CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Guest: Allegra Brooks, autistic film actor
RAINA: I hope you know, your appearance on this will change our entire podcast. You’ve launched us into the stratosphere.
ALLEGRA: Is that why you’re glowing?
[Raina laughs, unsure.]
RAINA: Am I?
ALLEGRA: Yes. Something’s got you all lit up inside.
‘Has he definitely stopped writing that piece about you?’
Raina froze at Pepper’s question. It was the following day, and while Tom was taking meetings in town, she and Pepper were in Raina’s garden, planning the Gatsby party.
There had been such a shift in energy between her and Tom since they went to bed.
He was more open, more ready to laugh. However, his intense examination of her hadn’t disappeared.
He seemed to always be taking notes with his eyes.
The hopelessly romantic side of her wanted to believe that this was just infatuation.
The side of her that had been slapped about the face by reality too many times knew better.
‘His little Dictaphone thing hasn’t come out once since we started sleeping together,’ she told Pepper, settling on something which was completely truthful.
‘Uh huh,’ her friend said, not accepting this answer for a moment. ‘Thinking with his dick instead of his Dictaphone. Fine. But the minute he gets back to his place, he starts scribbling down everything he can on you?’
Raina flinched at her words. It was the tiny, frightening thought that slipped into her head right before she fell asleep in his arms each night.
She tried to make herself sound relaxed. ‘Which he’s free to do. That’s what writers—’
‘And if he publishes?’
‘Pepper.’ A dash of irritation entered Raina’s voice. ‘Please. You’re determined to see the worst in him.’
‘And you’re incapable of it.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘It is, Raina. You know it. I know it. You’re so literal – all someone has to do is tell you they’re a good person, and you believe them. You don’t consider for a moment that they might be lying because they want something from you.’
‘Pep—’
‘Here’s how I know though, Rai,’ Pepper said tensely. ‘I know because I’m not a good person.’
‘Pepper,’ Raina said, her voice almost inaudible.
‘I’m a fucking brat. I’ve been given everything. Everything. And all I can do with it is throw parties, do sponsored Instagram posts and fall out of nightclubs. Do you know how disappointed my grandparents would be, if they saw me?’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘They would! What was all of it for? Look at me!’
Pepper shoved the heavy folder away from herself and pulled off one of her many rings. She stared around the garden and exhaled heavily.
‘Pep, you’re not a bad person,’ Raina said matter-of-factly. ‘You’re a pain. You feel sorry for yourself way too often. And you could probably do with cracking open a few theory books. But you’re not a bad person.’
‘I’m a stupid little rich girl.’
‘Yes,’ Raina said warmly, reaching across to squeeze her friend’s wrist. ‘And when the mob finally comes to eat the rich, I’ll be right at the front with my pitchfork, saying, “Not this one, she won’t taste any good.”’
There was a beat and then Pepper smiled reluctantly. ‘Thank you, comrade.’
Raina beamed and sat back on her heels. ‘You sound like him, you know.’
‘Who?’
‘Tom,’ Raina said, and Pepper made a retching sound. ‘No, you do. You both see everything so black and white. Good and evil. Rich and poor. Everything is so binary with both of you. You know, when I was being diagnosed, the assessor asked if I would rather go to a party or to a library.’
‘Party, please,’ scoffed Pepper.
‘See, I can’t answer questions like that,’ Raina laughed. ‘What if it’s a great party in a library? What if the library has a fire alarm constantly triggering? What if—’
‘You’re an overthinker.’
‘My brain just doesn’t stop. I know that.
I know that. But that’s what I think about when I look at other people.
They aren’t one of two things. They don’t fall into a column.
So, if I assume bad faith, what happens then?
If Tom does screw me over, Pep, will it be easier to bear because I was waiting for it?
Will it hurt less? Does the landing feel better if you know you’re about to be pushed off the cliff?
Do your bones break differently? Does your heart? ’
The two of them sat in silence.
‘I just want to protect you,’ Pepper finally whispered. ‘No one has ever taken care of you, Rai.’
‘I’ve done a pretty good job of it myself, Pepper.’
Day-to-day niceties and protections weren’t always given to those who were different.
Raina remembered the day she’d finally worked out that the girls complimenting her outfit and asking where she’d got her vintage clothes from were actually making fun of her.
She remembered the humiliation and the urge to feel jaded.
Same with the teachers who told her she would probably never hold down a job.
The line manager who had taken unrepentant pleasure in cornering her in the office, then gaslighting her when she went to human resources.
‘You’re probably confused because of your . . . condition,’ they’d told her.
A cornucopia of bullies and harassers and people laughing at you made bitterness and cynicism easy.
Natural, even. Raina knew how tempting it was to fall into the arms of self-pity.
So, she went in search of better. Her subscribers, her community, the little niche she’d carved out for herself – it was a pure antidote to the venom.
The only catch was, to find that, you had to choose peace. You had to choose seeing the best in people. You had to choose nuance. You had to choose to have hope.
‘I think Tom actually likes me,’ she told Pepper, the words fragile but steady. ‘I think he really does.’
Pepper’s face was a storm, a million opinions on those words ready to break loose. Instead, she sighed and kissed Raina’s forehead.
‘What’s not to like? Now start on the mailing labels.’
Tom was stretched out on his small double bed with his laptop on his knees.
He was working through some emails and counting down the hours until he could see Raina again when he suddenly remembered something she’d mentioned the day before when he’d been helping her with sensory overload.
