Chapter 42 Ed
Chapter forty-two
Ed
Bess is sitting cross legged at the end of Basil Everett's plot. She has his back to him and is looking up at the woodland on the hill behind the cemetery.
"Hey."
She keeps her eyes on the trees. "Hey."
I stand beside her and look at the layers of rich, green foliage, at the ripples that sweep across the leaves with the breeze. I think I know why she's focusing on it. I'd be using it to take a mental breath, too, if I was in her shoes right now.
"Everyone's worried about you."
Bess doesn't respond.
I don't bother to ask how she is or if she's doing okay. The answer to that is obvious. Instead, I sit beside her. The same side as we always sit up on the roof.
"You haven't been answering your phone," I say gently.
"Journalists."
Of course. We were lucky none of them witnessed the events around A Lettered Man's demise thanks to Jeanette and Elly's door barring skills. But that hasn't stopped them trying to find out the story since. "What can I do to help right now?"
She shrugs. After several seconds, she says, "I told her all of it."
"Who?"
"Penny. Basil Everett's daughter."
"Oh." Everything tightens within me, even though I know this woman – Penny – is no longer a liability now the sculpture's been destroyed. "How...what was her response?"
"She was very sorry to hear about the way he treated me."
"I'm sure."
"And she was very sorry that the gallery and its artists have an uncertain future, and was understanding that we might do desperate things to secure it."
"Right. That's...very good of her."
"Yes. And kind. There's nothing of Basil I recognise in her."
Bess hasn't looked at me yet. I sense there's more she wants to unburden herself with, so I wait.
She plucks a piece of grass from in front of her.
"Bas and I have had a final reckoning. I told him that by being a miserable, selfish prick he missed out on sharing a life with his daughter and that she was lucky not to have had a relationship with him.
The fact he never gave himself that opportunity to know and love her feels like he meted out his own punishment. A fitting punishment."
"It is," I agree.
After a few moments of quiet, Bess says, "So, I guess after all these years of visiting him, I've reached some kind of closure."
"How does that feel?"
"Exhausting. I've had a lifetime of harbouring anger towards this man and now I have none left. I've been drained of it. All that negative energy's gone and nothing's come in on its heels to replace that burning drive. I think," she takes a deep breath and sighs an exhale, "I just feel sad."
Undoubtedly. There's everything to mourn. Her attachment to the soldier, the forthcoming fracturing of her community, the loss of her online fans.
"It's been a wild ride these last few days." She turns to look at me for the first time and offers a wry smile that doesn't reach her eyes. They are naked. Without her usual eye-liner.
"Yeah," I whisper.
She looks away again. "I need time. Time to think about what to do next. But there is none. The clock's ticking down very fucking fast."
"You haven't got a Plan B?"
Bess laughs shortly. "Plan B currently is using the money we made over the last couple of months to buy us more time until we think of Plan C.
But it won't last. The online purchases have practically dried up overnight with no social media feeding the fans and drumming up new interest. Plus, any whiff of potential scandal and people run a mile. "
"You'll think of a Plan C. You all have creativity as your biggest strength. You'll be able to imagine a way forward."
"You have creative strength, too, Ed. You're a writer. It doesn't matter that you haven't published anything. You're one of us. And quite frankly, we could do with all the help we can get."
I rub my knees. "I don't think I should be involved."
"Why not?"
I look at her. Her face is pale, her lips without their usual soft pink.
This whole thing has taken a big toll on her.
"Because I did enough damage last time. Watching you go through what you did because of me was.
..too much. I want to support you, and I will, but it needs to be from the sidelines. "
Bess frowns. "What do you mean 'because of me'? You were one of many and as far as I've heard, Mistral and Carlos were the main actors. Don't be dramatic."
And here it is. The moment I should have taken three days ago.
There's no going back now and I don't want to.
My need for honesty is driving me forward, overriding my impulse to hide.
My pulse quickens and I take three shallow breaths before I can get the words out.
"Carlos didn't write the love letters. I did. "
The words sit bright and sharp amid the birdsong and the rustle of leaves.
I will myself not to look away from her. To not hide from the grenade I've just tossed between us.
Bess' bottom lip falls away from her top one. "I don't understand. Why would Carlos lie about writing the letters? And..." she trails off, unable to articulate the next obvious question.
"Because I was a coward about coming clean."
Bess is very still.
"I'm sorry for not –"
She erupts, cutting me off. "Is that everything? Is this the last of the revelations? Because I'm pretty fed up with people dropping bombshells, Ed. I am at capacity for new plot twists." She raises an arm and indicates her scalp-height capacity.
And here’s my chance. The one I’ve been dodging for far too long and I am going to take it like the man I need to be.
My heartrate leaps into a gallop.
Before I can answer, she says, "Jesus!" and pushes up off the grass and walks away for a few paces before turning around again. "I'm really angry. I'm not one hundred percent sure why, but I am and you just have to take it."
She kicks the bottom of my shoe. She doesn't do it hard. Then with a snarl, she marches to a nearby tree and picks up a fallen branch from the ground.
“Bess?”
She thwacks the branch against the tree and shouts the words, "I'm. So. Angry," with each swing. The branch is grey with age and shatters into shorter lengths with each blow.
With a yell, she hurls the remains of the branch as hard as she can into the grass and stands panting for several breaths. Then she storms back to stand above me. "I feel a tiny bit better," she growls and kicks my shoe again.
"Good."
“I think I’m just very overwhelmed, okay?”
“Okay.” Oh God. In two seconds I’m going to layer a whole new potentially explosive truth on top of everything else she’s having to deal with.
She sits back down beside me.
“Hey, um–”
"You write one hell of a love letter." She says it very matter-of-factly.
"Yes," I say very quietly and have It's easy when you mean it sitting on my tongue, when she says, "That kind of puts a whole new spin on it."
I mean, it does, but I have no idea of her interpretation of “a whole new spin”. Does she already know that I meant the sentiment behind them? Does she want me to mean it? Is she repulsed by the idea?
I get my answer when she laughs. "It makes it all sorts of weird."
My heart plummets. Despite knowing there was a good chance I wouldn’t get my ideal reaction, I hadn’t anticipated laughter.
Well.
I guess that settles that then. There’s no point in coming clean now.
"I mean..." Bess doesn't finish the sentence. She doesn't have to. An eighty-year-old, eccentric man writing beautiful love letters from someone you end up falling for is one thing. Your single, male best friend writing those same letters is quite another.
A skylark chatters from somewhere high above us.
I search it out in the overcast sky. The little black dot flutters against the clouds, holding its height and singing its heart out. It slowly descends back to earth. "I think I should go."
“I think that’s a good idea,” Bess answers as I stand.
And now, there's nothing for me to do but lick at the old wounds unreciprocated love creates.
Whatever I thought happened at the auction was the stuff of misinterpretation and fancy.
I've always suspected she didn't return my feelings, but hearing her laugh at the idea of us communicating as lovers is. ..another kind of devastating.
I walk away without saying goodbye.