘Sorry.’ I can’t keep my limbs still as she speaks to me. I practically vibrate on the lino, desperate to get away to charge my phone.
‘What are you so happy about?’ She narrows her eyes at me and her wispy eyebrows bow with the motion.
‘Did you sell the film?’ In an out-of-character motion she clutches at her dressing gown around her neck but as she notices my shock – I’m still not used to her being anything but ambivalent – she straightens out and adds, ‘Or whatever it was you kids were up to.’ With an exaggerated eyeroll for good luck.
‘Yeah, no, that meeting died on its arse,’ I say with a grin, still jittering in my shoes.
‘And you’re … happy?’ My grandmother’s usual eye of scrutiny returns.
‘I shall be, if my plan works out.’ I practically skip across the kitchen and plant a kiss on her cheek, which she wipes off with an open palm and shakes her head.
‘Strange boy, strange, strange boy.’ She doesn’t cease shaking her head until I’ve departed and take the stairs two at a time and dive across my bed like a teen in a romcom to plug my phone in. I refrain from kicking my feet in the air whilst I wait for it to charge.
As soon as it lights up, it’s in my hand again, then ringing in my ear. He answers on the final ring, almost as if he had waited as long as possible to pick it up, hoping I’d have given up sooner.
‘Hello?’ It’s the first time I’ve spoken to him in weeks. He hasn’t seen my new haircut, or noticed my personality transplant; he doesn’t even sound happy to hear from me.
‘Dad?’ I know it’s him, but I check just in case his PA has perfected his voice as well as his signature.
‘I said I’d be there after the promo was done for this time. What do you want now, Arthur? Money?’ His bored tone cuts a little deeper than I was expecting and I have to take a shaky breath before I can speak again.
‘No, not at all, I don’t want anything. Well, I suppose I do. But it’s a good thing, I think. I’m not sure. I just needed your help,’ I ramble into the receiver.
‘Hurry up and spit it out, son. I’m on set and every minute I’m on the phone to you, it’s costing production two grand.’
‘Oh, right. I can call back another—’
‘What do you want, Arthur?’ He cuts me off and all of my enthusiasm has dwindled.
‘The BFI gala.’ My tone is blunt, no fucking about now. ‘When is it? Can you get me a couple of tickets?’
‘Why do you want to go to the BFI gala? You’re supposed to be in New York keeping out of the way. Why on earth would I give you access to another professional space for you to show me up in?’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.’ I rub my hands over my face roughly, trying to compose myself before I fly off the handle. This is my last chance, so I push down that growing knot of anxiety in my stomach and don’t back down. ‘I have a film to pitch.’
‘Ah yeah. I did hear that you’d been talking to Natalie. She’s been after me for her films for a while. I’m assuming that little chat didn’t go to plan?’
‘No. Hence why I’m needing to be put on the list at the BFI.’ My dad sighs on the other end of the phone.
‘I’ll see what I can do, but if you show me up one more time Arthur, I swea—’
‘I know, I know.’ I cut him off, suddenly too exhausted to listen to him speak. ‘Thank you.’
‘Have you had any news of your sister lately? How is she?’ He softens slightly, though he still refuses to say her name.