Chapter Thirty-Six
Iwake up the next morning to the smell of coffee being made. I’m naked in Jordan’s bed, warmed by the different layers of wool blankets we picked out together when deciding to make the bed of our dreams a priority when we first got the flat in London.
I smile as I lie there, feeling so soothed by the familiar setting. The wonky window that needs a book to prop it open to let in the breeze coming from what is, evidently, an unseasonably warm day outside. The twinkle lights on the bed frame. The glass on the bedside table that holds my water from last night.
I’m so happy to be back here.
I get out of bed, wrapping one of the blankets around my body as I go.
Sunshine pours through the open kitchen window and I see that he’s made scrambled eggs.
I don’t know why, but the scrambled eggs he makes are just the best.
“Still want to marry me?” he asks, with the easy smile of someone who knows the answer to his question.
“Uh-huh,” I say. I drop the blanket and run over to him.
My life has had so much uncertainty. All of my life. It was always about preparing for what was to come. It was about withholding. It was about trying to earn the life I thought I deserved. I was lost, waiting, earning, proving, asking, begging.
Now there’s a dense weight of assuredness that has settled into my bones, grounding me, reminding me that I am the one in control. Teaching me that I’m the one in control.
I find my phone and see that I have a message from Charlie.
Please come to my office after class for a meeting at noon.
“Well, there it is,” I say, reading the text aloud to Jordan.
“How do you feel about it?”
I scan my heart for my truest feelings, and then say, “I feel excited. I needed to find ballet again, but I feel really sure that this isn’t right.”
He nods. “Okay.”
I grit my teeth and gear up to acknowledge the elephant in the room. “You know…if I quit, then I’ll have to move out of London.”
He waves a hand. “I’m done with London.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods. “Between Artie’s article and that asshole’s big purchase that night, I’m kind of…I don’t know, I think I’m sort of rich now?”
I laugh. “I don’t know about rich .”
“No, I kind of am. That painting sale made everyone there start asking about prices. I sold my whole show.”
I drop my fork. “Shut up. Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“That’s…that must mean…”
“Yeah. Lots of fucking money. We can probably get a place with heating and air-conditioning. At the very least.”
He takes a bite of his eggs and I stare at him. “That’s insane.”
“We can go anywhere. Let’s just make sure you’re happy this time. It’s completely up to you. Paris, Madrid, Sydney, the moon, I don’t care. As long as we go together.”
I beam at him. It doesn’t matter to me at all that he has money now. I’m happy that he’s having success. I know that he’s worked his ass off and he’s been buffeted by the winds of his career for too long. We both were.
But now we both have control. I don’t have to panic.
After eating, I kiss Jordan goodbye and take off for the long walk to the theater.
I think about my mom with every step. The heels of my shoes click against the pavement.
My mom was always so obsessed with status and wealth, always looking for a way to move up in the world. She was flawed, no doubt about it. She made so many mistakes along the way, chasing after the wrong men and getting caught up in her own desires, being distracted from any of her own potential and greatness by either assuming she needed the help of someone else or by putting all of her energy into me.
I feel a sense of acceptance, shrouded in sadness for my mom. I never got to be a peer to her. I never got to be a fellow, flawed woman beside her. I never got to give her compassion. I never got to ask her what she wanted. What she wanted. Not what she wanted for me. Not what she thought she couldn’t have, but what she wanted .
I step into the theater and take a deep breath, the smell of old wood and dust filling my nostrils. It’s a familiar scent, one that I’ve grown to know well over the last few months. I can hear the faint sound of music in the distance, the orchestra rehearsing for later tonight.
I make my way toward the offices, my heart pounding in my chest as I climb the stairs.
When I get to the office, I knock on the shut door, hesitating when I hear voices on the other side.
Inside, I find Arabella, Clementine, and Alistair with Charlie.
What the fuck?
I was prepared to find Charlie, of course, and I feared that Clementine and Alistair might be here. But Arabella being here is just a bridge too far.
I remind myself that Jordan is waiting for me at home. That he has promised me ramen and cheap beer tonight. That we have started to plan our lives together again. That the world is our oyster.
“Please, come in,” says Charlie.
I do, and I shut the door behind me.
