Chapter Thirty-Four #2
Before, I never really cared—my first thought was always that my children will see the things they say about us but now I know I can’t have any children. It all falls on me and right now and what people are going to think and say about me now.
Everyone’s very quiet and they don’t know what to say.
“I can call—”
“No,” I cut Albie off and walk away.
I go downstairs, into the cinema room where it's dark and there’s no windows and no way for anyone I don’t know to take pictures of me.
The picture won’t last, I know that. There’s laws and things in place now but for the few seconds it’s up, ten million people might see and send it and keep it and sell it around.
Once it’s taken down from the original site, it’s only going to get bigger and more spoken about.
Not only is the actual picture a complete violation—I’m naked as the day I was born—it's a strange kind of intrusion. Believe it or not, the paparazzi never take photos like that of us. They need their jobs too much and when they can, they do respect our privacy. This feels more like it was done personally, intentionally, not professionally. An actual paparazzi wouldn’t have sold that picture because they wouldn’t have been able to afford the lawsuit I’d bring them.
Whoever did this, did it because they knew it would hurt and they wouldn’t care of the repercussions.
The person who sent the flowers?
I haven’t received a bunch in months. Maybe they knew I knew and got scared so they stopped but now they’re angry?
A stalker, maybe? Stalker sounds extreme and they’re usually not very dangerous from what I’ve heard—more just fans that want to be part of your life like a friend. A friend wouldn’t do this.
This is someone who hates me.
But I don’t know anyone who hates me.
It’s not Bliss—I know you’re probably thinking it is—because she knows this life just as well as I do and although we’re not speaking, she would never, ever do this to me. The same way I would never do this to her.
My throat burns and my nose tingles and I start to cry. Everything feels as though it hurts and I wonder if, at any point, things will slow down and I’ll be able to breathe again. I feel like I haven’t been able to catch my breath for years.
Everyone’s leaving and everything is changing and I’m running so fast, trying to gather as many broken pieces as possible that my hands can’t carry anymore and my feet can’t keep up with me.
Someone walks in—I hear their footsteps—but I didn’t expect it to be Arthur.
He sits in the chair next to me, says nothing for a bit until I stop crying. I turn to look at him through my watery eyes.
“Sorry. I’m okay.”
Shakes his head. “No, you’re not.”
I frown. “I am.”
Shakes his head again, almost laughs.
I think if you tell yourself that you’re fine enough, you start to believe it and even if it isn’t true, it’s a lot easier to deal with than the other big emotions that want to take over.
He puts his hand to his mouth, eyes lingering on me.
“When’s all this gonna stop, Phoebs?”
“I don’t know…a few months maybe? A year?”
“No,” he says. “This,” wags a finger between us. “This fucking game we’ve been playing for the last year. Neither one of us is going to win so when does it stop?”
“I’m not playing a game.”
He pulls back a bit. “Really?”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re accusing me.”
“Because…” he sighs. “If you just broke up with Digby—”
“It will all go back to how it was?”
“Well, yeah.”
I look at him. A bit annoyed.
“It wouldn’t and you know that. Even if I wasn’t with Digby, I still wouldn’t have run back to you the second I saw you on that rooftop.”
“Yes, you would’ve,” he tells me, matter of factly.
I frown, give him a look. “That’s not true.”
He runs a hand through his hair, nods to himself and leans back in his seat with a little laugh and to be honest, I don’t like the way he’s acting right now.
“I think it’s best if you leave me alone, now, Arthur. I don’t want to argue with you.”
He shrugs, the way he used to in school when he would argue with the teachers. “We’re not arguing.”
“Well it feels like you came in here to start an argument.”
“You just got your body violated online! Why would I come in here to have a go at you?”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
He huffs out a dry laugh, turns to face me. “It’s not my fucking fault.”
“I never said it was!”
“Stop acting like it is, then!”
“I’m not!”
“For someone who’s supposedly meant to have been in therapy for the last three years, you're not acting like it.”
I laugh. “Pot meets kettle.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah? Fuck you.”
He gets up, walks towards the door.
“Tell Digby I want him!” I call, twisting around to see him storm out of the room.
“Tell him yourself!” He calls back, slamming the door.
But a few minutes later, Digby does appear so I know Arthur can’t be that mad at me, and actually, I don’t think he was mad at me at all.
I think he probably blames himself for the picture.
His family will see and what will they say?
What spanner will this throw in the works for them trying to set him up with Astrid?
I never really take those petty arguments to heart because we’ve been through a lot bigger things at an age when we shouldn’t have done.
“Athena told me what happened to her,” Digby tells me as I lay my head in his lap and he strokes my hair. “That’s shit.”
“She never tells anyone that.”
“I think she felt obligated to share some of the pain you’re going through with this. But Phoebs,” he looks down at me. “You’re not the first person and you won’t be last. By next week, there will be somebody else.”
“No,” I shake my head, staring at the floor. “The papers never publish things like this. This was personal, Digby.”
“Bliss?” He asks quietly.
“She’d never.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m certain.”
“But maybe she’s angry that you haven’t reached out.”
“It wasn’t her, Digby!” I raise my voice just slightly because I know it isn’t Bliss who’s done this and even though we don’t talk anymore, it’s not Digby’s place to start blaming her.
“Alright,” he continues stroking my hair. “Sorry.”
I stay with Digby for a while until I don’t know how many hours have passed and I feel my eyes getting heavy. I sit up, Digby’s nodded off so I leave him there to go and find Arthur.
Athena spots me from outside. “We’re getting dinner soon, what do you want?”
“Dinner?” I walk over, squinting. “What’s the time?”
“Gone six,” Connie tells me from his sun lounger. “I was gonna come and get you but you seemed pretty busy.”
“Fuck off. I feel asleep.”
