Beth
Beth
Today is possibly one of the most important days of her life.
Her publicist is coming to collect her from her flat in Queen’s Park. It’s the first time she’s had to do an event like this – a Sunday afternoon screening at the BFI, with journalists in attendance – not just bloggers or theatre fans.
She’s so nervous she couldn’t eat this morning.
And now her tummy is rumbling, as she stares in the mirror. She’s gone for an androgynous look – a tailored suit with a black bow tie and bright red heels.
None of it feels like ‘her’ but Vaughan said she looked amazing when she tried it on last week. The costume designer on the show had recommended a stylist, who’d then managed to get an up-and-coming designer to loan her the suit for free. She would have felt much more comfortable in one of her own dresses but she knew this was The Way Things Were Done, and she didn’t want to let anyone down.
She had planned on doing her own make-up but the publicity company were horrified by this suggestion and they booked someone – a lovely young graduate named Libby – to come and completely change the way her face looked and curl her hair in a way that she has never managed to do herself.
As she stands on the doormat, waiting for the publicist to arrive, she thinks, I am on the edge of something here. A precipice. I’ve been climbing and climbing and now it’s time for me to fall. Into the success I so longed for.
But why does it feel like falling? Shouldn’t it feel like flying?
It’s alien, this success. For so long all she has had was failure. But all it took was a chance audition, her having the right face for the part, and now, suddenly, she’s the star of an indie film that – against all the odds – has been nominated for multiple awards and won a few already, and been picked up by a major distributor, and she’s off to the BFI because suddenly, after months of stretched budgets there’s money on the table and there’s a publicist working full-time on promoting the film and people are excited.
Proof that all success was thanks to luck and timing. With some persistence thrown in.
Better than all of that though, she now has Vaughan.
They’ve been dating for more than a year. He is nineteen years older than her, but he’s her biggest cheerleader and she adores him. Sometimes, unhealthily so.
She hears the taxi pull up outside and swallows the last of her nerves. There’s no time to be nervous now. Her publicist – Jemima – is American, with more energy than a puppy.
She pulls the door closed behind her and gives a daft wave at the taxi that she regrets immediately, before climbing in the back.
‘Oh my God you look freaking fabulous!’ Jemima says, flapping her hands and kissing Beth on both cheeks. ‘Very Angelina Jolie. Are you excited? I’m excited.’
Beth gives a very tight nod, feeling even more British and uptight than normal, and tries to smile.
‘Don’t be nervous,’ Jemima says, squeezing her hand. ‘It’ll be fine.’
‘Thanks. I am a bit nervous though. First time in front of real press.’
She feels the heat rise across her chest. But she knows, somehow, that she will be fine once she’s on stage talking about the film.
Oh, the film! She loves it as though it were her own child.
Shooting that film was akin to a religious experience – easily the best time of her life. A time she will never, ever forget.
Jemima is chatting away about last night and how she was up too late and she’s had a mad week, and her mother back home in Houston has just come down with something really nasty and she feels bad that she can’t get back to see her; that’s the shitty thing about living in a different country, the guilt at being far from family… and all the while Beth is trying to feel what she thinks she should be feeling: excitement, pride. Euphoria even.
And yet… she can’t seem to grasp them. They elude her. She feels, instead, surreal. Disconnected.
She is the star of the biggest British indie film of the year and yet, and yet…
Last night she found herself looking up Rosa on Facebook. It made no sense, other than the fact that the anniversary is coming around again. It’s hard to believe it was seven years ago. But when she found Rosa’s page, she noticed that the friend request she sent her years ago was still hanging there, waiting to be accepted.
They were never friends. It felt as though Rosa wanted to make very certain that Beth knew it.
As the taxi hurtles through Farringdon she glimpses a Mexican restaurant that she recognises and then she remembers where from: dinner a couple of years ago with Nick, back when she was still crashing at his flat, and he’d been out for a drink with colleagues and she’d had a job around the corner.
She hasn’t seen him for months now. Maybe six? Ever since she shot the film and it started to gain traction her life has been a blur of late-night discussions with Vaughan and sex that she enjoys more than she expected to and reading and rehearsing and photoshoots and realising for the first time in her life that she has options: things she can do, things she can choose.
But having choices makes things more complicated.
She has a new agent, a big, flashy agent who says things like ‘we’ll be able to get you six figures for this’ without joking and it’s all so surreal, and it’s all happened so quickly that at times she feels ambushed.