They’d been in a darkened bedroom and he’d stroked her feet until she felt calm. Something had upset her. A nasty email.
He typed into his search engine. The first gossip site that popped up had subcategories.
Celebrities, B-list celebrities, actors, musicians, influencers and vloggers/podcasters.
Tom clicked on the latter, expecting the content to be thin.
On the contrary, there were thousands of names.
He searched alphabetically and found Raina.
His heart almost stopped when he laid eyes on the number of comments.
I wish she would look directly into the camera, it’s so annoying how she only does it some of the time.
So BORING!! Literally who gives a shit about her. Why is she still talking? And when is she going to act her fucking age?! I am so sick of this woman. She thinks she’s so fucking special and it’s insufferable. My sister works with autistic kids and they’re nothing like her. Stupid bitch.
Sorry, at what point do we as a society stop all this nonsense? Everyone has to have a fucking label. No, you’re not autistic, you’re just weird. You’re not ADHD, you’re just lazy. Like, why do people think they can be constant victims?
Her hair is too long, she should cut it off for charity. It’s selfish. Loads of people would love to have long hair like hers.
I only watched half of that uploaded episode with the ADHD woman, I got so bored. There really is a label for everything now. They just want to be quirky and different.
I don’t see how she can have autism, because she’s always wearing make-up and feminine clothing. Aren’t they meant to be super boyish? Not being mean, that’s just what I thought. My mum’s cousin works with kids like that and that’s what she said.
I think it’s gross hearing disabled people talking about sex, sorry. I just do. I hate her so much. Anyone know why she hasn’t uploaded on time today? I keep refreshing but it’s not there.
Tom slammed his computer closed so violently it made a slapping sound.
She was too autistic for them. She wasn’t autistic enough. She talked about her own experience too often. Then she was too private about her worst moments.
Like so many women, nothing she did was ever good enough.
He searched for the names of some of his previous subjects.
He soon wished he hadn’t.
There were far fewer messages of condemnation under their names.
Tom was both repulsed and fascinated by the fact that a man who’d lied about brain cancer earned less reproach and judgement than Raina.
Stricken that a woman who decried modern medicine was thought to be, by these people’s standards, less problematic than a young, self-acceptance podcaster.
Tom felt the itch of a story. He snatched up some Post-its to add to his conspiracy-theorist board. He scribbled down the nasty comments so he could quote them in a future piece. A piece about the inconsistent outrage on the internet. Or something. He didn’t know yet.
He pinned the quotes up, still teeming with affront as he read them back. He was about to start a new draft when there was a knock on the door. He frowned, as company was completely unexpected in this little cave. He sauntered to the door and peered through the tiny spyhole.
‘It’s us!’ Seb’s voice pushed through the wood of the door, causing Tom to leap back. He sighed but undid the lock and ushered them both in.
He didn’t like people in his home, mainly because he didn’t think of it as home. Especially not now. It was a writer’s den. He’d bought it because no one in his family had ever bought property before and the whole thing had made his parents proud.
Still. He would sell it soon and buy a two-bedroom to share with Raina. He wouldn’t tell her it was for both of them, that might rattle her too much. But it would be.
‘What brings you by?’ he asked the pair of them as they ducked into the flat.
‘This place is the size of our boot room,’ Ottie remarked, staring at the low ceilings and tiny kitchen. ‘I don’t know why you settle for it.’
Tom could have chosen that moment to come clean with them both and admit that it was all he could afford while being sensible with savings and taking care of his family.
It wasn’t a little city flat he slummed in when he wasn’t in the country manor.
This was all he had. And it was still more than most people had.
He wasn’t entirely sure what it was that kept him quiet. He’d once joked with Seb and Ottie about it being a little work den he kept on the side, and they’d never thought more of it.
‘Here for two reasons,’ Seb said grandly. His voice was a little hoarse, possibly a result of whatever shenanigans he’d indulged in on the boat, long after Tom left. ‘One! Do you think you could get Mary Simms to write about us?’
Mary Simms, the queen of engagement announcements in London.
‘I don’t know her personally,’ Tom said, making excuses, ‘but I do know she wouldn’t appreciate being told who to write about.’
‘Can you just try?’ begged Ottie. ‘It would make my mother so happy.’
Tom coughed but nodded. This sort of thing mattered so much to them. He told himself he should be kinder. ‘I’ll see if I can get to her through Tori.’
‘Thank you! Okay, secondly, Pepper Cousins is throwing her big birthday do and she told us to give you this.’
Ottie presented him with a white envelope, adorned with golden foil. Tom glanced at the two of them before accepting it. They were looking at him as if they were his parents and this item contained his Advanced Higher results.
He opened it.
Dear Tom Branimir,
You are cordially invited to the 30th birthday of Pepper Cousins, at her family estate in Surrey.
Please see overleaf for full address, time and directions.
Theme: Gatsby/Roaring 20s.
Dress Code: Black Tie.
RSVP.
Tom groaned and dropped the invitation onto his kitchen table. ‘I’m guessing this thing is considered a big deal?’
‘Under normal circumstances, yes,’ Seb said, straightening Tom’s clothes and patting his cheek. ‘This year it’s at Sydenhurst. That place is no joke. So, the ante has been upped.’
‘Your little friend will be there,’ Ottie said curtly. ‘I’m guessing she’s the reason Pepper’s invited you. If that’s any incentive.’
Tom glanced back to the invitation. ‘It is.’