Chapter 3
KAI
My eyes are crusted with sleep and my limbs feel leaden when I eventually wake up.
I’m surprised I slept at all as I tossed and turned for hours.
I returned to my cold empty flat late last night, not the same person I’d left that morning.
After talking for hours with Mr Nagle and asking a lot of questions, I managed to catch a train home.
I feel like I should be jubilant about my inheritance, but instead I feel weighed down by it all.
I reluctantly clamber out of my warm cocoon of duvet and blankets and pull on some sweatpants and a hoodie.
I stumble into the kitchen where I’m met with a far too bright and cheerful Tate, my flatmate.
He is, annoyingly, a morning person, and even though he was out until god knows when last night, he’s bounding round the kitchen.
Looking at his clothes, he might have just walked in from clubbing all night.
It’s hard to tell with Tate. His tight shorts, which today are red, and his glittery crop top are pretty much his standard attire.
“Jeez, you look rough,” he says as he spots me where I’m propping myself up on the doorframe.
“Was it a drag yesterday? Did you have forgotten relatives bending your ear and saying of course you don’t remember me, last time I saw you, you were just yay high?
Old ladies who launch into an hour long tale of catching you up on everything they’ve ever done, referencing cousins you’ve never heard of? ”
I snicker at his description, which, while wholly inaccurate, conjures up an image that could have been true. Though the fact that there were no other mourners at the graveside apart from myself, Mr Nagle, and the staff is more intriguing than if a hoard of relatives had appeared.
“No, nothing like that, though I have news.”
“Well, so do I,” Tate says, pouring us both a coffee.
“You first,” I say, reaching for the mug of nectar. I'll feel better when I’ve had a caffeine hit, and at least it isn’t whatever they thought passed as coffee at the hall yesterday.
“Nope, I want to hear all about your day yesterday first,” Tate insists.
I watch as he reaches for the bag of bread and pulls out a couple of slices, eyeing them suspiciously for mould before popping them in the toaster.
We share most groceries. We’re rarely working—acting jobs, that is—at the same time, so we find it easier if we split the groceries, and if one has a bit more money they contribute more.
Jobs have been scarce for both of us for a while and we’ve become good at surviving on beans on toast. I contemplate for a few seconds, and decide to go for the shock tactic as it would make the juxtaposition of stale bread and my news even more bizarre.
“You are looking at the eighth Earl of Cavendish,” I say slowly. He spins round, the knife he plans to scrape out the last of the margarine for his toast with poised midair. His eyes narrow slightly, expecting me to say more.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He cocks a hip and raises an eyebrow, his natural sass taking over as he clearly thinks I’ve lost my mind.
“Nah,” I huff. “Apparently Uncle Edwin was an earl and he had a big house, Cavendish Hall, which is now mine.”
He draws his head back and stares at me for a full three seconds before he launches himself at me, the knife clattering to the floor.
“Oh my fucking god!” he squeals as he nearly squashes all the breath out of me, his long arms squeezing me tight.
He even manages to pick me up and spin me round.
He might be all twink but he’s three inches taller and is definitely stronger.
“Is it real? Are you rich now? Are you going to forsake all your old friends?” With the last question he releases me and holds me at arms length, his head tilted to the side.
“Yes, kinda, and no of course not.” I answer his questions in turn. The toast pops up and he turns away, retrieving the knife from the floor and throwing it into the sink.
“Would the earl like to partake in some toast?” he asks, putting on a fancy voice, and I chuckle. I love Tate like a brother and I don’t think I’ll ever grow tired of his ways of making me laugh.
“I think you’re supposed to call me sir now,” I reply, and he throws me a look over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised so high that the I can clearly fuck off with that shit message can’t be misread.
I laugh, relief flooding through me. I sigh deeply.
Tate’s normality is starting to make me feel more like myself despite the circumstances.
I sit on a high stool at the breakfast bar, on the opposite side to where Tate is preparing the toast. As he places a plate in front of me he pulls a face.
“Sorry, I finished the jam last week.”
“S’okay,” I mumble, picking up the toast, suddenly very hungry. All I ate yesterday were some sandwiches that the butler guy, I think his name was Jones, gave us yesterday. The memory of the time I spent with Mr Nagle reminds me that this isn’t an easy situation.
“So tell me more,” Tate demands, taking a seat and attacking his own breakfast.
“What about your news?” I ask but he waves my question away.
“I’ll tell you later. Right now I want to hear all about this mansion you’ve inherited and when we are going to live in it.”
“It’s not that simple,” I reply, taking another bite before answering more. “It’s big, like seriously big, but can you imagine how much a house like that costs to run? To heat? Never mind the staff.”
“There’s staff?” Tate cuts in, and I glare at him. I’m never going to finish telling him if he’s going to keep interrupting. “Sorry,” he sighs and waves his hand again, this time to allow me to continue.
“So yeah, there’s all that to think about. And then there’s the inheritance tax. Do you know what that is?” This time Tate just shakes his head.
“Neither did I, but apparently it’s a tax on things you inherit. There is a threshold, but it doesn’t make much of a difference in this case.”
“How come?”
“Because as of now, I owe the treasury nearly six million pounds.”
“Fuuucccck!” Tate bangs his coffee mug down on the breakfast bar and sits up straighter. “How big is this house?”
“It’s huge. I have no idea why anyone would want something that big.
It’s square and like four storeys high or something.
I don’t even know how many bedrooms it has—ten, maybe more.
Who needs ten bedrooms? It has gardens, a lake, and acres of parkland.
” I sigh, remembering the view from the rise when I first caught sight of the house.
Even in the dank January drizzle it looked majestic.
“Sounds great for parties,” Tate butts in. Of course that’s what he would think of first.
