Epilogue Reubyn #2
Danny holds the studio door open for Reubyn.
They enter a bright corridor and walk towards the exit.
‘Ask yourself, what would the world’s most high-value men do in your situation?
You’ve got to think like a CEO. Behave like a CEO.
Get up early every morning and hustle. Successful people don’t take a day off, and you won’t achieve your goals by sleeping in on the weekends. ’
Reubyn nods vigorously. He’s heard this advice before, on video, but to hear it here, for an audience of one, is nothing short of thrilling.
They stop by the door. ‘I’ve booked you a car,’ Danny says. ‘It’ll take you wherever you want to go.’ He offers his hand. ‘Thanks so much for coming on the podcast.’
Reubyn accepts Danny’s handshake and once again feels that crushing, vice-like grip. This time, Reubyn reciprocates, squeezing with similar force. An equal.
Reubyn leaves the studio and climbs into a waiting Mercedes, his heart still giddy from the excitement of being featured on Danny’s podcast. The driver is smartly dressed in a dark suit, and a compartment in the armrest contains a selection of snacks, bottled water and mints.
It’s a nice touch. Nice things like this seem to be happening more regularly for him these days.
Reubyn gives the driver his address, and leans back on his leather seat, basking in the afterglow of his performance.
What just happened feels like a pivotal moment. It’s funny how many pivotal moments in Reubyn’s life can be linked to the Danny Mascall Podcast. The subjects of Danny’s interviews are so varied; Reubyn has lost count of the number of vital life lessons he’s learned from watching his show.
He’s been given eye-opening insights about business, health and politics.
But if he had to pick a single episode that had the most profound effect on him, it was the one with the psychologist, Dr Sheridan.
Her tips for success with women. In fact, all the crazy events of the last few years can be traced back to her ten rules.
More specifically, to rule number five: If you know someone who’s successful with women, watch them and see what they do.
It was such a simple piece of advice. And the more Reubyn thought about it, the more he realised he knew the perfect person to watch.
When it came to success with women, there was no one better to learn from than Miles.
Whatever he was doing, it worked – women kept falling helplessly into his orbit.
But what was it that made Miles so much more luminous than other males?
What was he doing that meant girls were drawn to him as helplessly as moths?
The answers to these questions would hold the key, Reubyn realised.
If he could understand the secrets of Miles’s success, he could use them for himself. It would be transformational.
To begin with, he started making notes, listing the latest clothing brands Miles bought, the hair products he used, the drinks he ordered.
He observed his movements: the way he walked, talked, danced.
But it wasn’t enough. It didn’t provide the answers he craved.
The real magic was happening away from view: in Miles’s one-on-one conversations, on his dates, in private.
When it came to those situations, Reubyn had only his imagination to guide him, and that was useless.
What he needed was empirical information.
But that wasn’t possible to gather. He couldn’t just follow Miles around in his most deeply personal moments – the mere idea of it was absurd.
He continued to think about it, though. Reubyn imagined being an invisible witness as one of Miles’s dates went so spectacularly well that it progressed into something else.
Something more intimate. And it would have happened, too, on the night Reubyn followed Miles and Jessie to the bird hide.
That was the closest he ever got: himself like a moth behind a pane of glass, tantalisingly near.
He would have seen one hell of a show if that bolt of lightning hadn’t given him away.
The car pulls up outside Reubyn’s London flat, which has been his home for nearly a year.
He decided to move to the capital shortly after the contracts for Escape to Hell were signed.
He needs to be here, really, if he’s serious about trying to make it in the entertainment industry.
Reubyn gives the driver a generous tip, grabs his bag and leaves the car.
He swipes into his building and takes the lift to the fifth floor.
His one-bedroom flat is small and has a view of several mid-rise residential blocks of similar proportions to his own.
Reubyn enters the bedroom and unzips his bag, removing the gold plaque and holding it at arm’s length.
He’s been thinking about where best to display it.
For now, it just needs safekeeping. He opens his wardrobe and places the plaque carefully in the top compartment, where he keeps his other precious things.
His passport and birth certificate are up there, along with some Dealbreaker memorabilia and, most importantly, a leopard-print scarf.
He pulls out the scarf and toys with it.
As is always the case when he takes it out, it brings back a memory.
It’s important to remember that what happened with Caira Kennedy was a one-off.
A unique event. But the evening it happened had started off normally enough.
That night, Reubyn went to the pub to edit.
Sometimes he was more efficient and productive when he got off his sofa and worked somewhere else, be it at a cafe, library or, in this case, the local boozer.
He was at a table in the corner, with his noise-cancelling headphones on, and a pint of Heineken 0.
0 in front of him. And then fate walked in.
Or more accurately, Miles did, along with a woman he’d never seen before.
They were on a date, it appeared. Reubyn’s skin tingled to life.
He found himself in a sort of trance, brought on by sudden feelings of surprise, excitement and uncertainty.
Miles hadn’t noticed Reubyn; he was completely focused on his companion as they waited at the bar for their drinks.
And when they sat, because Miles was facing slightly away he continued not to notice Reubyn.
