Chapter Twenty-One
Connor stared dejectedly at his latest bank statement.
He was getting close to being overdrawn again and he couldn’t expect Patrick to keep bailing him out.
Despite paying a heavily subsidised rent, he still had to pay for food and he felt guilty even having the heating on as he knew Patrick was footing the bill for that too.
Luckily the place didn’t get too cold being an upstairs flat, but it was still only February and he benefitted from Dorothy having her heating on all day.
Even so, Rosie had been commenting on how cold it was and often kept her coat on when she popped in for her Saturday morning cuppa. It said a lot for his change in circumstances that her visits were the high point of his week.
As long as it wasn’t raining, he could pretty much guarantee she’d be in the garden, so this morning, after giving up willing credits to appear on his bank statement, he had pulled on a warm jacket and brought her tea out to her in a thermos flask.
He found her on her knees cutting the edge of the grass with what looked like a pair of funny shaped scissors, and Connor watched as she worked.
‘Okay, I give up. Why are you cutting grass with a pair of scissors? What’s wrong with a lawn mower?’
Rosie straightened up for a second. ‘They’re grass shears for trimming the edges. The lawn still needs mowing, but I don’t want it encroaching into this area here’—she waved her arm—‘as that’s where all the flowers are going.’
‘Can’t you get some sort of gadget to do that?’
‘I could, but it would be more expensive. Are you one of those blokes who are obsessed with buying hundreds of gadgets?’ she teased.
Connor adopted an expression of mock outrage. ‘Oi! I object!’
Rosie laughed. ‘Object away, Mr Forbes. And while you’re standing there doing your objecting, you can wind up my radio. You need to keep going for at least a minute just to get half an hour’s play out of it.’
Connor picked up the device and turned the handle as they continued talking.
‘Actually, it’s about time you adjusted your opinion of my finances.
’ He paused. There was no point in trying to keep up appearances with Rosie, particularly as she was so fond of telling him she didn’t care about that sort of thing.
‘The truth is, I don’t have any income at the moment.
My money is tied up, therefore I’m officially – but hopefully temporarily – skint. ’
He knew better than to expect sympathy, but he certainly didn’t expect her to burst out laughing.
‘What? What’s so hilarious about me having no money?
’ But her laugh was infectious, and he couldn’t help but join in.
He could put up with most insults as long as she wasn’t crying.
That had really hurt him in a way he still couldn’t properly understand, but it had brought them closer together and now he didn’t mind being teased by her like he used to.
‘What’s your suggestion then?’ he asked mischievously. ‘Should I start busking outside the station?’
‘Absolutely not! You can’t sing, for one thing.’
‘You don’t know that! Okay, if I’m not allowed to busk, what do you suggest?’
‘You really don’t have bank accounts somewhere?’
‘Well, I do, but they’re not stuffed full of cash.’
‘Be honest, how serious is the problem?’
Ten minutes later, they were sitting in his flat, sipping their morning beverages and Connor showed her his bank statement and latest credit card statement.
Rosie was silent as she studied the entries. Eventually she looked up. ‘This has been getting worse for a while.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re still spending money.’
Connor didn’t answer.
‘That bottle of wine you brought over was really expensive – I feel guilty letting you do that.’
‘And if I’d told you I was in dire financial straits, that would have helped how exactly?’
Rosie shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Right then. I wanted to bring over a nice bottle of wine to help cheer up someone who I—’ He halted, not wanting to say the wrong thing. ‘Someone who needed cheering up.’
‘It was appreciated.’ Rosie reached out and squeezed his arm. ‘And now I want to help you. You said you have money tied up somewhere – can you access it?’
‘I’m not sure…maybe…’
‘Can you be more specific?’
‘Where do you want me to start?’
‘At the beginning might work. Don’t treat me like an imbecile; tell me what I’m not understanding.’
Connor gave her the whole story. How after his appearance on The Challenge he had disposable income for the first time.
His social media presence increased which, in turn, generated advertising revenue.