Alistair won’t meet my eyes. Clementine looks livid. Arabella looks overall tragic, but I can see the devilish look behind her eyes.
“I assume we’re all here because I’m promoted,” I say, not caring that my joke falls like an uncaught water balloon on the floor between us all.
“Jocelyn, there are some very serious allegations at play here. I’m sure you already know what they are.”
I hang my head and prepare to take responsibility.
“Yes,” agrees Alistair. “I think we need to talk about your completely inappropriate behavior.”
I look at him and then feel my mouth open in shock. He still won’t meet my eyes. I see that he has a hand on Clementine’s leg. This absolute wimp .
Oh my god, really ? He’s going to pin this whole thing on me?
“You have allegations, Mr.Cavendish?” I ask, my tone bitter and full of rage.
He shifts uncomfortably, and then says, “I have felt very uncomfortable at times around you, Ms.Banks, and—”
But that’s when I realize…I have a few allegations of my own.
“You know what, Charlie? You’re completely correct, there are some very serious allegations that need to be made. Firstly, Arabella. I would like to acknowledge that it’s with her help that I arrived here and secured a donor.”
After briefly tensing up, she visibly relaxes and says, “You’re welcome.”
“Yeah, thanks for that. But on the other hand, Arabella has also assaulted me. She bit my ear so hard that I still have a scar, in fact. I can show you if you want. It’s also on the cameras, since it was on company property. On Saturday night, she also drugged me. I was incredibly sick. Of course, I still managed to perform last night.”
The room has turned tight and strained. This isn’t what anyone expected.
“Jocelyn, this—” begins Charlie.
“One moment, Charlie. I know that you want to accuse me of an inappropriate relationship with my donor. And you’re not wrong. I have had relations with Mr.Cavendish. If you want to examine the intricacies of that relationship, then we can have a very long, complex conversation. We can do it publicly, if you like, and allow everyone in the city to weigh in on whether they think I am the one to blame. And we can even pit it against the other inappropriate relationships between the donors and dancers at this company. I know of at least one other highly questionable relationship in the company, and if it would be helpful to let everyone know about that, then I am more than happy to share.”
I don’t blink. I don’t look at Arabella or the Cavendishes, even though all eyes are on me.
“I don’t think that will be…I don’t think that will be necessary,” says Clementine. She clears her throat. “After all, my husband has a history of trying to buy whatever pretty little thing he wants. Paintings. Women. I’m sure a public display would only make things harder on us all.”
“Especially the company,” I say, with a tone of immense agreement.
She nods, looking a little panicked.
“Mrs.Cavendish, I thought—” starts Charlie.
“I’ll make it easy for you,” I say. “I’m going to resign from the company. I haven’t found it to be a healthy environment. And if you prefer, then I won’t tell anyone about my experience at this company. I can keep everything to myself. If we all agree that’s best.”
Everyone in the room knows what I’m saying. I’m saying that we all better keep our mouths shut or I’ll go nuclear. Maybe I did learn something from Arabella and her wicked ways.
She looks furious. Like a bomb about to explode. And then she does.
“You cannot be serious,” she says loudly. “Clementine, do something!”
Clementine gives her a look that means Shut the fuck up, now .
Arabella laughs angrily. “Clementine, after all this? You’re going to let it get swept under the rug?”
“Swept,” says Clementine.
I stifle a laugh.
Arabella shakes her head, looking furious that her plan to take me down and force Clementine to go public hasn’t worked. I don’t know if Cynthia was right about all her conjectures, but it’s really feeling like she nailed it.
“I’m going to go now,” I say. “Oh, and Mr.Cavendish, did you want Jordan to send you the painting you purchased under my name? Or did you want to continue to use it as a tax write-off? I wasn’t sure if you actually wanted it or just wanted the money, or…what do you think?”
He seethes at me, and then says, “You can keep it.”
“Great.”
I shut the door behind me and then run down the stairs feeling liberated. Free. Untethered.
I burst out onto the street, into one of the first sunny days London has seen in months and months. I pull out my phone. At first unsure of what to say. But I decide to keep it simple. We’ll have loads of time to catch up in the future.
When I type them, the words feel right, even though I’m not quite sure yet what they mean or what they will mean to me. I just know that they’re true.
Sylvie, I’m coming home xx