At this point, Reubyn stopped caring about his edit. He was transfixed by the scene playing out in front of him. By chance, he’d found himself in one of the precise scenarios he had daydreamed about, and he wasn’t going to waste it.
He watched studiously and noted how Miles appeared completely engaged – as if what she was saying was fascinating.
He was generous, paying for both rounds.
And he became increasingly tactile as the evening went on: a playful touch of the arm to begin with, and later nudging his chair closer to hers.
When the bell sounded for last orders, Reubyn knew he couldn’t push his luck by staying any longer.
He packed away his things, scooped up his change, and made his exit through the rear door, where he emerged into the gloom of a side street.
Removed from the warmth of the pub, it was freezing, and Reubyn should’ve hurried home.
But he didn’t. Instead, he paused in the shadowy space by the bins and entertained himself on his phone.
He couldn’t identify the force that was keeping him there, but something was stopping him from moving on.
A draught of cold slid through the opening of his coat and licked against his skin, raising the follicles on his neck.
And then he saw them: Miles and Caira, walking briskly on the other side of the street, so enthralled by each other that they didn’t so much as glance in his direction.
Reubyn watched as they walked on, the sounds of their footsteps and voices fading to an inaudible volume.
Their silhouettes diminished, following the curve of the road until they were almost out of sight, and then stopped.
They’d reached her home, he assumed. Miles and Caira remained there, chatting on the pavement.
After a minute or so, she gestured towards the building, and Reubyn’s heart began to thud.
She was inviting him in. Reubyn had conceived of a scenario similar to this, but only as a fantasy.
This was happening for real. It was a sign, he thought.
Life comes with many signs and signals, and the trick is to figure out which ones to ignore and the ones to take heed of.
But sometimes, it’s completely obvious. Sometimes, life takes you by the hand and shows you the way.
When they’d descended from view, Reubyn waited for a minute and then followed, his laptop bag slung over his shoulder.
He crept down the stone stairs to a narrow courtyard outside a basement flat.
He found himself in a dark cavity, sandwiched between two tall stone walls, with a view into the living room.
No one could see him there, as if it were a hiding place designed specifically for him.
The perfect place to watch. And he could hear them, too. Just about.
Miles and Caira talked for a few minutes, Reubyn straining to hear their muffled voices.
But then, unexpectedly, they left the living room and walked back into the hallway.
He heard the front door latch. Reubyn straightened his posture and kept deadly still, pressing his back to the wall as the door opened.
He held his breath, praying he wouldn’t be seen.
Miles kissed Caira on the cheek and told her goodnight, then made his way back up the steps and on to the pavement.
The front door closed. But as the sound of Miles’s footsteps faded, so too did any feelings of relief.
Reubyn’s stomach twisted with frustration.
Why was Miles leaving? His date was so obviously up for it. It was such a waste.
Reubyn remained where he was, his hands deep in his pockets, the cold in the air stinging his face.
The longer he stayed there, the less inclined he was to leave.
The warm light emanating from Caira’s flat was inviting.
After a minute or so, Reubyn was hit by a thought of such clarity that it cancelled any argument going on inside his head: he’d waited long enough.
His watching brief had run its course. Now, it was his turn.
He may not have been invited. But, sometimes, that’s a good thing. Like when you break into a derelict theme park – or a forbidden forest, for that matter – sometimes, if you’ve gained entry with no given right to be there, it adds a delicious dash of jeopardy to whatever you’re doing.
As he moved towards the entrance to her flat, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do or say.
But he knocked on the door anyway, and she answered almost instantly.
She was smiling. The way she had been smiling for Miles all night.
But the smile fell from her face when she saw Reubyn.
Her eyes swam with a look he didn’t recognise.
And then everything moved in a blur of speed and struggle.
What happened next was a one-off, Reubyn reminds himself again.
It’s important to remember that. The other important thing to remember is: he didn’t do anything weird.
He was just present with her, lay next to her.
He whispered softly in her ear, stroked her hair.
Nothing weird. Nothing weird, at all. He’s not some pervert.
But he can’t deny that it was a thrill to be there with her.
Just the two of them. He wants to return there, to that night with Caira, to relive it, but the memory has become murky, like it happened in a deep fog.
It’s the same fog that descends on him when his mind attempts to trace back to those wretched nights at Holvine, when he was led from his dorm by a dank, ageing hand in the grim hours, and the same fog that filled the house when his dad shut the door on those dreaded evenings when he was left alone with Tony Meadows.
He used to wonder, why him? But now he knows: he was a soft target.
He might not have been the best-looking boy, but he never fought back, never spoke out, never caused a fuss.
Except he’s not a soft target now, not anymore.
He runs the scarf under his nose, breathing in the last remaining scent of her, those final remains that diminish more with the passing of each month.
Soon that last lingering trace will disappear, and all memory of her will be gone.
He wants to go back, to see through the fog.
To remember the feeling. But it was a one-off. A one-off.
The more he tells himself that, the less believable it is.
Could it really have been a one-off? Why should he be denied that feeling of human connection, when everyone around him takes it for granted?
Maybe it wasn’t a one-off. Maybe it was just the beginning.
If it was the end, it would go against everything he’s been taught: why settle for a taste of the fruit, when you can have the whole vine?