“Parties, where I can charge a million pounds a ticket?” I quip, and he wrinkles his nose. Clearly that isn’t going to work.
“So what will you do?” he asks.
“Sell it of course,” I say flatly.
“But,” he prompts.
“There is no but. It’s the only possible course of action, and then I’ll still have a lot of money. I could buy a house right here in London with what’s left.”
“Yes, that’s the sensible option, but I know you Kai, you’re a romantic at heart. There’s a but.”
“There’s no but,” I repeat and take a sip of my coffee. Tate, instead of filling the silence with his usual chatter, doesn’t say a word. He sits and waits expectantly. He wins. I give in first.
“It is beautiful,” I sigh wistfully and catch his smirk of triumph, which of course I ignore.
“The parkland rolls down to a lake, you know the type. The one we all expect a soaking wet Mr Darcy to emerge from. The house is impressive, with drawing rooms and old furniture. There are paintings and tapestries and . . .” I trail off as it’s no good thinking about it.
“Can you sell a few paintings to raise the money?” Tate asks.
“A couple might raise a million between them,” I reply, as that was one of the questions I asked Mr Nagle yesterday.
There was a full inventory of the house and estate, which had been needed in order to value it.
There are a few pieces of furniture and some statues, but I’d be lucky to raise half the amount I need.
“How long have you got to pay the money?”
“Six months from the end of this month.” Mr Nagle had been clear on that point.
“Hmmm, that’s not long. There’s only one thing to do then.”
“What’s that?” I say, hearing the eagerness in my own voice.
“You’ll have to start a For my Fans.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I snort, slightly disappointed that he hadn’t come up with an amazing plan.
No one makes that kind of money on there, and I wouldn’t even know where to start.
I’m not sure I’d even be comfortable doing it.
I can’t believe I’m contemplating it. It’s ridiculous, like I told him. The whole idea is impossible.
“Hmmm, looks like you’ll have to sell it then.
” Tate shrugs and I know he’s right and it’s the only option.
But he’s correct, something about the house has worked its way into me.
I’m not sure what it is yet, but it makes me want to explore it more.
Which is why it took me so long to fall asleep last night.
That reminds me that Tate wasn’t here then.
“Where were you last night and what’s your news?” I ask, partly to change the subject away from my own troubles and because now I’ve remembered I want to know.
“I was at Divas celebrating,” he replies. That would explain why he was out all night. Divas is a gay club and bar we frequent, and while it officially closes at three, it often continues after the doors are locked. We’ve spent many nights partying there.
“Celebrating what?” I ask. I wasn’t aware of any roles he was going for and I thought he was working at the restaurant last night.
“Do you remember that part I auditioned for last month? You know that dreary film set in the forties?” I nod because I do remember. I also recall how he didn’t think it dreary until he didn’t get the part, but then that’s Tate.
“Did someone drop out?” I ask the question but I know it can’t be true as he’s still on a downer about it, and if he was involved, he’d be telling me it’s the best film ever.
“Not of this film, but of another, and the producer remembered me and offered me the part in that film.”
“That’s awesome. Which one?”
“It’s some modern day, live action retelling of the Little Mermaid.” He stops and a coy look comes over his face, so I wait as I know this is the big news. “And it’s in Hollywood.”
“No fucking way.” It’s my turn to repeat Tate’s words from earlier. This is huge. It’s the big break both of us have been wanting since we met in drama school ten years ago.
“Yes way,” Tate screeches and fans his face. This time I hug him tightly.
“I’m so proud of you Tate,” I say and mean it. He’s worked so hard to try and get that big break and I couldn’t be more proud.
“Thanks,” he says dabbing at his eyes when I release him. “They’ve already started shooting, because like I said someone dropped out, so they need me right away. I leave tomorrow.”
“Fuck, that’s soon,” I can’t help saying, and he nods, but he’s smiling and I’m happy for him too.
“Thanks, let me know how it goes.” I finish my conversation with Mr Nagle and throw my phone down on my bed. I’ve just instructed him to find an estate agent. Selling the hall is the only option I have.
I walk through to the kitchen. The flat already feels empty even though Tate has only been gone a few hours.
Last night I helped him pack everything he thought he might need in California, and I hugged him tighter than usual just before his Uber arrived to take him to the airport.
I’m excited for him, but I’m going to miss him.
The place feels dull without his glitter and sequins.
I wander back into my room, unable to settle and focus on anything.
My phone rings and I dive for it on the bed, grateful for the distraction. It’s my agent.
“Hey, Kai, how are you?” she asks.
“Alright. I’m ready for the audition,” I reply. I’m not, but I will be, and there’s still a few more days. I’m not telling her about my inheritance. I’m not telling anyone apart from Tate. I don’t want anyone to treat me any differently.
“About that,” she starts, and I already know what she’s going to say—the same words I’ve heard too many times. “They don’t want you anymore. They want someone more . . . rugged for the role. I’m sorry.”
I don’t hear the rest of what she says. It’s always been the same, just dressed up in different words.
I’m too pretty. I’m not well built enough.
I’m too feminine looking. I’m too pale. I sigh.
I can’t help my complexion or my cheekbones.
I know there are roles out there for me but finding them is hard.
After she’s finished the call, I sit on my bed, staring out of the window but not seeing much except a load of other flats and the concrete landscape of London stretching off into the distance.
Suddenly it feels too oppressive, like the walls are closing in on me.
I can’t stay here anymore. Not with Tate away for a few months.
I grab a bag and throw in as many clothes as I can find. Warm ones. I also grab my laptop and chargers for it and my phone. I might be selling Cavendish Hall but that doesn’t mean I can’t live in it until then.