Chapter 27 Cynthie #2
I snuggle in. “Thanks.” I hesitate. “That thing that you had me do when we came out here… the thing with my hand.”
“Hand on heart.” Jack nods. “It’s a technique for coping with anxiety and panic attacks.”
“You seem to know a lot about it.”
“I used to have panic attacks.” He shrugs. “Quite regularly, actually.”
“Really?”
“Mmmm.” He’s quiet, and I don’t ask anything else, just wait to see if he wants to share anything more.
“Do you remember,” he says after a moment, his tone thoughtful, “the night we all went out and did karaoke? Then we came back for the bonfire?”
“Yes,” I say. “I remember.”
“You were pretty stoned. I wasn’t sure.” His eyes slide to mine. “Anyway,” he exhales. “We talked, and you asked me if it was strange, being born into the business like I was.”
“You said it was a lot of pressure,” I say, nodding. “You said you didn’t know if you’d ever really chosen it.”
“You really do remember.” His mouth tugs up. “You also told me it didn’t sound like much fun. That conversation was a pretty big turning point for me. I started asking myself whether I was doing things I enjoyed, what work made me happy.”
“Apparently I get insightful when I’m stoned.”
“I’m serious,” he says. “It took a long time to unpick it all, but it started then, with you. For years I’d been plagued by anxiety, trying to live up to my parents’ expectations. I regularly had panic attacks. Before I went onstage, before I went on camera.”
“I had no idea,” I murmur, shocked. “This was going on when we were filming?”
His smile is rueful. “Yeah. I used to think I needed to keep it a secret, hide it from people in case they thought less of me.” He runs a hand over his jaw.
“Obviously now I know that only made things worse. There’s no shame in having a brain that works a little differently, but at the time…
” He sighs and there’s a dull ache in my chest as I think of the Jack I knew then, as I rearrange the facts I thought I understood.
“It’s one of the reasons you and I clashed, I think,” he continues.
“I was a scared, anxious kid, and I tried to cover it all up with a layer of arrogance. I was blind to how right you were for the film… All I saw was a threat to me, to my career. I panicked. It was selfish and I acted like an asshole. It’s thirteen years too late, but I’m sorry. ”
“You don’t need to apologize,” I say, and I mean it. I give him a watery smile. “You weren’t the only one who made mistakes. I’m sorry you were going through that alone. Why don’t we just say we were both young and foolish.”
“Okay,” he says softly. “That sounds good.”
“So.” I get to my feet, shake out my skirts. “Can we really go now?”
“Absolutely.” Jack gestures toward an alley down the side of the bins. “I’m told this leads down to the delivery area where my car should be waiting.”
“And you’re okay to drive?” I ask, as we pick our way through the shadows.
“I was always planning to drive, so I only had one drink,” he replies. “But I can call you a cab if you’d rather?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I want to go with you.”
When we emerge, we find one of the kids from the valet stand waiting with Jack’s car. His face clears when he catches sight of us. I wonder just how much money Jack thrust at the server.
“Thanks for waiting,” Jack says, already fishing out another tip for the boy, who is staring at me. I smile.
“Oh!” he squeaks, his cheeks going pink. “It’s no problem, sir.” He hands Jack his car keys.
“Don’t tell anyone we’re sneaking out early,” I tease, making my way round to the passenger seat.
“I won’t,” he says earnestly.
We get in the car, and when Jack pulls away, he shakes his head. “Thought the poor guy was going to swallow his tongue. The Cynthie Taylor effect.”
I scoff, and as we drive out under the streetlights, I check my phone and find a bunch of missed calls from Theo. I text him and Clemmie back in our group chat to let them know what happened and they reply instantly.
THEO:
Don’t worry, Clemmie just about stopped me from committing GBH with a dessert fork.
THEO:
But she also managed to sneak over and empty a saltshaker in his drink.
THEO:
He spat it down the front of some politician.
CLEMMIE:
Vigilante justice. He deserves a lot worse.
CLEMMIE:
LMK if you want to perform some sort of hex on him. My sisters are on standby.
THEO:
YES! Clemmie’s curses are serious shit.
THEO:
We’ve got your back.
CLEMMIE:
And we love you.
CLEMMIE:
Also. JACK. So dreamy. We will discuss later. IN DETAIL.
THEO:
Don’t love my wife finding another man dreamy.
THEO:
But he kind of is, Cyn.
It makes me smile, and I settle back into the comfortable leather seat. Jack has the radio on low, playing something soothing. We drive home in silence, and when we finally pull up outside my house, I ask him if he’s coming in, without blushing too much.
He shakes his head. “I already texted Hannah,” he says. “She’s waiting for you.”
I swallow, touched again by his thoughtfulness. “Thanks.” I carefully slip his jacket from my shoulders and try not to feel too bereft about it.
“I’ll see you in London,” Jack says, and his fingers tap the steering wheel. His face is in shadow, so I can’t read his expression. “But you’ve got my number. Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will.” I find that I want to tell him I’ll miss him, which is ridiculous when we’ll be seeing each other in a little over a week. I’ve gone thirteen years without his company, so why does a week apart suddenly feel impossible?
“Good night, Cynthie,” he murmurs.
“?’Night.”
I cross my arms and watch as he begins to turn the car around. Before I can think too much about it, I step forward, and tap on his window.
He rolls it down. “Did you forget something?”
“Yes,” I say, bending down so that we’re level.
I place a hand on his jaw, my fingers scraping lightly across his stubble as I turn his face, then I press my lips softly to the razor-edge of his cheekbone.
He holds himself utterly still for an instant, and then his palm comes up, cupping the back of my neck, the touch warm and steadying.
He turns. Our noses brush, his forehead resting against mine, and I close my eyes.
For a moment we breathe the same air. For a moment, there’s nothing else in the whole world, just this.
“Thank you again,” I whisper, almost against his mouth. “For tonight.” I open my eyes and let my hand fall, stepping back from the car.
“Anytime, Cynthie.” Jack’s voice is low.
I watch him drive away then, and my head is swimming. A lot has happened tonight, but one thing is certain… Jack Turner-Jones isn’t who I thought he was. In fact, I have a horrible feeling he’s much, much more.