Beth
Beth
After the press conference she’s completely exhausted. Vaughan has a dinner meeting with a new, over-excitable producer, and although he invited her along, she said she would prefer to go home.
‘Do you mind? I’m shattered.’
‘Of course not,’ Vaughan said.
He puts her in a cab, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her gently on the lips. Once they are far enough away, she pulls out her phone and reads Nick’s enthusiastic, exuberant reply. She types her own response.
I’m so sorry. I had a press thing all day at the BFI. Just finished now. Are you around? I could come over? x
Her heart is pounding as she waits for him to reply. Knowing Nick, he’s probably made other plans.
But three small dots appear. He’s typing back to her.
That would be great. How long?
She’s glad he’s replied so quickly.
25 minutes?
Perfect.
See you then x
She tells the taxi driver there’s been a change of plan, briefly wondering if there’s any possibility of Vaughan finding out what she’s doing. They don’t live together – not yet, anyway – and they aren’t likely to see each other tonight. He’ll be at the dinner with the producer until late, she’s sure of it. He rarely seems to tire, and he’s such charismatic company that people find it hard to end their evenings with him.
But what she’s doing isn’t wrong anyway, is it? So it shouldn’t matter.
It’s only that she told Vaughan she wanted to go home. It was difficult to explain that seeing Nick – an old friend, really, nothing more – was somehow also like going home.
She walks into the lobby of Nick’s apartment block and gives her name to the man on the desk. Then she takes the lift to Nick’s floor, wishing she wasn’t wearing the stupid suit. Her phone has been buzzing in her handbag but she ignores it. It’ll be her agent, or her mum.
The lift doors open and she steps out into the moodily lit hallway. Nick’s apartment is number fifty-seven. She remembers it well. After all, she ended up staying there for nearly three months in the end. Three blissful months. When he wasn’t out with Celine, Beth would wait up for him when he came home from work, make him a dinner or they’d get takeaway, and they would watch TV together or just chat until the small hours and it was the most at peace she had felt her whole life.
She met Celine a few times in that period, and Beth liked her. She was sweet, caring… and she clearly adored Nick. Perhaps she was a little too uncomplicated but in a way that made sense to Beth. She could see that someone like Celine, someone laid-back and chilled, with her own full and busy life, would appeal to Nick. Celine didn’t put any demands on him, and she could see he liked that.
A wave of nostalgia washes over her. She can’t remember the last time she was here. Ever since she shot the film, her life has been a whirlwind. Her feet have barely touched the ground. Every day there’s been something in her diary, put there by her agent or her publicist or Vaughan, and she’s not had time to draw breath.
Perhaps that’s why this slight misdemeanour – coming here, at short notice, to revisit her old life – feels so wonderful.
She raps on the door of his apartment, wondering briefly if she should at least take the stupid bow tie off. But it’s too late, because the door opens and there he is.
Looking exactly the same as she remembered, only this time sporting a huge bruise.
‘What the hell happened to your face?’
‘What the hell are you wearing?’
‘You first.’
‘I walked into a door,’ he says, standing back and letting her in.
‘Nick…’
‘Don’t cheat. I answered your question, now it’s your turn. Have you come from a wake?’
She rolls her eyes at him.
‘Ha ha. The stylist thought it would be good for me to have an androgynous look for today, because in the film I’m playing a prostitute and I don’t exactly wear much…’
‘Riiiight. Do people actually think things like that? Jesus.’
She frowns, reaching up to stroke his floppy fringe away from his forehead. The skin beneath his eye is purple with tiredness.
‘That bruise looks nasty,’ she says. ‘Have you iced it? I seem to remember you did actually used to keep peas in the freezer.’
‘I’ll be alright tomorrow.’ He takes a step back, ushers her into the kitchen area. It’s immaculately tidy as always. Initially only one thing stands out to her – a huge Jo Malone candle standing in the centre of the island unit, where a fruit bowl should be.
‘Red OK?’
She accepts the glass of wine he offers. He always has good wine.
‘Walked into a door?’ she says, after a few moments.
‘I was drunk, OK?’
She nods, a wave of sympathy washing over her. He’s not telling her the whole truth, but what did she expect? This is Nick.
He looks exhausted.
‘So how are things?’ she asks, looking around at the apartment. A couple of other things have changed from when she was staying here, she notices. There’s a new sofa in a deep teal blue, and a huge canvas on the wall that looks as though a toddler has spattered paint all over it.
‘Oh you know, the same. All work and too much late-night play… But what about you? I mean, well, Beth. Congratulations. That film really blew up. Is that the right expression? Took off.’
She smiles, nods. She’s happy he noticed. She briefly wonders if it has all been for him, all this. To prove to him that she was worth something after he rejected her?
‘I’m good thanks. It’s been a bit…’ She tails off. She finds this so hard. She wishes there was a manual for it. What is she meant to say in the face of his praise and excitement? It always feels boastful if she accepts the compliments, but if she complains about the downsides then it’s even worse.
‘You can tell me the truth,’ he says, as though reading her mind. ‘It’s OK if you hate every second of it.’