Then he met Bonnie. Not long after, he had moved in to The Grange – her home, which was largely paid for by the sale of her pop-up restaurant in London – and their television series went from strength to strength.
He became an investor in Grange Productions, which was co-owned by Bonnie and a couple of others to enable them to produce their own material.
He’d also earned some money from a few modelling contracts, and Bonnie brought out a cookbook, which earned more revenue.
It was great for a while. He had a lifestyle he’d never dreamt of, and they went to the sort of parties he’d only read about in gossip columns.
He explained that it was during the filming of the second series of Bonnie Appetito that things became pressured and he discovered there were downsides to living with a committed workaholic.
Too often he’d felt sidelined in the decision making, which had become frustrating.
Then they had the end of series wrap party.
Connor paused.
‘I’m guessing this is the point where the papers think you and thingy had a bit of a thingy.’
‘Yep.’
‘And that’s how you ended up here.’
‘This is Patrick’s nest egg. He bought it a few years ago – his wife inherited a bit from her godmother, but the rest was their savings.
He’s been renting it out to help pay off his own mortgage.
I persuaded him to let me doss here for a bit.
It was only meant to be for a few weeks, and now he’s threatening to find a new tenant who can pay proper rent.
’ He fiddled with his watch as he spoke.
‘Apparently my money is all tied up quite legally, which means the only way I’ll receive anything is if I carry on making programmes with Bonnie, and at this particular moment I’m not Mr Popular. ’
‘Do you plan to go back then?’
For the first time, Connor noticed an edge to Rosie’s voice. ‘She kicked me out once. Whatever you think of me, I’m not a masochist. I’m going to start putting out feelers with other production companies.’
‘So, if you don’t plan to go back, how do you get your money out of Grange Productions?’
‘I could sell my share in the company, for which they’ll give me some shit price, and I can then kiss goodbye to any career.’
‘That’s hardly fair.’
‘This is the media world, Rosie, you—’
He caught himself just in time. He was being irritable and unfair to her. After all, she hadn’t asked to get involved in all this.
Connor held out his arm. ‘I’m sorry, come here.’ Rosie shuffled up to him. ‘I know you’re trying to help.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘It’s just that without my career or my investment, what have I got?’
Rosie sat up and took his chin in her hand, and turned his face to hers. ‘You’ve got me. I can help. What else do you have to your name?’
‘A few books, clothes, gifts from people.’
‘Valuable stuff?’
Immediately he tensed. He recognised the implied suggestion: that because he’d been on television he was bound to be loaded.
He also recognised that it was this instinctive response that had led to arguments in the past, both with Patrick and Rosie.
Connor forced himself to say nothing. Maybe it was him that was the cause of the problem.
Maybe if he listened instead of leaping to his own defence, it might be more productive.
‘Because if it was,’ Rosie continued, ‘you might be able to sell some of it. My mum had some lovely cocktail dresses she never wore anymore and she sold them online to a collector.’
‘So how does it work, this selling off of my wardrobe?’
‘First we need to see what you’ve got.’
They spent the next hour reviewing Connor’s clothes.
Some were hanging in the small wardrobe in his bedroom, but the majority were still either in cardboard boxes piled up in the corner of the large sitting room, or in plastic storage crates in the bedroom.
Other than the evening at DeLaneys and one night out with the gang, there had been little reason to wear most of it, although he had a few of his favourite sweaters and warmer clothes in regular use.
Despite Rosie’s dismissive attitude towards designer labels, she seemed to know her way around them, and had quickly made several piles on the bed. Much to Connor’s amusement, she had been rather shocked at the number of shirts he owned, and before long the living room table was also being used.
The idea of selling off a few things appealed to him, and as Rosie rummaged through his boxes, he toyed with a few ideas of his own.
Bonnie’s presents – now sitting in a drawer, unwanted – might have been tasteful, but they were also expensive.
Connor smiled. This might just solve two problems in one stroke, although first he had to find out how to do it all properly and there was only one technology expert in the family.