15 #2
I’m hesitant to bring them up again, but there’s also no way to explain the full story without them.
‘I saw what it was like trying to make a living working in the creative arts, and I was…’
I trail off, trying to think of the right word to describe how watching Mum and Dad struggle over the years had affected me.
I’d always admired their passion and love for their work.
When I’d watch Mum on stage, I’d never been able to take my eyes off her.
She was magical. And seeing Dad bent over pages and pages of writing at the kitchen table, and the way his face would light up when a story or a script clicked into place – I wanted to know what it felt like to get that moment of euphoria. To feel like anything was possible.
And art gave me that.
But I also remember the hushed conversations they would have when they didn’t think I could hear. It didn’t take me long to realise that the joy their careers brought them was only one side of the coin, and on the other lay a lot of stress and hardships that they tried to keep away from me.
‘Afraid.’
It’s the word I settle on, and one I’ve never been honest enough to admit to anyone else. ‘I know how hard it can be to try and go for a dream, and that it doesn’t always work out. I’ve witnessed the stress, the joy, all of it, and I guess I decided I wasn’t cut out for the risk.’
What I’ve told Rory is only part of the truth though.
What I don’t say is that, although it’s true that I was afraid my own art wouldn’t succeed, what I was more afraid of was the fact that if it didn’t, I’d have to keep relying on Mum and Dad to support me when I knew they were barely supporting themselves.
I turn away from the pristine scene in front of me and look at Rory, whose eyebrows are knitted together.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘I was wondering, isn’t everything worthwhile in life a risk though?’
His words surprise me. Is he saying that a life without risk isn’t worthwhile? At all?
I’d say my life has been better, or at least easier, since I decided to take the safer road. Maybe I could’ve been happier if I’d decided to pursue art, but in my mind it’s a very small maybe compared with the much larger possibility of everything being so much worse.
‘Not when a risk backfires and takes not only you but everyone around you down with it,’ I say with assurance, hoping for an end to this conversation.
Thankfully my stomach pipes up, its rumbling easy to hear even from underneath the blanket. I give Rory a sheepish grin. ‘Do you happen to have anything other than hot chocolate in this million-pound treehouse?’
‘Yes,’ he laughs, ‘and also it’s not a million pounds.’ He takes my mug from me, gesturing back towards the house. ‘More like two,’ he says, winking as he closes the balcony doors behind us to keep in the heat.
‘You’re joking!’ I shout, wishing David was here to verify as I waddle over to the window seat with the blanket wrapped around my shoulders.
‘Either you’re the most well-paid ski instructor in the world, or you’ve got some side-hustle going on I don’t know about. Let me think…’ I cross my arms as I stare at him. ‘Are you a sugar baby?’
He throws his head back at that, and I’m glad we’ve finally returned to a lighter mood.
‘I’m only asking because I’ve had requests myself, and if this is the life I’m missing out on, I won’t be blocking their accounts next time!’
‘Unfortunately not. This and the flat in London are funded by a combination of my work here and some investments passed over to me from my dad,’ he says, and I realise this is the first time he’s mentioned him.
While he constructs our cheese toasties I glance back over at the table of photos, confirming again that there aren’t any that show a man who could be his dad. The only guy I can see at all is Kevin.
Rory carries two plates over to the window seat, sitting opposite where I’ve settled and lifting his legs up to mirror mine. He doesn’t start eating, his stare vacant as he takes in the view. Thoughts seemingly somewhere else.
‘You okay?’
His head jerks back to me, then down at his plate.
‘Yeah, sorry about that. Dig in,’ he says, still shaking his head like he’s trying to brush off whatever thoughts had taken over.
Following his lead, I take a bite and immediately feel so much better once I get a mouthful of cheddar and tomato.
My satisfaction must be evident because Rory smiles, nodding down at my sandwich.
‘You’d be a pretty cheap date then,’ he says, and I take another bite before replying, my stomach thankfully no longer protesting.
‘I don’t know, you’d have to ask Adam,’ I say, meaning it as a non-comment, but it comes out sharper than I was going for.
‘I must admit from what I’ve heard about this guy, he sounds like…’ Rory trails off, and I worry about how he’s planning on finishing that sentence.
‘Sounds like… what?’
I’m not sure what I’m expecting, given that I know I haven’t painted him in the fairest light in my conversations with Rory.
‘Like he doesn’t deserve you,’ he settles on, and I stop, sandwich half lifted towards my face.
It’s not the response I was expecting.
It’s something… sweeter. Is he flirting again? Or was that pity? I wish Tilly was here to set me straight.
‘I don’t know, he may have some issues, but he’s not the only one.
There’s nothing particularly remarkable about me either,’ I say, realising that answer was nowhere near the realm of flirting back, and now I’ve fallen into a self-pity trap.
No, worse. I’ve tripped right into a self-pity grave. Oh god, what is wrong with me?
‘I mean, I can’t even ski down an easy red,’ I add, trying to make a joke out of my self-deprecation, but I can tell he doesn’t buy it.
‘Why do you do that? Put yourself down?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admit, unsure whether this is a post break-up thing, or if I’ve said things like this before.
Still trying to ignore Rory’s continued stare, I tap my phone and a recent text from Tilly that I hadn’t heard come through lights up the screen.
Hey girl, we’re about to do our last run then we’ll be heading back
to the chalet. You two banged yet? ;)
I pick my phone up quickly and tilt it towards me so the screen is out of Rory’s sight.
‘Everything okay?’ he asks.
‘Yeah, it’s Tilly letting me know they’re heading back.’
‘I can take you home now if you like,’ he says, which I would most definitely not like.
In the last few hours I’ve started to put together a picture of who Rory is, but it’s still nowhere near finished. I want to keep turning over the pieces and find out everything there is to know about him.
But what if that’s just me? What if he doesn’t feel the same easy comfort that I do being around him? The sense of wanting something more that lies beneath it?
‘Sure,’ I say, wondering if he can see from my face that’s not what I want.
Something tells me he can, given how well he saw through my joking earlier, but he still gets up from where we’re huddled at the window.
While he takes our plates over to the kitchen, I move to the door to get my shoes, pausing again when I see the picture of his mum.
Looking properly at the photo now, I notice the background.
She’s sitting somewhere inside, by a window, the view behind her shrouded in white.
It looks so similar to the one at the window seat, but I know it’s likely to be at some other ski resort entirely.
I don’t realise Rory’s moved over until his breath is hot against the side of my neck.
‘You look so much like her,’ I say, not knowing whether bringing that up is a good or a bad thing.
‘I know, that’s what he found so hard,’ he says, muttering the last bit quietly.
I want to ask who he’s talking about. His dad? I can’t help but wonder where he is and what role he plays in Rory’s life. But now isn’t the time to pry just to satisfy my own curiosity.
‘Shall we get going?’ I say instead, making my way over to the door and pausing, half-in half-out.
For a second he doesn’t follow, like he isn’t ready for this afternoon to end. I could fool myself into thinking he wants to kiss me right now as much as I suddenly need to kiss him. But I don’t move, and he simply smiles and gestures to the stairs behind me.
‘Fine, but if you put on Bublé again I don’t take responsibility if I make us crash to get some respite.’
‘Fine,’ I say, drawing out the ‘n’.
Surely if he’d wanted something to happen between us, now would’ve been the time to make it known. And seeing as he didn’t, I decide to let it go and think instead about the journey home and how his threat won’t stop me humming Christmas songs for the entirety of the time we’re in his car.