‘No it’s not that, I don’t hate it… I’m so grateful to be in work, to be honest. To not have to carry on with the waitressing and wondering how I’m going to pay the bills. It’s just a bit overwhelming really. I mean, I thought we were making this tiny indie film, that no one would see…’
‘And now half of the UK has seen you topless.’
‘Something like that. Although I’m not actually topless in it!’
Her cheeks burn. Has Nick seen it? He can’t imagine him going to the cinema to watch it.
‘I know, I was taking the piss. Anyway, I thought it was really good.’
She groans.
‘It’s OK, you know,’ she says. ‘I won’t be cross with you for not watching it. I really couldn’t care less.’
He looks down.
‘I went to see it twice. Actually,’ he says. He’d told Maggie he’d been at the gym. ‘Listen, you know me. I don’t know anything about acting, or films but… I knew. Watching it. I knew.’
‘What?’
‘I knew that it was good. And I knew that you were the best thing in it.’
‘You’re just saying that to be nice,’ she says, gulping her wine.
He shakes his head. The moment hangs in the air until they are both uncomfortable.
‘Nice artwork,’ she says, gesturing at the splatter painting. He cranes his neck sideways to glance at it.
‘Oh, yeah, Maggie got it for me for my birthday. It’s a bit intense but she said it brings personality to the joint… Not entirely sure whose personality, but there you have it.’
Maggie.
She swallows. Reassures herself that this is for the best. That Nick and she are better as friends. Just friends.
‘I didn’t think it was your thing.’
‘She said the place was too masculine. She made me get the sofa, too. And you should see my new duvet cover…’
She grins, in spite of herself.
‘And who is Maggie? Is it serious?’
The words get stuck somewhere in her oesophagus and before she knows what’s happening she’s spluttering, red wine squirting up her nostrils and out and down the front of the stupid white starched shirt.
‘Oh shit!’
Nick gets her some paper towels and she does her best to mop up the mess.
‘Looks like blood spray,’ he says, raising both eyebrows.
‘This outfit isn’t even mine.’
‘Whose is it then?’
‘It’s borrowed. Some Italian designer. It’s probably worth thousands.’
‘I’m sure they’ll forgive you.’
‘I didn’t even want to wear it. I wanted to wear a maxi dress.’
‘A what?’
She starts to laugh.
‘Oh, God. Never mind.’
‘I think you look quite sexy in it,’ he says, his eyes flashing.
She bites her lip, hands him back the crumpled paper towels.
‘Thanks.’
‘It’s my pleasure. You can spray expensive Italian wine all over my flat whenever you like.’
‘You were telling me about Maggie,’ she squeaks.
‘Was I?’
‘Yes. Come on. How long, what’s she like, what does she do? What does she think of you getting so drunk you… walk into doors?’
‘What?’
‘Be honest with me Nick. You got into a fight or something didn’t you? I’ve not forgotten that night…’
She’d gone to meet Nick after work for a drink. There were some lairy guys behind them at the bar, shouting and generally behaving like total idiots. As she walked past on her way to the toilet, one of them reached over and, to a chorus of sniggers from the others, pinched her bottom so hard that it actually hurt.
She was humiliated, and the next thing she knew Nick had stood up and was shouting at the man, calling him a ‘total prick’ and demanding he apologise.
Somehow, it descended into a physical fight. She wasn’t sure it was Nick’s fault, but she was furious with him.
‘Jesus, Nick, you don’t need to defend my fucking honour!’ she said afterwards.
It was the first time they’d ever really argued.
‘I didn’t have a fight,’ he says, now.
She leaves it there. She feels mean, because he looks sad.
‘So, what’s she like?’
‘Who?’
‘Are you being deliberately obtuse?! Maggie!’
‘Oh. Yeah, she’s…’
Beth watches as his eyes drift somewhere off to the left. He is thinking of her, and she holds her breath as she examines his face, every micro-expression that passes over it, wondering what they mean and what he’s thinking.
‘She’s smart and beautiful and popular and outgoing.’
‘Wow,’ Beth says, feeling instantly sick. ‘That’s quite the write-up.’
Beth is being disingenuous, asking about Maggie. She’s seen pictures of her on Facebook. She does look beautiful. A little bit scrawny, but beautiful. Someone who won the gene lottery.
‘She’s a lawyer. She’s way cleverer than me.’
Beth nods again. Wishes she hadn’t asked.
‘What happened to Celine?’
He glances to the left, as if trying to remember.
‘Oh, she moved to Russia.’
‘As you do.’
‘That was a while ago now though.’
‘And it’s serious? With Maggie?’
‘Uh.??? Nick looks up at her, right into her eyes. ‘Yeah, I guess. It’s been nearly six months.’
‘Is she…’ the idea occurs, incredulous though it might be, ‘living here?!’
He shakes his head.
‘No, she has a flat share with some university friends in Hackney.’
Beth nods. There’s an ache in her chest.
‘Do you love her?’
Nick gives a strange noise – somewhere between a snort and a sob.
‘Yes,’ he says, eventually, and she notices how his Adam’s apple rises and falls as he answers. Like a snake swallowing an egg. ‘I think I do.’