He pulls his sunglasses down, winks.
I turn back to Athena. “Anything, I don’t mind. Just not fish.”
She nods, hoists herself out of the pool. “Come here.”
My feet burn against the stone outside so I quickly dash over to the sunbed next to Connie’s.
“How are you?” She asks.
I shrug, a bit helplessly. “Not great but what can I do?”
“I know how you feel,” she sighs. Been here, hasn’t she? “It will get old, though, Phoebs. It doesn’t feel like it now but it will.”
Connie clicks his tongue. “My Tweet’s already gone viral, so…”
Athena picks up the Saint Laurent beach ball floating in the pool and throws it at his head.
“That could’ve concussed me!”
“It’s a beach ball, you pussy,” I laugh.
“Yeah,” he sits up. “But it’s like the force,” he gestures with his hands. “Like, if you dropped a five pence coin off the Empire State Building—”
“It can kill someone,” Athena and I say at the same time.
“Excatly!” Connie pushes his glasses on top of his head, looks at us. “Should we go out out tonight?”
“Like clubbing out?” Athena frowns.
“Yeah,” he nods, shrugs, looks to me.
“I’m not in the mood.”
“I’ll go if George comes,” Athena says. “Phoebe, you should come, it will take your mind off it.”
I scrunch my face up. “Everyone’s seen my boobs, they’ll just be looking at me, imagining me with no clothes on.”
“Yeah, so” Connie shrugs his lips. “Your boobs are fucking mint.”
I turn my head to face him. “How…do…you…know?”
“Because I used to look at them like, all the fucking time—I mean, you’ve got a fantastic rack, Phoebs. If I was you, I wouldn’t wear a top, ever,” he tells me, straight faced.
“Why do you have to be such a fucking pig?”
“Would you rather me say they’re the worst set of tits I’ve ever seen?”
“Well, no,” I say airily.
He gives me a look, points at Athena. “About George coming, that’s a no.”
“Well then I can’t come,” she frowns.
“Yes, you can. It’ll just be us three and Spence.”
“I can’t go out with just you, Connie,” she tells him, like it’s obvious. “I’m not allowed.”
“George’s words are they?” He pulls back, shocked. “I’ll have a word with him.”
“No!” She laughs. “George wouldn’t care but it’s my culture—I’m a Gypsy—I’m not allowed to go out with boys on my own unless George or my dad is there.”
Something you probably didn’t know about Athena and the twins.
Athena’s mum's side is full Roman Gypsy, her dad grew up on a council estate in Essex. Sullivan and the Stratton’s are Irish Gypsy and India is Romani.
From what I’ve gathered, their marriage was one of convenience to settle the beef between the two sides years ago.
The boys have been raised by the same values and so has Athena.
It’s not something I fully understand but just like any other culture that I’m not a part of, still something I fully respect.
Sure, George wouldn’t care if Athena went out with us without him but it’s not something she would be comfortable doing. She told me once that it’s not as strict as it used to be, like when her mum was growing up, but still, there’s still rules about other things.
“Fine,” Connie rolls his eyes. “He can come but tell him not to be such a moody prick—I wanna have a good time, not think about killing myself.”
“Connie, I’m really not in the mood,” I groan.
“Oh, please,” he gets up on his knees, hands together. “Just one little drinky and maybe a couple of teeny tiny shots?”
“No,” I sigh. “Digby will probably want to go out for dinner or something.”
“You’re so fucking boring,” he moans and then turns to me, “Do you wanna go for a fag?”
I nod and we stand on the steps that lead down to the beach.
“Do you know where Arthur is?”
I exhale, flicking the ash onto the floor.
Connie shakes his head. “Nah, I thought he went out.”
“Out where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Out with Astrid? Because you can tell me.”
“I don’t know, Phoebs,” he smiles. “He might still be here.”
“Does Arthur tell you everything?”
“Most things, yeah.”
“Did he tell you that he slept with Astrid?”
“Yeah,” he nods slowly, blowing out smoke and looking away from me.
“When?”
“This morning. It was only that one time.”
I nod. “I know. Do you think he enjoyed it?”
“Nah,” he says quickly, too quickly.
“How do you know for certain?”
“Because if he did, he wouldn’t have told me.
When boys have a quick one night stand, they brag, yeah?
It’s all they fucking talk about. But when it’s just a meaningless shag, there’s no point in banging on about it.
He only told me because I saw the guilt written across his face.
He probably wouldn’t have said anything, otherwise.
Trust me,” he gives me a stern look. “It meant shit to him, as it probably did for her, too.”
“It’s easy with boys,” he says, leaning against the stone wall. “You can just tell, you know? Especially with Arthur. He never spoke about you two and what you both got up to. I guess with girls, it’s different, you don’t really talk about that kind of stuff.”
“Yes we do,” I say, offended.
“Yeah?” He grins, nudges me. “What do you talk about?”
“You’re sick in the head, Constance Holland. A true pervert.”
He laughs, I stub out the end of my cigarette in the ashtray balancing on the edge of the wall and then go in search of Arthur.
I don’t know why.
I don’t know what to say to him.
Just kind of want to crumble in his arms and let him piece me together, really.
I don’t find him or the twins anywhere. Can’t find Spencer, either but she’s probably having a nap—can’t deal when the weather is over ten degrees. I look everywhere for him.
The only place I haven’t looked is my dads office but why on earth would he be in there?
I check anyway.
“Get out!” George shouts the second the door cracks open but I opened it just enough to see four people in there. One of them being Sullivan Stratton.
Why Sullivan Stratton is in my home, I have no idea but why Arthur is in there with them, is something I find even more concerning. Been spending a lot of time with the Stratton’s recently, I realise.
And then my mother calls me for the first time in weeks and asks how am I doing.