But that makes her feel ungrateful. She’s still in touch with lots of her friends from drama school, and they are just as good as her and they are all still struggling. So how dare she complain that this success is terrifying, lonely, alienating?
How dare she complain about any of it?
The taxi turns towards Waterloo Bridge and Jemima’s phone rings. While she’s distracted, Beth takes her own phone out of her bag, and she looks down at it and before she knows what’s happening, her fingers are typing out a message to Nick.
Hey, how are you? Long time no… whatever. I’m off to do a massive press thing at the BFI and I’m really nervous!
She pauses. Her diamond shoes are too tight. It’s Nick but even so. She wanted this, right? So why is she complaining?
She deletes that sentence.
Hey, how are you? Long time no… whatever. Shall we try to grab some dinner soon? I’ve got a bit of downtime coming up. I would love to see you. Beth x
They have drifted apart over the past year, but as she scrolls up she can see that she has made attempts to reach out to him, to arrange coffee or dinner, but he’s only replied a handful of times, and then when she’s responded to him, he’s ignored her.
Jemima hangs up her phone. Her face is bright with elation.
‘That was my mom,’ she says, breathlessly. ‘They’ve let her out of the hospital. Hopefully she’s on the mend.’
‘That’s brilliant. That’s the best news,’ Beth says, and it feels like the most authentic interaction she has had for weeks. Jemima smiles at her, then she touches the corners of her eyes with her fingertips.
‘Oh gawd, I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘This is really unprofessional. It’s just… a relief, you know.’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ Beth says, squeezing her arm. ‘I’m not surprised you’re emotional. It must be a huge weight off your mind. You must have been so worried about her.’
‘No but… you’re my client and this is…’
‘Please,’ Beth says, almost desperate now.
She remembers the time she overheard Jemima talking about her and some of the other actors from the film, the way she referred to them collectively as the ‘talent’, as though they were livestock, commodities, and not people.
Jemima tosses her head, her shiny blonde bob swinging from side-to-side, and then she composes herself.
‘Right, we’re nearly there. How’s Vaughan doing? He must be so proud of you. And it’s so great that his TV show has been recommissioned as well…’
Beth spies the twinkle in Jemima’s eye and realises how she sees them: the golden couple. Him, the successful director and writer; her the beautiful star.
Ugh.
‘He’s good,’ she says, which is an honest answer. Vaughan takes everything in his stride. He’s a rare beast – someone who seems to have it all: talent, confidence, humility and drive. ‘He’s excited about it but already focusing on his next project, you know, he’s always looking forward.’
‘He’s a genius,’ Jemima says, sucking her teeth. ‘I mean, you both are…’
They reach the BFI and make their way inside. Jemima takes Beth’s handbag from her in the lobby.
‘You don’t want this in the pictures,’ she says, and Beth nods. It’s one of her favourites, but Jemima’s right, it doesn’t match her outfit.
Vaughan has come straight from a meeting at the BBC. To support her. He’s already in the lobby, on the phone, but when he sees them he hangs up and comes over to her, kissing Jemima on the cheek and Beth on the mouth.
‘You look incredible,’ he says and she slips her arms around his waist, underneath his suit jacket, and pulls him towards her as though she hasn’t seen him for weeks, even though they woke up together just a few hours ago.
‘Don’t be nervous, baby,’ he says. ‘You’re going to be fine. Just remember: everyone here loves you.’
She’s joined by some of the other members of the cast, and she’s grateful that the attention is diluted as they stand in a line in front of a huge cardboard panel with the film’s branding on, and smile as a succession of photographers take their photos.
They’re just moving off to the area where the interviews will take place when she feels her phone vibrate in the pocket of her suit trousers.
She had forgotten it was there. It’s meant to be in her handbag, with Jemima, who’s hovering around in the background like a distracted bee.
Head down, Beth cautiously takes it out of her pocket and looks at the screen.
Beth! It’s been forever. YES. What are you doing now? Come over? Or are you too busy being famous? X
Shit. She doesn’t have time to reply now.
Why did she text him anyway? What was it about this moment in time that made her want to reach out to Nick, of all people?
A psychologist would have a field day with her, she’s sure of it.
‘Baby?’
She looks up to see Vaughan, a confused smile playing on his lips, his hand stretched out towards her.
‘Sorry,’ she says, stuffing the phone back in her pocket. ‘Sorry. I’m coming.’